April Writing Challenge: Bad Habits

[Sean *]

It's writing challenge time! To enter, just post a ficlet (300-4000 words suggested) in this thread. When the voting for this month's OTM winners comes around, a voting poll will go up for this as well.

The Challenge: All characters, like all people, are a mixture of good and bad personality traits, which cause good and bad habits. Choose one of your character's bad habits or character flaws and write about how it causes them problems in their lives.

The rules:

• Characters must be in Hammel canon, but the ficlets are not site canon unless explicitly stated.
  
• Entries must be more than 300 words.
  
• You can enter no more than three ficlets. Any ficlets posted after the original 3 will not be considered for voting. If you want to post more, however, have fun.
  
• Ficlets must be titled.

[Garrett Hale]

Invincible
Words: 602

During his short amount of time at Hammel, Garrett had developed a decent understanding of certain things. He knew the layout of his schedule, but he was always just a little bit late to class. He knew not to go to the cafeteria during lunch on Wednesdays because he just... Never liked the food they served, despite the revolving menu. He knew on every other day that if he sat at the last table to the far right corner, no one would ever bother to sit with him. They were small commodities, but they were things that provided some kind of normality to someone so fresh to the grounds. To someone so used to weekly therapy sessions, who suddenly had one.

He supposed it made sense. He'd need to learn to manage on his own eventually, anyway.

On that particular Wednesday afternoon, Garrett was walking the halls towards his last class. With a hand to the strap of his backpack, he weaved his way through the students as they rushed to make it to their classes on time. His steps were slow, his breathing a little weak as he did his best to keep it even. His muscles felt tense, and it might have seemed strange, but he felt the inevitable tracking towards him.

An unfortunately familiar set of faces. He felt the strain from taking another step shoot up his legs as those guys worked towards him with purpose. Two hands reached out, pushing evenly against his shoulders and knocking him back into the set of lockers behind him. Sudden pain shot up the length of his spine, the jolt forcing the air he held from his lungs. His head reeled back, the back of it knocking the cool metal behind him. They laughed, and stepped away. Like it was done. Like it was so easy to forget such a ritual. The familiar call that they'd see him after last period rang through the corridors of hastily disappearing numbers.

Frozen against the lockers, Garrett willed himself to take another breath. To fill his lungs with air before they burned bright enough to explode from his chest. All it was was a single move. A rise of his shoulders, too, with the sudden need. But he didn't. Or he couldn't.

In a moment, he was gone, swallowed by the shadows the afternoon sun's connection with a nearby water cooler provided.

The most interesting thing about Hammel was the consistently altering secondary map the shadow walker had access to. Certain things could be counted on in any given moment, but the random nature of it didn't take away from the understanding he could gather. Every step of the grounds walked enough to find familiarity in shadows he sunk into.

Where he climbed out of this maze was the most absolute spot of darkness the underlying shadow map provided. There were no classes in the art room of an afternoon; no meetings of the photography club to derail, and so he found life in the shadow prone dark room, the somewhat eerie red glow of the singular bulb providing enough form to find his way safely. Silent and perfectly comforting in its own way, a locked door kept the rest of the world out. He was on his own.

Arms wrapped around his legs tightly as he sat, his back against an adjacent set of shelves. Still and stagnant in total darkness, he pressed his forehead to his forearms. At least there, he could take that necessary inhale. He could breathe.

So there he stayed, again missing his final class. Always on a Wednesday.

[James Lawrence]

Addiction

Takes place in 2034.

James had been sitting in his car, unmoving for the past twenty minutes. Still in the parking lot near the local walk-in clinic. His hands held tightly onto the steering wheel, the skin around his knuckles pulled back and white with tension. With confusion, a hopeless feeling washing over him. Not that he'd ever admit that, even with his older age.

Time had been good to James Lawrence. His hair bore no signs of age, no betrayal of grey or white strands in perfectly styled hair. He was forty five now and lacked distinguishable lines on his features, save for a few around his eyes. Still arguably good-looking. No aches or pains to complain about. On the surface, everything was alright; still able to enjoy life, up until recently.

A pain in his chest. Breathing; a task James once found easy, was struggling with more and more each day. Some days it hurt more than others. But he was fine.

