[chris's POV]
Warning: self-harm.
Day two of Chris's heat. And then after it's over but uh yeah you'll understand when you read.
I don't sleep. Not a wink. It's not that I'm not tired- I am. But I can't sleep. Jason stays up until four, but when his eyes start to droop closed more often then they're open I tell him to go to sleep. That I'll be fine.
But I'm not fine. I'm confused and I'm scared. I don't know why or how, but somehow, I ended up thinking through the haze of lust that lies thick over me. Thinking about what happened today. The way that it felt, the way that my tears soaked the front of his shirt, only a fraction of what I wanted to let go. It wasn't enough. Hatred burns through my veins as potent and deadly as poison. Hatred for myself.
How could I do that? how could I let Jason do that to himself? I swore I would never do that to anybody. He's lying, of course. I've done it enough times to know that. The gagging, choking, the gasping for air and vomiting when he pulls out. It's hell. Being forced onto your knees, your hair pulled out of the roots. Your throat burning and raw. Not eating for days at a time, going as long as possible without drinking because swallowing hurts and it reminds you.
I love Jason. So fucking much. And yet, I did this to him. I remember miserably, the way that my hips jerked up of their own accord, though I desperately tried not to. How, through the haze of pleasure, I knew what was happening and yet he still held me. I'm filthy. I feel like there's dirt running through my veins instead of blood. Its under my skin, frothing into mud.
I have to let it out, to be pure again for Jason. To be what he deserves. I get up silently and Jason makes a displeased sound in his throat when the bed shifts, but he keeps sleeping. Oh god. Jason..
I bolt into the bathroom, fall onto my knees and retch into the toilet, trying to let out the sickness inside.
'You're filthy. Impure. Fat. Hideous. Jason deserves so much better,' the ever-present voice in the back of my head purrs, finally pleased with my actions. The sweatpants are soft and warm against my skin, soothing. a thin barrier between my knees and the ice of the floor.
My hands are shaking hard as I dry-heave, nothing coming out. My hands fumble through the drawers in his bathroom until I find what I'm looking for. A pocket knife. I switch out the blade with shaking fingers and lower it to my wrist quickly, slicing the flesh there. The now-separated skin immediately gushes blood, and to me it looks thick and dark, filthy blood.
It taints my wrist and hands a dark color and I feel a bit faint from blood loss but I still feel the itch, the burn under my skin. Pulling the knife smoothly across my forearm, stacking cuts on top of one another like a child's Legos, I can feel the cells pull apart from each other. I can watch the knife slice smoothly and deeply. I can watch all the evil in me bleed out. One, two, three, four. I manage four slits for all the monsters to slide out of before the knife clatters onto the floor and I fall with it, unconscious before my body hits the tile with a thump.
**
I wake up all of a sudden, gasping and bolting upright, which leaves me gasping and my head spinning. A rough hand forces me back down and I gasp repeatedly, gaining my breath.
"So. Christopher. You've been asleep for two days." Says a cold voice that I almost don't recognize. I tilt my head to see Jason staring at me with anger burning, blue fire in his eyes. I don't respond.
"Would you like me to tell you what it was like to wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of my mates body hitting the floor that's slick with his blood? Would you like to know what that did to me Christopher?" His voice is deadly soft, and I finally notice that my wrist is bandaged. I vaguely note that my cast is gone. "Or maybe you'd rather I tell you about how you didn't have a heartbeat when I held your limp form in my arms, and I sobbed because oh my god I was losing you. Is that a better topic?" He asks me, and I flinch and start to cry.
"I was j-just trying to be better f-f-f-for you," I choke and his eyes close at the sound of my voice.
"Yes. You did a wonderful job. I like you so much better dead on my bathroom floor. I like you so much better when I have to try to perform CPR on you, though I can't breathe myself. I like you so much better when your heart has stopped but somehow your wrists continue to bleed and I press my hands against them, watch the blood stain my fingertips, mad with the need to stop the blood flow. You're fucking brilliant. A real ace. I have an idea how about we talk about the fact that when we got here, and the nurse asked me what happened, I was crying so hard, so damn broken, that I couldn't even tell her. I couldn't even speak. Because you took yourself away from me and what the fuck was I supposed to think other than 'this is all my fault. I pushed him to far and now he's gone forever."
Something vicious springs up inside of me, a reaction to being completely and utterly unable to process and handle what he's saying to me. Denial and shock and fury at myself. I shove the feelings off of me and onto Jason, turning to glare at him.
