It's hard to tell how long he's been asleep, but he doesn't feel rested at all. In fact, if it were possible he might feel worse than before. His joints ache, it's hard to move his limbs. Getting out of bed is a chore that takes him longer than it should.
I'm not. I'm not failing.
I just need a minute.
He makes it out of bed and to the mirror, and is greeted by a ghost of what he used to be. His face is gaunt and his eyes are dark and sunken. He could pass for the very monsters they're fighting. He snorts and turns away. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter.
It takes time for everything to come back to him. He remembers the dream-vision of Dawson dying, and though it was clearly not real he still texts him on reflex. U ok? He bites his nails and bounces his legs until he gets a response. Yep! biggrin
Other things trickle in. The knighthood. The battles against massive shadow beasts. Chel, Shun, Jack. His heart drops. Jack. God he remembers the dream about Jack. The way his weapon had slid across his throat so easily. How determined he had been to end the man's life. It was so similar to that day, had Chris lost control for an instant that could have been real.
He manages to make it to the bathroom before throwing up.
It was no secret to anyone, especially not himself, that he hated Jack. He couldn't trust him, didn't approve of him, and barely tolerated him. But killing him? Was Chris that ruthless? What he actually capable of taking his weapon to Jack's throat and ending his life? If that dream had anything to say about it, yes.
I could be. I probably would be, if it happened again.
Chris groans and rests his head on the seat of the toilet. He doesn't even have anything in him to throw up but his stomach still rolls uneasily. If he glances at them wrong, his nails look like there's blood embedded them. There's not, of course, but he sees it anyways.
Does Jack know? That on some level Chris wanted to kill him? Jesus Christ.
He pulls himself together and mechanically moves through the day. He barely registers anything outside his own thoughts and insecurities. He expects Jack to pop around every corner to confront him, but he doesn't. He expects someone to know, but no one gives him so much as a glance. The guilt eats at him anyways.
He thinks he sees Jack's body laying on the ground as he passes the training fields, and that breaks the final piece holding him together. He rushes back to his room and locks the door, like that's any barrier against the world. He can't, he can't. He can't keep walking around like he's not ******** up on the inside. He's ******** exhausted, mentally and emotionally, and he doesn't know how to contain all the ways he's ******** up in the last couple months. The vision of Jack is just the latest in the ways he's ******** losing it.
It's the first time he's ever heard Ava plead, he thinks.
I can't sleep. You know that.
He huffs and throws himself onto his bed, burying his face in a pillow. He barely resists the urge to scream into it. He doesn't want to take the ******** pills. He doesn't want to have the pills in his possession at all. Chel doesn't take any goddamn pills, and she's okay now. She's strong. She's seen worse s**t than he has and she's handling it. Why the ******** is it so hard for him to do the same?
I'm not overwhelmed. I can take it I'll be okay.
But he can feel the lie. He's not okay, at all. He sees Jack in the back of his mind, throat still gushing. He sees Chel, eyes black and snarling in his face. He feels the phantom sting of claws slighting up his face. He's in a constant waking nightmare, everywhere he goes. And he's tired. God he's so tired. He wants to be able to sleep for more than an hour or two at a time.
He gets up and digs the sleep aid out of his sock drawer. There aren't many left, after he's thrown so many down various drains. But maybe just one is enough. Maybe just one nights sleep will help.
He swallows the pill and battles the wave of disgust he feels with himself. He just needs it this once. He's not weak for giving in to it.
He falls asleep hard, and his dreams are filled with green. He's drowning in it. But he's resting.
