This is the second aesthetic for Erie! They were both so amazing that I could not pick just one so I decided to post both of them!
Show your love for the beautiful aesthetic!
And now, enjoy :)
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Lumiere carried Erie away, slowly and carefully to keep from jostling her, with his head bowed against hers and whispering to her in tones softer than cotton. She looked so brittle in his hold, so absolutely breakable. Lumiere could crush her if he wanted to, with ease.
He would never, but that did not mean others would show her the same kindness or spare her. This might very well be the first and only time Erie has ever been vulnerable.
And it scared Lumiere.
It really scared him.
With two less bodies occupying the room, we had more space to spread out. I leaned against the counter to relieve pressure from my leg and stared at the bloody bullet abandoned on the table, "How could they do this to her? How could they do this to the Gate? I thought you said gang business wasn't allowed here."
"It's not." Brandon informed, flatly. He had begun his concoction with the same gelatin substance Erie applied only moments ago, then added a series of ingredients I hadn't a hope of guessing, "But I also said the Council is playing by their own rules. Even a man as conventional as the Count will abandon tradition when death is added to a gamble."
"So that's it, we're doomed." I concluded.
Dustin drew me in for a snug embrace and rested his head atop mine, "Not yet."
Brandon snickered, "Death must have messed you up more than I thought if you truly believe we are anything but doomed, my hopelessly optimistic cousin." He set down the vials he had been inspecting and made way for the door, "Corinth, come help me find a few things in the other room."
She was surprisingly cooperative, either too tired to argue or too distracted to care. Whatever the reason be, she fell in step behind him while biting absentmindedly at her nails with her thoughts elsewhere.
Once they were gone, I unleashed my worries on Dustin, "Do you really think we can beat the Count?"
"To be honest with you, I don't know." He admitted, "But I do know the Count will do anything to get the cure and I am the only one who can bring it to him. So if you think about it, in a demented kind of way, I actually have the upper hand."
I rose an eyebrow, "You are demented if you actually believe that."
He chest reverberated against my own with an easy chuckle, "I should have known you wouldn't fall for that. But on a side note, I think you have spent way too much time with Brandon because you sound just like him and to tell you the truth, I don't like it."
I laid my head against his chest, surprised to hear how steady it beat, and I counted its rhythm the way one would count sheep. My tongue didn't want to form my next question, "We are going to get through this, right?"
His fingers followed the path of my spine, down and up, then down again, "I thought you were dead set on surviving. Are you having doubts now?"
Of course I am having doubts.
But not about me.
Because whether I get cured or not, whether I survive or not, it is Dustin who is truly in danger. Even if he somehow manages to retrieve this coveted cure that has been unattainable for thousands of years, the Count will never grant Dustin his freedom. He is too obsessed with Dustin to let him walk away. For the rest of Dustin's life, the Count will always be there; lurking in the shadows or darkening an obscure doorway, haunting his dreams, scarring his memories, always one step behind but too far out of reach to expel.
When this is all over, no matter who is standing and who is buried, it is Dustin who will lose.
Amidst waiting for my answer, Dustin turned his face into my hair and breathed deeply before whispering against my ear in a voice that could soothe raging seas, "Have faith in me, Dimples." He pressed his lips against my head, holding me there for a long time before the softest of breaths sifted like silk through my hair, "I will not let that monster ruin your smile, Sadie."
Harrowing images darted behind my closed eyes, of Dustin and I standing in the Reapers dungeon, so very far from prying eyes where only he and I bore witness to his pledge; his undying vow to protect my smile, my innocence.
Death may have changed Dustin in incomprehensible ways, but it could not change that.
He was patient but encouraging, "Do you believe me?"
"Of course I do." I replied immediately. My arms tightened around him, pulling him closer, for his stability and my own, "I just don't want history to repeat itself."
He understood what I truly meant, agonizingly clear, "You think I am going to get myself killed again, don't you?"
I tread so carefully because neither of us were ready for this conversation, "I think you will do anything to keep the Count from hurting the people you love. And the last time you protected us, we lost you. If that were to happen again," I was shaking, we both felt it, "There might not be anything left for us to save."
Dustin backed away, "What happened with Rosen was decided in the heat of the moment, as a last resort. It was the only way to keep you all safe and to take care of Rosen once and for all."
I followed after him quickly to keep from upsetting him, "I know, and I understand. But I just want you to understand, too. I want you to realize that we want to protect you just as much as you want to protect us. And this time," I poked his chest, hard, "Dying is not an option."
His hands folded around mine, "For either of us, right?"
I nodded in certainty, "Right."
