"When people fall in love, they experience a surge of hormones and neurotransmitters that make them feel good", Dr. Feuerman told INSIDER. "Such chemistry overrides our logical, rational thought," she says, which can lead you to doing things you might not otherwise."
Title of Chapter is from Korn lyrics, 'Black Is The Soul'
~~~
Chester daubs away the viscid filth with a wet wash cloth. It's spilled down Parker's shirt front, adhering the fabric to his skin like a tacky glue. So Chester removes it, and is again reminded how thin he's gotten. All angles and hard planes, zero body fat from it being eaten away as his body works overtime to accommodate the infection flowing through deep purple veins, latticed under muted flesh like tendrils of toxic sludge.
Parker lays shirtless in a state of comatose on gray sheets while Chester lays on his side, propped up with an elbow and a bent knee resting on his friend's upper thighs.
Hovering, always hovering, with his back to the door as if shielding him from the outside world. But Chester knows the only thing Parker needs protection from is himself.
The fact that he can't do that, can only do so much.. It weighs on his heart like a slab of steel. Chester places a hand on the center of Parker's chest to feel the palpitating organ beneath it speed up erratically, then slow back down at odd intervals.
Out of nowhere, he feels tension against his palm and realizes Parker's entire body has stiffened. It starts to jerk and Chester's heavy eyes snap wide open in high alert, shifting to his knees to lightly shake the other.
"Bro wake up, it's just a nightmare! Dude!" He shakes him harder but Parker still won't wake up.
At a loss, Chester sighs and embraces him. "It's okay. I'm right here.. I got you.." He can feel his arms and legs twitching uncontrollably, and then it dawns on him.
Parker's not having a nightmare, he's having a seizure.
The revelation turns his body to ice, almost like the one in his arms, and only hugs tighter as he waits for it to be over.
When the trembling stops, his eyes trace every detail of Parker's face, looking for any sign of distress, but he may as well be gazing at a corpse. After taking a deep breath, he presses the back of his hand against Parker's forehead and recoils violently.
"What the hell!" This is NOT good.. There's no thermometer anywhere but he's pretty sure no human forehead should ever get this hot, not without receiving damage to the tissue. Not without consequences, the extent of it being unknown until Parker gains consciousness. How long could that even take?!
Chester almost doesn't want him to wake up.. but goddammit he's selfish and can't go on living without his best friend. His only source of love and affection..
The steel slab compressing his heart feels like it just doubled, a constant ache evolving into waves of physical pain that ripple across every nerve, to the tips of his fingers that dig into the flesh of his palms. With each new wave more tears escape from unblinking eyes, the muscles in his face slack and completely devoid of emotion as he leans into Parker.
Inside is a hurricane of guilt, grief, and anguish. It'll take time to pick up the wreckage, time he knows is running out, can almost see the end drawing closer.
But it's not the end. Chester reminds himself. Not yet. He can still do something. He just has to wait.
~~~
Day one and two, Chester won't let go of Parker. Only gets up to use the bathroom or change the wet rag on his head.
Day three and four, Chester sits on his side of the bed and watches like a hawk for any signs of movement or waking.
Day five he's able to force down some food, then goes back to pacing around the room.
Day six he sits against a wall, twirling around the knife he used to take someone's life, hypnotized by the blade. His mind is spiralling and Chester can see blood painted across its pristine surface, bright and arterial under severe light. Perfect droplets emblazoned over crisp white like a handful of rubies thrown about.
The canvas-pale body is covered with unique shapes, in several different shades of red as if it were a painting. The knife is a paintbrush, and Chester is the artist.
It's a horrible, traumatizing, dehumanizing feeling after killing in cold blood. But in the moment, before the burden of violating his morals has time to sink in, Chester's never felt a high quite like it. Murder has been the most exhilarating, yet most awful thing he's committed.
Chester has always been bad with commitment.
But something has to change, and in order for that to happen, he'll have to fully commit. Again, and again, and again.. Killing might not be so bad, if it's for the right reasons..
Love sure can make you do crazy things.
Thick curtains are drawn, allowing the first traces of dawn to tint the window glass purple and send watery shadows across the floor. Chester's strained eyes slide to the bed where Parker's breathing has evened out, indicating his imminent wakefulness. An invisible string tugs at the edges of his lips as his hand falls to the shotgun sitting nearby.
His nerves are frayed, sleep a forgone concept.
~~~
On the seventh day, Parker sits up like a drowsy vampire rising from the velveteen interior of a coffin. In an instant, Chester is on his feet and approaches tactfully, holding onto his lungful of oxygen as if the inflation of its spongy texture- or a slight disturbance in the air- might shatter this moment into a mere sleep neglect induced delusion.
Parker's raven hair is tangled and teased in all directions. His muddy eyes are unfocused, faraway and glazed with blissful ignorance. Thin spit mingling with a mysterious syrupy black courses from a corner of his mouth. It coalesces into the sculpted hollow of his throat.
