(Roy's POV)
"I used to think... I used to wish someone could just- would just turn me off. Be able to shut me off and fix me," he finally said. After an hour of half rational mumbles of sorries and explanations, he finally spoke an understandable sentence. I could make out his story, the explanation, but it was all in short responses. He didn't want to talk about it. Didn't want to remember it, or have done it, but he had to. He was trying to block it from his memory, and I didn't blame him. I didn't stop him. I understood enough of it.
"Fix you how?" I tried. He was curled up on the couch, hugging his knees to his chest again. Blanket, draped over his shoulders as he shivered. We were both still in the wet clothes, still soaking wet. The carpet was damp and weird under my socks, but that didn't matter. He was okay.
"I don't know, just... fix me! So I would function like a normal person. Think like a normal person. BE a normal person." He looked up at the television that wasn't on, shifting his feet against each other. He was barefoot. I had no idea how he got to his house and back without shoes, but I didn't question it. I think I've learned not to question Johnny at this point. "I want YOU to try and fix me."
"Why me?"
"... You're the only one I have left. The only human that doesn't make me feel like pathetic filth. Someone that's not scared of me." He buried his head into his knees, not hiding his face though. No, he looked at me when he spoke now. Not in the eyes, but it was good enough. He uncurled from his pleasant ball, his feet joining mine on the soaking carpet. "Why aren't you scared of me?"
I put my hands on his back, water from the clothes slowly seeping through the blanket. He flinched for a second, looking as if he'd say 'don't', but he didn't. I wouldn't listen, I'm touchy. Human contact is warm and soothing. So I traced my hand up and down his spike lightly. Watching him go back and forth between shivering and relaxing at each movement and touch.
"You haven't done that much to make me afraid. You've said threats, sure. You never attacked me."
"I had something more important to get done. If I hadn't needed to get back home... I would have. I would have killed you. You know that, right." It wasn't really a question.
"I'm afraid to some extent." He looked over at me, finally meeting my eyes. "I don't know how mentally unstable you might be. Or when you're in control, or not. Or even if you're crazy at all." He didn't say anything to this. "I've heard your voices too, which makes me think that.. It might ALL be real. Everything you've said and done seems to point to it being real..."
"I don't even know if it's real anymore. Anyone I've kidnapped, or tortured, or killed tells me I'm crazy. That I'm insane, for no reason. That nothing I say makes sense, or it's not real. I can't even tell the difference anymore. I just assume everyone's against me, plotting against me, trying to take me away from the work I don't even want to do anymore. But there's just this maddening compulsion to do their bidding, and I think it got worse and worse. Worse because I've been doing it for so long I had no other frame of reference. No normal outlook on life. My memories so liquified, they just mix together into an unrecognizable mush. I can remember days, weeks, months, but I don't think they're in order. I know they're not! There are huge pieces, chunks, of time just MISSING! And I have no idea what I've done within those lengths of time. I just know..." He was rambling. He knew he was rambling, but he couldn't stop until he looked back up at me. "I just know that those blackouts mean there are more people in my house."
"They make you gather them. For the wall. So you don't have to leave... right?"
"That's the closest thing I've heard." And then it was silent. For a moment. "Should I go back?"
"What for?"
He paused, thinking for a moment. "Gather my things, clothes... get away from it."
"Just abandon it, or what."
"No... not just abandon it. I'd burn it. Burn it down. If it's this, this kind of doorway, its master is what's dragging me down like I think it is, I want to make sure there's no door for it to come through."
"What if burning it down is what it wants. What if it releases it?"
"I'll take that chance."
"When do you want to do it... Like, now? I can drive if-"
"No. Not right now, too soon. It's too soon."
"... When then."
"Day after tomorrow... maybe."
"...okay"
And then silence. And it was okay. He didn't talk anymore after that. I think he was thinking it all through. I knew I was. I knew where he lived, I saw the outside of it, and all I could imagine was the entire thing going up in flames.
I patted his back, reaching over his lap for the remote and flipping on... Something. One of those old movies that are only released on television. Not a bad movie, no. Slow moving, unknown actors, forgettable story, but not entirely BAD.
Johnny must have thought so though. Because he fell asleep.
He was able to fall asleep...
It was barely seven in the morning, I had woken up at around four am when I checked on him.
He must be exhausted. From everything.
My room wasn't exactly 'clean' like the rest of the house. There were paints and cups everywhere. Canvases half finished and wet, pieces thrown about. But the important thing was, the bed was cleared.
Another flinch as I got my arm under his legs, blanket still wrapped around him. I had the covers pulled back as I set him down, soaking wet clothes and all.
If he were to hurt me, it would definitely be to waking up while I took his pants off. He was wearing underwear, sure, but he could keep those. I know from experience, it doesn't feel great to wake up in dried denim.
I'm surprised he hadn't woken up when I got the shirt off. And I could just feel his chest, I hadn't meant to, but it was hard not to. And to see it... Underweight was an understatement. I don't think he was even 115lbs, he shouldn't be able to fight time he does. There was muscle, sure, but not enough calories to sustain them. I could see every bump and valley of the ribs. Dark bruised skin covered the original pale complexion. Bruises I hadn't seen before now.
All I'd have to do is reach out, run my hands against it. Feel it, flesh on flesh.
But I couldn't.
So I pulled the covers up to his chin. Continuing to clean my room.