Corinth was talking as her and Brandon reentered the small room, arms full of bottles they had collected from the room where we first found Erie upon arriving, "All I'm saying is that we need to get back home, as soon as possible."
Her back was to Brandon when he asked, "Still worried about Eli?"
"Well, yeah, of course. But that's not why we need to hurry." Her eyes flickered towards me and in them, I saw fear. Not for herself, or her cousin. Not even for Eli. The fear present in her stare was meant only for me, "We have other priorities, now."
"We will leave first thing in the morning." Brandon mumbled, entirely unaware of the true meaning behind his sister's words. He returned to his project and mixed two contrasting liquids into a single empty bottle, "For now, we should all find a vacant room and get some sleep until the medical team arrives. God knows we could all use the rest. Once we are treated and Erie is stable enough to travel, we will leave."
I looked up at Dustin, "You know Lumiere won't let her leave in her condition."
Dustin's shoulders dropped as if to sigh though no air was exhaled, "Maybe they can both stay here, it would be safer."
"Nice try, but Lumiere also won't let you leave without him."
"As stubborn as a goat, that one." Dustin informed with a laugh, "But we can figure out the logistics of our travel after we get some sleep." He started us towards the door, calling out over his shoulder, "Will you two be civil while we're gone?"
Brandon shrugged, "Sure we will."
"Nope. I'm going to bed too." Corinth stated and skipped after us, "I want to forget this day ever happened."
Brandon grumbled to himself, "Guess I'll just stay here then, by myself."
"Sounds good." Corinth sang back.
The three of us made slow progress up the stairs with Dustin and I having to stop every few steps to keep from falling. Corinth was patient and helped us along the way, offering help only when we needed it and only if it was clear we couldn't continue on our own without assistance. Once on the second floor, our trek became easier. The thick carpet was plush underfoot and it silenced our walk as we made way for a group of rooms at the very end of the hall where other visitors had not been placed.
Two doors, across from one another in the hallway, had been left open.
Waiting for us.
"Now listen here kiddos. This is your first official night together since we all reunited and I really don't want to know what you two do behind closed doors, so just remember that you're both injured. With that being said, just go easy on him Sadie. If you know what I mean." Corinth shot us a wink and my face went up in flames when I realized what she was insinuating. She made way for door on our right with a small wave of departure, "Goodnight, and keep the screaming to a minimum if you can."
"Corinth wait." Dustin reached out to take her by the elbow, using it to guide her towards him where he wrapped heavy arms around her. She held him too, tighter after she heard him say, "I never really got the chance to thank you for taking care of things after I left ... and for saving me."
A brief smile appeared that lightened her face in a way I haven't seen in a very long time, "Just don't make me do it again."
He squeezed her tighter and lifted her off the ground, shaking her like a ragdoll to bring about her giggles, "I make no promises."
She shoved at him through playful punches to make him release her, "Get some sleep, numbskull. You look like hell."
"Thank you, I do try to uphold my hellish demeanor as best I can." He gave her a quick bow and from there he pulled the door to her room shut just as she flung herself on the bed and sank into the pillows.
We retired to our own room and sight of that bed had my eyes closing before I even reached it. If Dustin and I had more strength or energy, maybe our nightly activities would have been much more ... active. But I couldn't keep my eyes open and right now, the only pleasure I wanted to encounter was the pleasure of dreamless, restful sleep.
I shuffled across the room, tested the comforter with my hands, then flung myself on top of the bed and snuggled into the pillows. The other side of the bed dipped as Dustin rolled next to me, reflexively folding me into him as though no time had passed and just yesterday we were cuddling with one another before death and destruction had parted us.
I remember how it felt to be tangled around one another and fighting for blankets. I remember falling asleep in his hold and waking up to his blissfully peaceful face that had yet to awaken to another day of undesired burdens and hardship. I remember his warmth most of all, the way he could engulf me so completely and spread that heat across my skin like light across desert sand. It made me brighter, better.
It made me whole.
He will be asleep in seconds, at which point I will pull him so close to me that our separate bodies will mold into one, and I will spend an eternity examining how his face has changed in our time apart. I want to examine the inward dip of his cheeks, the sharper angels of his face produced from malnourishment, the growth of stubble that continued to advance up the crests of his jaw. I wanted to trace his lips and memorize the caress of his lashes against skin as he slept.
I wanted to know him again and I planned on taking my time while reintroducing myself to his features.
But these opportunities were not presented. Because though he lay beside me, comfortably and without diversion, he did not fall asleep. In fact, from the way he was staring at the ceiling, I would say he was trying to keep himself awake.
Minutes passed, then a half hour, maybe longer. I waited for him to succumb, to finally let his eyes close and his body rest, but he didn't. The bags under his eyes grew darker and the lack of energy in his movements tripled, yet he still did not let sleep take him. He fought it, he forced his eyes to stay open.
