Isidor Briar Durant (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
heirtothedragonsfire) wrote2018-02-17 03:40 pm
heirtothedragonsfire) wrote2018-02-17 03:40 pm
Entry tags:
Confronting the Ultimate Nightmare
Warning: This piece has some heavy topics involved so if you're not feeling up to it feel free to give this a pass.
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A few years ago if someone had told me all the things I would have experienced I would have laughed them out of the room. I wouldn't say I've changed all that much, but my life has. Dramatically and repeatedly, in fact. And while I might not have changed, I have learned. There are things I can't ignore anymore. There are things I used to think would be dangerous to talk about; as though invoking them would summon the very thing I was trying so hard to avoid. Now I'm more afraid they will remain hidden from sight until one day I reach out for the people I care about and find they've turned to dust, eaten from the inside out.
A clock ticks in the background. Viatorus never has a clock in his home. If affects his ability to get to sleep, he says. I enjoy the sound. It helps me stay conscious of the time, a soft reminder to keep me on track. The room is dim but for the light Viatorus is reading by, my own light, and the fire. The flickering flames make the shadows shudder and twitch, growing suddenly and receding just as quickly across his enviably serene face. The fire roars, the clock ticks, and we sit in silence.
Realising I've been staring for a while, I look back down at my book. I don't even remember what it's about. I wish it was called 'How to start difficult conversations'. All through work I'd been preoccupied with how this moment should proceed. Deciding to do it was the easy part. Deciding how was impossible. Now with a perfect opportunity I realise that if I hadn't reached a satisfactory decision by now I probably wasn't going to, no matter how long I thought about it. It seems that the only way to start this is simply to do it. Carefully.
He sets the book on the arm of his chair only for it to slide off and hit the ground. His hands start to flit around his chest, his throat... Oh. Oh no... "I can't breathe," he gasps.
My own book is cast aside as I bolt up.
"I... I can't..."
I pull him to him to his feet and hold his shoulders to keep him balanced. "Breathe, Viatorus. It's just a panic attack. Don't worry about anything else, just breathe. In... and out..." I demonstrate for him. Deep breathing really isn't something I'm good at. If it wasn't for Viatorus I would never have learned how to focus on it.
Still he flounders, grasping my arms and inhaling more than he exhales. "I-I... I can't..."
"It's ok, V, just breathe." There's a tired calmness to my voice which I worry a little comes across as irritation, but it's better than anger. "It's fine. You just need to breathe."
Then suddenly he collapses into a sob and I nearly fall over trying to keep him on his feet. "I didn't... I-I didn't... mean to... I... I... I just... wanted it... wanted it to... to end, I..." He gasps and shudders, wheezing as his voice cracks. "Y-You... w-were all... hurting... A-All I... It was... pain... Just so much... so much p-p-pain..."
My heart pounds violently and I struggle into a steadier stance to try and keep him up. "V, just breathe," I whisper.
"It never... n-n-never stopped," he whispers back. The moment of calm dissolves into anguish and he sobs again. "They... They were so... horrible... Th-They crawled i-i-inside m-m-m-my head..."
The screaming, thrashing image of him flashes brightly in my mind. "I know. Breathe. In... and out..."
"I-I remember th-their hands..." His fingers tighten around my arms. "Th-Their..." He heaves and claps a hand over his mouth. For a minute he stands there, shaking, tears streaming down his face. Whatever had made him still slips away and his shoulders shudder with his sobbing. "I-I'm... I... I'm sorry. I-I-I'm... so... sorry."
"You don't have anything to be sorry about," I tell him. Immediately guilt runs through me; I don't entirely believe my own words.
"I... I... just wanted... it... t-to stop... I just..." My heart is pounding so loudly I can hardly hear him. "Needed it to... to stop..." I shouldn't have asked this. "I... I thought... it would... last forever..." I shouldn't have brought it up. "I th-th-thought I would... be like that... forever..." I don't want to hear this. "Hurting... all of you..." I don't want him to say it. "I just... wanted it to stop..." Don't say it. "I... couldn't... see a way out..."
My whole body feels numb. Neither of up can keep this up. All I can do is help guide him back down to his seat. His hands let go of me to cover his face to hide the shame, and the fear. Meanwhile I stand and watch him. I can't help but think that I must look like Harrowheart when he stares, expressionless and silent. I wonder if in those moments he feels as hollow and sick as I do now.
"I..." He's still wrestling through his breaths. "I th-thought I..." No matter how many times I tell him to breathe he won't listen. "I'd be... I-It would be... better..." Stop. Stop talking. "I thought... th-that they w-were right..." Tell me you never thought these things. "I-I just... wanted... n-no more... pain..."
