unraveled

i'm alive, aren't i?

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Acelius woke up to blinding sunlight filtering through the windows, a streak of gold-tinted light falling in a slant smoothly reaching to where he had fallen asleep. Shouts and cheers and chatters sounded outside, banners shining brilliant blue in the light. The same light that illuminated the room and the mess within it. Astrew fabric and stains of blood. He rubbed his hand through his hair and felt clumped up strands and grease. He instantly withdrew his hands, as his mind tried and failed to catch up with the recent past.

His eyes drifted to the mattress on the other end and the body sprawled on it, her breathing somewhat even and it hit him like a slingshot hitting home. Relief flooded through him as he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes momentarily.

The next time he opened them, the sun was a bit less relentless, dowsing the room in cool afternoon shade. Nia's eyes were open as she quietly looked at the sky outside from her, her chest rising and falling. Breathing. Living. Relief flooded him again as he closed his eyes, narrowly missing the turn of Nia's head as she shifted her gaze to him.

The next time, he opened his eyes, Nia was looking right at him. He looked back. She looked horrible. Like a ghost come back to life. Her face was gaunt with deep, bruised circles underneath her eyes, cheekbones jutting out. Without a word he stood up and left.

Acelius returned with a tray dotted with steaming soup and honeyed potatoes and palatable steak and a goblet of water. The sky outside was darkening, but the streets were aglow with the fires burning warm and bright within people's hearts. With every day closer to the ball, Esterham burned brighter and brighter, every breath bracing harder and deeper in anticipation for the supernovei that would be the day of Apertum. He heard shrieks and giggles and soberly missed dancing and singing and silk and revelry. But then his gaze turned to Nia and his thoughts fell away.

She ate alone, her hands moving carefully around so as to not touch the wound.

Acelius bathed, using his nails to scrape away the blood on his skin. He scraped even when his skin was crystal clear and the blood had long since left with the water. Steam danced and snaked where the hot water met his skin. He scraped as his skin turned red again, leaving streaks of red blooming across his skin as if some demon were tearing him from the inside with its curving claws. He scraped until the knot in his throat melted away and small purple dots blossomed on his skin.

He wiped himself and shook out his wet hair. He washed his glasses and the world returned to him in a clarity he wasn't ready to face yet. Leaving his glasses by the basin, he wrapped himself in a sweater thick enough to shield him from any cool wind, and thin enough to let him breathe still.

He lay on his bed, and looked out at the sky. And finally, finally a tear seeped down his cheek. It traced its way into the folds of his ear and then into his hair. It was a tear for Thomas. For a what if? What if he could have saved him the way he saved her today? What if he could have saved himself? He'd told her that he'd forgotten the worst of it all. That his brain had rejected the memory. And some of it, it had. But there was only so much he could ignore. Only so many monsters he could keep at bay.

He'd been a kid. A mere fifteen year old. His head swirled.

How could you cover your ears from the distant voice of whips if it came from within?

How could you light a candle in the dark if the dark was within?

Another tear seeped down his cheek as he sat up. His heart thundering. He needed to distract himself. Do something. Bad or good, it didn't matter.

He stood up and walked to the room across from him. If he couldn't fix himself, he could at least fix her. Or as much as she would let him. In the dark of the room, Nia sat. His heart thundered faster.