Okay, thanks for the response! Hope you're gonna enjoy this one too.
4:46 AM. It had taken him a long time to fall asleep, even though it was kinda late. He was still panting from reliving a particular bad memory from his years in a uniform. He tried steadying his breath, tried to use a couple of seconds on each breath in and equally each breath out. And he tried not to notice the burning sensation in his eyes.
His breath caught in his throat, and he knew he was done for. Knew that he had no say in what his body would do next. He was in a runaway carriage, no way to steer it. He still tried though.
Tried not to let the first tear roll down the side of his face. Tried not to let out the first sob, or the second. –Or the third.
He rolled over on his side and brought his pillow up in front of his face in an attempt to muffle himself. He didn't want to hear himself, didn't want to add to the feeling of being pathetic and helpless. He knew that wasn't the way it worked, but he tried.
"You big ol' cry baby…" he muttered into the pillow, "Just stop!"
Stopping was about as easy as stopping a volcano with an ice cube. Trying to force yourself to stop was just as hard as stopping a tank with your bare hands, without being Clark freaking Kent.
"Stop it…" he begged, but no one was around to hear his prayers.
He curled up on himself. His legs tucked in close, one arm wrapping around his midriff like if a hug would help him. His other arm wrapped around the pillow, pressing the damp fabric towards his face.
'Pathetic loser…' that was what he was. Grownups didn't act like this. Grownups were in control of their emotions. He should be too. –But he was weak. He wasn't as tough as all the rest of them. He knew that. He figured everybody knew that…
A racking sob tremored through his body, his shoulders tensed as he tried to get a grasp on it.
"It's no big deal Dalton…" he tried to convince himself, tried to calm himself. "Everything will be alright… Everything is gonna be okay… Just need to pull yourself together."
His left arm tightened around his middle, like he was physically trying to pull all the broken pieces inside of him together.
And another sob left his lips.
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6:15 AM. His phone buzzed. Another alarm. This time it was meant to wake him up, if he hadn't been awake for some time yet.
He took a deep breath, it hitched a little bit, but he avoided to start crying again. It seemed to him like his body had had enough. He felt physically exhausted, even though he hadn't stepped out of bed yet.
He had stopped crying loudly, but the tears and the self-hatred was still right there. Draped over him like a blanket.
Using every ounce of energy he had, he managed to get to his feet. He had to get to work, but right now, all that kept his body going, and kept him from staying in bed with his face buried in the pillow was routine.
He dragged his feet over to the bathroom, looked in the mirror. "Ho-ho-ho…"
Sighed. Shook his head. Reached for his toothbrush. Brushed his teeth. –He was headed to work. Looking somewhat put together was essential.
Put his toothbrush away, and ran a hand over his beard.
"Naaah… THAT can wait…" he sighed as he decided not to have a date with his electric razor today either. Then he caught a whiff of himself and frowned, "But I'll be punished if I go to work smelling like this…"
His shoulders slumped, yeah, they actually had one more level to slump down on. He didn't know that.
"Okay, shower…" he sighed, looking at the shower. "How many days has it been?"
He thought back, but decided the answer was too embarrassing to really think about.
He used the toilet. Turned on the shower and stepped in. Before he knew it, he was sitting on the floor in the shower. Water pouring down on him, soaking him from head to toe.
He didn't move before the water started getting cold. First then he stood back up and reached for the soap. "Now, Jack… Looks like the only two things you master is being wreck and wasting time…"
As soon as he stepped out of the shower again, he went over to the fogged up mirror and wiped it off with his towel. He smiled. Or tried to… His facial muscles didn't quite cooperate the first five or six attempts. But he finally pulled it off, "Good enough… No one will know you just spent more than an hour crying like a baby…"
He dried off and headed to his bedroom to get a clean set of clothes. He might be a mess when he was alone, but he was a master at keeping up his appearance when he was at work.
Well, at least sorta. Hobo-beard be damned.
He put the clean clothes on. Went to the kitchen, tore off one bite from the toast from yesterday and headed out the door.
Even if everything else was a mess, he could with his hand over his heart say that he had eaten breakfast, and that he had brushed his teeth.
Small victories.
Okay, that turned out to be the second chapter.
I'll probably switch it up a little bit once he reaches the Phoenix Foundation. Don't know for sure yet, but it's somewhat of a plan.