"Is that why you stopped eating?" It takes me a minute to realise the question is coming out of my mouth. So many slow realisations crawling through me like ice.
His fingers dig into his skin. "Y-You took... took the... knives... the forks... I just... wanted to... stop."
"You were hurting people," I tell him and immediately start kicking myself. I didn't need to say that. He knows he was going to hurt someone. That's why he wanted them.
My reply makes him start weeping again. "I d-d-didn't want to. D-d-didn't... mean to."
I know I shouldn't. I know I should just stop and console him and never speak of this again. This should have stayed buried. But I need to know. I need to know. Maybe that's wrong of me, cruel of me, but I need to know. For certain. No more uncertainty to drive my imagination wild. No more secrets. Bring it out to the open. Bring the shadows into the light.
With a deep breath, I try to steel myself. On the exhale I begin my question, slowly, reluctantly. "Viatorus. When you asked me to make you stop... Were you asking me...?"
"I-I was... a... coward. I... I was... weak. I..." His voice is so very quiet, so strange, so full of... loathing. It breaks but he continues. "I thought... if I... if I was... gone..."
The shock holds me in place, standing in a daze, watching myself drop down to my knees and take his hands in mine. From outside my own body I watch myself comfort him. I watch as I tell him he's wrong, and list all his best qualities through teeth gritted with determination. There are tears streaming down my face, but the Isidor beside my brother doesn't notice them. For every apology he chokes on I tell him he has nothing to apologise for. For every bad word he says about himself I tell him it's not true. It feels so useless. I might as well be scrambling through a storm. What am I meant to do? What am I meant to say? I'm at a loss. Yet again when I have nothing Harrowheart's words come to me: 'Fuck what you're supposed to say. Tell him what you need to say'.
What do I need to say?
For a while there's nothing to say except for the constant stream of reassurances. It takes a long time for his tears to show any signs of stopping, but eventually his sobbing starts to slow and I start to join with my own body again. His face is a mess of red blotches but he stares into space in a stupor. Eventually silence falls between us again, interrupted only by his sudden intakes of air.
"Viatorus..." My hands squeeze his so that he steals glances at me. It's difficult but I force a smile, I hold it there even though my face aches with the effort. "I love you. You are more important to me than anything else in the universe. If you were gone my life would be worthless." He stops glancing and holds my gaze, searching for something in my face to banish his uncertainty. Every part of me hurts with the strain of my voice, the pleading of my eyes, the begging. "I... I need you. You make me try to be the best person I can be. We both make mistakes sometimes but I don't care. Those mistakes make us stronger, because we're stronger together. We're a team, V. We've always been a team. I'm nothing without you." A laugh bubbles up, breaking through my tension and pinching the painful lump in my throat. "Everyone gets so sick of me talking about you instead of myself, but I can't help it. I'm proud of you, V, and I love you, and I will never ever let anything bad happen to you again."
There are fresh tears running down his cheeks and for a minute I think he's about to start sobbing again. Suddenly he moves, pulling his hands out of mine and lunging towards me. I freeze in surprise and the next thing I know he's on the floor with me, arms wrapped tightly around me in a hug. When was the last time we'd hugged? Slowly my arms wrap around him and though it feels strange and uncomfortable I decide it's not bad. In fact, I think as I feel how tightly his embrace is, it's probably exactly what we needed. Even in the depths of his despair, Viatorus has a special kind of wisdom. I'll have to tell him that some day. I'll have to tell him about every good thing about himself, so that I know he knows about it. One day maybe he'll fight for himself for all the same reasons that I fight for him.
We hug until the wooden floor has printed patterns onto our knees and the fire has died down to a glow. Although I'm reluctant to leave him alone I vanish briefly to get us both some water. My head is throbbing and I'm sure his must be worse. When I return we stay sitting on the floor and we talk. We talk about how we used to trick the cook to get biscuits as children. We talk about how he taught me how to swim better so I could beat a girl in a race. We talk about memories I'd forgotten about, cherished moments that had been replaced by thoughts of long days poring over yellowing pages. We talk about how we were a team. Together we remember. Together we'll never be alone again.
When I look at Viatorus again he‘s staring into space, eyes glazed over. It’s a pretty common thing for him to slip deep into his thoughts. Luckily for me it also gives me a good opening.
"What are you thinking about?" I ask, eyeing him curiously.
