A Series of Sanders

The Aftermath- Evil

Roman barely heard the crack of his door as it slammed shut behind him. He stood just inside the entrance of his room, staring at nothing as he rubbed the knuckles on his hand gingerly. His shoulders shook rapidly with each breath, and he tried his best to calm the stinging sensation in his eyes. He would not pity himself. 

And what would you call what you're doing right now? 

Roman scrubbed his face with his hands, brushing away, as best as he could, that voice. But as he looked around his room, his gaze shifting from used notebooks to old scripts to posters and trophies and letters, he felt the shadow descend once more. 

He tripped forward, barely catching himself on his bed as a sudden barrage of noise flooded his senses, hardly giving him the chance to breathe as they assaulted him, tearing through his mind with an aggression strong enough to cause him to grit his teeth in pain. Phrase after phrase shot through his mind, leaving just enough time for him to register their meaning before the next one hit him. 

Show-off. Try-hard. You're unbelievable. Why should he trust you? What have you done to make yourself earn that? You're only half of a full set. Broken. But you're worse than the other half. Just look at the way you act. The teasing. The laughing. The nicknames. Cruel. Who does that remind you of? You're the same. You're just like your brother. You're evil. 

Though it took every piece of his strength, Roman managed to pull his hands up to cover his ears, as if it could shield him from the unrelenting stream of haunting thoughts, all sickeningly familiar. Each word felt like a punch to the gut, and eventually his thoughts and those thoughts morphed into one, a single statement that shook Roman to his core, but one he couldn't stop himself from thinking- 

It's true.  

The barrage lightened for a second, just enough for Roman to open his eyes and see the figure sitting casually on his bed. He scrambled backwards, trying to see through the haziness of his vision to recognize the person who was there. He felt his heart drop as a dark sweater and a darker swatch of eyeshadow came into focus. 

"Virgil?" Roman managed, barely able to hear himself over the noise in his head. He felt like his stomach had been reversed, like his heart had stopped. There was nothing, nothing, nothing but the voice, but the words, and now... 

Virgil smirked, resting his head in the palm of his hand, "Hey, Princey." 

Roman started at the use of his old nickname. Then he looked at Virgil, at the jacket he had wrapped around himself... his old jacket. His eyes, too, were different. They were like pits, a deep and endless void of inky blackness Roman couldn't turn his head away from, no matter how much he wanted to. "What's happening?" Roman asked desperately, knowing he sounded stupid but unable to find anything else to say. 

Virgil- No, this wasn't be the real Virgil- smiled. "So naive," He chuckled, rising to his feet. Roman shuffled backwards, still on the ground as the not-Virgil walked calmly towards him. "It was so entertaining to watch you stumble through today's discussion. Tell me-" Roman cried out as not-Virgil slammed his foot down on his arm, stopping him from moving backwards any further. Not-Virgil crouched down, and as he smiled Roman could see the dark cracks spreading from the corners of his eyes, splitting his skin like ravines. "How did it feel to put yourself down so that the others could lift you up again?" 

Roman stared at the figure, the shape of one of his best friends, before him, his mouth dry. "I didn't-" 

"Don't try me," He hissed, interrupting Roman mid-thought. "We've both been there, Roman. Feeling so empty of any love at all that we act out in order to gain some back, to feel like we deserved it in the first place." He leaned closer, gesturing over Roman's shoulder at a photo on the wall. It was them, his famILY, all dressed up in Christmas sweaters and smiling. But as Roman watched, the happy memory was slowly eaten up by black lines, crossing out each side's eyes and covering the surrounding wall in cracks. "Patton's good for that, isn't he?"