Strings Of Fate

Chapter 20

Hollowness echoing in his chest was not an unusual feeling. Ice snapped at his toes and fingers. It wrapped around his neck like a scarf and slivered down his spine to pool at the base of his back. His eyes watered, and he refused to open them. 

He was alone. 

His arms spread wide in the expense of space in his bed. He stretched, letting the air surrounded him in frost and engulf him in numbness. Numbness failed to follow. Pain hit and crushed his throat.

Chest shattering, he buried back into his duvet. Using it as a barrier to the world outside as he shuddered. His fingers tugged at his hair, and he tried not to scream. He sunk into the water and let it stifle it all. Numbness was his shield from it all, but it refused to swell. Instead, the ice burned his heart, and his mind refused to do any more than remind him of what he had lost. 

BBQ's in the summer, putting up with his father's love of football and complaints of supermarket pastries, it would never happen again. Everyone was gone. Dead or moved on to other things, he remained guarding the bakery, keeping his father's pride and joy going.

Video games and drinking with friends might happen. Once or twice a year when they were back to visit family but not like before. 

That didn't mean the answer was to return to his past. 

He sat up and looked at the time. It was before his alarm. He turned it off and crawled out of bed, letting the sheets trail as he stumbled over to the bathroom. It was immaculate. Sterile, too clean, and it gripped at his corners until he threw his top on the ground in a heap, dropped his boxers in a different corner and walked into the shower. 

The water hurt. It didn't take long for him to clean up. The soap was new; it was one of the brands that the circus kept in good supply. Scents of home covered him. He let them. The shampoo equally was new. He left them scattered over the shower floor, uncaring of how the herd had stacked them carefully in the corner. A rubber duck rested on the opposite corner. Mateusu gave it to him as a secret Santa gift. That alone stopped him from kicking it to the side to add to the mini-mess he was creating. 

A t-shirt and boxers on the floor was hardly a mess, but breathing came easier. His scalp itched. His eyes gleamed in the mirror, the blue lighter, more Jaz than Terrence. At least one nightmare in the night had involved Jaz appearing and taking over Terrence. Only, they were the same. 

"Would it be so bad?" He walked out into the bedroom, dripping water onto the carpet and tossed some more clothes everywhere—nothing important, nothing that needed ironing or care but things out of place. Not the chaos of before but something live in. Something warm and not a shell of a home. 

He turned out the suitcase the herd had prepared, searching through the items and judging Terrence off them. Some he put back in, others he left out. A few he screwed back up into drawers and different things he pressed in. He got the duck and dropped it in the new mix of items. 

The clock glowed with the time. It was time for the mask to drop back over his face. Clothes neatly waited for him, and they weighed down as he slid them on. 

He'd have to mess up the living room later. A jacket was on the side. It wasn't his - Someone must have left it while cleaning up. A sniff didn't reveal an obvious answer, but the wolves would hunt down who it belonged to. The wolves would be prowling around the perimeter of the circus. He pulled his own jacket on before putting it over his shoulder as he left.

With every step, the mud fell from his ankles, and the frost shook off his edges. Terrence fit back into place, a smile dancing on his lips as he approached the gates to see the youngsters playing in the open area. It was early, but the circus was stirring.