April 15, 2013
He knew, vaguely, the stages of grief and he knew he was going through them – albeit a bit quickly. He’d already accepted what he’d done, how could he not? And there had been the sadness and the tears. The denial had come, mostly due to shock over what had happened. Now though was the anger. All of the anger was directed at himself and the guilt was enough to twist his stomach in a most unpleasant of manners.
Alexandre had already told Lily the half truth – Johnathan was dead due to the terrorists. There was no body, it had been taken, that’s what he’d told Lily and Mrs. Miller. It wasn't a flat out lie, he couldn't tell those, but Bazzite had gotten into a fight with a senshi and than the shooter. And if he hadn't gotten into the fight with the senshi he might have handled the shooter just fine! There was no way for Alexandre to know for sure, and he didn't care right now, and the senshi hadn't listened when Bazzite had tried to explain things to them, so they'd earned their death anyway. As far as Alexandre was concerned was it was the senshi's fault for causing Bazzite to come to him for that promotion. And now Johnathan Miller as they’d known him, and Bazzite as he’d also known the boy to be, was gone – dead. There was no way to undo what he’d done and if there was he certainly didn't know it, and if so why hadn't it been used on the youma living in the rift? No, as far as he knew Johnathan Miller, and Captain Bazzite, was gone and never to return thus he was dead. He had learned that when he'd followed Bazzite to finish off his mothers shooter, he didn't even want to think on how the events there had shattered his hope.
He might know that the youma in the rift had a band, had a bar, and who knows what else – he hadn’t gone that deep into exploring on his own. But that didn't mean they retained the humanity they’d once had – when they’d still been alive and human. He knew all that was once Johnathan Miller had been effectively snuffed out and the act had been unwillingly perpetrated by himself.
The guilt had been eating at him and he’d spent countless hours awake, when he should have been asleep, roaming the house like some insomniac; wasn't that what he was now? The place he liked to go from coffee wasn't visited as much as it would normally be, he didn't care to have people seeing the dark circles forming under his eyes or the dark color of his eyelids. It was bad enough the nurses at the hospital saw it, but they figured it was because of his mother and having been there when it had happened, his father thought the same and tried to stay strong for him – and failed. He tried to keep Lily and Xander away, he didn’t need them getting too close and for him to shatter and fall to pieces in front of them and tell them everything – being a Negaverse General, killing people (senshi), having helped in killing a civilian, being the one to effectively kill Johnathan, and every other sordid affair he’d been involved in. He’d already told them he didn't want to move in with them, he needed time to himself though really it was a far cry from what he needed, and they’d of course not taken his words at face value – he wouldn't either had he been them and roles reversed. But at least they were letting him remain here, where he could roam all night.
Biting his lip as he passed the living room windows a hand slowly raised, as if it were some puppets limb and the puppet was just learning to move it's limbs on it's own, and pushed the curtains open just enough to peek out onto the dark street outside. No one walked around and no car lights could be seen. It was too late for those things and most people were where he should be – in bed sleeping. For a moment he felt a longing fill him but it was fleeting and gone a moment later. It had been a longing for his soft, and warm, bed. To be wrapped up in his blankets and let the comforting embrace of the sandman enfold him in a shroud of dreams and nothingness. But he knew it wouldn't come and if it by chance, by some stroke of luck, did come for him that he would be woken by nightmares. He didn't need to have suffered any to know that’s a fate he would face when he did sleep and dream. Another round was taken about the living room and a pass through the kitchen before the teen, fingers raking through now short ash blond hair, went to curl up in the corner of the living room couch. It was a habit, since he’d been a child, to curl up in the corner of a couch or chair when unwell. And while he wasn't sick he certainly wasn't well right now. Pulling the blanket that was on the couch toward him, he’d left it there earlier when he’d gotten up from the couch to begin another round of pacing, and wrapped it snugly about himself. The side of his face pressed into the fabric of the couch and his head tilted downward, inward toward his chest, and he kept his blanket about himself.
How could he have done something like this? He’d been given the task to keep Johnathan safe, and happy, by the boys own mother and he’d gone and ruined it all – ruined Johnathan! Shuddering as he felt a familiar, by now, stinting in his eyes start up. He’d – he’d watched his hand slip into the others chest; no different than the other times he’d done it, and then he’d sent his own power into him in the hopes of keeping his friend and giving him what he wanted. How was he to know he couldn't do it? It wasn't something he’d read or been told. How was he to know what he’d do? The idea of promoting someone had never come up! It was to his horror that he hadn't wound up with a light blue haired General but a monster. He’d pulled his hand out as soon as he could, and quickly when he could, he’d been surprised he hadn't yanked the remained of the others starseed from his chest completely – and maybe he should have! Would Johnathan want to live like this? Was he in there somewhere trapped – aware of everything?! Oh god he hoped not. Shuddering as his breath hitched he felt the welling of liquid in his eyes, noticed how everything got blurry. He hoped the other wasn't trapped in there suffering, watching from inside out as the youma's body teased the blond General. Did Johnathan hate him for this? For what he’d done to him? He knew what the youma said, called it his promotion when it wasn't. Another shudder and a small half gasp and half sob escaped the blond. The hands which had held the blanket about himself clenched now. Holding tightly to the blanket for some comfort – a comfort he didn't deserve and couldn't get from a simple blanket.
