Big Book of Xephna One Shots

Blood Makes Noise (S)

TW: Blood and Death and Angst and Violence

Song: Blood Makes Noise by Suzanne Vega

Silence was his most hated enemy.

You see, the Silence wasn't silent at all, really. The Silence was more of a being. A black shadow that loomed over him, moving his limbs like puppet strings, directing him like his own personal plaything. When Silence was here, so was the blood, and that was so loud. It was a never ending thrum, a violent undercurrent, a river that swooped into a cacophony of raw sound, never slowing, or stopping. It was deafening. Maddening, even.

The Heart was even worse. The constant, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, barely in rhythm with anything at all. Certainly not with his thoughts, or his footsteps, the latter he could barely hear over his own damn organs. BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, maybe a mechanical one would be quieter. He could ask, but no one would answer. Nobody ever answered. BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD all he could hear, all the time, 24/7, constantly, BOOM, BOOM, BLOOD, BLOOD. His back scraped down the glass. Never ending, why wouldn't it just ever be QUIET? Then-

Hiss
Thud,
Thud,
Thud,
Thud,
Tap,
Tap.
Tap, Tap, Tap

He paused. There was only one person who ever visited. The Obsessed one, he might call him. The Blue Eyed Dragon, perhaps? He really needed to settle on a name for him. 'Xephos' sounded too exoitic, too interesting for a man as transparent as he was. Everytime the conversation would start the exact same way, like a record smashed on the floor and haphazardly pieced together and played again, suck on loop forever and ever, and ever,
"You're exactly the same as Lalna, aren't you?"

A smile curled up his lips. For one moment, he couldn't hear the BOOM and the BLOOD. The Silence would retreat into the corners. His voice was a salve to an insatiable itch. A means to an end,
"Of course. I look the same, I think the same... He is me, and I am him. Two halves of the same whole,"
The Voice smiled. A sickening, stomach twisting kind of smile that showed far too little restraint, and far too much devotion. They'd had many talks like this. Memory checks, psych-profiles, and all he had to do was nod along and agree.

"They say I'm 1% dysfunctional, but none of that will ever affect me. It might just mean my hands aren't as steady or something," he paused. He'd practiced and rehearsed this scenario a million times, muttered quietly in his cell, he'd easily had the time to spare locked away in here like a rabid animal. This Voice danced across his chessboard so perfectly, like a ballerina puppet wrapped around his fingertips, "I still love you. That never changed."

"It kills me to see you locked up in there. I wish I..."
The Voice stopped. He could see the scenarios playing through his head one after the other. It was such an innocent thought, but that did not last, this Voice was so naive. The innocent thought had twisted and bent into an idea, then it had become a wicked, but utterly irresistible plan. The Voice's hand rested on the gun at his waist, his fingers drumming against the holster, fruitlessly fighting temptation with music. Lalnable pressed his hand to the cool glass pane, reaching out to the Voice,
"I'm begging you, get me out of here. We can be together, I promise."

He'd thought about freedom. Dreamed about deep red rooms that he could cover in more than the exact 5 paces it took him to travel along each edge of his cell. He dared imagine rooms where there were sharp objects, music and maybe other people! He'd take anything. Anything so that he never have to listen to his own heart again.

The Voice hesitated. For one moment, he thought maybe he had overestimated how stupid this man was. He needed to hammer in the nail. Seal the deal, and he'd practised this one too,
"I love you, please don't leave me in here alone again, I can't take it. Xephos..." he stopped and looked down, hands falling into a pile of limp limbs in his lap, "Please, Xephos. I'm begging you."He truly deserved an award for such potent acting. The Voice shrivelled up into nothing in his eyes, a mushy jumble of emotions with no moderation. In that moment, he knew he had already won.