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 Posted: Sun Sep 11, 2016 9:39 pm
light left in your eyes
As much as he's been told it's not his fault, as much as Chris knows that he in theory couldn't have stopped it, he still feels that it was his fault Shiloh and Thorne were taken. That he didn't notice that it was someone else soon enough, that they were gone for so long, that he didn't move fast enough to find them.
This guilt sits with him for awhile and it stays and stays and stays until - until Chris is afraid that they're gone again.
Because Melany isn't dead, not really, not because of those- whatever. She was still out there though and it was only five days but it had only taken apparently one for them to disappear the first time and it's the thought that drives him to Thorne's place. To stand outside his door, to fiddle with the sleeves of his cardigan.
To wonder if to knock.
His face still looks a wreck, his lip split from where he had been punched and his face sporting an impressive black eye (it was now at a stage where it had stopped swelling, just sporting a lovely collection of purple and red around his eye and up the side of his face), with some faint bruising on his cheek and he wonders if Thorne would even want to see him like this. If Thorne would want to see him at all.
But he's scared, and he's not sure if his friend is even there, and so he knocks and says, "It's me."
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Posted: Sun Sep 11, 2016 10:03 pm
light left in your eyes
When it gets bad, Thorne goes away.
Not just physically. Aleksy doesn't need to see the trauma, the worst parts of it. He makes it better, he makes it quiet, in the silent dark with his plants and Laika and his calming arms. But sometimes he's gone, and when he's gone -
Thorne will not tie him down with this.
The warehouse is new. Everything is new. Ruination, Corr had called it. Rebirth. Thorne looks at it and sees Melany's handwriting on the walls. Corr's laughter spilling out from the sink. Every person in the crowd could be either one of them, because they let her live. Because they tried to bring her back. Because she could be here - maybe she is - maybe she will take him back, and -
The panic attacks are frequent. The dissociation comes in waves. Sometimes, Thorne desperately wants to go back to it, to the quiet trauma and trial and timeline of living beneath Melany's thumb. Because at least in that cage he knew where she was. He knew that he could please her, sate her, if only by baring his throat.
Here, she is a ghost. Alive in his dreams. Alive somewhere on the streets.
Thorne has been alone for seventeen hours. His knuckles are skinned open, bleeding, his chest bruised the same as the ugly mottling color beneath his right eye. His heart atrophies in frequent spurts. The warehouse is his, it's his, it's his. He tries to make it his. But he can't stop thinking that Corr made it. That he was living in a borrowed world.
When Chris knocks, Thorne is two seconds away from grabbing his keys and driving his car onto the nearest highway until the speedometer breaks or he crashes.
He opens the door, has learned the trick that makes it what it is. There are no lights on inside. The darkness drips everywhere like acid, but if he turns on the lights, won't he have to face himself?
"Chris," he says, and his voice is raw and soft and low. This isn't sleeplessness. This is night terrors, screaming into the dark. His hands shake, and he palms his forearm with one down to the wrist in a painful gesture of force and nail to try and stop it. He steps forward, and then pulls to a halt. He wants to touch him, but his hands are dirty, dirty, dirty.
"I'm - " He starts. His voice tangles. "You're here."
And it's like a prayer that's been answered. A desperate wordless answer to a question shouted into the dark. You came back.
But he thinks about all of the things trapped in his throat at the sight of the other. You're here, a part of him still screams, because he had thought after the ball, Chris would wake up. Would know to stay away, from this. From him. And maybe he still would. Maybe this is a finite end.
Savage dog, Corr had called him. And he was right.
"You shouldn't have to see this," Thorne says and moves to step back, and his voice is acid, burning with self degradation. "I'm sorry."
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Posted: Sun Sep 11, 2016 10:15 pm
light left in your eyes
He's almost terrified Thorne won't open the door, while he's standing there and waiting. Or worse, that it will be Melany that will open the door. That it will be the other, standing there, taunting him.
