Broken- And Fixed Again- (A Jamilton Fanfic)

Chapter 12: Letters

//TW: swearing, PTSD, past abuse, mentions of self harm\\

Thomas

I see him every time I'm alone.

He might not be standing right beside me, watching with that ever present gaze and touching me with that chilling-yet-burning touch, but that doesn't mean I can't see him or hear him or feel him. Just the mere thought of him hurts, etches wounds into my being that'll never heal simply because they're too deep, and they've been untreated for too long.

I see him everywhere.

I see him in the corners of my eyes as I'm walking down the street, a fleeting blur always gone whenever I turn to look. I don't know if he's really following me or if I've turned every shadow I come across into something that they aren't, but regardless, I've become so accustomed to the sour taste of fear that it's hard to imagine anything else.

I see him as I stare into the bathroom mirror, looming behind me as he always does, waiting for that moment to find me alone. And no amount of water splashed into my face or the pills meant to stop the world from spinning can ever make him go away.

I see him when I close my eyes, trying to drift off into a mindless, numbing sleep. But he haunts my dreams too, following me because he can never really be satisfied with all that he's managed to steal away from me. There's always more to take.

At least I can stop hearing the echoes of the words he's growled into my ear over and over again until they've stuck. All I need is music, pure and elegant and gliding through the air as graceful as it always does. All I need is the warm embrace of a familiar song that hasn't once failed in brightening the world. The music chases the monsters away, and even if it's only temporary, I'd take it. I'd take it for everything it is and hope that it's enough, even though I know it isn't.

But there are some nights where he just can't be ignored. Where the constant feeling of him pressing me down, the feeling of his hands keeping me as his, the feeling of James and everything that he encompasses keeps me tossing and turning and inches away from sobbing. There are nights where pain is the only thing strong enough to counteract James and his vice-like grip, and there are nights where it's just so impossibly tempting to give in to the darkness tugging at the edges of my heart. But I don't, because I made a promise, and I'm going to keep that promise no matter what.

If hurting myself means hurting Alexander, I'd never take a knife against my skin again.

But I see and I hear and I feel James because he never goes away, and neither do the awful, nightmare-like memories of all the things he's done to me. They seem so distant, so hazy, like a thousand photographs hung together to create something they aren't. But they torment my every moment when I'm alone, sharp and painful. Perhaps even more painful than a knife.

It will forever be branded into my very being. It will forever be who I am.

James is not darkness. He is light. Burning, blinding light seeping into every last thing I had to myself. Endless, meaningless light stripping away everything the world has to offer and leaving nothing in its place. Darkness brings a sense of peace and relief, especially after so long of being stared at, being tortured by their gaze. And James doesn't yield that.

He never did. He never could.

That isn't to say he's incapable of love. Because he does love. He loves in his own, twisted, abominable way. But that has always been the problem. Love and hate go hand in hand, one often mistaken for the other. But still, James is not incapable of love.