But, the last few weeks had been weighing heavily on his mind. The events from a month prior still haunting him when he lay his head against the pillow at night to try to go to sleep. He remembered seeing the expressions on their faces – the agony and pain that came with their actions afterwards, and the hint of trauma that remained behind in the memories. It’s all so vivid to him, yet still so foreign. His muscles ache and his knuckles burn when he wakes in the mornings, that sense of eagerness to find those who had harmed his friends never allowing him to catch a break. His breathing slows so that it’s ragged and heavy all at the same time, and he mentally curses himself for what seems like an eternity before he can pluck himself out from underneath the covers and pull himself out of bed. Some days are easier than others, though not one day has been the same. He grows restless from the lack of evidence, and moody from allowing the anger and tension to continue to build up. He figures he’s about to break. He feels like a ticking time-bomb, ready to go off.
Jason hits the floor with his knees and braces his palms against the cold marble as something angry, uncontrolled, and unfathomable builds in him. What he has done, he thinks, is not enough – and he drops his head further until he is prostrate on the floor with his forehead on the ground. It takes a minute before he opens his mouth and lets out a scream. There is no focus and his anger is all-consuming, all encompassing. He gives into the hatred, ignoring the hoarse strain of his throat with the taunt reflex of his muscles. Lightning strikes the roof and the sky rumbles so long and so hard that the very foundations shake. And then, when the moment is just right, Jason screams again – body taunt with night-terror sweat and his face slick with tears, … and the lightning screams with him.