He had seen him die. But he didn't know if it was real.
It was hard to go out in public, hard to do this. Chris hasn't left his house in two days, hasn't slept in those two either. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees Adoelle, with her throat slit. With the blood on her gown, on that other being's gown.
He sees the Other in all his monstrous glory, he sees Shiloh's other taunting him, he sees them all dead.
He sees his hands wrapped around Thorne's neck and he's terrified.
He's about to - he doesn't know. Not leave, perhaps, but maybe just sit on Thorne's porch if he doesn't answer. See if Thorne shows up, if someone else shows up, if he has to call the police to make sure that Thorne is alive, even though it's dusk. It's a blessing that Thorne opens the door, stands there.
Chris knows without a doubt it's him and something in his chest eases.
"Yeah," He breathes, his eyes dropping to Thorne's hands. He realizes that his own are shaking slightly, where he's fussing with the sleeves of his cardigan. He can't seem to make them stop.
But Thorne's there and it's fine, it's fine because it's Thorne. Because Chris hadn't ******** up a second time, hadn't let it happen. He's alive.
He's there.
Chris steps after him almost instinctively and there's a tremble in his voice as he goes to cut Thorne off, says, "No don't I-"
Pauses, breathes.
"I needed to see you."
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Posted: Sun Sep 11, 2016 10:24 pm
light left in your eyes
I needed to see you, Chris says, and it is like Thorne's world is rewriting itself from a new angle. He feels raw and unstrung, like a piece of art that didn't finish right, that got painted over. He feels the weight of Chris's words and every instinct in him is to deny that Chris should even want to.
To see this. Him. What he is and has become.
Melany picked him apart, piece by piece, bone by bone. She put him together again, and now some night he palms the places where his ribs had broken or his skin had been cut and bled and thinks, there's something in him, something that isn't his but hers.
Some nights he leaves bruising crescents in his skin, in his back, in his thighs and chest and neck from trying to claw that part of him away. That part that now belongs to her, useless and fragmented, obedient to the snap and shake and soft sweet caress of her voice.
"You're real, right?" Thorne asks, his voice breaking, and hates himself for it. He raises a hand, and it shies just an inch away from Chris before retreating. Filthy animal, Melany's ghost says in his head, how dare you touch anything with those hands.
"This isn't - " He sucks in a sharp breath. Being with Aleksy had helped him - to stabilize reality. To understand when he was in a night terror, when it wasn't real. But here and now, he can't bring himself to touch Chris because he'll ruin him. And he wants to. Oh, god, how he wants to.
"I can't tell sometimes - here - when things are real and when it's a - " nightmare, Thorne nearly says, and chokes on the word, "when I'm dreaming."
The explanation is raw and exhausted. He looks at Chris and his heart aches. If this is happiness, he does not understand the weight of it anymore, or why it hurts too much to feel like joy. He doesn't understand anything anymore. Why did they save her? Where is she now? Is this a dream - is Corr waiting to kill Chris in front of him for a show, the way he had so many times before in the nightmares in the past few days?
Thorne pauses, forces himself to breathe.
"It's cold out," he says instead of anything at first, because the enormity of the words inside of his throat feel like they are choking him and he doesn't know how to say them out loud. "Do you trust me enough to come inside?"
He steps backward, tentative. But then he sways on his feet and adds, quietly, desperately, his voice raw and low, "I needed to see you too."
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Posted: Sun Sep 11, 2016 10:38 pm
light left in your eyes
He wonders, sometimes, if that this isn't something he should be dealing with. If he is an impostor, with all his guilt, that he should pick himself up and deal with it like everything was normal. That he was faking it all.
It eats at him, eats at him slightly now as he stands in front of Thorne.
It was an impulse that brought him here, a desperate clawing need, the urge to move and see. Prove, prove, prove. Make sure. He hadn't thought of anything beyond that. He hadn't known what to do after Thorne had opened up the door, had proved he was there. Now he stands there and he's so - unsure.
