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The fever had receded almost as rapidly as it had come, but plenty of other discomforts had taken its place. His back was burning, his spine, the base of his skull, and there was a curious, perpetual ringing in his ears. It was faint, and occasionally, it warped into a quiet buzzing; it was the buzzing that hurt. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, and his temples throbbed in sync with the noise. His mouth was open and his tongue hung out slightly, panting heavily. There was no longer any saliva, and his throat was unbearably dry. He lay on his side, chest rising and falling slowly.
Laruku opened his eyes again. Shapes in the distance looked like trees. Everything else was white. Snow, perhaps. It was cold enough, even as his body burned. He liked the snow. It was clean; it was often the only thing that was. What would you change? he asked softly, a ragged whisper that seemed to die as soon as it left his lips. The snow fell like his voice, lightly, a negligible thing in the long, empty night. The sky was black, and the dawn was far away.
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It had been two days. Ahren had slept little, each night waking to coughing fits and sharp pain. He wanted to believe that this was not the disease tearing the two closest people to him apart. He did not want to believe that he was sick, that he was getting sick, that he would be going through the same torture that had occurred when he had gone cold turkey. Still, he knew that it would be better if he remained with the other males, and so he had been in and out of the shack several times. The sleep had taken him not that long ago, and he was dozing uneasily.
The question stirred him from some twilight sleep, and he opened his eyes slowly. Dust filtered through the cracks in the wood, and the sunlight was hazy, suggesting it was close to sunset. Ahren rolled over and sat up, coughing. “What?”
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Ahren should think Laruku's talking about when he said he wouldn't get sick, lol. <_< I'm making heavy references to this thread, by the by.
His eyes were wide open, but he couldn't see very well in the fog. This had never bothered him before because, of course, he had known the territories too well. He was in an impossible place now, but the area still strangely foreign all the same, unfamiliar. It was uninviting and cold. Most memories were, but he didn't feel like this was a memory or a dream, both of which he had plenty of experience with. The shape on the horizon grew bigger as it sat up. The world behind him and between them was still white. Everything, he had replied; he would change the world. Laruku pinned his ears back against his skull and ignored the the sudden, cackling laughter there. Oh, he was back, it seemed. That made sense. He'd only ever been a sickness, after all.
You lied to me, he whispered, jaw twitching slightly as he spoke. But I forgive you. I've always forgiven you. A numb arm reached out towards the other, fingers stretching pathetically. Bodies were warm. He was cold. I'm sorry, he said. He'd spent his life apologizing, but it never seemed to be enough.
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There was a dull buzz in his head, like wasps or cicadas were taking up roost there. It was subtle, and not yet enough to drive him to madness. In part, this was because he had gone down that road long ago, even though he had not made this information public yet. Only those few select victims had known, and only one knew his name. That event had been a long time coming though, and they had both deserved it. That was why he felt nothing, not even when he had set lose a monster on them. Conri was an unknown factor—he didn’t know what the boy was capable of.
Laruku’s arm touched his back and Ahren felt white-hot flame, though he did not recoil. It was all right. Something was wrong. “I didn’t lie to you,” he said, knowing that this was another lie. How long had he been lying? Forever, it seemed like. “It wasn’t your fault.”
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It was some kind of regression, time travel within the broken mind so that strands became fragments and everything was forced together like some haphazard Frankenstein puzzle. So many things in his head and his heart hinged on events in the past, but through the months and years, it almost seemed as if they had become more metaphoric than anything else. He dreams were filled with breaking, blinding dawns, fireflies with no wings and dandelions in fields he couldn't reach. It was like he couldn't think about or deal with the literal anymore. Real things had jagged edges and cut him when he reached for them. The other's body was fire, but he let his hand burn because the rest of him was still freezing.
He laughed some kind of strangled, mirthless laugh and felt his throat choke up with a cough he didn't want to release. You're lying to make me feel better, he said, sounding bitter somehow and knowing it was why most people had ever lied to him. For a long time, he had preferred the dirty truth to the pretty lie, and then he had preferred whatever pseudo-reality people presented to him, and then he stopped distinguishing between the two. Laruku blinked and found tears in his eyes. He coughed. Tell me something that's true. He had promised him once that he'd never lie to him, but that promise had been broken more than once before. He could expect it to happen again now.
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So like, since I am leaving tomorrow, Ruku totally needs to drop his bombshell on Ahren. -cough-
The sickness had not fully reached his mind yet. Though a fever was rising, Ahren was well aware of his surroundings. Shack. Wood. Bodies and sunlight. He didn’t know the day, but he had no reason to keep track of such things. The red-eyed man could feel the turn of the earth in his bones and was all too well aware of the passage of time. It was the only thing that was certain, and that certainty was as familiar as death. The laughter made his ears fold back and caused his eyes to narrow. Was that his laughter of the demon?
“I never should have come back,” he said lowly, knowing that above all other this, this was true. He should had fled into the wilderness and abandoned this ragged, wicked place. He should have never thought he could help anyone. He should never have lived as long as he had.
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WHY YOU GOTTA RUSH ME? D;
For months, Laruku had hoped feverously that he would never return, that he would never come home to discover all the wicked things he'd done, that he'd never know. He had liked to believe that the grey wolf had instead gone back to that impossible place he had spoken of before; he had liked to believe that he was happy there, and that he had forgotten or otherwise put to rest all the troubles between them. Their home had been a cursed land full of regrets and sins; they'd been born from it, and if they stayed, they would die from it, but not without going crazy first. Those that escaped were lucky, but the gravity of their wretched homeland was strong.
He had hoped that the other would remain lucky, but that morning, he had been happy to see him all the same. No, he muttered, eyes blinking with moisture. I'm glad you came back. He'd never been told the reason, nor had he asked how he had known. Laruku still believed that more than anyone else, he deserved to be the man that killed him. Liquid trickled down his cheek, but he felt more empty than sad. Weary, tired. I love you, he breathed, but ended up coughing. ...Tsunami. It was the only truth he'd ever told to himself or anyone else. I'm sorry.
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Did Ahren, whom had loved Matinee as he had life, like to think she had gone on to a better place? No. He hoped she had disappeared into the ruins where all her people went, the under bowels of some rat hole that swallowed gypsies and actors whole. If she had never come back, he would have been all too happy to let her vanish. Someone else could have her, and someone else could take over the responsibility for the harpy.
Ahren shut his eyes and tried to steady his breathing, but it had hit a strange tempo. His heart seemed out of pace. Laruku was speaking and he barely heard the voice. Then three little worlds went to change the world and he nearly jolted. One more sent his blood on fire. Scrambling to his feet, Ahren staggered to the door and made his way outside to the burning sun.
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The silence in the air and the emptiness where a body had been was sudden but expected. He imagined it must have sounded like a curse now, even if it was only the second time he'd ever said it. They didn't mean anything, didn't erase anything, didn't fix anything. They were just a reminder of a time long, long since past. It had been almost two years since they had last touched a harmless touch, a touch that had not been meant to kill. The white room was empty and so was the chasm in his chest; the headache was tremendous, but he couldn't feel his own beating heart anymore. Laruku could only continue to lie to himself, as much as he wanted the lies to be true.
He wanted to believe that he could put this behind him because so much time had passed already. He wanted to believe that he could forget because he had said sorry too many times already and he couldn't be any more sorry than he already was. He wanted to believe that there was a "better," even if he didn't know what it was. He had always wanted to believe. He was still trying. Laruku dragged his arm back to his body and curled his knees to his chest. There were still tears running down his face, but he didn't really feel them anymore.
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