At least, that's what he had been telling himself.

Squeezing his eyes shut, James leaned forward until his forehead was pressed up against the steering wheel. One memory came to mind immediately; a thirteen year old boy, the youngest of the group, with wide eyes and an impression to make on his friends. Older friends. Back in New York, it wasn't uncommon in the neighbourhood he grew up in to see a group of boys sitting on the pavement, splitting a pack of cigarettes. Sharing a hit of nicotine. That day, James was offered one; who was he to say no?

The first cigarette. The first of many.

It was a habit he carried with him ever since, save for a few periods where he tried to quit to no avail. A burden he had known for over half of his life.

Lungs. Underneath his skin was where the damage had set in. Lungs that were weak from strain and tainted from years of nicotine abuse. A habit he had formed in his youth, and now paying the consequence in the form of breathing problems. The small clinic didn't have the tools or resources to conduct further tests on what the diagnosis was, but the doctor there said it was likely a side effect from the years of smoking. Most likely a case of asthma aggravated by the toxic air he breathed in everyday, by choice. Asthma was the best explanation for the way he grew winded after walking up a few flights of stairs or found it hard to keep pace with any physical activity. Weakened lungs; the damage from his dangerous habit had kicked in.

He lifted his head from the steering wheel, allowing his hold to loosen from the wheel. He glanced at the mirror, still managing to look put together and composed. Calm on the surface, a skill James had mastered from early on. But underneath, his lungs and issues with breathing told another story. A bleak reminder that he was at risk and susceptible to damage, just like anyone else. Capable of falling.

He exhaled sharply, reaching inside the pocket of his jacket on instinct and stepping out of the car, in a single fluid motion. It was going to be hard to keep quiet; to stay calm when he was destroying his body with each passing day. Each day, he drew closer to the accelerated end.

Despite knowing all of this, James lit up a cigarette.

[Samantha Emerson]

Tap Tap

    “Okay class. Warm-up questions are on the board. Take 5 minutes to answer them, and then I’ll be calling on people at random, so be prepared.”
   
     Samantha sighed quietly and began writing in her math notebook. Why is pre-calculus so difficult? She flipped back through her notes and worked out the problems, just in case. As it turned out, it wasn’t even necessary. The teacher didn’t give her a second glance. Samantha sighed again and turned to a fresh page as the teacher began today’s lesson. She tried to pay attention, she really did. But as she struggled through yet another problem in the day’s assignment, she felt her mind slipping away.
    
    Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
    
    The night was young, and the air warm. The stars were beginning to peek through and a playful breeze was tumbling through the meadow. Samantha could smell the lingering perfume of the late spring wildflowers. She could feel the springy earth beneath her toes as she danced along trails made by small creatures, simply reveling in the beauty and romance of the scene…
She was interrupted by a loud clearing of a throat. She couldn’t help but start at the harsh sound, and she looked up to see the teacher giving the class a stern look.

    “Reminder, class: This is silent work time. That means no noise, from your mouth or otherwise.”
Samantha quickly flicked her gaze around the room, wondering which student had bothered the teacher, and what he or she had done. No one was giving her any clues, however, and she returned to her work.
    
    Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
    
    She scowled at her textbook, specifically that problem that was deceptively simple-looking and far too difficult to try and solve. She skipped a good number of lines on her notebook paper and went on to the next problem, occasionally referring back to her notes as she went.
    
    Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

    A few stifled giggles peeped up from around the room, sounding all together unnerving in Samantha’s solitude. Wait… Finding herself daydreaming once again, Samantha gave the teacher a guilty look that he thankfully didn’t catch, since he was too busy glaring at the students again. People should just learn how to behave, and make it that much easier for people to make it through class, Samantha thought, an irritated expression on her face. The sooner she was out of here, the better. She had only a few math problems remaining, and not too much time. She commanded herself to focus, and hit it with her best shot.
    
    Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Taptaptataptaptaptap.

    “Sam….Sam…..SAMANTHA EMERSON!” This time her jump was accompanied by a small shriek of alarm. She looked indignantly to the teacher as her classmates tittered. She was about to ask just why her name had been shouted loud enough for all high heaven to hear and what had she done –

    “ –Stop tapping your pencil on the desk, please!” The teacher interrupted, fixing a thoroughly exasperated look on her.