"I am," Chris says and his voice is rough, unused. He hasn't talked to anyone in days, his phone somewhere in the bag that's currently slung over his shoulder. Probably dead, probably filled with messages from Jer and Alg, wondering if he's okay and alive. He can't bring himself to want to charge it.
He wants to take Thorne's hand in his own but instead he stands there, hands shaking as he fusses, pulls. "It's real. I'm real. It's..."
His mouth twists in thought for a moment, trying to think of something to prove the validity of reality. To prove it really wasn't a nightmare. "The first time I met you it was over cupcakes. And you kept count of how many I ate. I heard that dreams can't really have details like this, so..."
He trails off, feeling a little stupid. "It helps me when I- when I can't sleep. You know. When I see the stuff."
Before I come to you, is the unspoken statement.
He looks at Thorne and he sees him exhausted and something in him hurts, scared for him. Scared for both of them, for the future. He can't think of anything beyond now, he can't think of anything except sleepless nights and the fear that something will happen again.
"I've always trusted you," Chris says, automatic. Truthful. "I still trust you."
In another time he would have smiled at Thorne here. But he's exhausted and Thorne's exhausted and so instead he just looks at Thorne, just nods.
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Posted: Sun Sep 11, 2016 10:50 pm
light left in your eyes
Chris speaks, and everything in Thorne is wired to the sound of it. He looks exhausted, not simply from lack of sleep but guilt. A guilt that Thorne knows, feels growing deep in the shadow of his bones. He looks like he has been beaten, and Thorne remembers Corrs fist colliding with the teacher, throwing him to the ground.
The sudden, animal urge inside of him to protect Chris, is so violent that it nearly makes him breathless, nearly makes him double over from the weight of it. He wants so badly to take it back - all of it - that for a moment there is nothing but the darkness surrounding them and their breath, ragged from sleeplessness in tandem.
"Alien vodka," Thorne retorts, and there is a sort of laughter spun into the words, hallowed and exhausted but there all the same. "I think you beat my record. I remember. I..."
He closes his eyes and opens them. His head tilts as he watches Chris. He remembers dancing with him, that moment spent lost in a timeless place full of stars. But now the skies above them are overcast and cloudy. Dusk is falling to night and that memory is precious. It burns brightly out here in the dark.
"Chris," he says again, softer this time and rough and raw. It is primal, it burns with a protective want, an edge like want and guilt and shame stitched together. "It looks like both of us are sleepless yet again. And this time it's my fault."
He closes his eyes and ducks his head. his shoulders bend, slump, and he forces himself to unwind his arms from where they've laced tightly together again.
"Even now?" Thorne asks, but he cannot look, will not look. Because Chris saw him back at the ball. Chris saw him in the alcove. Chris saw him - kill Corr. His fingers stretch and tighten, curl sharply into his palm.
That blood is on you, Melany's voice says quietly in his ear.
Thorne steps back into the darkness of the apartment. Nothing has changed since Chris was there before, but to Thorne it is like navigating new territory. Even Millie, hidden in his bedroom, knows it better than he does.
He settles on the couch, crossing his legs and leaning against the soft cushions. He rests his head against the top, but his eyes trail back to Chris. Inquiring. Tired, but -
He reaches out a hand.
"It's not alright," he says, because he has to - has to acknowledge this between them before they can even move on, "It's not alright. None of it."
He pauses, shudders, and his voice becomes soft and stable. It isn't a question or a demand. Chris can still walk away if he wants.
"But I told you I was selfish. I told you... I was selfish beyond reason," he says, "So stay with me. Just for now - for as long or as little as you want."
Stay because I need to remember what this is like, he doesn't say out loud. Stay, please.
