Piece Of Skin PG13 Prison Break Michael, Haywire
A creepy little Haywire story followed by an even creeper little Haywire story. Part I takes place during Haywire's time in Michael's cell, Part II in the psych ward. Haywire gets tactile. Slashy overtones.
Piece Of Skin I
Medication is flushed away with other foul things. His brain is left to work on its own, nonstop, without interference. His eyes stay open around the clock. Eyes that stay open have to look at something. Gray bricks connect to form lines. Haywire watches the lines cross and move over the wall. He follows them. They don't lead anywhere. A shirt is removed. He sees new lines. They lead somewhere. The blue lines are stretched over skin wrapped around flesh. The lines are strings tied to his retinas. His hand flies on its own copying the lines. On paper the lines die.
"They used to make maps from animal skins," Haywire mumbles.
"What?" Scofield asks.
"Nothing."
Scofield has become cautious. He won't let Haywire see, keeps covering up. Scofield avoids the persistent look. The look never leaves him, the eyes never close. Scofield is trapped. In Haywire's mind there is the unarticulated belief that if you look at something long enough you own it. The thing becomes embedded inside your eyes as a fly in honey, in amber. A camera stealing a soul.
Blue lines and veins become entangled. Haywire needs to separate them, separate the skin from the rest. If the lines were laid out flat, the way a map unwraps from a globe, the skin unwrapped from the rest, he could follow the path.
Haywire is very gentle with Scofield's shirt. He tears the fabric thread by thread, follows the lines up and down, traces his way through the maze. He has a light touch like a crawling spider. Scofield doesn't notice the traveling of his fingers down the path. Of course the path leads down. The searching fingers sink in.
Piece Of Skin II
Michael takes off his shirt. Haywire stands up. His eyes are on Michael's chest. Michael doesn't step back even though he wants to. When Haywire's hand reaches out, Michael's arm jerks up as if to stop him.
Does he have to touch him? Michael doesn't ask out loud. He has Haywire's attention. He wants to keep it.
The touch is haphazard, unpredictable. Michael grits his teeth. Haywire stoops over, completely absorbed.
"I need to know about the back," Michael says. He doesn't turn around though. He can't.
Haywire looks up at him, still hunched over. The bug eyes are dull, fixed on Michael's. Michael doesn't like looking at them. Haywire puts his hands on Michael's waist, turns him. The hands slide over Michael's stomach and lower back. Michael's knuckles throb under the bandage as he makes a fist.
Haywire digs his thumbs into Michael's hips. Michael doesn't rip his hands away.
"Who did it?" Haywire asks. Whether he is curious or envious, Michael can't tell.
"Everyone wants to know," Michael says with an ironic twist to his voice. "It doesn't matter. Tell me what used to be there?"
Haywire's fingers travel up. Michael holds his breath. The fingers edge around the burn. Michael's breath hisses between his teeth.
"Can you see it?"
"Dogs lick their wounds. They can't help it," Haywire answers.
"Haywire!" Michael warns him as he feels his breath hot on the burn.
"I can see it. I can see everything," Michael hears in his ear as Haywire's fingers suddenly circle the back of his neck.
The End
Piece Of Skin I
Medication is flushed away with other foul things. His brain is left to work on its own, nonstop, without interference. His eyes stay open around the clock. Eyes that stay open have to look at something. Gray bricks connect to form lines. Haywire watches the lines cross and move over the wall. He follows them. They don't lead anywhere. A shirt is removed. He sees new lines. They lead somewhere. The blue lines are stretched over skin wrapped around flesh. The lines are strings tied to his retinas. His hand flies on its own copying the lines. On paper the lines die.
"They used to make maps from animal skins," Haywire mumbles.
"What?" Scofield asks.
"Nothing."
Scofield has become cautious. He won't let Haywire see, keeps covering up. Scofield avoids the persistent look. The look never leaves him, the eyes never close. Scofield is trapped. In Haywire's mind there is the unarticulated belief that if you look at something long enough you own it. The thing becomes embedded inside your eyes as a fly in honey, in amber. A camera stealing a soul.
Blue lines and veins become entangled. Haywire needs to separate them, separate the skin from the rest. If the lines were laid out flat, the way a map unwraps from a globe, the skin unwrapped from the rest, he could follow the path.
Haywire is very gentle with Scofield's shirt. He tears the fabric thread by thread, follows the lines up and down, traces his way through the maze. He has a light touch like a crawling spider. Scofield doesn't notice the traveling of his fingers down the path. Of course the path leads down. The searching fingers sink in.
Piece Of Skin II
Michael takes off his shirt. Haywire stands up. His eyes are on Michael's chest. Michael doesn't step back even though he wants to. When Haywire's hand reaches out, Michael's arm jerks up as if to stop him.
Does he have to touch him? Michael doesn't ask out loud. He has Haywire's attention. He wants to keep it.
The touch is haphazard, unpredictable. Michael grits his teeth. Haywire stoops over, completely absorbed.
"I need to know about the back," Michael says. He doesn't turn around though. He can't.
Haywire looks up at him, still hunched over. The bug eyes are dull, fixed on Michael's. Michael doesn't like looking at them. Haywire puts his hands on Michael's waist, turns him. The hands slide over Michael's stomach and lower back. Michael's knuckles throb under the bandage as he makes a fist.
Haywire digs his thumbs into Michael's hips. Michael doesn't rip his hands away.
"Who did it?" Haywire asks. Whether he is curious or envious, Michael can't tell.
"Everyone wants to know," Michael says with an ironic twist to his voice. "It doesn't matter. Tell me what used to be there?"
Haywire's fingers travel up. Michael holds his breath. The fingers edge around the burn. Michael's breath hisses between his teeth.
"Can you see it?"
"Dogs lick their wounds. They can't help it," Haywire answers.
"Haywire!" Michael warns him as he feels his breath hot on the burn.
"I can see it. I can see everything," Michael hears in his ear as Haywire's fingers suddenly circle the back of his neck.
The End