Viatorus, startled out of his musings, blinks at me. "Oh, um…" He looks away as if he isn't sure what was running through his head and he has to figure it out. "Nothing, really." I raise an eyebrow at him and he reconsiders his answer. "Flowers. I was thinking about how flowers affect an environment and the psyche."
"And dreams," I add. Inevitably all things come back to his work.
"And dreams," he confirms sheepishly.
"I've been doing some thinking of my own," I tell him casually.
Viatorus presses his lips into a thin line as if he wants to say 'uh oh' but knows better than to dare. Instead he hazards a quiet, "Oh…?"
I close my book and press my palm against the cover before meeting his gaze. “I want to talk to you about when you were ill.”
Almost immediately his eyes flicker away, he swallows hard and tries not to look at me. "Talk to me about it? Wh... Why?"
Leaning forward I try to sound encouraging. “We never talk about it, we never have.”
Almost immediately his eyes flicker away, he swallows hard and tries not to look at me. "Talk to me about it? Wh... Why?"
Leaning forward I try to sound encouraging. “We never talk about it, we never have.”
Squirming in his seat, Viatorus shrugs and mumbles, “Why would we?”
“Because it took up years of both our lives.” It’s so hard not to sound bitter about it now that I’ve thought about how long we’ve gone thinking we had to stay quiet about it, thinking that being silent was the same as forgetting. “Because it changed who we are. Because I never knew what you saw, and you never knew what I saw.” By now he’s tried to all but bury himself in his chair to get away. There he is again, that pale boy… My shoulders slump and my voice softens. “Because I don’t want you to think I blame you for it.”
He looks over to me, searching my face in surprise, and then he looks away again. “I know you don’t.”
Do you? The question perches at the edge of my lips, but I swallow it back.
The clock ticks, and the fire growls. I know what I really want to ask him, what I need to ask him, but it’s so difficult. The mere mention of this has already made him so much smaller, hunched and half-turned as though afraid something might hit him. Every inch of me wants to stop bringing up these painful memories, but I can’t do that. I know I can’t do that. Harrowheart's words ring through my thoughts: 'If you bring it up and it makes him hurt, it means he wasn't healing, he was hiding'. Would it be better to leave him with his wounds? No. It's time to bring these demons out into the light and slay them.
“Viatorus…” His eyes look in my direction but don’t meet my gaze. Each lungful of air makes my voice tremble quietly. “Viatorus… Before… Before the Archon came… you… said something, do you remember?”
I search his face, hoping for some recognition, hoping that I don’t have to keep explaining. Hoping desperately that I won’t be the one who had to say it out loud. He doesn’t move. He stays perfectly still, clutching his book so tightly that his knuckles are turning white.
“You… You asked me…” I can still remember how pale he was, how thin. Hair plastered in sweat, cheeks gaunt, voice hoarse and broken. No matter what we did he always looked like we’d found him on the streets. “You asked me to make it stop.” The way he stays so still I wonder if he remembers. I wonder if he’s even breathing. “Every time you woke up that’s all you would say, that’s all you would ask for.” I watch as his eyes slide away from me, to some point on the floor, and I know: He remembers. “No matter what I said, no matter how much I explained, you kept asking me to make it stop.”
I wish he would just say something. Why won't he say something? A surge of anger cracks through me. I'm trying, so hard, to work through this. To get past this secret unspoken thing in our family that replaces words with looks, that makes us go still when we should act. I'm beyond fearing it now. I hate it.
"'Make it stop', 'make it stop'. Over and over and over again." I can hear my frustration building so I have to stop myself, waiting until I can temper it before I look at him again. His eyelids flutter with the flickering light of the fire and I can hear his breathing become more laboured. Still, determined, desperate, I press him for answers. "What did you mean, Viatorus? What did you want me to do?"
His lips tremble and his breath hitches in a way that makes me think he's about to speak. Silence falls between us again and my anticipation snaps into frustration again.
"Years, Viatorus, years! Years of watching you walk in circles in the corridors, fit, sleep, and walk again until you couldn't walk anymore! Years of trying to hold convoluted, nonsensical conversations with you until all you could do was cry and scream and beg me to 'make it stop'!" Each word makes him flinch and makes me feel worse and worse as I watch him tremble in his seat. I might as well be striking him every time I open my mouth, but I can't stop. These thoughts and memories keep coming, pouring out of me. I'd opened the gates, and I couldn't close them. "Years of me standing back while strangers came into our home to poke and prod you, to poison you and break you and declare there was nothing wrong! Years of... o-of leaning how to see those things crawling out of the corners of the world and how to fight them, only for them to keep coming, relentlessly!"
