"Life was such a precious thing, easily broken." -Shaun Jeffery
chapter 6
Jazz knew that when he fell asleep on his living room floor, curled between the side of the couch and the table, his head-- and only his head-- resting on the cushion, he'd wake up and be slightly uncomfortable.
But he didn't think he'd wake up and be in pain.
There seemed to be an explosion of color around him, the noise loud and nauseating enough that he couldn't quite make out what it was; it was a curtain of dizzying red and whites and a yellow so vibrant it made him gag.
The feeling built up like stress inside of him, making his skin crawl and burn and for his eyes to slam shut.
No one else would know why, know that the sound felt like it was ripping through him and causing him to go blind, know that the bright white and bloody red triggered a whimper to bubble out of his throat, know that it hurt.
Because no one else around him could see sound. Could feel it.
No one else could understand.
It was so bright-- so bright.
Like looking into the sun, but worse because it surrounded him and he could feel the vibrations crush him and he could feel the waves moving back and forth before ricocheting off of him.
He doesn't know what's happening-- he woke up and he's disorientated and he can't quite remember who he was with or if he is safe and he's sacred-- and he's crying and he can't remember how to make it stop.
He can't make it stop.
Then he's standing, he's trying to get away from it but he can't see and his feet trip over each other and he falls, his knees buckling under his weight and muscles tightening and--
And, well, big people fall the hardest so it hurts but not as bad as the ringing in his ears or the sharpness eating away at his eyes.
He's scared. He doesn't want to be scared. He just wants it all to stop.
There is no green in these colors. There is no softness. It is not safe and even his body can recognize that.
He doesn't even notice that he's mumbling to himself-- he doesn't realize that he's asking, practically begging, to get away from it.
Jazz didn't realize until a shadow fell in his vision but his hands were covering his face, his eyes hidden. He could feel the way his fingers gripped onto his own skin, the way his other hand pressed into his eyes hard enough that it was painful.
But it was nothing compared to how absolutely jarring the sound was from all around him.
He couldn't hear anything else besides it, he felt like he couldn't even move.
But-- but then he was moving, someone's warm hands shaking as they pulled him to his feet. Jazz whimpered again, hands flexing around his face as his tears stung his eyes, his cheeks, his mouth.
Someone, he isn't sure who but no matter what he's thankful, stumbled, the musician knew they were walking because the pain was centered on his back but he couldn't register anything in his body too well, the burning white and red not peeking in from his fingers but still making his body tremble.
But then it just-- it just stops.
Jazz slumps against the person holding him, feeling his skin still tingle with the aftermath. They ease him to lean against something cold and smooth-- a wall?-- and he presses flat against it, not even trying to catch himself when his knees give out and he begins to slide down it.
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Jazz Red's Anomaly
Romance"I am the textbook definition of in love with you." *** Jazz Red has had a life full of love; his parents taught him how to value himself, his siblings taught him how to stand up for what he believed in, and his family has taught him what it means t...