"Don't you dare look at me like that. Like I'm a disappointment to you too. News flash? I already know. I don't need you to tell me because I ALREADY KNOW. I know, but you don't. You don't because nobody does. Nobody knows the fear, the flashbacks, nobody knows the GUILT!" I'm breathing heavily, letting out everything that comes to me. "You don't know what it's like to love somebody to the point that you fear them. You don't know what it's like to strap yourself into turtlenecks and gloves in July because what if someone touches you. You don't know! Nobody knows! You don't know what it's like to wake up in the morning and go downstairs to a mother who can't even look at you she hates you so much. You don't know what it's like to be eight years old and all you can say is 'daddy what are you doing? Daddy stop. DADDY PLEASE.' And guess what Jason? YOU DONT KNOW WHAT ITS LIKE TO LIVE LIKE ME. So don't fucking look and me like that because I KNOW THAT LOOK. And you know what it really means? It means abandonment. And I love you TOO FUCKING MUCH TO SEE IT ON YOUR FACE." My voice breaks and I curl in on myself, bearing the weight of my past on shoulders that are too slim to hold it up alone. "I'd die, Jason. I would walk into that bathroom the moment you left and I would die. Because you're all I have, all I've ever had, my entire world. My sunshine in the dark. If the light goes out, how can I possibly see anymore? My eyes used to be adjusted to the night. They aren't anymore. You've blinded me and I need you. I just do, okay? Please don't leave me. I'm so sorry Jason just. Please."
By the end my voice is so broken that it's just a rasp in my throat, just as much a plea as it is anger. I can't stand to even peek at Jason. The guilt is already flooding my system. I shouldn't have said those things, shouldn't have yelled at him. It just... it gets to be too much, and I panic and then I say things that I shouldn't and god I'm still hurting him.
I shake my head, my hair falling into my face. I'm trying. I am, I swear I am. It's just.. it's hard. Sometimes it's too hard.
I can't live without Jason. I know that. But I can't keep hurting him like this either.
"Jason I don't know. I don't know what to do, I don't know how to handle everything inside me, I don't know how to function anymore," I whisper, my eyes still locked on my knees, covered by those sweatpants that are now splattered with dried blood.
"Christopher you cannot do that. It isn't the answer. You think you're trying to somehow fix yourself for me but it's killing me. You don't understand, because you're human, and I don't blame you for that, but it's killing me Chris. These two days when you never moved, your face pale as ice and your skin covered in blood. I couldn't even bear to change you out of those bloodstained clothes, I couldn't even touch you I was so scared. Petrified with the fear that I was going to lose you for good. That we would never even have a first kiss together," he cuts off for a moment and then takes a deep breath. "That I would never hold you in my arms again while you slept," his voice is now rough and I can't help the short glance I send his way, just wanting to see him.
Jason is crying. His head is up and he's staring right back at me but his eyes are bluer than usual and tears fall down his cheeks, making little paths down his cheeks.
I want to scream at myself. I want to scream and cry and pull my hair out and I want to just freak out completely. I want to yell some more and I want to punch myself. I want to throw something and I want to kick someone.
So I hug him.
I climb off the little bed, stumble a little bit, unsteady, and throw my arms around him, holding his body as tight as I possibly can against me. I have to stretch up on my toes to do so, but I so, and press my lips to his cheek, kissing his tears away.
Pulling my mouth smoothly across his cheek, stacking kisses on top of one another like a child's Legos, I can feel the salt of his tears on my tongue.
Finally I reach the corner of his mouth, and I look up at him briefly. His eyes are closed, shut tight against the world. I don't want him to be sad. Not ever. So I take a deep breath in, ignore every panicked thought running through my head, and I press my lips against his.
He gasps and I press every inch of my body against his, down to the tips of our shoes touching each other. His lips are warm and soft, willing against mine.
Just as I'm starting to feel uncomfortable having control of the kiss, one of Jason's strong arms winds around my waist and the other cups my neck, tilting my head up more so he has a better angle to push my lips apart with his hungrily, his tongue slipping into my mouth and his hand on my waist pulling me in so that our torsos are pressed against one another as well.
I melt in his arms, completely and totally his. Both of my hands grip his biceps, holding him against me when I feel unsteady on my toes. He seems to understand what I want and the arm around my waist slides down until he picks me up, my legs wrapping around his waist and a moan slipping from my lips as his hand stays planted firmly on my ass, holding me.
And I am not afraid. I'm not panicking at his touch, I'm not flashing back into memories because I know that this is Jason and I know that he'll protect me. He won't leave me.
Jason finally pulls back for air, and both of our chests are heaving, searching for oxygen. I only get in about one breath before I lean in and press my lips against his again. His hands find my shoulders and he pulls me back firmly, making me whine.
"We are in the nurses office, darling. People could come in, and I don't think you want anyone else watching us," he smiles and kisses my nose.
"Then let's go to your room," I beg him, eyes wide and pleading. He grins at that.
"Let's."