Finally. Finally he starts to move. At first it's just a hand lifting from his book and dropping again. Then he gets restless, shifting meaninglessly in his chair, but he still looks at the floor.
A sudden, unexpected tiredness washes over me and my whole body sags. "I just want to know what you meant, Viatorus." My voice is quiet, weak. "I want to know... I... I need to know... I need to know if I did the right thing."
"'Make it stop', 'make it stop'. Over and over and over again." I can hear my frustration building so I have to stop myself, waiting until I can temper it before I look at him again. His eyelids flutter with the flickering light of the fire and I can hear his breathing become more laboured. Still, determined, desperate, I press him for answers. "What did you mean, Viatorus? What did you want me to do?"
His lips tremble and his breath hitches in a way that makes me think he's about to speak. Silence falls between us again and my anticipation snaps into frustration again.
"Years, Viatorus, years! Years of watching you walk in circles in the corridors, fit, sleep, and walk again until you couldn't walk anymore! Years of trying to hold convoluted, nonsensical conversations with you until all you could do was cry and scream and beg me to 'make it stop'!" Each word makes him flinch and makes me feel worse and worse as I watch him tremble in his seat. I might as well be striking him every time I open my mouth, but I can't stop. These thoughts and memories keep coming, pouring out of me. I'd opened the gates, and I couldn't close them. "Years of me standing back while strangers came into our home to poke and prod you, to poison you and break you and declare there was nothing wrong! Years of... o-of leaning how to see those things crawling out of the corners of the world and how to fight them, only for them to keep coming, relentlessly!"
Finally. Finally he starts to move. At first it's just a hand lifting from his book and dropping again. Then he gets restless, shifting meaninglessly in his chair, but he still looks at the floor.
A sudden, unexpected tiredness washes over me and my whole body sags. "I just want to know what you meant, Viatorus." My voice is quiet, weak. "I want to know... I... I need to know... I need to know if I did the right thing."
He sets the book on the arm of his chair only for it to slide off and hit the ground. His hands start to flit around his chest, his throat... Oh. Oh no... "I can't breathe," he gasps.
My own book is cast aside as I bolt up.
"I... I can't..."
I pull him to him to his feet and hold his shoulders to keep him balanced. "Breathe, Viatorus. It's just a panic attack. Don't worry about anything else, just breathe. In... and out..." I demonstrate for him. Deep breathing really isn't something I'm good at. If it wasn't for Viatorus I would never have learned how to focus on it.
Still he flounders, grasping my arms and inhaling more than he exhales. "I-I... I can't..."
"It's ok, V, just breathe." There's a tired calmness to my voice which I worry a little comes across as irritation, but it's better than anger. "It's fine. You just need to breathe."
Then suddenly he collapses into a sob and I nearly fall over trying to keep him on his feet. "I didn't... I-I didn't... mean to... I... I... I just... wanted it... wanted it to... to end, I..." He gasps and shudders, wheezing as his voice cracks. "Y-You... w-were all... hurting... A-All I... It was... pain... Just so much... so much p-p-pain..."
My heart pounds violently and I struggle into a steadier stance to try and keep him up. "V, just breathe," I whisper.
"It never... n-n-never stopped," he whispers back. The moment of calm dissolves into anguish and he sobs again. "They... They were so... horrible... Th-They crawled i-i-inside m-m-m-my head..."
The screaming, thrashing image of him flashes brightly in my mind. "I know. Breathe. In... and out..."
"I-I remember th-their hands..." His fingers tighten around my arms. "Th-Their..." He heaves and claps a hand over his mouth. For a minute he stands there, shaking, tears streaming down his face. Whatever had made him still slips away and his shoulders shudder with his sobbing. "I-I'm... I... I'm sorry. I-I-I'm... so... sorry."
"You don't have anything to be sorry about," I tell him. Immediately guilt runs through me; I don't entirely believe my own words.
"I... I... just wanted... it... t-to stop... I just..." My heart is pounding so loudly I can hardly hear him. "Needed it to... to stop..." I shouldn't have asked this. "I... I thought... it would... last forever..." I shouldn't have brought it up. "I th-th-thought I would... be like that... forever..." I don't want to hear this. "Hurting... all of you..." I don't want him to say it. "I just... wanted it to stop..." Don't say it. "I... couldn't... see a way out..."
My whole body feels numb. Neither of up can keep this up. All I can do is help guide him back down to his seat. His hands let go of me to cover his face to hide the shame, and the fear. Meanwhile I stand and watch him. I can't help but think that I must look like Harrowheart when he stares, expressionless and silent. I wonder if in those moments he feels as hollow and sick as I do now.