    Oh….oops….

[Adam Deulane]

Inattentive

“Adam! I have, ah, come here because you communicated to me that you were unwell, and required my assistance.” Cee Cohen shuffled by the door. “What is it that I can do for you?”

The ball on the sofa grunted. Adam's apartment could be described kindly as Spartan, more accurately as neurotic, and the myriad symptoms of food poisoning had not helped its presentation. The mathematician struggled upright. Gray-faced, unshaven, and the center of an unfortunate-smelling cloud of wastebaskets and papers, Adam croaked a greeting. “What took you so long?”

“I encountered my landlord on the way out of my apartment,” Cee said as he edged into the living room.

Adam pushed a stack of graded papers across the coffee table. “These are for my algebra class. They'll need them to study for their...” He paused, his face went green, and he grabbed the edge of a wastebasket. He coughed, but the danger passed. Shaky and a little sweaty, he continued, “...midterm at the end of the week.”

Cee took the papers and stared fuzzily around the apartment. “I'll make sure they are delivered,” he assured his friend. “And I admire your devotion to returning homework in a timely manner. But what caused you to fall ill?” He looked suddenly down at the papers in his hands. “Is it contagious?”

“Bad takeout,” Adam grunted, horizontal on the sofa again.

Cee brightened up immediately at this. “Ah! That makes sense. Food left out unattended for long periods of time, as I have observed you to do while you're engrossed in a project, is prone to culture bacteria.” Cee noted that there were still several boxes of beef noodles standing out on the counter. “Would it be helpful if I disposed of these?”

“At an exponential rate of growth until the environmental plateau is reached,” Adam groaned. “Yes.”

[Dr. Sean Neville]

One Man’s Ceiling Is Another Man’s Floor

And there’s an alley
In the back of my building
Where some people congregate in shame.

“Son, do you want to come over for dinner tonight?”

Sean snapped his head up to look at his mentor. “Why do you ask?”

Robert Hopkins gestured at the empty conference room. The staff meeting had ended ten minutes ago, and the rest of the faculty had long since left, eager to return home to their families or to their free time outside of work. The psychiatrist had remained seated, thoughts elsewhere.

“I’m sorry. I must have zoned out.”

Robert nodded but said nothing, instead waited patiently for the younger telepath to respond to his invitation.

“I probably shouldn’t.”

The trainer took a moment to study the other man. “Do you want to talk about it?” Truthfully, Robert didn’t know what, precisely, was on the psychiatrist’s mind. Sean shielded far better than he had as a student, and both men shielded heavily during staff meetings. Yet something weighed on his protégé; it was unlike Sean to turn down an invitation for dinner unless he was out of sorts.

The psychiatrist faltered, silently weighing the pros and cons of accepting the invitation to lighten his emotional burden. Unconsciously, his finger touched the scale, making the decision for him. “No, I’ll be all right.” He rose to his feet and grabbed his notebook and pen. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Robert made no attempt to stop him, although he placed his hand on the younger man’s shoulder before Sean left. “Call me if you change your mind.”

“I will.” The psychiatrist offered his mentor a smile before leaving the staff room.

**************************************

You’re thirty-six years old, and what do you have to show for it?

One often over-looked problem with telepathy was the fact that being alone with one’s thoughts functioned the same way as talking to oneself.

Sean sat in front of the fireplace in the living room, warming himself. The outside temperature hovered around zero, as was typical for the beginning of the year. Nobody envied January in Pilot Ridge.

He had plenty to show for being thirty-six. He had a good job with steady income, medical coverage, and a pension. He got to work with his mentor now. He owned his house and found the mortgage reasonable. His parents were still alive. He had the most adorable nephew in the world. He had a wide circle of friends.

His best friend had slept with him. Again.

There was nothing wrong with that, in theory.

Once upon a time, they had been in love. They had shared an apartment in the Village, although they had been closeted to their families, who had helped them to pay for that apartment. The building had flipped to a co-op system several years ago; they would have made a lot of money on that flip. Enough to have paid for Josh’s education without relying on his parents to foot the bill. Perhaps with that type of financial security, they could have felt comfortable coming out of the closet to their parents.