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Posted: Sun Sep 11, 2016 11:15 pm
light left in your eyes
He's exhausted, but Chris' eyes cast over Thorne and he knows that whatever he's feeling is nothing in comparison. There's another burn of shame there too but it isn't fresh, doesn't hurt. Just a reminder of what's there and he more than anything itches to wipe it away. To try and make that it didn't happen.
But instead he stands there and he tries to pretend that he's fine, that this is fine. That his face doesn't still hurt when he touches it, that the bruises in the mirror don't remind him of anything. Most black eyes are an accident, he read once, and he wants more than anything to pretend that this was one.
But that'd be a disservice to Thorne.
"Did I?" Chris asks and there's almost a hint of amusement in his voice. An echo of a smile. But he's tired, so very tired, that he can't bring himself to make it.
Chris, Thorne says, and god he could rewrite himself with just that. It sounds like hope, sounds like Chris is something that is good in this world.
"It's not your fault," He says softly, "It was never your fault."
It was his, god it was his, and he'd say it a million times over to make sure Thorne got it. The blame and burden to stay on his shoulders, to make him drive out here to make sure Thorne wasn't gone.
His hands still on his sleeves, drop to his side.
"Of course now," Chris says. Wants to say I hurt him too. I wrapped my fingers around his neck, I made those bruises.
But the words don't come out, they jumble and trap in his throat. Nearly choke him.
So he says nothing else as he follows Thorne inside, navigates the room by instinct even in the dark.
He's been here so many times before, but all of it feels wrong now that he's with Thorne. Now that he sees the echo of time stolen with someone that wasn't him and the guilt is there again, choking him, a falter in his step. Should he be there? Should he do this? The door is still there and he could just.
He stops and he looks at Thorne on the couch and -
Chris closes his eyes for a minute and for once, he doesn't see images behind his eyes. He doesn't see death, or destruction, or that damned court. All there is is the darkness and peace and for a second, he feels like he is fine. Rested.
He opens his eyes and on that couch he sees home.
It's with less hesitation that he walks over, that he crosses the space and sits next to Thorne, closer than he would have dared minutes ago. Takes Thorne's hand and grasps it tightly, turns it over and gently traces his thumb over Thorne's knuckles.
"It's not," He agrees, staring at Thorne's hand still. But he looks up at Thorne and for the moment, looks more awake than he has in days. Looks alive, for a second. "It seems you've forgotten I'm selfish too. I'm staying."
He rests his uninjured side of his face on Thorne's shoulder, takes a deep shuddering breath as something in him loosens.
"I'm staying," He repeats, "For however long you need."
He's home.
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Posted: Sun Sep 11, 2016 11:48 pm
your favorite scar
The fact is this: Thorne has not slept in four days.
The fact is this: he is terrified of trying.
He has imposed on Aleksy enough already, in those hours and days spent in the aftermath of being released. He has imposed on him to the point of guilt and fear, but he keeps coming back anyways, like a dog that has never learned how to stay away.
But these nights he is trying to reconcile himself with the space of the warehouse. He tries to learn it like it's his own, like he could come to own it the way that Corr had. He has rewritten some of its coding already. The untamed bed finally has its own room. The kitchen is full of his own spices. He has rearranged the plants so that they are all happy in their places. A small wall of books is starting to grow in all four corners of the empty open space.
Chris's presence helps, and sometimes he nearly feels level and solid, less a ghost and more a person. It's not alright, and he understands that, because he still has trouble breathing or opening doors without thinking he will find Melany. He still doesn't know when it's alright to eat, and he is still terrified of sleep.
The fact is this: sleep finds him anyways, cruel and ruthless, as he lays half covered on his sheets in the bedroom after a shower, watching the stars glow outside the window with empty light. They are light-years away, he thinks distantly, even the brightest ones are so far we'll never reach them. So far that it is dead light, reaching back to us.
And he wonders, sometimes, if that isn't a reflection of stars but himself. Most days his body doesn't feel wholly his, and it is a horrifying revelation.
