A/N: Please listen to me. This is a really dark chapter. I didn't initially intend for it to be so but the more I wrote, the more it evolved. The message it contains is that no matter how dark things become, there is always a reason to live. A reason to remain breathing. But it does start with the darkness. It had to. The ending is the reason not to give up. I needed to type this message, as I didn't want anyone to be triggered. You don't deserve that. You deserve to be happy. Remember that. You matter. So please, don't read this if you are easily affected. You don't need that kind of negativity in your life. You don't. You deserve to tell someone what is wrong. You deserve to be listened to, understood and helped. You are truly amazing.
****
Your captors were certainly possessed a backpfeifengesicht. You hoped that someone would capture one day discover the truth and deliver a slap across their face. You almost smiled at the possibility of your desire becoming a reality.
In hind sight, your argument could have easily been avoided and perhaps, you wouldn't have ended up in such a fearful predicament.
If he hadn't have been so harsh with his words and you, so quick-tempered then maybe, just maybe, you wouldn't have stormed out of the apartment, right into the hands of those who had been observing you for months.
They had only wanted you for two reasons and for two reasons only, Tom was rich and he loved you. If they had you in their possession, then they had access to a large sum of money in the young actor's bank account.
As one of the hellions exited the room, you gazed upon the table, eyes focused on the delicate violet pattern on your dress. An omen of bad luck, you noted mentally. A fairly pointless piece of knowledge to have but it brought you some comfort, despite your dire situation.
The outfit you wore caused you to have a nostalgic recollection of times when you had adorned it to participate in sobremesa with Tom. You remember the pleasant times when you and your boyfriend had sat and talked after consuming a delicious meal, just talking and enjoying each others company.
As you breathed against your uncomfortable gag, you experienced a dizzying wave of hiraeth- you longed for your home. Closing your eyes, you envisaged the worried gazes of those who loved you when you failed to return home.
The fiends were asking for an astonishing amount of money, an amount even you knew Tom did not have access to.
You also felt the unmistakable ache of fernweh, for your biggest regret was that you had not travelled enough in life. It was a longing that had stayed with you for years but sadly, you had never stepped out of the place you had been born and raised in.
You knew that you would never have the opportunity to return home or indulge in the luxury of your wanderlust. For soon you would be dead.
Money or no money, your kidnappers were never going to let you go.
It was no secret that you were athazagoraphobic. The fear of being forgotten once you had passed on was one that had plagued you since you were a child. You wondered if one day, once the deed was done, if people would completely forget you and it would be as if you had ever even existed. Death had a way of erasing the past completely. If enough of the living forget, you could become but a ghost- a faded photograph.
Thank goodness you were an eternitarian. The belief in an afterlife was the only thought that provided you with some comfort in what was going to be your final moments.
As you closed your eyes, tears of sadness and fear now dried upon your cheeks, you allowed yourself to fall into a state of wabi-sabi. Finally accepting the cycle of life and death. You had lived and now...
... you had to die.
****
They had their money and you, well, you were easily expendable.
It weighed heavily upon you, the tenebrosity- obsidan black and deathly cold. Oppressive.
Yet you refused embrace the light. The saving illumination that could restore such equilibrium to your life.
Within the constraining darkness, you found a comforting pain. Surprisingly addictive and undeniably dangerous.
Cerebrum, Cerebellum, Hypothalamus, Pituitary Gland, Parietal Lobe, Temporal Lobes- all infected with the idealism of a poetic death.
At worst, you would live and forever be plagued by this moment . At best...
Life but a mere string of sentences. Finally, you had run out of words.
Except that was not the case. You were the author. The novel not yet complete. Thump. Thump. Thump. The typewriter sounded, adding verse upon verse to your weary tale. Your blood, it's ink.
The murkiness thinned from around you and paled into non-existence- your longing for the blissful unaware intensified, to the point where you were sure it would burst forth from your rib cage, sending shrapnel in all directions. How many more would you hurt?