"What's wrong?" I asked him quietly.
He flinched at the sound of my voice, obviously not aware that I was still awake, "You should be sleeping."
"So should you." I countered.
He shrugged, "I will ... but my mind is too busy right now, too much to think about."
"It isn't time to think." I responded, "It's time for sleep."
"I know, Dimples." He gave me a warming smile, one that was misleadingly reassuring even though it was held together by nothing more than a single crooked upturn and scattered sanity, "You should get some rest. I'll be right behind you."
"But-"
"Hush." He brushed a finger over my lips to silence my refusal and tucked us farther under the comforter. Our combined body heat created a balmy, cozy atmosphere that practically dragged me under and drugged my already exhausted mind. Dustin nudged his face closer to mine, squeezed me pleasantly, and spoke against my neck in a voice of eloquent fleece, "Close your eyes, and sleep."
I had forgotten how easily it was to obey him.
My eyes were painfully weighed down and I nodded off into a realm somewhere between consciousness and sleep. My breaths slowed, my heart calmed, and my body sagged deeper into the bed. Sleep swept me away without effort and finally, I was resting.
But no sooner had I fallen asleep was I awakened once more by movement. Instinctively I checked the clock beside the bed, it has been a little over an hour since we first laid down, just past midday.
The bed beside me was vacant. Dustin had slid out from my hold, slowly and steadily to prevent stirring my slumber. Then he began pacing the room, hands in his hair and yawning as he went. Time and time again he circled the room, drumming his fingers against his cheeks to quell his need to sleep. After several rounds, his trek ended with him bent over the bedside basin and splashing water onto his face to keep his eyes open.
He was forcing himself to stay awake. But why? He must be so tired.
Was it because of his nightmares? Did he remember more than I thought?
Eventually he returned to the bed. First he lay facing away from me, then turned towards me without noticing how I watched him fidget. Finally, he shifted onto his back and glued his arms to his side, stiff as possible in the most uncomfortable position I have ever seen.
Dustin laid this way for a long time. He was asleep in seconds but it took another excruciating hour for him to finally relax. Once that hour passed, I sat up on my elbows to inspect him.
He was still in that awkward position but the tense placement of his limbs had been softened by sleep. I sat beside him and monitored him while he slept because I felt obligated to supervise his slumber, but I half expected his eyes to open. There was no way he could be so soundly asleep when he looked unreasonably stiff and on edge.
His lips parted on an exhale and his head rolled, one way then the other.
A strange sound scraped from his throat, the sound someone would make if they were being suffocated. The longer I watched the more active he became, twitching at first but soon developing progressive convulsions that sent his limbs into drastic spams.
Quite abruptly, I realized that Dustin was in mid fit. Sweat began to flush along his hairline before dripping past his body and slowly dampening the bed below him. His hair plastered against his forehead and the base of his neck. His hands took fistfuls of the bedsheets below us and crinkled them, his lips pulled taut over clenched teeth, and the same choking sound was released from deep within.
Then his back arched, only enough to lift him off the bed, and he groaned ... in pain. In genuine pain. It wasn't a fabrication of his mind, this pain was real. His face twisted and phantoms rattled through him, remnants of brutal memories his consciousness wouldn't allow him to remember which dumped those memories into his subconsciousness where they thrived in an unregulated domaine.
Lumiere had a good point; if Dustin doesn't remember the nightmares after he has awakened, then maybe I should leave him be. They are causing him pain now but he won't remember them, so perhaps I should let him sleep. He needs rest ...
But not like this.
I cannot sit beside him while he is in so much pain, I can't let him relive the Count's torture. Regardless of whether he remembers his nightmares or not, in this moment – right now – he remembers them, because in his mind he is still there. He is still with the Count, still locked away eight stories below the ground, still being tortured.
Still being killed.
I couldn't stop his suffering for three long weeks, but I can stop it now.
Because of his thrashing, it was hard to get a grip on him but I managed a firm hold of his arms and shook him vigorously to waken him while calling out his name. It worked in the van, even though it took some time. But in the car, Dustin wasn't nearly as panicked as he is right now. Something was different, a worse dream maybe. Even as I shook him, Dustin remained distantly trapped in a hell conjured by his very own mind.
While I was jolting him, his hands suddenly shot upwards and latched around my arms. Instant pain seared where his skin touched mine and his hands tightened around my biceps with ungodly pressure that promptly cut off circulation and control. My hands were jerked away from his body, immediately paralyzed by lack of blood flow.