Chris is somewhere in the apartment, he knows, and he has offered him free reign of the entire place. Chris, who stays even when he doesn't have to. Chris, who has haunts in his eyes because of Thorne, because of what someone wearing his face has done. The crime lays in his bones like it has been carved there. It is a guilt that he lives with every day.
He thinks about joining him. His last thought must be that -
But sleep is a riptide and it comes unexpectedly, so fast that the darkness is almost welcoming before it comes crashing down. Thorne doesn't know how long he's in it, that dead, empty space of shadow and silence, before Melany reaches out and curves an open palm against his cheek.
She is bloody in one moment and shifts in the next, clean and beautiful.
Corr's laughter covers the sound of her words, her mouth curved open against a beautiful, Euclidean face. He is suddenly knelt before her, in this dream that is suddenly a cage. She runs her fingers over the sharp planes of his back and the tattoos that hide scars.
They burn.
Someone presses him down, their palm curved against his cheek, and he feels the marble of Melany's floors. He is back in her Court.
They drag the knife tip of their finger over his tattoos, his skin.
Corr is laughing harder now, closer and closer. Melany's voice hangs around his throat like a noose.
You thought you could run?
There is a distant part of Thorne, waking but paralyzed, that can hear the sound of his voice shattered open and banging off of the concrete and wood of the warehouse. He blinks and he can see his room, the light glazing in from the empty space beyond it, the winter plants in the windowsill. But Melany is a heavy force on his back, crushing his lungs. He can feel the spider edge of her fingers on his back and he is there - he is with her - he is back and he doesn't know if what he sees or feels is the dream. She leans in close to him, he can feel her breath, her hatred, like a cruel second skin.
You're still running, she says.
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Posted: Mon Sep 12, 2016 12:15 am
sending out flares
Chris has to make a trip to his apartment, when it happens.
It's not something in particular he wants to do, even though it's a necessity at this point. He's managed to wear all of the clothing he brought over from his first trip (along with Bergie, who was doing just fine with Millie) and he knows that he needs to collect mail and his laptop and water the plants and bring over more clothing so that he isn't washing the same 3 shirts in Thorne's washing machine for another week. Needs to grab his phone charger and some books, maybe some stuff so that he can cook for them too. He's put it off for long enough and now would be as good a time as any to get it all.
So Chris resigns himself to the fact and puts on his shoes, pulls on a light sweater and calls out to Thorne that he's going over to his apartment.
What Chris didn't remember was that he hadn't slept in four and a half days, just barely trickling into five. (A record that would come close to challenging finals week, he'd realize later)
To say the trip was a disaster was a bit of an understatement.
It had started out fine, with Chris managing to pack most of what he wanted in his bag. Clothing to last him at least a week, laptop and all his assorted chargers for it and his phone, mail collected and put in a pile, plants watered. He's trying to decide between a couple of cookbooks when he sees something out of the corner of his eye, just on the edge of his vision. He turns and looks up and it flickers away, but it unsettles him enough that he decides to just take both books. To try and move faster, get out of his apartment fast and back to Thorne's.
The thing about Chris was that after three and a half days of no sleep, he started to see things. Started to confuse what was real and what wasn't. The body is punishing of those who don't sleep and Chris wasn't immune to that.
What he was fond of forgetting was that after five days, not even Thorne was as helpful of getting rid of them. By then, Chris' body was trying to force him to sleep.
Chris hit five days on his trip to his apartment.
It's on his drive home that everything starts to set in. He sees Thorne's double on the side of the road, leering at him, caught halfway between monster and man. He sees the court, the burning man.
Sees Adoelle, caught in her moment of death, soundlessly asking Chris something.
He's less than graceless in his fumble up back to the apartment, to his banging on Thorne's door, caught in pure panic. He can feel them crowding in on the edge of his vision, can see them stumbling closer.
Thorne's double in particular is reaching out his hands.
