Take my heart

Chapter XXVIII

Crimson slashes on blinding white in impossible shapes. Waves of pain curse through him, tangible despite not being his own. His arms are trembling and his legs are weak, but the darkness creeping around them gives no rest. He lifts the world on his back and it locks its eager arms around his neck, like its life depends on it. It takes everything out of him not to sink under the weight, his knees almost buckle and he nearly topples forward.

Scared, pathetic sobbing is what keeps him upright. It echoes all around them, like the wicked trees are the ones crying, or maybe they're just mocking them. He takes a step, and then another, but it's getting harder and harder to move through the snow. Instead of forward, he seems to be going lower, until he's knees deep in blinding white. The trees grow taller and their cries become distorted, terrifying.

It's his fault. It's his fault and he has to get them out of there. Three steps more and he's out of breath, can't feel his face, can barely keep his eyes open. But the world is still grabbing onto his shoulders, shaking on his back; the darkness is closing around them even faster, so he chokes back a scared sob of his own and keeps going.

A hopeful gasp, an arm pointing forward: they're almost there, they can see lights on the other side of the woods.

The weight on his back disappears. Panic like he's never known before shoots through him; he whips around and finds a heap of clothes half buried in the snow, crimson flowing from him. They're back to square one. He crawls towards him, picks him up with numb hands and starts again. The end of the woods is nowhere in sight, the snow is only getting harder to cross.

When he tries to scream for help, his voice is not there. He tries again, and again, growing more frustrated by the second. Any sound he manages to get out is swallowed by the skyscraper trees, they throw it around like playing catch. He keeps walking, and keeps trying, because they're not gonna make it, and at least someone has to hear them and come to help. Help. Help.

But the woods become fond of them and their desperation. They barely get a glance of the lights on the other side—finally, finally there—before the weight vanishes. The boy is back to his spot in the snow, his blood seeping through it, looking up at him with big, helpless eyes.

Caesar feels like sinking to the ground and giving up, they're not getting anywhere, he's exhausted and freezing and darkness is fucking scary. Still he forces his body to move, because those terrified eyes remain on him and he can't fail them. The world puts all its trust on him, on his dwindling strength and his shaking limbs, it snakes its arms around his neck once more. Trying is all they have left, so they try.

And they try. And they try. He trips, falls to his knees and the darkness almost gets them, but he gets up and keeps trying. It's up to him, it's only up to him.

'You can't get us out.'

'Shut up.'

He knows. Doesn't need anyone to tell him.

'You should leave me here. You can't help me.'

'Don't say that!'

As soon as he gets the words out, the weight disappears from his back, and a crushing panic replaces it. He looks around, but they're not back to square one now, because the heap of clothes is nowhere to be found. Yelling out his name, he stumbles forward with no certain direction. The end of the woods is a few feet away, yet he walks the other way, submerges himself deeper in the snow and the darkness. The trees stretch their branches at him, claw at his face and his arms and try to prick his eyes out.

Sleep loves the freezing, so it comes for him as well. He's so tired of fighting, so tired of running, sleep sounds like mercy. Just as he's about to give in, a trembling shape on the ground catches his eye. Oh, but it's too late. His arm surges forward, a tree branch jabs at his side and another one makes him fall. The shape is right there, the whole world just a few meters away, yet he can't get up, can't even move...