"A Sanctuary Safe and Strong"(Marianas Trench)

Chapter 26

Pushing himself up and off the bed, he took three strides over to the wall and picked up the bag, turning it upside down and dumping out the brown paper bag that contained the remains of his ruined clothing. The singer leaned his forehead against the wall for a minute, breathing slowly as the scent hit him all over again. The rancid, bitter, metallic, stale smell of old blood nearly dropped him to his knees as he felt his stomach begin to roll. He'd never had a problem with smells before, but this got to him in a way that no other ever had. Maybe it was more the idea behind the stench, but whatever it was, the blond didn't love it. 

Once he was able to settle his belly a bit after deciding that he would throw the clothing in the nearest dumpster or trash can as soon as he had an opportunity, Josh spent the next few minutes tossing things into the bag - a couple of changes of clothes that he could easily slip into and out of without help, a hair brush, a few books, his laptop, and eventually, when he was able to work up the nerve, he ran across the hallway to collect his shaving kit and toothbrush.  

After filling the bag nearly to the top, he looked down at the folded paper bag on the floor. "That's gotta fuckin' go," Josh said, forcing himself to reach down to grab it, shoving it down into the travel bag and zipping the whole thing shut, hoping that he didn't forget anything, but also not quite caring. 

Grabbing the flashlight he kept in his nightstand drawer, the singer switched it on and slipped the strap of the bag over his shoulder. Josh sucked in a deep breath and took a long look around the room, checking for...he didn't know what, exactly, but he was glad he saw nothing that wasn't supposed to be there. The flashlight helped him decide that it was safe enough to turn the lamps off and get out of the house as quickly as possible.  

He took the plunge and darkened the room, flying down the stairs while gripping the light as tightly as possible. Josh argued with himself about turning off the lamps on the first floor as well, but eventually came to the conclusion that he had to after he gathered his medication from the kitchen and tucked it into the bag at his side. He didn't know when he'd next be back home and he felt stable enough to do it with the weighty flashlight in his hand. Another glance at the clock on the wall told Josh that it was now one-fifteen a.m.. Twenty minutes would safely get him to his parents' place if he could just get out of the goddamn house without another panic attack that would leave him curled up in the corner of a closet somewhere.  

Lights out. The place was full of shadows and dark corners that did nothing but make the shakiness in his hand that much worse. He twisted and turn painfully as he threw light across every dark space he could on his way out of the house. Nothing. There was no one following him, nothing after him, nothing there to hurt him. "I can do this. I can fucking do this," Josh said, pulling in a ragged breath. 

Shutting the front door behind him, then locking it, the singer ran the best he could to the parking lot, feeling the panic rising in his chest with each footfall. Finally, he reached the car and slid the keys into the lock. Pulling the door open, he dove behind the wheel and tossed his things into the passenger seat. Josh slammed the door and leaned forward with his forehead against the steering wheel, taking several gasping breaths to calm down once he realized that he was still okay. He had made it. He was safe. Safe. He didn't feel safe, but being closed into the small space was better than being out in the open, and it helped. 

At that time of night, there was very little traffic, if any, and Josh pulled into the driveway of his parents' house in record time. He'd given them no warning that he was on the way there, so he prayed that they just accepted that their son was home to visit for the night. He'd come up with a reason for showing up, figuring that he could just casually mention to his mother that with his arm in a sling like it was, and with the pain he was experiencing, he hadn't been able to properly take care of himself, and he was hoping for a home cooked breakfast in the morning, at the very least. If he had to, he'd tell her about the peanut butter he had for dinner to make it more believable. He didn't have the energy to make up too many stories and he didn't at all feel like trying to truly elaborate on any kind of bigger idea that night.