"Thorne!" Chris begs, sounding panicked, sounding desperate as he cant get in.
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Posted: Mon Sep 12, 2016 4:42 pm
sending out flares
Thorne is playing Neko Atsume when Chris comes back to him on a blustery day in late September. It's the only thing that drowns away the noise inside of his head after so many days sleepless when Chris isn't at home and he isn't breaking himself on a run or driving so fast it's a miracle he hasn't been pulled over yet.
His head snaps up at the sound of fists on his door, Chris's voice on the other end, and he is nothing but fear and motion, protective want crushing him like a boot against his windpipe as he moves. His phone crashes to the floor, the cats pelting for cover as he crosses the space of the warehouse at a hungry dash.
His hands fumble the locks. He can jimmy it easier, he knows this, but panic has him blind for a minute before he is tearing open the door. Chris is standing before him, desperate and half-wild. And for a long moment, Thorne thinks that this is it - that they've been found, the world has started spinning again. Melany is here. Corr is here. They're coming - they're coming - they're -
No, a cold voice snarls in the back of his mind, you killed him. It's over. You killed him.
Thorne doesn't think.
"Chris," he says, and his voice is low and raw and aching. It wants to protect so desperately that it burns in his throat. He looks at Chris and his eyes are wild with a different sort of creature's gaze. There is an animal inside of his chest. It claws at him, desperate to get free. And that raw want, that need to protect, makes his arms ache and his entire body wrestle itself not to simply pull Chris into his own.
But he does touch him. He presses his hands against Chris's neck, his thumbs scraping the others cheeks, and he pulls him closer.
"Chris," he says again, "I'm here, it's - "
It's not alright, he knows that. It might never be alright. Thorne chokes on the words but he keeps going anyways because he doesn't care if he burns or fades or swallows glass, as long as Chris is okay. He has to be okay.
"I'm real," he says again like a conviction, because he knows that Chris hasn't been sleeping. He remembers every word from that night. I start seeing things. Was it happening now? Thorne wants to drag him closer, closer.
"I'm here."
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Posted: Mon Sep 12, 2016 9:04 pm
your favorite scar
Chris spends most of his time in Thorne's apartment now.
It's not that he's trying to stay as much, to be imposing - his own words, not Thorne's, never Thorne's - it's just that Chris is... afraid. Not for himself, god no, Chris got off clean by all accounts. He's scared for Thorne, he's scared that one day he will leave and Melany will appear. That Thorne will be gone again, that Chris didn't manage to get and keep him out. It bothers him enough that he doesn't enjoy leaving the apartment for longer than a day, doesn't enjoy losing Thorne in the apartment. He may have free run of the warehouse and while he does things separately from Thorne, he always has some sort of idea on where he is. On how he is.
It's the only thing that keeps him alright, really.
Because the guilt coils around his bones if he thinks too long, about Shiloh and about Thorne. About Adoelle, who he couldn't save, couldn't bring back home. Who died there in that court, young and beautiful and for something greater than them all, who shouldn't have been involved in it all.
Chris who failed it all. Chris who didn't even know if he did the right thing.
Because he didn't think about it much but the doubles words haunt him, Thorne's and Shiloh's both. How he had failed before, how he hadn't noticed. How he was selfish, a desperate creature who wanted more than he had gotten it. It sits and it rots in him, eats him from the inside out curls around his bones.
He wants to forget. He wants to be better. He wants to not be bothered, because he had suffered nothing.
So he sits in Thorne's apartment and keeps and eye on him and thinks, hopes, that he's doing it right. That he can keep this guilt away. Sometimes, sometimes he manages to forget about it at all.
But not on nights like these.
Chris knows Thorne is trying to sleep, knows that he's in his bedroom and encouraged it even. It had been four days, by his count, and Thorne desperately needed the sleep. Chris himself is on the couch, curled up around a pillow and watching a baking show on netflix. It's peaceful enough and for a second Chris is able to breath easy, possibly doze a little.
