𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐔𝐒 [𝐓.𝐊]

Chapter 5

Sunt Homines Liberi?

Are Human Beings Free?

Monday, 9 of September, 6:00 AM.

Evanthe.

Awful nightmares haunted his dreams, keeping him from rest; nightmares of suffocation, humiliation, and imprisonment. The usual kind. He was even able to remember those were the same ones he had the night before. If he's unable to rest for the third night, he doesn't know what to do to avoid the repercussions.

Once again, there wasn't excitement in his chest even if classes started that same day. He lay on his bed, looking at the ceiling, and heard Jimin move around the room without any wish to start the day. Not like this.

How could it be that only This morning he was realizing a painful fact? He'd all but ignored it, forced as he was to live with it until he'd seen his own sad-filed eyes the night before in a bathroom that wasn't the one in his house.

He had to break free. It felt different than ever to admit this, it made him feel heavy enough to sink deeper into the mattress. It wasn't like he was angry at how little touch he received, it wasn't like he was sad that he couldn't speak about his feelings, he was tired of the rules; the rules, the lines, the molds, the road he was forced to follow. He was tired. Tired of carrying his pain like Atlas does the globe, tired of watching other people be happy in a world that he could not be happy in, tired of forcing himself to remember or to forget or to shut up or to scream up, tired of being the person the situation demanded instead of being able to pull away and take a breath. He was so tired he could scream his throat raw and punch walls with bloody knuckles until all life would drain from his lungs or someone who cared would give him a hug.

Last night he felt freedom. He saw it, smelled it, touched it... talked to it... laughed with it, smiled with it, looked at it until his eyes burned and his heart ached. How sharp would the turn be if he went back to it? He ran from it. He felt the ripping in his chest and still feels how cold the void of such absence makes, would he be strong enough to go back and stay? Would he be strong enough to trust, to expect, to believe, to feel as he'd felt the night before without fear of fire burning the remaining flesh of his heart? Maybe he could... if freedom had eyes as dark and bright as a starry night sky.

He'd known long before that his freedom would be hard to obtain. He won't run away, not if he would leave his friends behind; not if he would be truly alone once he was gone. So, it wouldn't be unexpected if instead of running away, his freedom lay in going back to that moment when freedom gently brushed his tears away. But wouldn't that just be the pinnacle of his mountain of contrariness? Just the thing society has damned appears to him as a savior on a moonlit clearing.

A savior... That's exactly what he needed. What he wanted. What he'd been begging for since he was denied the first hug he ever asked for. So why was he panicking so much? He'd been wanting this moment for since he can remember, does it matter what gender it appeared as? He'd been tired of the rules and grown even more tired still whenever his mind reminded him of punishment, does it matter if he would be breaking them for his own good? So long as no one else knew... So long as he was willing...

So long as he could have the freedom he felt the night before, looking without touching might just be enough–Oh, how hard he begged not to start begging. Just the memory of his hands was enough to have him kneeling. How would he be able to survive the cold the absence of his touch had brought? And really... how would he be able to get out this door as if he wasn't praying for just the thing they've all been taught to burn?