A Tale of Two Omegas

Chapter 12: Rising Tensions

Bathroom lights beating down from above like the universe's cruelest spotlight. The brutal, frigid coldness of white tile below. Tile sullied by a stark pool of crimson between the barrier of football shorts-clad legs. Vision that blurred with every stiff, aching thump of the heart. Breaths which seemed to only suffocate.

And pain.

Cramps like no other.

The world spun, dizzying, disorienting, nauseating, bathroom spotlight becoming suddenly that of a sterile, uninviting hospital room.

Shame.

Legs now pulled up against hollow chest, slender arms wrapped around in an attempt to provide security where there was none.

A voice. Angry, accusing, assigning blame perhaps, the words unable to be registered, however, as though they were being blocked from recollection.

Tear-blurred vision lifted.

The only clear thing in sight:

Fury-infused eyes which haunted the tattered heart.

Gulf's voice echoed then:

My fault...

My fault...

My fault--

Mew jerked upright in the bed, gasping for air, sweat dampening his skin and turning it icy-cold. Frantically, he swiped the perspiration from his brow and blinked away the haze in his eyes. Contrastively warm streaks of liquid rolled down the frozen flesh of his cheeks, and he hesitantly brought his fingertips up, dabbing with uncertainty, then pulled them away to evaluate the fluid.

Tears?

"What the fuck?" he muttered shakily under his breath.

He stared around the room, like he was searching for answers to the mystery of what had just transpired in the confines of his internal dreamland. Or... Nightmareland, morelike. Of course, he would find no such answers.

Shutting his eyes and forcing himself to take in a long, deep breath, he raked his hands through his hair, waiting for his heart to cease its incessant arrhythmic hammering.

A stir next to him in the bed startled him, but when he glanced down and spotted Gulf, curled up beneath the covers with a tense furrow in his brow--almost as if he was experiencing an unsavory dream of his own--Mew managed a sigh of relief.

Just Gulf. And Gulf was okay. Perhaps not sleeping as soundly as he might like, but at least able to rest after the certifiable hell he'd been put through just a few hours prior.

Mew scanned over his face; his cheeks were no longer flushed a cherry-red, and when Mew reached out to softly massage the deep furrow out of his brow, his skin was no longer painfully hot to the touch.

His gaze descended lower, falling upon the raw, angry wound bored into the side of Gulf's neck, messy with dried tracks of blood glued along the column of his throat and welled in the divet of his collarbone.

Mew frowned, previously erratic heart now sinking low in his chest with remorse. Silently, he rose up from the bed and padded into the bathroom. A few seconds later, he emerged again with a washcloth saturated with warm water and returned to the bed. In an attempt to avoid waking Gulf, he ever-so-gently dabbed around the sore wound, clearing away the dried blood with careful precision.

"I'm so sorry, Gulf," Mew whispered. "This isn't how this should've happened... I was supposed to take you on corny, romantic dates, and sing you sappy love songs, and mark you when the time was right--when you asked for it. I wanted it to be your choice."