Author: Chauni
Email: asukalangley2nd@yahoo.com
Website: www.oocities.org/asukalangley2nd/
Disclaimer: I do not own Arcana; their world was created by the
talented Kelly and can be found here: http://arcana.keenspace.com/
Notes: This takes place after the attack by lovely Vincent,
discussing Holden’s stay in the mental hospital. There is quite a bit of angst,
quite a bit of jaded personality, and evidence of self-loathing, all a result
of the brutal attack inflicted upon him.
Lying in hospital beds with stark white linen, one
gets too much time to think, to dream. Sometimes, the thoughts aren't always
coherent, and almost never pleasant, but that’s human nature. "It can't
rain all the time", or something along those lines; and the same goes for
the sun either. Clouds are a natural part of being alive.
I used to be a lot happier than this, used to feel
the smiles that came so much smoother than they do now. Even now, using my
aching throat that feels as though I swallowed a hundred straight razors with a
fifth of Jack, I can mumble out a few works, simple things like what I want
here, and to ask where someone is. Mostly Caine and Azriel; I inquire about
them the most. No surprise there, right?
Sometimes, I would get my dreams and my reality mixed
up, traded, lost in the little shuffle. For six nights straight, I had the same
series of dreams, of Vincent and I lying in my bed at home, wrapped together in
blankets and plushies, and all those smiles, all those kisses being exchanged
and traded while idle talk drifted through the air like songs of angels. And he
would tell me he loved me, loved me more than anything, and that it didn't
matter because I made him human, even if I knew it wasn't completely true. But
he was human enough for me and that was good enough all around.
Then this, the uncomfortable bed with the sheets far
too white, was my nightmare, the idea that my mind cooked up to fuck with my
head. The pink
scars like newborn flesh that never wanted to leave, the way my chest ached with every expansion
of my lungs, the way my heartbeat made me want to vomit; it was all a series of
motions that seemed useless and agonizing and so completely surreal.
I liked sleeping then.
But I still thought about him, trying to comprehend
how it all fell apart, how Vincent ceased to exist and in his place there was
this evil, hateful thing that wanted to… that did…all of that. I
wondered why he didn’t kill me, and why he took me, and where the love ended
and all the possession and hate and burning began. I wondered how he could
touch me, how I could look at myself, how I could ever see a mirror again, when
all I could imagine was his tainted touch on my flesh, taking what he
had no right to take!
Some days are a lot harder than others. It’s an
“uphill battle” they all tell me; I suppose they’re right. The problem with
that is the decent is so much easier, just to sink down into a catatonic state,
where everything wouldn’t matter anymore. No more crimson eyes to stalk me
there.
They're discharging me today, you know. The doctors
said that since I'm responsive, since I'm talking and expressing normal wants
and desires, that I'm better off at home where "familiar stimuli will
bring about a healthy recovery."
Well, the stimuli and these nice little happy pills.
Forty milligrams of joy snuck deep in bitter, flaky pink medicine. How cute.
Az has one arm, holding onto it tightly, while the
others are filling out the paperwork; getting out of one of these places is ten
times more difficult than getting in, I think. I guess it shouldn't be so
shocking; wouldn't want crazy people populating the street.
Crazy people like the ones that attack their
boyfriends and have two people living inside their heads.
Whoops! Need to stop that thought right there, right
now. Dangerous route, that one.
Caine's behind me, stroking my hair, telling me how
happy is that I'm coming home. He missed me; I can tell. The feeling is more
than mutual, and the glorious thing with him is that I don't even need to open
my mouth to tell him; he knows by looking in my amber eyes. That's just the
link we have, deeper than brothers and stronger than lov-
Can't think about that. If I do, I'll start crying
again, and they'll never let me out. The food is bad here too; I need to go
home, otherwise I'll waste away to a piece of paper and fade out of existence.
Some days, that doesn't sound like such a bad idea, but with the family here...
...well, it's given me a renewed sense survival.
In the car, the trees look like gods as we drive past
them, each in their little slice of paradise. My reflection stares back at me,
pale and barely given life in the pane of cool glass, and I switch between
trees and myself, myself and trees.
I wish I was a god. Or maybe I don't; everyone is
trying to uproot you then.
I think...
I think I just want to be left alone. Forever.
Caine's fingers slide across my back, pulling me out
of my silent reverie with all the force of a drowning man. "Excited about
going home?"
"Thrilled." Back to the scene of the crime,
the bed where it all happened, the window he crawled in from. Yes, listen to my
enthusiasm. At least they threw out the sheets and blankets. Small luxury, but
one nonetheless.
"I'm really glad you're coming home," he
remarks softly, breath warm and reassuring next to my ear.
I lean my cheek against the glass, feeling the chill
seep through my pores and infect me like a disease. Dead eyes roll to him (how
did I know they were dead? Because all of me os gone) and I crack a small smile
for him. Little martyr me.
"I'm glad I'm coming home, too," I lie. Or,
not a lie, but a fib. I just don't want him hurt, and I know that if the tables
were turned, he would have done the same for me. The joys of family, of love.
"Can I..." I close my eyes, drooping my
head a little with my cheek rubbing against the icy glass. "Can I sleep
with you tonight?"
He doesn't answer, and I thought he didn’t hear me at
first, that my hushed voice went right over his head. I open my mouth to repeat
myself, but he squeezes my shoulder warmly, and I knew his answer.
That night, I would grab Usagi-chan and crawl in bed
with Caine, his scent, his warmth driving the cold from my veins finally. And
then... then I'd be able to start to move on. But only then.
And I wouldn’t think of trees anymore.