All about control

how to run from the mess you made (february/march)

On nights when it's harder to sleep, the nights where the shadows in the corner of Theo's room start to look a lot more like his dead sister, the nights where he hears the faint clicking of the doctors frequency, the nights where the taste of mercury is stuck to the back of his tongue, he drives out to the preserve.

(The real monsters aren't the ones with the rifles and wolfsbane bullets. The real monsters are the things that tuck Theo into bed at night.)

He struggles with himself even on good days, he thought he was starting to get things under control, he thought he had found his footing. He supposes it's only right, only fair, that the ground crack wide open and swallow him whole again.

What's that saying? Waiting for the other shoe to drop?

The other shoe looks a lot like Theo losing his support system.

...

Liam is ignoring him.

They haven't spoken in a week. Seven days. One hundred sixty eight hours.

The night Theo dropped the little wolf off at his house, he knew something was wrong. He figured Liam would have told him eventually, the way he always does when he's ready. But one day turned into two, turned into three, turned into seven and Theo is losing his fucking mind.

He keeps staring at his phone, waiting for any sign of life from the beta in his too quiet apartment, even if it is killing him. He's been sitting in the same position for an hour now, slowly losing feeling in his legs from the way he's curled up on his couch, phone screen annoyingly blank.

He's even willing to take the shitty jokes, buzzfeed quizzes, even a half decent insult if it means he sees Liam's name flash across the screen. Anything. Even those little dancing dots, something that lets Theo know that Liam is thinking about him at all. He's ready to take anything. By all accounts, he'd technically been ready since day three, given how his day at work ended.

He glares down at the device, suppressing a growl before jumping off the couch and moving to put on his shoes. But, he's not going to be the one to break first. If Liam is upset with him, he isn't going to make it worse. Patience is part of control, and he has that in spades. He can wait out the beta any day of the week.

The lack of shoes other than his own by the door sparks another growl. He sinks his feet into his shoes with twice the force necessary and bites back the urge to lash out at the wall in front of him. Sizzling rage is nothing new, but bottling it up is. He already has too much from earlier this week. He shakes his head, trying to shake loose the memory.

He hates how all it took was one ungrateful and supremely rude customer to get his temper to spike. The two animals inside of him fight with each other constantly, arguing for a chance at the drivers seat. They've been this way since he was 9, but it has been getting worse lately. As the first chimera, Theo's control is supposed to be perfect. Having more than half his life to learn usually meant he has the tightest reins on both creatures.

Not since Liam stepped out of his truck.

The want to unleash his claws and sink them into something other than himself rises again, searing at his last nerve. The deep breath he takes in to steady himself only makes his animals snarl louder and turn their focus on him. The one thing that's been helping, the only thing that helps him, has gone awol.

"Fuck this, fuck this," he snarls, giving his head another rough shake.

He snatches his keys off the coffee table, claws scoring the surface, and swipes his phone up in a death grip. He's more than capable of handling his own issues. Solitude is great, perfect for figuring out why his damn animals are so hell bent on ruining whatever life he's built here. He doesn't need anyone. He can figure this out on his own.