Guilt gripped him so tightly he almost got up to empty the contents of his stomach. He really hoped Johnathan wasn't in there – that he’d wiped him out entirely and left nothing remaining of Johnathan Miller. He hoped that the youma was just a parody, caricature, of Johnathan Miller. He knew it was wrong to wish that but wasn't it more wrong to wish for any of him to remain – trapped inside that twisted, queer, parody of his friend? Shaking his head, bangs scattering across his face, the tears fell down his cheeks leaving wet paths that would later dry, leaving that part of his skin feeling tight.
“I’m sorry…I didn't mean to…” The words were broken, filled with a deep sadness, as the teenager clung to his blanket and tried to nuzzle the couch as he sought some comfort. He’d once told a senshi – a princess – that all people were adrift at sea and that they never were to reach land as it was unattainable. He’d said that people just got closer and further from land – that it was destined to always be out of reach. And never in his life had he felt so far from land as he did now. It wasn't even on the horizon. He was lost with nothing but ocean all around him and he felt it so keenly it hurt like some deep wound dealt him.
He’d caused this. He’d hurt Johnathan – he’d killed him! He’d killed one of his own. He’d sworn, even if only to himself, to protect him and keep him safe and happy. What about that trip to Disney? Johnathan would never see Disney now, and this thought brought another sob – louder, from the blond.
“Oh god…Johnathan.”
He could claim he’d had no choice, that Johnathan hadn’t left him a choice, but it was a lie and he knew it. He had a choice and even if it would result in the loss of his friend he still had that choice! Price to pay or not. It was just that he hadn't liked that price – hadn’t wanted to pay it. He could say he was stressed, worn out, and emotionally compromised at the time, and he wasn't lying, but it was no proper excuse (in his mind) to use to justify snapping like he had and giving in. More tears fell as he shook and drew his legs up to his chest as he huddled in on himself. His chin found itself between the tops of his knees and the couch as Alexandre let the guilt, sadness, and other emotions war within him and wreak havoc upon his already emotionally damaged soul.
How could it be that the power within him had done this? This was a power he used for good, as super hero like as that sounded (he was able to mentally sob/laugh over this thought), do something so…so monstrous? Was it really a good power? Was the power of chaos which filled him really so good? His mind jumped to supply an answer – no. No it wasn't so good. Look what it had done to Johnathan! But then a voice reminded him that in war the good guys did some very monstrous things, and they were clearly the good guys! The questions and thoughts ran circles round his head with answers of all manner, so vastly opposing each other, chased after the questions in an attempt to answer the questions which wouldn't leave him alone.
He could, maybe, power up and go down to the rift and seek answers, seek out…Bazzite…but he didn't. He hadn’t been down there yet – hadn't even powered up since. He just…he couldn't bring himself to it. It felt like he’d be embracing what had just caused such a heinous crime. It felt dirty and wrong. And so he didn't power up – hadn't powered up – and he honestly wasn't sure when he would again. He didn't know a lot right now.
As the questions and ever chasing, hopelessly chasing, answers ran a marathon about his head he got up slowly. His blanket held tightly about himself he slowly went up stairs. Maybe it was time to try and sleep – even if the nightmares did come. Didn't he deserve them? He’d gone too long without sleep and he just…he needed the darkness which sleep could perhaps offer him as some small comfort in this time of such chaos.
“Maybe I’ll be deserving enough of sleep’s comforting embrace – just for tonight even.” Whispered to himself as he wiped at his eyes, the blanket cleaning away the tears and the tracks they’d made on their decent down his face.
As Alexandre shuffled into his room he tried not to wake Cadha. At least let him get some sleep. Nodding his head, mentally, and drew the covers of his bed down before crawling in. The blanket he’d been wrapped in till now came open and was laid out on top of the comforter, which covered his bed. Might as well keep it close at hand no telling when I'll get a nightmare and take to pacing again came the grim thought as he laid down and drew the sheet, comforter, and blanket over himself. Shifting to lay on his side, face nuzzling into his pillow, he closed his eyes and hoped for a peaceful sleep; even though he knew he didn't deserve it.
“I’ll think on everything tomorrow.” Came the whisper to the darkness. “For tonight let me sleep.” And a prayer for sleep.
And tomorrow he would think about it – everything. He had to sort himself, and his emotions, out. He couldn't continue on like this. But for now…for now sleep seemed appeased, whether by his suffering and guilt or by something else, as it took the exhausted teen into it's embrace.
Word count: 2,205
(This is set the night after he turned Bazzite into a youma. So later on in the day from the rp with Caleb and Jett.)
