The Love You Want (sleep token fic - Polyvessels)

III: Part Eleven

For a while, Vessel merely floats in an expanse of stars, awareness ebbing and flowing with the swirling galaxies around him. He is at peace, and that time is precious to him.

The peace is shattered in time, as the stars start blinking out one by one, a void opening up beneath Vessel. He sinks into it, inch by inch, as it swallows him whole.

Vessel didn't quite understand what was happening, at first. He didn't realize he was dreaming, didn't realize that none of what happened after he closed his eyes wasn't real. This realm felt just as much his reality as the waking world.

One moment he had been staring in horror as the galaxies around him exploded, the stars winking out above as he sunk into the abyss, the next he was blinking tired eyes open in his old apartment he shared with his third partner.

His single pair of eyes take in the dim lighting and the shadows in the corners that Vessel had grown used to being able to see with perfect vision. Where were his other eyes? His hands are holding his notebook open with a pen between pale fingers. The familiar pitch black with golden cracks is replaced with the pale, human skin he had Before. Panic sets in, a tremble shaking the pen pressed to a page of his notebook, smearing navy blue ink.

Vessel looks up again, forcing himself to look around as banging sounds from the kitchen, cabinets slamming shut loudly as he flinches with every harsh noise. The action is familiar. The walls are bare and the yellow paint faded. The dirty floors are chipped and covered in trash no matter how much he cleaned, laminated fake wood long since lost its shine. His panicked, wandering gaze catches on the line of cocaine on the coffee table in front of him. It was a small flat, only one bedroom, one bath. The kitchen and living room were attached, and there was barely any space for furniture. What little space there was, was taken up by her belongings. Vessel's old busted keyboard was in the corner, piled up with clothes that weren't his. It had been broken when his girlfriend had taken a hammer to it as he was playing, barely missing his fingers. There was no warning, no hesitation. Vessel couldn't even blame it on some drunken or drugged stupor. Her mind was perfectly clear when she yelled at him, screamed that his music was taking up all of his attention, that she had saved him and deserved better than this, as she smashed the ivory keys in and broke the buttons.

Vessel remembered sobbing so hard he threw up, dry heaving as he tried desperately to gather all the broken pieces and salvage the instrument. She'd been so pleased with herself, like she hadn't just destroyed the one thing, the only thing left, that made Vessel happy, until she got annoyed with him for crying over it. Not only was he in pain internally, after that, but his cheeks and ribs ached, bruised and battered after she was done with him. Then, she used him afterwards, and it hurt. She'd made sure. The bruises on his jaw and neck had lasted for weeks. There had been no point in hiding them, either. Vessel had no friends, no reason to leave the apartment. The wounds on his body eventually healed but a piece of him was shattered with his piano that day.

It was one of the worst days he'd ever had with her, and there were many bad days. Being with II and III has taught him that much... It was one of the only times she'd ever hurt him so severely, as she preferred ruining him with her words while his first girlfriend preferred her fists.

He tried to kill himself that night, once he was sure she was asleep. He couldn't handle being alive as it was, but for his last hope, his music, to be taken from him? Vessel couldn't remember a time where he had wanted to die more. He needed to erase himself from existence, no matter what it took. He'd limped to the bathroom across the hall and shut the door as quietly as he could. Held his breath deep in his chest as he waited, listened for any signs of movement from the bed. The door wouldn't lock, not after the first time she had pounded on it when he was cutting into his thighs and he couldn't bring himself to open it out of fear. She'd gone to the store the next day and bought a new doorknob, one without a lock. Grabbing the razor he kept on top of the mirror was easy. There was no real point in hiding it, she never cared to take them from him or say anything against his bloody habit. She was only a little shorter than himself, so she could have found it easily, too. Already naked, he had no need to be mindful of any of his clothes, and climbed right into the tub. It was too small for him, forcing him to bend his limbs at awkward angles to fit. Digging the blade into his arm deep enough to sever the vein had been painful but so easy at the same time. He'd slowly gotten colder as time stretched on infinitely, black spots gradually blotting out his vision as he wondered desperately if this was finally the attempt that would end all attempts and set him free. It wasn't.