Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by GeekOut, Jan 16, 2013.

    • The road was slick. Jonathon had the windshield wipers turned on, but he still was having trouble making out signs in the distance. Rain thundered on the roof of the small car. Jonathon bit his lip as a motorcyclist sped past, sending up a spray of oily water. "Hey, Emory... do you want to see if there's a rest stop or something?"

      "Yeah," Emory murmured, yawning and sitting up. He had been half asleep in the passenger's seat, "That sounds good. It's pretty bad outside and it's late so people are probably coming home from bars and stuff. Stopping would be good."

      Jonathon leaned forward, trying to scan for an exit sign. "Shoot." he muttered. The road was still surrounded by trees, with no off-ramps in sight. He flicked on the right hand turn signal anyway. He didn't want to be in the fast lane in weather like this. Jonathon peered in the mirrors. They didn't do much good, covered in fog and rain. He craned his neck to check for cars behind.
      "You didn't see any signs, did-shit!" The motorcycle swerved toward the car, off balance. Jonathon covered the brake, but the bike continued sliding straight for them. Jonathon yanked the steering wheel, sending the car off to the right, away from the bike, but straight towards the trees.

      Emory had been listening to Jonathon's question, getting ready to answer when he heard the curse. He saw the motorcycle coming at them, realizing that it could kill them if they collided. He felt the car turn quickly.

      Emory heard a small scream as the car smashed into the trees, he wasn't sure if it came out of his mouth or not. He felt his heart beating a million miles per hour before everything went black.

      Jonathon's head felt heavy as he gazed around. He was cold, and he felt drenched. The world faded in and out, sounds coming and going in a twisted musical box song. He licked his lips. They tasted metallic. "Emory? Where are you?" He realized he was walking, and nearly fell down. The motorcycle. What had happened?
      "Emory?" Pain wrenched through Jonathon as he made his way around the remains of a car. Their car. "Emory?" His voice was a panicked sound now. "Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease."

      Emory heard Jonathon's voice and opened his eyes--or so he thought he did.

      "Jonathon?" He felt like he was going into a panic attack, he couldn't breathe, "Jonathon? Where are you? I can't--I can't see. I have my eyes open but I can't see anything and I don't know what to do."

      He was freaking out, rubbing at his eyes and trying to figure out why all he could see was black.

      The sound of Emory's voice snapped Jonathon to attention. He was outside the car, and Emory was still inside. Jonathon stumbled over to the passenger door. He wrenched it open. "Emory, I'm here, I'm sorry, I didn't-I'm sorry." Emory was pawing at his eyes. He looked so fragile. "Please be okay," he whispered and tried to grasp Emory's hands in his. Blood slicked his grip.

      "Call--" Emory coughed, "Call an ambulance. Don't worry, Jonathon--it wasn't your fault. Don't say sorry. If that motorcycle hit us one or both of us would probably be dead right now. I'm still talking, Jonathon--Just call an ambulance, okay? Hurry."

      He felt kind of numb, but he also felt pain. He was hurt but he wasn't quite sure where. Everything was so black and he could feel a liquid of some sort around his body. He wasn't sure if it was blood or rain.

      Jonathon fumbled in his pocket for his phone. It kept slipping out of his hands. "Calling an ambulance. Calling an ambulance." His voice cracked. He pressed the numbers. 9...1...1... As soon as a voice answered he started talking. "My boyfriend-there was a motorcycle, and I couldn't hit it, I didn't want to hurt-but we crashed, and Em-Emory-Emory's hurt, and we need help!" The voice asked him to try to calm down, to say where they were. Somehow, he managed to give enough information before the phone dropped from his hand. "Em, I think you need to-can you move?"

      "I don't know," Emory whispered, scared, "I don't--I'll need help. I can't see where I'm going at all. I think my legs still work, though, and I'm not trapped by anything."
      He just couldn't see. At this point, he had given up on trying and simply slammed them closed, hoping that when he finally did open them again all of the blackness would have gone away and he could at least see Jonathon's face again.

      "You can't see? That happened to me, don't worry, okay? It's getting better. Things got less blurry and I-you need to get out of the car, I think." Jonathon leaned in closer, trying to tell what Emory needed help with. He didn't want him in the car, the stupid car, it might explode, or catch on fire or-

      Emory's hands found the door framed. He had to unbuckle his seat belt before he could pull himself out of the car, his hands finding Jonathon's shoulders. His chest hurt and he assumed he had bruising from the seat belt.
      "Things aren't just blurry, Jonathon," Emory managed, "It's all--everything is black."

