wed.

How the serpent told stories to the prince to comfort him, but did not

TW: Self harm

. . .

John woke up screaming again. He sat up, panting, and swiftly turned on the light. He got up and uncapped one of his pill bottles, taking two, and then walked to the bathroom, voices following him. He splashed some water on his face and then walked downstairs, in a trance-like state.

He mumbled to himself, listening to the voices and trying to shut them up. John paced around the kitchen for a while, messing with his lighter. He held the flame close to his skin, letting it burn him. He scratched at his neck, pacing quicker. 

He walked back upstairs and pushed the door open to Alex's room. He tip toed in and lit the lighter. It cast a shadow over Alex's face. John's gaze lifted up to the glow in the dark stars, and it set him at ease for a second before the voices in his head snapped him back into focus. He looked back at Alex and stepped closer.

Alex stirred a bit and his eyes opened. He gasped and sat up. "Jesus fucking Christ!" Alex turned on his lamp. "What the fuck do you think you're fucking doing? What the fuck?" He got out of bed and ran a hand through his hair. "What the fuck?!"

The lighter snapped closed and John took a step back. He swallowed hard. Tears dripped down his face. "I'm, I'm sorry."

"What are you doing? You nearly gave me a fucking heart attack! I was this close to beating the shit out of you." Alex glared, breathing heavily.

"I had a nightmare," John mumbled.

"Give me that," Alex snapped and snatched the lighter from John. "I don't give a damn if you had a nightmare. You don't stand over my bed while I'm sleeping with a fucking lighter!"

"I'm sorry," John said, more forcefully. "I was scared."

Alex took a deep breath and then exhaled. He ran a hand through his hair again and sat down on his bed. "Okay. Okay. Never, and I mean never, do that ever again. Understand? Do you hear me? Because next time I will beat the shit out of you."

"I'm sorry," John whispered.

"Jesus fucking Christ, I need a cup of coffee." Alex breathed out and stood up, following John out of the bedroom.

They walked downstairs and Alex immediately started the coffee maker. John stood awkwardly for a moment before sitting down. "Can I have some wine?"

"No. I'm making coffee. I think you're an alcoholic and I'm not even sure you should be drinking with the pills you take." Alex grabbed two coffee mugs. "Listen, next time you have a nightmare, leave me the hell out of it."

John blinked and shifted uncomfortably. "Can I have my lighter back?"

Alex poured the coffee and handed John his cup. "No. You can have it back when I'm positive you were not trying to murder me."

"I wasn't going to." John defended. He held out his hand. "Can I have my lighter back?"

"What's so special about it?" Alex asked. He flicked the lighter open and lit it, staring at it. He became mesmerised and found it hard to look away. Finally, he flicked it closed and smacked it on the counter. "You can have it back now. I still don't understand why it's so special."

"Helps," John said quietly, and shrugged.

"I'm gonna go visit Thomas because I need to get away from you for a bit. One can only take so much John Laurens."

"Could I come with?"

"What? No. Did you not just hear me? One can only take so much John Laurens." Alex finished off his coffee and got up. "I'm gonna go and I'll be back later, okay? Maybe think about getting your job back. So, you know, you don't have to be around all  the time."

"Right, yeah." John nodded. "When are you going to be back?"

"Later," Alex stated. He brushed back John's hair, and kissed John's forehead. "You can take care of yourself for a bit, yeah? For me?"

"For you, 'course." John tilted his head back, leaning into Alex's touch. Alex patted John's shoulder and pulled away.

"I'm gonna change and then head out. Here, I'll make you a deal, though. I'll give you..." Alex pulled open the drawer beside the silverware that was used for miscellaneous. He pulled out his wallet and grabbed two crisp one hundred dollar bills from it. "Two hundred and you can go buy yourself something nice, kay?"

"I, I have my own money."

"Well, you're not working, so I just thought..." Alex shrugged. "You can buy some new clothes or whatever."

"You think I need new clothes?" John asked, confused. He lifted his coffee mug to his lips, blowing on it softly. He sipped it. "Am I not pretty enough for you?"

"No one's pretty enough for me. I have high standards and you're not even close." Alex chuckled and shook his head. "I like those cute hats you wear sometimes, though. You know? The little french ones." He smirked and then walked upstairs.

...

John had gone shopping. He picked out some new clothing, a couple of sweaters and some pairs of jeans that were too tight for him. He walked around a bit downtown and had lunch by himself in a little french cafe.

He got home and then fixed himself a cup of tea. John's hair fell in his face and he pushed it back, turning up his Walkman, and then staring into space.

His thoughts began to drift. Alex's voice blared through the headphones and John sighed to it, trying to shut his thoughts up.

The voices in his head got louder and John how to pull his headphones off when he felt like he couldn't breathe. He stood up and stumbled over to the cabinet, pulling down a bottle of wine. It slipped from his fingers and shattered on the ground, splashing red wine and shattering glass everywhere. John stared at the mess, startled and shocked, wide eyed. He bent down and touched the glass. He traced his finger in the wine and then picked up a shard of glass. His fingers closed around it, cutting into his skin.

He kneeled on the ground, the glass cutting into his knees. His hand still clutched the glass and he grabbed another piece. He cut through his jeans and into his thigh. He gasped and tears started to slip down his face. He squeezed the glass in his hand again and clenched his teeth, letting out a small sob.

John cut into himself, absolutely mutilating his body, just as the voices in his head told him to. He cried, begging and praying to some form of god or universe to let him die. He screamed for the voices to shut up and then paced back and forth, with that one piece of glass still clutched in his hand for dear life. His hand had gone numb. He paced for hours before his head started to get fuzzy and his arms became heavy from blood loss, and he had to sit down on the stairs before he passed out.

The front door opened and Alex walked inside. He closed the door and shrugged out of his coat, tossing it to the side. He walked into the kitchen and paused, seeing the glass shattered and the blood and wine pooled on the ground. It was mostly quiet. Alex could hear the TV blasting the news from upstairs. 

"John?" Alex called.