Restless
I don't even know what this is. The song Restless-by Evanescence-came on, and I just wrote. Yay, freethought! :P
He’s sitting there. Doesn’t know what he’s doing. Doesn’t know where he is. Knows it’s in a room. In a silver fucking room.
The restraints on his hands rattle as he shakes them, tries to get out. He can feel the familiar tingling crawling up his legs, rushing down his arms. He tries to push past it, tries to hold himself together, but his eyes roll back in his head and he begins to scream.
He’s gone.
**
Later, he’s sitting on the floor. Can’t remember how he got here either. There’s a bottle beside him, smashed, parts of plastic streamed across the carpet. He opens his mouth, tries to speak, realizes that there’s something weird in there. Reaches up, scrapes his teeth with one nail. Plastic comes raining out, out of the gates of hell.
He stares at the ground, too tired to get up. He doesn’t know why he does this. Doesn’t know how he got like this. It’s getting harder and harder to remember a time when this didn’t plague him, didn’t rule his life.
A hand grips his chest, tearing away his shirt. He looks down, staring at the black bruises inked onto the pale skin. He’s never lived without these. Ever. It’s different though-now they’re because of him. Not because of Sam.
At least that was the one good thing about being in this place. Sam couldn’t reach him anymore.
He makes a fist of victory, before his body crumples, and he passes out.
**
He barely remembers his parents. Can’t remember his mum at all, his dad is just a dark blur. They were both white, he knows that much. At least he was born to them. Can’t remember much of his childhood. Only memory he has left of that time is Sam. Sam took everything from him. Sam beat him, cut him, told him he was worthless.
Sam told him the truth.
His parents didn’t believe it though. When the attacks started coming, they placed him here. When he knew the truth, he was deemed too dangerous, placed here. He remembers screaming as he was dragged away, but after that, everything blurs into one.
Can’t begin to remember how long it’s been. Just a long time. His life. His whole life has been spent in this one room. Never changing.
**
“Please!” he screams, watching the bottles of pills roll by him, watching them go to other patients. “Please, please, let me take one. Just one.”
There’s no one here. No one hears him. No one ever heard him.
He crashes to the ground, arms wrapped around himself in a sorry attempt to hold him together as he sobs.
**
He’s never met the other patients in here. Doesn’t need to. Doesn’t want to. He’s got the voices to talk to him. They’re better than any of the other nutcases in this place.
**
The first time he sees Sam, he doesn’t believe it. Thinks it’s a cardboard cut out. Think that it’s placed there just to trick him.
When Sam begins walking, talking even, he believes. This is Sam. He got in.
He’s no longer safe.
He runs to the wall, fists hitting, legs kicking, voice screaming. He screams until his throat is raw, until he can feel the blood trickling inside, and he keeps screaming. Won’t give up. It’s the only way he’ll survive.
Sam looms closer, a ghost in the dark. He leans over, placing one finger on his shoulder. “Told ya you were a faggot,” he breathes, cold breath washing over his ear, rushing into his head. Brainwashing him, again.
**
The next time that the nurse comes by, that he can see her outside the opaque window, he throws himself against it, begging, screaming to be let out, to see the others. It’s time for them to all interact, isn’t it? It doesn’t matter. He needs to get out, get away. Needs to be safe again.
His safe haven is no longer safe.
The other voices have stopped talking to him. Ever since Sam showed up again. He spends the night calling to them, begging, wailing, but they never come back. Instead, he’s forced into a sleep, Sam haunting him in his dreams.
Hates it. Wants to get out.
The nurse shakes her head, and says something, though he can’t hear her, before she moves onto the next room.
He sinks down, crying once again. “Pansy,” Sam spits, kicking him.
**
He begins to regret the day that he ever took the damn pills.
Pills were what gave him the voices in the first place, though he’d do anything to get them back now. Pills were how he met Sam, how he was forced to keep seeing him. Pills were how Sam found out everything, how Sam ruined his life.
He just couldn’t bring himself to smoke it. Or inject it. Needles were death. But this place was full of them.
This place was death.
**
Another day, he’s sitting against the wall, biting his thumb. He’s nervous-it’s been quiet all day. Doesn’t know what’s going to happen. Doesn’t know if he’s going to have more injections, more doctors running tests on him. Doesn’t know if he’ll be strapped to the chair, the machine.
Sam hasn’t shown up.
Halfway through thinking that, he looks up, feeling a breeze wash across his face, and sees Sam standing there, glaring at him. “Ugly. Fat. Faggot. Bastard,” he hisses, and with each insult, acid rains down on him, burning, sizzling through his skin, leaving holes that will never repair.
He tilts his head up, wishing it would burn through his brain.
**
Worse.
That’s his first thought when he wakes up this morning-or is it afternoon, he can never tell. There’s no windows in his room, just the one on the door, but even the hallway is only lit by artificial light.
Sam is lying next to him. He hasn’t left him in the past few weeks. The barrage of insults and beatings is constant, the pills taunting him, but only just out of reach. He knows Sam has them, but he won’t give them up.
A hand wraps around his waist, and he shivers. Sam uses his other arm to punch him in the stomach, forcing the contents, what little they are, to jerk up and leak out of his slack mouth, before Sam moves in, nuzzles him with his nose, before whispering against his neck.
“I wish you were fucking dead.”
**
He’s given pills. Finally. Swallows them with ease, though Sam fights with him, yells and screams at him. Falls asleep.
**
Wakes up. Sam’s gone.
**
The same routine repeats. Eventually, he wakes up after the pills, and Sam’s still there. A twisted smirk pulls up his cut lips. “You really thought you could get rid of me that easily?”
**
A couple of days later, when his door is barred and locked, almost melded shut, he realizes something. Sam appears in front of him once again, this time with a frown, but oddly triumphant eyes.
He realizes something, yes. Can’t put his finger on it.
Sam leans down and whispers, the words that seal his fate. The words that changed his life. The words that made him realize he was mad all along.
He never knew the truth. Only knew his thoughts. Only knew the lies. His parents-he had parents, right?-were doing the right thing by putting him in here. He had to be locked up in here.
He was officially crazy.
It’s only the words that made him realize is. Can’t believe he didn’t figure it out earlier.
“I am you.”
So fucking unoriginal, but whatever. At least I'm writing.