      Emory's hands on his shoulders brought twin surges of relief and sadness at the boy's pain. It took him a moment to realize what Emory had said. "What? No-does it hurt? What hurts?" Jonathon couldn't bring himself to look Emory in the face.

      "I don't--know," Emory sniffled, hearing sirens in the distance, "My face and my head just feel numb. Jonathon. . . what's wrong with me? I don't--I don't know what to do."

      He wished that he could at least see what was blood on him, if there was any, and what was from the rain. Maybe things weren't as bad as he thought.

      "Shh, you're gonna be okay, the ambulance is coming, you'll be okay." Jonathon forced his gaze up to meet Emory's. But Emory's eyes were absent, staring at nothing. Blood traced his face. Jonathon had to bite back a sob, and tasted metallic blood as the sirens screamed closer.

      Emory's hands clung desperately to Jonathon's shirt. He was shaking slightly, from both the cold and the fear that something was seriously wrong with him. He wondered how far away the sirens were, not sure if his hearing had been affected at all by the crash. He hoped they were close.

      Jonathon desperately wanted to hold Emory close, but was afraid of hurting him. He settled on letting the boy lean into him. Colored strobe lights flashed through the darkness of his eyelids. "Help! We're over here-he's hurt, he can't see-help!" he cried.

      Emory heard doors opening and feet running before he felt himself being pulled away from his boyfriend. Someone was calling out orders to all of the other people.
      "Jonathon?" He whimpered, scared that he had been separated from the boy.

      Jonathon was engulfed in a flurry of paramedics. He saw Emory being moved to a waiting ambulance. "I'm fine, really, I just have to be with him, I can't leave him like this." He pleaded.

      It was hard for Emory to tell if he was losing consciousness or not because everything was already so black. He was distraught but he remained silent, only speaking when he was asked a question. He asked for Jonathon every once and awhile as well, but otherwise his mouth was closed.

      The paramedics finally led Jonathon towards the ambulance. He hadn't heard anything they said. "Emory!" he called. The boy was being moved to a stretcher. "Emory?"

      "Jonathon?" Emory asked, uncertain if it was really Jonathon or not. He wanted to reach his hand out for his boyfriend but his arms were strapped to the stretcher so he wouldn't fall.

      Jonathon broke free from his escort. "It's me, I'm here." His eyes raked over Emory, searching for what was wrong. "I'm here." he repeated. A medic guided him to the ambulance's bench as the stretcher was moved into place. Jonathon held tightly to Emory's hand. The same medic had him lay out, and buckled him in. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying with you."

      "Thank you," Emory whispered, his breathing relaxing slightly from where he had been practically hyperventilating before. He felt so--lost. He felt like he was dreaming or something. He wanted so badly to be able to see what was going on but he couldn't. Jonathon's hand squeezing his was the only thing he felt tied him to reality.

      The ride felt like an eternity. Jonathon could barely turn his head to look at Emory. He seemed so small. Finally, the ambulance doors were opened. A team of medics clustered around the stretcher with Emory. Strapped in as he was, all Jonathon could do was watch as the took him away.

      Emory whimpered softly as he felt his hand pulled away from Jonathon's. He felt cold, and tired, and the numbness was starting to fade away so his body hurt. He wanted to be back at home, cuddling with Jonathon and just watching a movie or something. He didn't want to be where he was.

      Someone bundled Jonathon into a wheelchair. "I'm fine. I can walk." he argued, but no one paid any attention. They wheeled him through the hall of urgent doctors and bloody patients. "Where did Emory go? My boyfriend, where is he?"
      More doctors came and went. He was bandaged and given a prescription. Mutely he made his way to a pale waiting room.

      Emory felt himself drifting in and out of unconsciousness. He half heard people shouting things but didn't register any of the words as he was carted off to. . . he wasn't really sure. He could feel his head throbbing in his chest, going quickly. And then--he blacked out.

      "-can see him now." Jonathon nearly jumped at the sound of the doctor's voice. He stumbled to his feet. The way to the recovery room wasn't far, but it felt like it. A curtain was drawn around a bed. "Emory?" he whispered, terrified of what he might and might not hear.

      "Jonathon?" Emory asked, not bothering to look around or move his head since. . . he couldn't see at all. He could kind of hear Jonathon's footsteps and he for sure heard his voice. The small boy had only awoken a few minutes ago and everything had been explained to him then.