Sean had come out to his parents, although not while they were together. Only later, when trying to explain why Josh had moved out and why he had fallen into depression.

Then he had pulled himself out of his depression and moved on. Josh had moved on. His friend made that plain readily enough, which was fine. The attorney was entitled to move on with his life, to find happiness with anyone or anything that he could. Josh deserved happiness.

Sean wanted Josh to be happy. He accepted that Josh wouldn’t choose him, and that he wanted someone else. Someone less overwhelming. Someone who wasn’t a telepath. Josh deserved happiness, and he wished him no malice for choosing another man. Just as he knew Josh wished him no malice for when he dated other people, mostly women at this point. He felt no jealousy at the thought of Josh dating other people or sleeping with other people.

He wanted Josh’s relationships to succeed.

Despite the fire crackling in front of him, a chill went through his body. Sean wrapped his arms around himself in a gesture intended to warm him as much as it was to self-soothe.

Josh was single again because of him. Josh’s boyfriend of less than a year (still a serious relationship even if they had not yet reached the one-year mark) had dissolved entirely because of him.

Saul had seemed nice enough. He had certainly appeared interested in and attracted to Josh. He had been by the other man’s side for much of the New Year’s party. That was understandable, as half of the people in attendance had been friends of Sean’s and Josh’s from college, while the other half had been (primarily) Josh’s coworkers, with a few members of the courts that Saul might know as well. It had been their first party together.

While Sean had been drinking with some of the other people in the main room, he had heard the argument – attuned as he was with his telepathy – and then Saul had left the party. Josh then drank far, far too much, encouraging him to do shots to keep up.

Then they made out when the clock struck midnight.

Then they woke up back in Josh’s apartment the next morning, and his friend had been so deeply ashamed.

Sean was ashamed as well.

“What’s wrong with me?” Josh had thought that to himself, and it was the last thought of Josh’s that Sean had overheard for the duration of his visit. From that point forward, he had shielded heavily. Far more heavily than he typically shielded around Josh. Far more heavily than he typically shielded when back in Manhattan.

Really, the question Sean asked himself was what was wrong with him. What was wrong with him that he allowed these encounters to continue? He had always told himself they were harmless, and, if he found deeper fulfilment, then so be it. Even the pain of rejection and shame the next morning did nothing to deter his inebriated self from enjoying the intimacy and the familiarity of the dance between them.

It wasn’t harmless. Even if their encounter had happened after Saul had broken up with Josh, this surely was the nail in the coffin of any hope of reconciliation between the two of them. That was his fault.

He was more responsible than Josh. He was more introspective and less impulsive than his friend. He was older. He should have declined, should have done something more helpful than offering a night of drunken comfort to his friend so soon after a sudden and unexpected breakup.

He desperately needed to talk to someone about this. But how could he drag Robert into his personal life this way? He was thirty-six years old, and he shouldn’t require his trainer to manage his personal life. No, Robert deserved that much peace, that much insulation from Sean’s drama.

But who else could he talk to?

Not his family members. Although his relationship with Josh was no longer a secret and had not been for several years, they considered it firmly in the past. They would be horrified to know about what happened on New Year’s Eve, and would be more horrified to learn that it had not been the first time.

Not his friends from Hammel, as they relied on him to be a pillar of strength. This type of reversal would undermine their confidence in him in other areas.

Not his friends from college; they were mutual friends of his and Josh’s, and he couldn’t do that to the other man. He had never wanted to cast him in a bad light. Not even immediately after their Break Up a decade ago.

Not Josh. Ideally, he should discuss this with his friend. So that they could process together and make peace with each other. But his friend never wanted to discuss it the morning after, and Sean couldn’t force that on him. He might not be able to provide what the younger man needed in a relationship, but the least he could do was not to rub his nose in the aftermath of their combined bad decisions.

He had nobody to talk to.

Instead, he rose from his chair and crossed to the bar at the end of the living room.

If he couldn’t talk to anyone, then at least he could drink alone until he no longer wanted to talk.