Chester plucks the rag that had fallen into the other's lap and gently wipes away the drool. "Parker..?" He turns his head to face him directly and feels the prickly sensation of stubble. "Are you with me?"
His irises are the rich tone of damp earth, but looking closely, Chester can see his own reflection deep in the center of two drastically mismatched pupils. His stomach drops. That's definitely not normal.
Chester becomes so stuck in his rapidly descending thoughts, he doesn't notice when Parker rests his head against his chest and exhales a long ragged sounding breath, half-open eyes slipping shut. Chester's hand freezes in mid air but gradually closes the distance to cradle his head, fingers lacing through course hair.
Minutes of comfortable silence pass with an underlying anxiousness before his friend starts to gasp, body shaking. Chester pulls back with a concerned crease between his brows to see polluted tears streaking down in jagged lines, leaving faint charcoal trails in display of his wordless suffering.
His heart finally explodes from the invisible, crushing weight.
"Hey.. hey, it's okay.." Carefully, as if handling shattered glass, Chester wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him forward so that their foreheads touch, holding them there, even though it burns.
"I'm here bro, I'm right here.." They rock back and forth, the blond rubbing his back in slow soothing circles as he patiently waits for Parker's gasping to subside.
The shotgun poised against drywall near the door beckons him in a silent plea, 'use me, an instrument of death, for your noble cause to help lengthen the life of the one you love!'
He kisses Parker's hair and whispers something before guiding him back under the covers. With a steeled resolve and a bruised heart, Chester picks up the gun on his way out the door, out of the house, and toward the direction of civilization. Armed with a sealed fate to follow love blindly and the promise of a bullet. Because it's no longer a choice.
~~~
Chester follows black clouds of smoke that billow into the sky, bleeding across the atmosphere and hastens his pace in hopes to find a survivor before they flee the burning destruction.
Above the rooftops, hot wind carries ash and sparks in wide arcs and flurries of swirling ribbons that bend and waver from the heat scorched air. Chester's eyes are protected but the acrid smoke soon burns his throat as he nears a massive fire that grows in alarming speed, adjacent buildings catching from wild grasping flames.
The entire street seems vacant and the smoke is beginning to be too much, but Chester steps into another yard and a voice screams out in desperation. "HELP! Please, over here!" He follows the noise and almost can't believe his luck.
A woman who appears to be in her 30's has jumped from a third story window, one of her legs is twisted at an odd angle and her face is covered in a sheen of sweat, contorted with pain.
"Oh thank God, thank God.." she sobs at the sight of him, and Chester tries to hold onto the numb grief he's felt before exiting his house.
"I think both my legs are broken," her eyes are panic stricken and wide with manic relief and urgency. "Please get me out of here, I can't die like this!" The fire has grown unbearably hot and four buildings are now completely engulfed.
Chester takes out his shotgun and looks past the woman's shoulder, unable to meet her incriminating stare when she realizes his intent. "I'm sorry," is all he says before blowing her face off.
He drags her across the sweltering lawn and down the street because she's too fat to carry, and Chester repeats the same words in his head. She was dead anyway.. you did her a favor. Don't think about it, just get back to Parker..
It takes a long time to get back to the brick gothic-style house surrounded by its spiked iron gate, and his back aches from bending down to pull heavy weight. The sun is high, still a few hours before the blue sky rusts into oranges and reds.
The front door is open. Chester swore he's shut it..
Oh no..
He bolts inside, screaming out Parker's name even though he probably wouldn't respond. Every room in the top and bottom floors are empty. He even checks the basement. No Parker. Shit shit shit shit SHIT!
Chester rushes back outside, vision swimming, the sound of crashing waterfalls pummeling his ears from rushing blood, heart in his throat. His head whips in all directions. Mansions on every hill, a maze of streets, an entire rich neighborhood enclosed by a dense forest of trees.
Parker could be anywhere.
~~~
(Words: 1,821)
A/N
I sympathize alot with Parker when writing this story. I used to get high fevers all the time, especially after becoming anorexic with a low immune system. At 15 I suffered a 107.5 fever and it was probably the worst night of my life, which is saying something lol. I was in so much pain in my bladder and kidneys, it took an hour and a half to reach and use the bathroom. I was exhausted, wanting to sleep away the pain, but my brain wouldn't shut off for more than 2 minutes the entire night. Had my first bloody nose that wouldn't stop.. oh man. Idk what it means but I haven't felt the same ever since
╮(ㆆ ､ ㆆ)╭
🖤This chapter is kinda sad🤧😅 Not much happens in this one, it's sort of a mindless blurb before some oncoming action🖤
*Slams both fists on table* ACTION! ACTION! ACTION!!>:0
(๑≧ ロ ≦)ﻭ" ~Stick around~
!!!UPDATES MAY BE SLOW BECAUSE OF NEW INTERESTS AND OBSESSIONS THAT TAKE OVER MY TIME!!! (I promise I'll get back to this story and others, eventually)
~~~