      Jonathon pulled the curtain aside and sat on the chair next to Emory's bed. "God, I was afraid I'd never-" he choked on a sob. "I love you, Em. I don't know what I would have done if you weren't alright." He stretched out a gauze wrapped hand to Emory's.

      Emory winced at those words, knowing that he would have to break the news to Jonathon.

      "Jonathon--" His voice cracked slightly, "Jonathon. . . I'm blind. And I understand if you think it will be too much to take care of me now. I get it, I really do. I'm sure my uncle will be fine with taking me in again."

      Emory had basically grown up not being wanted, and he figured that now that he was going to be so dependent it would just be a reason for Jonathon to leave him.

      Jonathon's hand tightened around Emory's. Pain from cuts in his palm finally sent sharp pain shooting. He tried to think, tried to speak. "What do you mean, blind? Your eyes were-" he swallowed. "I'm not going to just leave you! Why would you think that? I love you!"

      "I love you, too," Emory whispered, his other arm finding Jonathon's shoulder and hugging him tightly, sniffling softly, "That's why I don't want you to feel like you have to stay with me. I know that you love me but it's going to be hard to take care of me if I'm blind. The doctors--it's something that has to do with my brain, and they said that there's a possibility that I might be able to see again. Or I might be able to see shapes or shadows but. . . it's not for sure."

      Jonathon couldn't keep the tears from his voice. "I don't care if I have to 'take care of you'. We'll manage. I know the library has books in Braille, and we can get a dog, and I'll just stay closer to you, and there are those studies about finding where things are like bats..." He collapsed into the hug. "I-I'm so sorry. This shouldn't have happened."

      "Don't be sorry," Emory murmured, "It wasn't your fault. Besides, I might get my vision back eventually. Everything is going to be just fine. You already have all these ideas about what we can do, right? My aunt and uncle will probably want to help pay for stuff--they were called because I'm still on their insurance and stuff. They'll probably be here soon."

      Jonathon let the familiar warmth of Emory's arms soothe him as he spoke. "You are the bravest person I know." Hell, he was scared. What if he couldn't protect Emory? What if something else horrible happened to him? If his vision didn't come back, would Emory hate him? "You're right. It's going to be okay."

      "How are you?" Emory asked, wishing that he could check over Jonathon. He assumed that his boyfriend had also been hurt in the crash. Though the small boy couldn't see himself, he had bandages wrapped over his head, wrists, and chest from cuts the glass had made.

      "I'm fine, I think." Jonathon realized he had no idea what was wrong with him. He tried to remember what the doctors had said. "I cut up my hands some...and I have some pretty angry bruises. Oh, and I have two broken ribs."

      "Oh!" Emory pulled away, "I'm sorry. Did I hurt you? I heard that broken ribs really hurt, especially when people add pressure. I'm really sorry. Are you alright?"

      "I had some reeeeeeally strong painkillers, so I don't think you could hurt me much. Actually that would explain somethings..." Jonathon trailed off. "I'm fine."

      "That's good," Emory decided, letting out a breath, "But I don't want to mess with any cuts or anything in case it makes them worse later after your painkillers wear off. I think they put me on some of those, too."

      "You're right... remember when I kept biting my lip after the dentist numbed it up? I don't want a repeat of that." Jonathon laughed weakly, feeling the pressure of the bandages wrapped around his chest. "We make quite a pair, huh?"
    (( [MENTION=3613]Insanity[/MENTION] , here you are!))

  1. "I guess we do," Emory agreed quietly, "My aunt and uncle are going to freak out. . . I wonder when they're getting here."

    Emory reached for sleeves to tug at and realized that he didn't have any. The scars on his wrist were on display for everyone to see. He quickly covered them with his blanket, frowning softly.
  2. Jonathon rested his hands on Emory's blanket covered wrists. The comfort of being near the boy overrode any pain. "Don't worry about that." He wanted to offer his hoodie, but it was shredded and thick with mud and dried blood. He glanced around the room, his eyes resting on several white cabinets. He started to stand, then said, "I'm just getting something, okay?" He released the boy's wrists. The cabinets were hung above a desk made for writing prescriptions on. He opened one then another. The third held what he was looking for. A thin material formed a long sleeved top with ties to close it. At least it wasn't a gown. He moved back to Emory. "Here." For a moment he didn't realize that Emory would have no idea what he meant.