Chapter Text
Bodhi was starting to get overwhelmed.
His hands prickled hotly, and he flexed them repeatedly to try and rid himself of the uncomfortable sensation. At the same time, the ever-present ringing in his ears seemed to rise in volume. He could usually ignore it if there was other noise to distract him, but sometimes it became too much, piercing his brain as it did now.
His – therapist? Counselor? The woman he spoke to three times a week – had said it was normal for him to feel like this sometimes; the combination of post-traumatic stress, the complete loss of his vision, and the lasting damage to his hearing in the form of tinnitus was enough to make anyone prone to overstimulation, according to her. She had said that when he began to feel like this, he should find somewhere quiet to be alone for a while and ‘decompress’.
Decompress. That wasn’t something that had ever been suggested by the counselors in the Imperial Navy. Bodhi remembered during his pilot’s training, every cadet had attended mandatory sessions with the counselors to learn compartmentalization. The counselors had always seemed cold, and – in Bodhi’s experience – somewhat bored with the sessions. They had never shown any real interest in the mental health of the cadets, only that they learned the techniques to suppress any problems they might have after carrying out their future missions.
He much preferred the kind, warm Togruta woman he spoke with now.
Bodhi took her advice and left his table in the mess hall, walking with his Alliance-issue cane in front of him. He was still getting used to being blind; for the first few weeks after he had recovered enough to walk he’d been assigned an assistant, who had helped him learn how to take care of himself and get around without his sight. Davith Alstor, a young man four years his junior, had been with him night and day, and had been proud to present Bodhi with the cane he now used as soon as he was ready for it.
Said cane buzzed in his hand as he made his way to his quarters; three buzzes, signaling that he had come to a three-way intersection in the hall. He turned right, then left, then right again, and soon his cane buzzed once more, longer this time, telling him that he had reached the door to his room.
Bodhi entered and locked the door behind him. He found his bed and sank into it, breathing deeply. He lay there for several minutes, trying to relax, but he was fidgety and tense and his tinnitus was making itself impossible to ignore. He couldn’t shake the upset feeling, so he rolled onto his side, reached into his nightstand drawer and retrieved his datapad. Music hadn’t failed him yet.
As he powered on the device, Bodhi considered what he should listen to. He had created several different playlists, most of them instrumental tracks blended with nature sounds. His favorite was one he had named ‘wind playlist’. Each song had a beautiful woodwind orchestra, mixed with the sound of distant, howling winds and the rustling of leaves. It made Bodhi imagine he was on top of a mountain, looking down at the forest below.
(He had other playlists for bad days. They were considerably less peaceful.)
But he didn’t think the wind playlist would help today; his skin felt oversensitive, and his clothes and soft blankets seemed coarse, rough, and irritating against it. He didn’t want even the idea of any sensation across his flesh, not even a cool breeze.
So he pressed a button on the side of the datapad and, upon hearing the quiet beep that indicated the device was listening, selected one of his lesser-used options.
“Cave playlist.”
The datapad beeped again, and the music began to play.