Momentum
by athens7 as Jack (font: Courier New)
and mazaher as Patrick (font: Verdana)

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3. Needing, wanting, searching

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Jack leaves, Patrick goes to Jack (Jackís POV)

So I stand and walk out and go Ė where? This place doesnít feel like home at all.
I feel tired. I want to sleep, but I canít. Thereís something in my head Ė heavy and sticky, like a lingering nightmare that doesnít want to go away and makes it impossible for me to catch my breath.

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I donít want to go out. Heís out there, somewhere, and we could run into each other, however improbable that might be. I canít take the chance.
I will stay here forever, and I wonít ever be a bother again.

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My gaze brushes the bottle of morphine resting inside my bag. So easy. It would be so easy.
The syringe is writhing and singing, until the notes become moans of agony.
And what about my scalpel, so agile and lethal in the palm of my hand?
I wonder if one could manage to choke himself to death just using a stethoscope.
I tear my eyes away, close the bag as a wave of nausea threatens to become something more serious.
Brandy. Candles. Cigarette. Books.
I feel hot. I throw the window open, strip away my waistcoat, my shirt, until the sick dampness of the industrial night licks at my stomach and my chest.
Too much fog for the Moon to shine through.
The residual coal floating above the roofs swarms into my nose and crouches down inside my lungs.
Any moment now and it will launch its final attack.

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I wonder how does it feel, to have a pair of wings.
Instead, I keep sinking.
Acrid water floods my stomach and my lungs.
I canít get enough oxygen.
Iím drawing away from the surface, more and more.

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All I wanted was to keep him safe, to be his shield.
Rape was my parting gift.
I think Iím going mad.

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Someone should conduct a research on the therapeutic merits of tears.
When was it the last time I cried, besides this one?
In all probability, I was still a child.
Such a waste.

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Life goes on. It is enough, as long as heís part of it.
I hope that something pure can last.
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I donít love if I donít love him.
I am not if he doesnít look at me.
Please let this be only a dream.

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...

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Then the unimaginable happens.
He comes to me.
And for the first time in weeks, I wake up.

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Reunion:
Tearing down the barrier,
one layer at a time