A Touch of Courage (Troyler AU)

Chapter 4: The Vale of Soul-Making

"Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul?" 

― John Keats, Letters of John Keats

***For anyone who skipped the last chapter, all you really need to know is that Troye is in a facility being "treated" and James is somewhere (we don't exactly know where yet), and was assaulted by 5 teens.*****

Troye's POV

A long way away, Troye Sivan's eyes snapped open and he jerked upright with a gasp, panting wildly as he stared around the room with blind eyes.  He was covered in sweat and when he raised a hand to rub across his face, he noticed that it trembled badly.  He closed his eyes and tried to remain completely still, feeling incredibly disoriented.  He had not experienced that dream in a long time and felt completely caught off guard by its reappearance.  He felt his thoughts grow distant and blackness started to shudder and spread along the edges of his vision as the room around him disappeared.  For a brief moment, he forget where he was, forgot who he was.  He suddenly felt like he wasn't drawing enough breath as confusion spread through him.  Where was he?  He couldn't be back there- he had gotten out, so why—

The dream-the memories- were so much more vivid that they had been for a while; so intense that he could almost feel the pain of a throat made raw from screaming, could almost feel the cold metal around his wrists—

His face twisted as an overwhelming wave of nausea hit him and suddenly he was scrambling out of bed and running across the room.  He barely made it to the toilet before he was violently sick.  He hadn't eaten yet, so the only thing that came up was liquid and acid until there was nothing left and it eventually became painful dry heaves that left him gasping desperately for breathe.  After a moment that seemed like an eternity, he pushed himself away from the toilet weakly and collapsed onto the floor, coughing violently as he drew in quick, ragged breathes, fingers curled against his throat as if they would help him breathe.  He squeezed his eyes shut, swiping angrily at the tears that fell and willing himself to stop being so fucking weak.

He didn't want to do this.  He didn't want to remember anything.  He wanted it all to disappear back into the fog he'd fought so hard to develop.  He wanted the deadened silence that had made it possible for him to exist in his house to also protect him in this new environment.  Slowly, with concentrated effort, he felt the weight of the dream leave him, felt the fuzziness start to slide back into place.  Slowly, Troye let the familiar, all-encompassing cold creep over his senses and replace the pain and hurt that had been so suffocating and overpowering only a moment earlier.  He felt the cold freeze his emotions and let them snap off one by one until he felt nothing.  Nothing but the comfortable, safe feeling of detachment.  It was a process he hadn't had to go through in a while, but he was relieved that it still worked.

As he felt his body calm and his heartbeat slow, he thanked his father for the coldness he'd taught him; for the protection it provided.  Because he knew if he didn't do this, he would fall apart.  He knew that if he allowed the full weight of his memories to escape, they would crush him, break him and he wouldn't be able to put himself back together again.

He stayed utterly still until he felt it was safe to move.  He shifted up, his expression once again blank, any vestiges of emotion leached out as if they had never existed.  He glanced at the clock and got steadily to his feet.  He had a doctor's appointment to keep.

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"Troye Mellet?"  The doctor gave him an impersonal smile.  "Let's see how you're doing, shall we?"

As he followed the doctor into the room, Troye thought perhaps he shouldn't have worn his customary all-black.  The dark color made his pale skin look even more washed out and he didn't think it helped him appear very healthy.