Silent

60. I'm not a monster.

 Jean had no one but the bottle and the ghost of his past to keep him company. The days had blurred into a mist of time, difficult to keep track of. He existed without a plan on how to move further.

He had no one. He had nothing. By that time, he had already partly realized, though not fully accepted, how impossible it would be to get Michael back to him. To shelter him away from the rest of the world, that they'd find a place... But what place was there left to find when the whole world was in search of him?

Yet, the dream of Michael was the only thing that kept him breathing anymore. And he felt not ready to let go of that dream of a life that could be beautiful for them both—a dream where he would feel loved and cherished. A life where he was a better man than he had turned out to be.

But perhaps he was the coward he had always been deep down. Unworthy of true love.  Death scared him almost as much as ending up in prison for crimes he had not wanted to commit, not truly. He wasn't the monster Ricky was... Surely he wasn't? 

He did not want to die as a villain, one everyone loathed, but how could he find his way to the light? Where his life and death would matter at least to some enough to mourn him?

But he had no one. Even Patrick had turned his back when he had been so sure he would help him. But it was too much for him after getting the full picture of the whole thing. He didn't want to be dragged down with him, and Jean supposed he couldn't blame him.

At least Patrick had given him money with the sound advice to go into hiding. Change his name, his identity, everything, and start a new life somewhere. But what life would that be? Hadn't he ran enough? And this... This surely wasn't a life of much worth, either.

What was he waiting for? Michael deserved better than what he would ever be and perhaps he truly had found his joy and comfort in Sam as much as it pained him to admit. 

Jean stared at the bottle before him as the voices from the TV blurred in his ears. His shaky hand finally reached to pour himself another drink. The image of Ricky... dark twisted demon dressed so neatly... But Jean knew better. He knew full well what the man was. He had allowed it to seduce him into the darkness that now had swallowed him whole.

There was no way out. 

"Haven't you had enough, Jean?" A voice asked, and Jean turned his gaze to it. Sebastian smiled at him, his deep blue eyes observing him as he sat there in his graceful position on the armchair next to the window. 

"Sebastian..." Jean breathed, and tears filled his eyes. The young man was how he once had been, and Jean... He knew his own wretched state. He hadn't shaved or showered in days, and couldn't even recognize his own reflection.

"You can't hide in this room forever, Jean, can't you see?" Sebastian continued.

"I see... but I am not ready," Jean replied hoarsely and took another thirsty sip of his drink. He gazed at the screen where a woman and a man held a picture of Sebastian with tears in their eyes as they talked, pleading.

"They deserve to know, Jean. Don't you owe me that much?" Sebastian's voice asked. "Don't I deserve peace?"

Jean broke down. He did not want those images that tried to force their way into his consciousness. The last terrible sound, the bloodied sheets... "I didn't want it to happen!" He exclaimed.

"Yet, it did," Sebastian replied with a strange calmness. "And you were there, Jean. You stood by and watched, though I pleaded. And you took your pleasure from my pain."

"I wasn't myself!" Jean hid his face in his hands. "I didn't want it to happen! I wasn't myself!" he cried out almost desperately. "I'm not a monster..." he murmured after, still holding his hand on his forehead, leaning on his forearm.