Blood In Your Mouth

Chapter 6

Hello everybody! It's me, back with another update. And it's on Sunday, just like I promised! (I'm so proud of myself ngl) I'm pretty pooped after having edited this chapter on my own, so there's not a lot I have to say...

So enjoy, alright?

-

"It's fascinating." Elias says, eyes roving over your face. He's got a hand pressed light against your throat, and you fear the moment that his grip turns bruising, "Who would have thought that a simple compulsion from the Archivist would have such... undue affects?"

It's a placid reminder to how your throat is still scraped raw, how it burns whenever you swallow. It's a glad thing your ability to speak is null and void most of the time, because you hope that it means your throat will heal that much faster.

"It's a shame that I can't test this myself. It must have been a jarring reminder, no? That you are nothing but a sacrifice to the Beholding?"

You didn't need the reminder, because you never forget. You can't forget, not when the Beholding keeps your words entirely to itself. Not when Elias reminds you every time, he calls you into his office for a little 'chat'.

"A suitable relic, you make. Things might have been more towards your favor had you not been the type to poke your nose into business that isn't yours but- well. Truly, a monument to your own suffering."

"So." Elias's hand reaches up to grab your chin, nails digging sharply into your skin, "Let's begin, shall we?"

-

"Somehow, you look even worse than the last time I saw you and that is not a compliment."

You glare tiredly at Tim from where you'd rested your head in your arms for only a second. You know you look like a mess, with how gaunt your face looks every time you've glanced in the mirror and how lethargy seems to live constantly in your bones. It's not exactly your fault it's just- it's hard to get any sleep these days will the constant reel of nightmares playing in your mind. You're only ever able to catch small snatches of sleep, most of the time with your head on your desk or curled up on the breakroom couch.

You don't know how long you'll be able to keep going, like this.

"Seriously though, are you okay?" Tim comes to lean against your desk and gives you a sidelong look, as if trying to compel the truth from you. You think it can't hurt to give him some sort of honesty.

Nightmares. And then, because you're very proud of having actually started putting in effort to learn BSL, even though most of the people you spend time with don't know sign language and have become used to you using your phone, you sign the word alongside.

Tim follows your hands curiously, and then does his best to replicate. It's- validating, somehow, to be able to talk like this. It's the next best thing after your actual words, after all. You want to be fluent in sign, one day.

"Must be some nightmares, huh."

Yeah.

"Ever thought of doing something about them? Because- like- while I love the whole sleeping on the job thing, getting the amount of sleep that you look like you do cannot be good for you."

It's not. Then, you add a little white lie to get him off your tail, because while Tim's concern is well meaning, there's nothing you can actually do about the nightmares. I've tried a few sleeping aids. None that have worked so far.

"I guess there's nothing to it than to keep trying, huh. Maybe you'll find something soon."

Yeah. Maybe. You don't have much hope for that happening though.