Thorne's scream breaks the silence.
He's up in a minute, scrambling across the room, everything forgotten as he breaks into a run for Thorne's room. He's there in an instant, crossing the room in long strides to get by Thorne. His hands hover for a second, unsure, but he places one on Thorne's neck gently.
"Thorne!" He says, trying to get his attention, trying to get him to see Chris. Whatever he's seeing, it's not Chris and not the apartment and he doesn't know what to do. Not really. "Thorne! It's me, it's just me!" He tries again, desperate.
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Posted: Mon Sep 12, 2016 9:27 pm
sending out flares
He sucks in a desperate breath when Thorne opens the door, relief and terror running through him all at once. Because it's Thorne, safety comfort home, but god it's Thorne and he hadn't thought and he had brought them all to the apartment. Had brought all the horror with him there.
Something in him knows that, rationally, this isn't happening. Couldn't be happening. Adoelle was dead and in Other Ashdown, The Burning Man didn't come to regular Ashdown, the court was restricted to the Otherworld.
But all he has is senseless panic going for him, adrenaline high and brain unable to shut down, so it's jumping to irrational conclusions. Jumping to the fears that Chris isn't able to keep down, playing on them in an attempt to make him stop. But Chris has never been good at listening to his own body.
"Thorne," He gasps and for a second he thinks he feels the brush of the other's fingers before he realizes it's just Thorne. He goes easily into his touch, beginning to tremble. He wants to protect Thorne, he wants Thorne to protect him. A war in him, unable to decide.
I'm real, Thorne says, and something in Chris clicks. Remembers that Thorne killed his double, that he watched it. For him to be behind him is impossible, and yet.
"There's- is anyone behind me?" He whispers, but even now he can see them out of the corner of his eye. A leer here, a wisp shadow there. Nothing is fading, everything as real as before, and Chris is paralyzed in his terror.
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Posted: Mon Sep 12, 2016 9:40 pm
your favorite scar
It's not just you, Thorne thinks. It's not just you -
Because he can hear someone at the edge of his world, breaking in, shattering down the ugly mirror of the dream. Melany doesn't laugh, but his body is burning, every bone that had been cleaved apart into splinters reliving the experience of the moment it had happened. His legs thrash - he remembers trying to run.
The fastest way to cripple someone is to cut their ligaments, someone said in his ear in Melany's voice.
They hadn't cut his ligaments, but his ankles burned from remembrance. He was a mess, shredding his nails through anything that he could grab, grasp, use to escape. But Melany was a weight on the small of his back. Corr was a ghost in his ear. Thorne looked up and he was smiling at him, feral and cruel. His neck is snapped at an odd angle, blood cutting a hungry line through his eye and down his face.
"Thorne," he says, but his voice isn't his own.
It's Chris's, and Thorne jolts, his body snapped taut, arms burning from exertion. He blinks and it is Corr - Melany -
He blinks and it is Chris.
He realizes that his hands are tangled in the soft fabric of Chris's shirt. That in his struggle, he had inadvertently clung to the only real thing in this entire infernal room. He realizes that his nails have dug crescents into Chris's skin. Horror crosses him, sharp and ugly, and he shirks away like he's been burned.
"Chris - I'm sorry - " His voice is stuttering and he sucks in a sharp breath, sweat soaking through the sheets beneath him. He stares up at Chris like there is a ghost in this room and he's not sure which one of them it is. His heart thuds so hard in his chest that he thinks it might break through. That Chris can hear it. And god, when will he realize he is living with a mess - that Corr was right all along, he was a savage dog, nothing but bite and fear -
"They were here, they cut them again - I was - " Thorne says, and his voice is raw with grief and terror, low and scraped through. His legs tremble. He remembers what it felt like to try and walk with those wounds. His body is burning like he has a fever, but he feels chilled to the bone.
