calling up rebellion [brance]

chapter six: the air of autumn

Girls, Bruce, you know girls.

His choppy breathing remained for quite some time as he lay unmoving, he'd never felt his stomach churn as much as it did now. The constant urge to gag from the warm flow of tears that weren't planning too stop anytime soon.

His chest felt tight and his throat was closing up on him as he struggled to get his breath out in-between his unstoppable tears. His nose was stuffed now, he sniffed a lot. Bringing his hand up to wipe it every few seconds causing it to begin to go a light red hue.

He began to feel himself slipping into his slumber, the constant force of trying to stop himself from releasing a loud noise every time a sob left his mouth.

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BRUCE WOKE UP feeling as horrid as ever, his head was pouncing as if it were his heartbeat and his throat was raw and dry, it felt scratchy every time he swallowed. It burned slightly, he was desperate for a drink.

He was sweating, the heat of the duvet making it worse. His palms were wet and he had drool from the left side of his mouth connecting to the pillow creating a slick wet patch. He was disoriented, the world coming to him in pieces, in sound and colour, scent and taste-- little fragments of a puzzle dropping into place until everything becomes lucid once more.

He couldn't tell whether it was light out or not, his eyes still adjusting to the darkness, sometimes tricking himself into seeing certain shadows that aren't actually there. His door had been opened, leaving it ajar. The hallway light was still switched off, meaning that - most likely - everybody was still asleep. He'd woken up early, again.

It was possibly raining at the patter on his window, although it seemed to only appear every few seconds. His mind was too asleep to realise it probably wasn't the rain, slipping from underneath his duvet and stepping onto the cold carpeted floor he'd begun walking towards his own door to shut it. It was quite creepy with no lights, it felt uneasy.

The floor gave him goosebumps, sending shivers down his spine.

CRACK -

Bruce immediately turned towards the sound, which seemed to be coming from his window. Who in their right mind would be knocking at his window at this time? - fuck who could even knock on his window, it's a 2 story house. He's on the second floor.

God, he was too tired for this. He brought his hand up to rub his bloodshot eyes. Taking uneasy, creaky steps towards the curtained window, that made the suspense a tad bit worse.

If he opened the curtain and found a face staring back at me he didn't think he'd recover. He shook his head at the thought, maybe this is what had woken him up? The clatter on his window, who he had initially thought was early autumn rain. He could hear the overgrown tree bash against his window along with the cracks of - what he had guessed to be - rocks. The heavy wind blowing about, it's like whoever was outside chose now on purpose.

Bruce reached his black out curtains, placing his hand on the thick material. Taking in a breath of luck, he slowly pushed it out of the way to peer at whoever was throwing rocks at his window. If it cracked his mother would never forgive him.

Just as he pushed the curtain from his eyesight, another rock smashed into the window directly where he was looking. He stumbled backwards at the fright, the curtain falling from his grip and closing again. Everything seemed to be scarier at night, or early morning, whichever it is.

Taking another look outside, the pitch blackness not making it easy. He had to push his face right up to the window, squinting as he tried to figure out who was standing on his front garden grass. He felt his stomach drop but still continued looking, trying to decipher the shape. It definitely wasn't that tall, he could see the silhouette have the rocks clutched in his hand. Was he seriously about the open the window and try and get a better look as too who was trying to receive his attention? Yes. Bruce Yamada was about to either make the most stupidest decision of his life or the most relieving decision of his life. There wasn't exactly a 50/50.