"I..." He's still wrestling through his breaths. "I th-thought I..." No matter how many times I tell him to breathe he won't listen. "I'd be... I-It would be... better..." Stop. Stop talking. "I thought... th-that they w-were right..." Tell me you never thought these things. "I-I just... wanted... n-no more... pain..."
"Is that why you stopped eating?" It takes me a minute to realise the question is coming out of my mouth. So many slow realisations crawling through me like ice.
His fingers dig into his skin. "Y-You took... took the... knives... the forks... I just... wanted to... stop."
"You were hurting people," I tell him and immediately start kicking myself. I didn't need to say that. He knows he was going to hurt someone. That's why he wanted them.
My reply makes him start weeping again. "I d-d-didn't want to. D-d-didn't... mean to."
I know I shouldn't. I know I should just stop and console him and never speak of this again. This should have stayed buried. But I need to know. I need to know. Maybe that's wrong of me, cruel of me, but I need to know. For certain. No more uncertainty to drive my imagination wild. No more secrets. Bring it out to the open. Bring the shadows into the light.
With a deep breath, I try to steel myself. On the exhale I begin my question, slowly, reluctantly. "Viatorus. When you asked me to make you stop... Were you asking me...?"
"I-I was... a... coward. I... I was... weak. I..." His voice is so very quiet, so strange, so full of... loathing. It breaks but he continues. "I thought... if I... if I was... gone..."
The shock holds me in place, standing in a daze, watching myself drop down to my knees and take his hands in mine. From outside my own body I watch myself comfort him. I watch as I tell him he's wrong, and list all his best qualities through teeth gritted with determination. There are tears streaming down my face, but the Isidor beside my brother doesn't notice them. For every apology he chokes on I tell him he has nothing to apologise for. For every bad word he says about himself I tell him it's not true. It feels so useless. I might as well be scrambling through a storm. What am I meant to do? What am I meant to say? I'm at a loss. Yet again when I have nothing Harrowheart's words come to me: 'Fuck what you're supposed to say. Tell him what you need to say'.
What do I need to say?
For a while there's nothing to say except for the constant stream of reassurances. It takes a long time for his tears to show any signs of stopping, but eventually his sobbing starts to slow and I start to join with my own body again. His face is a mess of red blotches but he stares into space in a stupor. Eventually silence falls between us again, interrupted only by his sudden intakes of air.
"Viatorus..." My hands squeeze his so that he steals glances at me. It's difficult but I force a smile, I hold it there even though my face aches with the effort. "I love you. You are more important to me than anything else in the universe. If you were gone my life would be worthless." He stops glancing and holds my gaze, searching for something in my face to banish his uncertainty. Every part of me hurts with the strain of my voice, the pleading of my eyes, the begging. "I... I need you. You make me try to be the best person I can be. We both make mistakes sometimes but I don't care. Those mistakes make us stronger, because we're stronger together. We're a team, V. We've always been a team. I'm nothing without you." A laugh bubbles up, breaking through my tension and pinching the painful lump in my throat. "Everyone gets so sick of me talking about you instead of myself, but I can't help it. I'm proud of you, V, and I love you, and I will never ever let anything bad happen to you again."
There are fresh tears running down his cheeks and for a minute I think he's about to start sobbing again. Suddenly he moves, pulling his hands out of mine and lunging towards me. I freeze in surprise and the next thing I know he's on the floor with me, arms wrapped tightly around me in a hug. When was the last time we'd hugged? Slowly my arms wrap around him and though it feels strange and uncomfortable I decide it's not bad. In fact, I think as I feel how tightly his embrace is, it's probably exactly what we needed. Even in the depths of his despair, Viatorus has a special kind of wisdom. I'll have to tell him that some day. I'll have to tell him about every good thing about himself, so that I know he knows about it. One day maybe he'll fight for himself for all the same reasons that I fight for him.
We hug until the wooden floor has printed patterns onto our knees and the fire has died down to a glow. Although I'm reluctant to leave him alone I vanish briefly to get us both some water. My head is throbbing and I'm sure his must be worse. When I return we stay sitting on the floor and we talk. We talk about how we used to trick the cook to get biscuits as children. We talk about how he taught me how to swim better so I could beat a girl in a race. We talk about memories I'd forgotten about, cherished moments that had been replaced by thoughts of long days poring over yellowing pages. We talk about how we were a team. Together we remember. Together we'll never be alone again.