Everything blows out of him like wind, like a sudden shift, and he feels hollow, undone, unmade. Ground me, bring me back, he thinks desperately, but the guilt keeps his mouth sewn shut.
"I'm sorry." The words are soft and corrosive. They search for a redemption that cannot be reached. Chris should know to walk away from this. Thorne should be kind enough to let him. But he isn't. He isn't.
His eyes find Chris's. Hungry, searching, selfish. Afraid.
"This is real," he says, and it isn't quite a question but it searches, desperately it searches. Because his ankles burn and his body doesn't feel entirely his own. And for all he knows, this is the same fever dream that trapped him one hundred times before in Melany's care.
He'll wake up. He'll go back there.
"You're real," Thorne says, asks, prays.
Tell me you are.
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Posted: Mon Sep 12, 2016 10:00 pm
sending out flares
Thorne does not wait longer. He pulls Chris to him, drags one arm around his neck and tugs the teacher against his chest, their heads bumping when he uses his other hand to pull their foreheads together. He steps back across the threshold easily, he guides Chris with him.
"There's no one," Thorne says, and his voice is low and raw and oh, it burns. He is desperate to protect Chris - he knows there are shadows in the other too, from that night. He isn't the only one enduring this, and he wants to protect Chris so badly that it hurts, that it makes it nearly impossible to breathe when he sees him sleepless, sees him like this.
You cannot keep him safe, the cruel voice of Melany says in his mind, you could not even keep yourself safe.
But he pushes these thoughts away because it doesn't matter if he is inferior right now. It doesn't matter, it cannot matter. All he can do is hold on and pray that it is enough. Pray that these open wounds don't fester. That somehow, Chris can heal.
"It's just us," Thorne says, closing his eyes, pressing his forehead a little firmer against Chris's before easing. "It's just you and me. They're gone."
Corr is gone. Corr is dead. And Melany -
Thorne does not listen to her sharp voice scratching in his head. He does not want to.
"Just look at me," Thorne says, and opens his eyes, slides his hands. He holds Chris's neck and thumbs his fingers against his jawline, trying to ground the other, to bring him back. "Even if you can still see them. Just look at me. I won't let them near you."
He takes another trying step backwards, leading Chris deeper into the warehouse space. To the scent of soil and plants, and home. It's home. They will not be allowed here. Thorne will not allow it.
Not here. Not now. No more, no more.
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Posted: Mon Sep 12, 2016 10:21 pm
your favorite scar
It's terrifying to have Thorne there, unable to see him, trapped in some living nightmare Chris can't break him free from. He only gives a quiet gasp as Thorne grabs him, drags him forward, but Chris adjusts, places his hand firmer on the back of Thorne's neck.
Repeats his name like a prayer, like a litany, like it will break Thorne free of his personal hell if Chris just believes hard enough.
The loss of heat when Thorne wakes up - really wakes up, is truly there - is startling to Chris. He stares for a second, then blinks it off, and truly looks at Thorne.
He looks like a wreck, like the sleep he had gotten had done nothing at all for him and Chris is scared all over again for Thorne. Wonders if they will ever be able to be okay again, if they will be able to move on. If Thorne will stop seeing his ghosts, if Chris will stop feeling guilty.
He can't find his own voice for a minute but when he does it comes out in a rush, a frantic "No, it's... it'll be okay." He doesn't want to lie to Thorne but he wants to give him comfort. To make him feel that Chris is as much home as he is to Thorne.
It's a selfish impulse but Chris climbs up into the bed, crawls over to Thorne. He hesitates for a single second, for a moment, but then wraps his arms around Thorne. Tucks him under his chin, like he did during that dance.
That one perfect memory.
"This is real," He repeats, the line a lifeline between them. Sacred. "I'm real and I'm here. You're here."
He pushes a hand through Thorne's hair, hugs him a little closer. Not a cage, never a cage, but comfort. Security.
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