Every Piece

Chapter 1

It’s not like he asked for this.

He didn’t understand why, after everything he’d ever been through, he was being tested in his life yet again.

Yet he was. Every day he was.

These were Roger’s thoughts in the morning, the early morning, before his partner Danny awoke. The only time he had peace and quiet to actually be allowed to think. Roger pulled the sheet closer to him, doing his best not to shift its position on Danny. He let his eyes stay closed. During the day, his eyes had to be open all the time—always watching, wary of what was coming from where. It was nice for them to get a break once in a while. The deep breaths of his larger counterpart almost lulled him back to sleep; except for the fact that Roger realized that meant he was still breathing, and that it would only be a matter of time before he woke up. Laying there in the cool darkness, he felt like the constantly jumpy nerves inside his body were appeased just for a few minutes.

A few minutes too long.

        Roger sat up on his elbow slowly, craning his neck to see the bedside clock that always remained on Danny’s side. Seven thirty-two. The jumpy nerves sprang back up, sending a stream of butterflies right into Roger’s stomach. He never stayed in bed this long—not when he knew Danny would be up in less than fifteen minutes; there was breakfast to be cooked, a bed to be made, a man to kiss goodbye and send off to work. And now he was running late. Roger slipped off the mattress ever so quietly, praying that it wouldn’t wake the other man. He silently made his way over to the bathroom, where he held the handle pulled down as he shut the door so it wouldn’t make that click! sound. He turned on the bathroom light.

And immediately he was disgusted.

Because the mirror was right there. The mirror was showing a horrid, repulsive shell of a man reduced by years of inflicted torture—be it by his own hands or the hands of others. He saw a young boy that was beaten and all but murdered growing up. He saw that the young boy had just become an empty, hollow body that was a little taller than he had been at the time of this anguish. Every day he looked forward to—because to him, every day was a way to put the past behind him. Except somehow it never worked out that way. Roger gripped the edge of the sink counter as he looked upon this mirror, immediately feeling that rush of tears start to build up again, and this time they actually threatened to fall. He had bags under his eyes—the dark, sickly purple ones that indicated his exhaustion, and didn’t quite blend in with the dark bluish mark right beneath his right eye socket. His veins protruded in his hands, wrists, and chest. His skin was nearly devoid of any tinge of life; just big, splotchy patches of darkness—some that were fresher than others—that stood out on him like a reminder that he was worthless. Roger carefully picked up the box of makeup to match his pallid skin tone, using the brush to blend it all over those dark patches on his face, neck, arms, shoulders. The visible parts, at least. He moved the brush up to conceal the one under his right eye. But he realized it wasn’t going to blend easy—the skin was wet there.

Wet with his tears.

The moment Roger realized he was crying, he returned his grip to the sink. How could he not even realize that he was so sad? Was that how bad depression was? That he couldn’t even recognize his own feelings? Or did he just plain not care? Roger squeezed his eyes closed in an attempt to close off the source of the breaking dam. Yet his small lungs kept spasming, quietly gasping in air, making his entire body shudder with need for relief. In the middle of his silent fit, a strong hand set itself on Roger’s thinned shoulder. His eyes snapped open, turning his head slowly to look at Danny’s face; maybe read it, see if he was responsible for waking him. But Danny’s unruly red hair stuck up on one side, his green eyes took in his smaller partner’s state. He turned Roger to face him. Roger sighed softly as one of those big hands softly cupped his cheek, thumb running over a tear track. It was alright…it was alright… Danny slowly pulled his hand back, giving Roger just enough time to open his eyes and wordlessly ask his partner if it really was going to be alright.

And then the big hand brought itself down against his cheek harshly, and Roger understood for the millionth time that nothing would ever be alright in his life.