" ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ɪ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴍʏꜱᴇʟꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʀᴇᴇᴘꜱ, ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ᴍʏ ᴍɪɴᴅ ᴘʟᴀʏꜱ ᴛʀɪᴄᴋꜱ ᴏɴ ᴍᴇ "
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IN WHICH caleb moore struggles to discern hatred from love while harbouring intense feelings for mike wheeler and has no idea which is which when the time comes to face h...
in which caleb moore breaks down and an unexpected ally is the only one there to pick him off the ground
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photograph | madmax
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〖 i can't get used to living here while my heart is broke, my tears, i cry for you 〗
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CALEB PANTED as he shut the front door of his rundown bungalow behind him frantically, throwing a quick glance around the darkened house and sighing in relief when he saw that his foster father had yet to return home from his weekly bar crawl.
He ran straight for his room, slamming the door behind him and throwing his messenger bag to the side before taking a seat on the edge of his small twin bed, running his hands through his hair anxiously.
It was only now, when his mind had time to settle and he had reduced his panicked movements that the weight of all he had endured that day settled on his shoulders.
He stood to his feet and began pacing around the room, willing himself to practice the breathing exercises Owens had taught him when his throat began to constrict. When they didn't work, he brought his hand down to his wrist and swore when his bracelet wasn't there - it had been a year since it was taken from him and yet he still struggled with the fact that something that had once brought him so much comfort was now gone - taken.
He brought his hand to the chain on his neck instead, tracing over his sister's name until the pad of his thumb went numb.
Caleb took quick, heavy breaths and leaned against the dresser on the other side of the room that he had brought with him to the new house, staring intensely at the scratched mahogany surface. He raised his eyes slightly and was met with the collection of photographs and miscellaneous objects he kept on his dresser, focusing on the picture of the Party on their first Christmas together after Dustin moved to Hawkins in hopes of calming himself down. It didn't work and he turned to his bathroom door instead, clenching his eyes shut tightly in discontent.
Eventually the incessant whirring of his brain won the battle against his better judgement, and he shoved the bathroom door open harshly, pulling his mirror cabinet open and rifling around for the medication he was looking for, various containers and rectangular boxes falling into the sink as he did so.
He just needed his mind to be quiet - just for a few moments.
Caleb clutched the package of Diazepam in his hands and pulled the syringe and the tiny bottle of orange liquid from the box, pulling the sleeve of his sweater up to his elbow as he struggled to fill the syringe with his shaking hands. He grunted in frustration when his limbs refused to co-operate with him, throwing the glass bottle and the syringe into the sink and sitting on the edge of the bathtub, covering his face with one hand and punching his thigh repeatedly with the other when he felt the overwhelmed tears running down his cheeks. Useless, pathetic, piece of shit.
