mother dearest | hannigram x oc

Chapter 7: Do I know you?

Driving still made Damien nervous. He just wasn't getting used to it. The way the world went so fast around you despite your body remaining stagnant. It was slightly terrifying. He hadn't driven often since he was a small child when his father was still around, so he always felt awkward and unsure in a vehicle. Like he was violating all known rules of travel or something silly.

He worried a lot in general. He always had. A small nagging feeling constantly lingers in the back of his mind ever since he was a child. The thing he was most scared of was upsetting people, letting them down especially. His mother, Hannibal, God? So many people to keep track of, so many people to keep himself careful around.

He was feeling especially scared of those people today, pants uncomfortably damp in the backseat of Hannibal's expensive yet understated car. He had refused to sit up front on the way to Virginia, lest Hannibal see the source of his shame. He knows that God is disappointed in him, watching from wherever he may be as Damien lusted... and coveted over a man. He knows that his mother would be, not disappointed no, she would be furious. He hopes, prays even, that if she has made it to heaven she cannot see him now, disrespecting her legacy here on earth.

He had felt it while he sat at Hannibal's desk, true catharsis. And something inside him was not yet assisted, he felt it, deep within his bones. The animalistic desire for more. To take, lust, covet... fuck... until he could no longer remember his name. His fingers twitch at the thought tracing a cross on his thigh. He hadn't even thought of God earlier, alone in Hannibal's office, all he had thought of was carnage. It tasted deliciously sweet.

Despite himself he is ashamed, utterly wrecked by his lack of connection to himself recently. It had been God's will for him to live, who is he to forsake this blessing? To defile his body through sin. He has forgotten to be thankful and to pray. He will find time to be alone in Virginia. Someplace quiet to connect with his creator again. That is the only promise he can bear to make to God.

Rain is tapping at his window now. Thick droplets drifting down the pane slowly, beautiful and melancholic. Mesmerizing in its natural geometry, the way water flows into itself, always finding a way home.

Hannibal's hands are steady on the wheel, his posture perfect even while driving. Damien is still unsettled by his weightlessness. His eyes constantly drift away from the window and back to Hannibal. Finding comfort in his practiced stoicism. He seems at home in the misery of nature, one with the rain and floods. An unstoppable yet beautiful force.

The storm had made the trip significantly longer than it ought to be. The roads are slick with mud and leaves. No one is out at this hour, not with the weather. They'd stay home, carefully tucked asleep in a warm bed. Safe and sound.

Classical music is playing on the car's stereo again. Shostakovich's 4th symphony. Vivid and aggressive, its brutal minor tonality only adds to Damien's anxiety. Hannibal however, is perfectly calm. Subtle quirks of his face shine through his 'person suit' mask. The music is beautiful but striking, it's hard to concentrate with the clashing sounds of rain and an orchestra.

The car finally slows, a dead end on the horizon. Hannibal beers right onto the road's last offshoot, a long unfinished driveway. There's a lone single-family home at the end. Overgrown greenery and trees peppering the boundary of the house and the land. A strange contrast to the white picket fencing that surrounds the small balcony. Quaint in the most unassuming way.

Hannibal reaches below the seat, a travel-sized umbrella lying in the compartment below him. Its weave is breathtaking, with fine natural fibres stitched directly onto the metal and a solid wood handle. Damien wonders if everything he owns is this beautiful, he would bet it is.