An Infallible Reason {-7}
{-7}: now i'm standing on the rooftop, ready to fall;
i think i'm at the edge now, but i could be wrong
Living with Arthur is not at all what Merlin might have thought it would be (not that he really thought about it much). While Arthur's office is a mess of disorganized documents, filled waste bins and plants that have seen better days, his apartment is neat and clean, with a lot of light and free space. It's a huge change for Merlin, who's used to living in his cramped little flat. The Arthur at work is a control freak, almost constantly on edge and yelling at everyone, insisting on things happening according to plan and on time, the Arthur at home is laid back and much more relaxed. It's a side of Arthur Merlin's never seen before and he likes it. He just wishes he'd get to enjoy it more often.
It hasn't escaped Merlin's notice that Arthur's been doing long hours, going out more often, has even taken up running and is generally doing everything to spend as much time as possible away from home without seeming too suspicious. In a way, Merlin does feel hurt and offended, but it's not like he doesn't understand. After all, he'd rather be away from himself too.
For weeks now he's been distracting himself from thinking by reading whatever printed material he happened to lay eyes on, or watching a rerun of a rerun of a show he doesn't particularly like, because everything is better than facing himself. But as he flips over the last page of Arthur's washing machine manual and walks out onto the balcony, he knows he won't be able to keep running for much longer, at least not successfully.
Sometimes, when he finishes a book or watches the last episode of a show, or decides that watching Will and Grace for what might literally be the fiftieth time is really not worth it, he wonders if maybe he should have gone to the therapist his doctor suggested for him, but then he thinks of having to actually talk about what happened, and his insides knot unpleasantly and he knows that he doesn't want to relive that. Everybody keeps telling him that it's healthy to talk about trauma and that he needs to do it in order to move on, but it's... not easy.
Every time he takes even a step out of the confines of the four walls (whether his or Arthur's), he can't stop turning around, looking over his shoulder in anticipation of another attack - every hooded person he sees, every woman with an umbrella, every man wearing anything more than a suit, everyone is dangerous, a potential aggressor. It's torture just standing in front of the building, but he knows he has to do it if he ever wants to get back any semblance of a normal life. Ever since he moved in with Arthur, he hasn't even tried to leave his room at night. Right now, he'd be hard pressed to remember what it was that possessed him to go back to that park at night on Christmas, but it seemed like a good idea at the time, like a step in the right direction. Clearly not.
And it's not just fear of going outside or fear of unfamiliar people, it's the constant anxiety he now lives with, like a reminder of what happened which doesn't want to go away. He's not comfortable kneeling, sitting down, walking; his iPod, his phone, his favourite music reminds him of that night; he'd rather never sleep again, because it's truly preferable to having nightmares every night.
He's gone over every single detail of what happened, made up a thousand scenarios for what could have been, dreamt of all the ways in which it could have ended differently. Usually he wistfully wonders how much better his life would be right now if only he'd escaped, if only he'd fought back harder.
But that's just the thing, is the conclusion he's come to. He didn't fight back enough. He let those men scare him and overpower him and hold him down; and what's more, he enjoyed it. It was one of the lowest, most humiliating moments in his life, but apparently, he now gets off on that. Worse yet, he's terrified of the prospect that, when (and if) he resumes his sex life, he will want that. So he tries to never let himself drift in that direction - he goes to his room or buries his nose in a book when Arthur walks out of the shower in the morning, he pretends to be sleeping when Arthur comes back from his run, sweaty and panting, he doesn't let Arthur's voice affect him in any way. It's not that he doesn't want Arthur or that there's anything wrong with him, it's just that Merlin is scared, he's paralyzed with fear of Arthur not wanting him because he's damaged goods, of Arthur leaving even after all this. Arthur has pretty much been his knight in shining armour through this whole ordeal and Merlin doesn't want to risk losing him over not being enough.
And then sometimes, like now, Merlin thinks about what the world would be like if those men had killed him like they threatened to. Yes, he would be gone and he wouldn't have the chance to spend all this time with Arthur, and he wouldn't have the opportunity to continue living one day, but he wouldn't be going through this torture and that sure counts for something.
So when he looks over the intricate white railings of the balcony, he almost wishes that he weren't there, almost wants to climb over and jump down, fly towards the concrete. Almost because wishing and wanting is too strong of a feeling for him at this point. He doesn't have it in him to desire or hope or hate. It's just numbness and fear and apathy. Nobody's prepared him for that. Back at the hospital, after the detectives grilled him for information like everything was somehow his fault and like he was the criminal, his doctor told him calmly and patiently about the possible consequences and health issues, and he mentioned depression. He failed to explain, however, what depression really was.
'Cause Merlin was ready for the fear, he was ready for being blamed and feeling guilty, for the humiliation; having been forewarned about them, he expected mood swings and overwhelming sadness, but no one ever bothered to prepare him for this moment - looking at the street three storeys down and thinking that it doesn't matter, that it's all the same if he walks back into the apartment or falls down to his death.
The door of the apartment opens, closes and the lock clicks into place. Merlin can hear Arthur dropping his keys into the bowl in the hallway and taking off his shoes. He stays where he is, though, not wanting to intrude. It's a strange, fragile agreement they have here, where Merlin has his space, and Arthur gladly gives it and neither really wants to impose on the other, so Merlin tries his best not to be in Arthur's way, because that's clearly not where Arthur wants him.
But it's not long before he hears, “Hey Merlin, what are you doing there?” So he turns around and walks inside. It doesn't matter anyway.
8: but here in this moment, like the eye of the storm,
it all came clear to me