Then it came. The frightfully beautiful breath of life, which bloomed within you like a tainted peony- it's petals marred with a disgusting tar. A dirt you yourself could never wipe away.
The inevitable occurred, the blinding radiance that filled your sight. It was agonising. So long you had resided within the dark and now, you had emerged into the reality you wished to escape.
But you he saw it, the celestial being. It stared at you , with a look of...fear? Hope? Relief? Surely you were too impure to be spied by such a perfect creature?
It's cheeks stained with bitterly sad tears. Rivers, as opposed to a single stream. Did it weep for your soul?
The angel whispered a desperate plea, which consisted of three simple words: "Don't leave me."
Could you accept the light? Even just to appease the angel's distressed mantra?
You gazed upon it's facial features, so flawless. The eyes, so wide and filled to the brim with imploration for you to remain in the land of consciousness.
The wording had changed to a slightly different variation of the prayer it had previously beseeched. "Stay with me."
It dawned upon you that this was your own personal angel. Your companion. The one you had only recently pushed away. The one you should have kept close but failed to do so.
You recalled your final meeting. You had faced him, a look of hatred on your face because of something he had said or did. It had been a moronic act on his behalf.
Could you really just drift away, knowing your last words to him had been 'I hate you'?
With a newfound resolve, you began to breathe with more effort, so to force the oxygen to inhabit your exhausted lungs.
To refuse the request such a heavenly entity would be such a severe crime, one that would truly blacken your name. Permanently.
You were going to live because Tom had willed it.
****
Present Day.
Tom could tell that he was losing you, your eyes were glazing over and lips moving in soundless words of fear. You were no longer in the room but in a place far away in your mind, in a place he needed to save you from.
He brought a hand up your face, cupping your cheek with his palm. His thumb brushed against your cheekbone, a gesture he had often done when soothing you. "(Y/N)," he called to you softly. "Come back to me, sweetheart. You don't need to relive it all."
He entwined his hand with yours, squeezing it gently, trying to bring you back to the present.
Slowly he could see you returning to him as he continued to call your name and remind you that the kidnapping was all but a distant nightmare.
"Tom..." you gasped breathlessly.
"I'm here, sweetheart."
"Don't..." you cleared your throat and pushed away the fear. "Don't let me slip away like that again."
"I promise, (Y/N), I've got you. You're not going anywhere. I won't lose you."
If you hadn't been crying before, you were now. His final words rang through your ears like an alarm, a wake up call. He had whispered that same sentence to you when you had been struggling with your recovery.
"Shh, it's okay," he crooned, rocking you back and forth slightly, attempting to soothe your tortured soul. "It's all going to be okay." he carefully placed a kiss on your temple, his lips lingering for a moment before they travelled to your cheekbone.
Your tears slowly dried and the storm clouds that had plagued your brain for so many months, were starting to dissolve. Clear skies were definitely on the forecast.
Hesitantly, your boyfriend's soft lips met your. The short embrace stole your breath away, leaving you hungry for more. The sorrow was gone but you needed him, you needed him to fill your senses, to remind you so intimately that it was going to be okay.
Your arms wrapped around his neck, gently pulling him to you. Things became more heated. Kisses, more passionate.Your hands fumbled for the buttons on his shirt, whilst Tom could hardly control himself enough to free you of your clothing.
You both needed each other so much. Clothing was just an unnecessary and added barrier.
As soon as you were devoid of any material, you impatiently waited for your beloved to slip on that all important condom.
Time was slipping away and your anxiety screamed for him, desperate to have your lover near you once more.
Tom was your lifeline, the only thing keeping you sane and out of your head.
His comforting arms encircled you thankfully, once more. Chest to chest, you could feel his steadying and reassuring heartbeat against yours.
It was a gentle union. One full of soft gasps, tender touches and encouraging words.
As you watched him eventually come undone, you knew- you just knew- that everything was going to be okay. It had to be. I was going to be because after rain clouds, came a clear, blue sky...
****
A/N: Never stop smiling. You're going to be okay.