Whispers [ a Mclennon story]

Chapter five: Animal

POV of Paul:

I get to the bathroom and close the door cautiously, so as to make sure I don't wake up John.

I clutch the sink on either side and my reflection stares back at me from the mirror.

"That is a man who enjoys a roll with a woman, a helluva lot! Women! not men." I say about the

man in the mirror. In a way, trying to remind myself.

"But- Johns not just some "Man". He's My best mate. My second half. More than just "some

man"...

I turn on the sink, and splash water on my face.

"Stop it you!!!" The water still doesn't seem to get my mind off of John.

"Maybe i should splash it on my pants.."

Angrily i strip down to my underwear, clothes are stupid anyways.

*Thud!!!* I hear a tremendous noise outside the bathroom door and nearly jump out of my socks.

Theres a sudden scratching and thrashing sound from the hall.

I throw the door open, completely forgetting about my absence of clothes. The light from the

bathroom floods into the dark hallway.

What I see next makes my blood run cold.

The source of the noise was John, his body cast a dark shadow in the stream of light from the

bathroom. John, lying on the floor writing in pain.

"John!" I scream and run to him. He gazes up at my face with eyes frantic, animal and

unseeing. There are nail marks down the wall where he's tried to scratch his way out of this

terrible nightmare he's fallen into.

" John!!" I choke out again and grab his blood spattered hands, restraining him. He falls against

me into my arms, emerging from the dream but still not fully conscious. Painful, gasping sobs

wrack through him, tears streaming down my bare chest. I hold him tightly, and I am scared.

Scared that he might slip away any moment.

We sit in near darkness, I am slumped against the wall with John safely

tucked beneath my arm with his face nuzzled into me. There are crimson streaks of blood

along my chest where he held onto me with his damaged hands. The clothes he had worn to the

concert are now sodden with tears. The hard wood floors beneath us seem to leach the warmth

out from me, and being nearly naked doesn't help.

Blood.sweat. tears. cold.

I will not let the monsters drag him back to his own personal hell.