To the Nights in the Hold of Stone (BillDip)

Whisper to My Delusions(23)

The back of the chair was barely tall enough to rest my head back on and my neck ached at the odd angle. What are you doing right now? I asked when he paused to think of the next thing to go on a tangent about.

I'm in my office, he answered hesitantly, I have the journal pages in front of me and your notes. He had carefully danced around the topic and I let him, trying not to bring reality back in.

Right, should I ask how it's going?  Fuck, get that hopefulness out of your voice Dipper, it's not even been a day.

You shouldn't. I have Ana working on it with me.

Silence passed between us. I was extremely tempted to say sorry again and had to bite my metaphorical tongue, letting the quiet only drag on.

I can hear you, you know, the whole in your head thing.

No you can't. I can't hear your other thoughts.

Ok so maybe you're right, but that doesn't mean I don't know when you're doing your best not to apologize for something you have no control over.

He had me, but thankfully this opened us back up to talking again and it made me smile.

~

Time, I quickly learned, does not exist in this little dark room. The one window was covered and no sunlight seeped in to tell me when it was night or day. No clocks or alarms or really anything to do other than stare at the wall and wait. Just fucking wait, with a heavy chain of dread choked around my stomach, for the next nightmare to start. Bill was avoidant on all topics that had to do with the passage of time and I wasn't all too keen to find out if my suspicions were true.

Still, I could guess, with the muffled sounds of routine just outside my cage and the clockwork visits from both Mabel and Ford. Mabel was the one who brought me food, and let me up for what have been horribly embarrassing bathroom breaks. I'd given up the idea of a hunger strike just as quickly as I gave up the idea of pissing myself rather than using the bathroom with the door open. Somehow none of this phased her, she was pretending everything was normal. Which is how I learned how to tell time through her.

She brought pancakes, waffles, or eggs and toast in the morning and cookies or homemade brownies for dessert with dinner in the evenings. Four times, four times she's brought me breakfast, the plate of bacon and avocado toast resting on lap was the fifth, five mornings, five days.

I'd panic if I could feel it, everything outside of Ford's- visits felt numb. My jaw closed around the newest bite of bread as Mabel talked about something I wasn't processing. It was all numb, my body felt detached from me, my head was full of static and very very far away.

When Mabel leaves she turns the lights off and plunges the room into darkness again. In the dark all I can do is listen. It never took long, some grumbled conversation or maybe a fight before but then it would start. The screaming.

He always went to Wendy first. I got sick the first few times, throwing up over the armrest to save myself from sitting in it. I'd stopped after Ford made Mabel withhold food for a day but now I felt sick for a whole new reason. In the timeless minutes between Mabel leaving and Ford starting I would wish. I wanted to hear her scream, because it meant she was alive and it meant I wasn't alone. The first time the thought crossed my mind it made me throw up for a whole new reason.

When it would stop, or when she would lose what little air she had left in her lungs, and he finally put the tools down my muscles would tense. My blood would pound in time with the slam of her door and the footsteps. Pain was all I could feel, my skin stung as it broke or burned, my veins pumped venom through my whole body, screams scraped my throat raw and shredded my lungs with every broken rib.

Bill's voice was the only thing keeping me sane. When he spoke to me I felt whole again. His presence pressed against the shattered pieces and held them together, keeping me alive with soft electricity. If I closed my eyes, which I did every time, I could almost feel his arms around me or his hands in my hair. I don't know how or why, it's not like he'd ever really touched me that way. All soft and protective, carding his fingers through knotted curls till there was nothing to worry about anymore. Or running grounding touches up and now my arms and sides just to put feeling back in them, as if he was placing my soul back in my bones.

He talked me through long dark nights and through unbearable meals with Mabel. He would talk over her and louder than her to drown it out. Bill even stayed with me through the pain, his presence so strong it felt like he was holding my good hand talking through it all never letting Ford get a word in edgewise. Sweet nothings on the underside of my ear.

I took another bite of the toast as he said We have everyone now, plus the people in the throne so today I'm taking them out one by one. So far only one has proved slightly useful. Fiddleford was his name and you wouldn't believe my surprise when I found out that old conspiracist bastard is still kicking around.

Mabel sat on the floor in front of me, scissors set next to her foot. In a few minutes she'd cut me free from the chair and walk me to the bathroom, when she walked me back she'd tie my arms down to the arm rest instead of behind me. As if it was totally normal. She'd try to joke with me or catch me up on the newest episode of a show while ignoring when I'd wince in pain.

Ana says she's been talking to Wendy. Bill changed the subject slightly, neither of us very good at handling conversation about our shit situation for very long. But I liked hearing about Wendy, it was more reassuring than hearing her scream. Wendy is- in a very similar state as you are, we are coming for you I promise. Neither of you will have to suffer this for much longer.

I'm worried about her. I said instead, because he's too good at getting my hopes up.

She's worried about you. You have that in common. She's ok Pinetree, as ok as you are. Please focus on worrying about yourself. His tone was stern but I could tell now, after solely listening to him for a week, that this pained him. He was exhausted.

I was too. Delusional, exhaustion riddled comments have slipped into my thoughts more and more in the last few days. This was one of them, because I was so freaking tired. When I do get back we are taking a three week long nap. In a real bed, and in real pjs. I mean it, in comfy sweat pants and fuzzy socks and all. Accompanied by the increasing day dreams of being wrapped in dark silk blankets pressed against the warmth of his skin.

I will create the fuzziest fuzzy socks for you and we can sleep in my bed. I'm not sure I can sit still for three whole weeks, what about just one week? I promise to make the other two up to you some other way. Bill was a form of saint for indulging my delusions. 

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Sorry this chapters a bit short, I know things look pretty bleak but I promise this story has a happy ending and these boy will get to it.... eventually.