Darkness Ethereal | K.TH

Lost Behind

"What?"

My eyes go wide as his grow darker— turbulent. A bomb about to explode.

"Tell me why."

His hands are shaking uncontrollably, so hard that the trembles wrack through his body as well. He's on a rope— he has to know. He needs a reason— and it has to make sense.

Or he just might lose himself.

"I-I don't know," I stutter. My mind is a whirlwind— unable to think, breathe— do the most basic things that it should be involuntary. "I don't know why."

"You're lying." He hisses through his teeth, voice deeper and more intimidating than I'd ever heard it. "There has to be a reason."

I know.

He hates himself that his body is accepting mine— without his will. He knows that it's not my fault, not some trick I'm playing. All he wants is desperate confirmation that it isn't what he thinks it is.

He's on the edge— about to fall.

"Are you okay?" I ask, genuinely worried that he'd collapse. And with the way his fever was flushing his face and he seemed to be shivering, I wasn't being paranoid at the least.

"I asked you if there was a reason."

Even though it nearly scares me to death, I force myself to look him in the eye. I wouldn't be the one to keep him in the darkness— lie for his own sake.

"There isn't a reason, V. Sometimes, things don't need a reason to happen."

When he bites his lip and descends into silence, I sigh softly. Curiosity streaked through my mind every passing moment— how come he liked my touch? Or was he mistaking revolt as pleasure?

"V," I ask. "How do you feel when you're near other people? When you're close to them, but you're not touching them."

He turns away, pain flashing in his eyes as he does. "I can't talk about that."

"Do you want to know my story?" I offer, trying to keep the memories buried until I could get them out. "Talking about it might be better."

"What story?"

"About how I got my disorder. Then maybe you can tell me yours."

He sighs, which I take as a very bright yes.

"I didn't like to eat," I start, recalling the times where I'd gotten so thin that nothing would fit me. "Whenever I tried, I couldn't do it. I couldn't get the food down."

My gaze falls to the ground, and I find myself fidgeting anxiously.

"But no one cared, you know? My father and mother are rich— always on vacation trips, foreign countries. They think parenting is just tossing them a bunch of money and expecting them to be thankful about it."

"And since they were away a lot, it wasn't uncommon when me and my brother were the only ones at home."

The wall I'm leaning on feels colder all of a sudden.

"He strangled me for fun."

I don't have the courage to check V's reactions as my gaze gets lower and my voice softer with each word.

"He'd stop when I fainted, and so I used to think that losing consciousness was the best thing that could've possibly ever happened to me. So I started relying on it."

"And then, as you can see, it became automatic."

Tears sting at my eyes when I recall the day that I'd diagnosed myself with vasovagal syncope. That day, my parents were on a cruise trip to the Bahamas. My brother was out on a drug spree with his friends.