"Dustin – ow, Dustin you have to wake up." My fingers folded inward, a reflex brought on by immobility. His hold only tightened and my eyes involuntarily burned at the sheer power of Dustin's grasp, "Dustin, hey Dustin, wake up!"
Chills crept down my arms and congregated along my fingers that were now without sensation and crippled by Dustin's calloused grip that turned my arms white from pinched blood vessels. Without the necessary blood flow to my most distal appendages, my fingers began to pale and a blue tinge set in near the edges of my nails. Static started at my fingers then tingled up to my wrists, and eventually up my arms to where his hands were obstructing my veins.
I tried again, louder this time, "Dustin! Wake up!"
If anything, my attempts were making things worse. He was somewhere very far away, where my voice and my touch were drowned out by the pain of the Count's blade. Dustin was too far gone for me to reach him.
He teeth ground together and he swallowed a gulping breath that inflated his lungs too greatly, then abandoned him and pitted his chest shallowly. A broken groan clawed from his throat and he curled inwards, wringing my arms and nearly popping both shoulders from their sockets. I yelped at the constriction and tears gathered heavily in my eyes before spilling over, blurring the sight of Dustin's scrunched face of agony below me.
He was in pain, so much pain.
A tremble rippled through my body but focused primarily in my arms where dying twitches pulsed at my fingers, mirrored by the increasingly aggressive spasms that seized Dustin's muscles. His body was attacking itself by contracting, an internal mechanism that was attempting to awaken its host. But in doing so, those convulsions were only driving him deeper, farther away.
Tension was building, our hearts were pounding, growing aches in my shoulders warned of impending dislocation. Veins all along Dustin's body distended from strain of unimaginable torture, a type of pain only he could understand because he alone was the only person the Count will never grow tired of cutting and breaking.
"Dustin, you're hurting me!" I told him, as if he could understand. My body physically wouldn't move which meant I couldn't pull away. Panic tripled, my voice was shredded by fear, "Dustin, please wake up!"
Suddenly the door to our room burst open and light flooded in from the hallway, illuminating our room in dull accents.
Brandon stood on the other side from where he had kicked the door open and scanned the area for whatever danger had me screaming at this late hour. His gaze found Dustin and I, and he threw his hands over his eyes, mistaking the scene for something much more intimate, "What the – oh – whoa, my bad. Sorry, I heard you shouting and ... I obviously got the wrong impression-"
"Help!" I yelled at him.
Brandon slowly started forward in uncertainty, still hiding behind his hand. Behind him, I saw Corinth emerge from her room with her hair in a mess and sleep still hanging from her eyes. She yawned, "What's with all the noise? I told you to take it easy tonight-"
Dustin jarred roughly to the side and I was jerked along as well. He groaned and I cried out, "Get in here and help!"
Upon realizing what was truly happening, Brandon rushed to my side and wrenched at Dustin's arms to pry them off of me, "What's wrong with him?"
"He's having a nightmare." I explained quickly. With Brandon beside me, we tried only once to pull myself backwards but my skin was pinched between the gaps in Dustin's fingers if I moved too far away and numbing pain heightened, cracking like whips against my already incapacitated limbs.
Corinth climbed onto the bed beside me and tried to hook her fingers under Dustin's to free my arms from his hold but she couldn't separate his skin from mine. Brandon abandoned his efforts of removing Dustin's grip, realizing as I had that it was a useless endeavor. Instead, Brandon turned his focus on waking Dustin, "Hey!" He shouted, "Dustin! Wake up!"
Dustin's eyes darted sporadically behind his closed lids but they did not open. His nightmare was sustained, preserving his memories that too horrifying to forget but too damaging to live through again.
Corinth tried as well, "Wake up, Dustin!"
Nothing.
Starbursts erupted along the length of my arms but even the sensation of paralysis was fading, which meant permanent damage would soon set in. As his nightmare reached its climax, Dustin shoved my arms towards each other with so much force that it compressed my ribcage and deflated my lungs, producing violently intense coughs that hurt my chest and grated along my throat. Suddenly, it was I who couldn't breathe.
Corinth's frantic warning resounded like bells in my ear, "He's going to crush her!"
But no matter how they – or I – tried, we couldn't force Dustin's release. His nightmare had him in chains, and I was as much a prisoner as he was though my capture was profoundly more physical than the mental state of Dustin's current imprisonment.
From behind us, the hallway's light was blocked as another figure appeared in the doorway, followed by a horror stricken declaration, "What the hell is going on in here?"
I couldn't see him clearly from his position behind me but I caught a flash of golden hair and black satin against flawless skin. My head craned towards him desperately, "Lumiere, help!"
The sound of my voice set him into brisk motion and Lumiere rushed into the room, passing us all. He shoved Brandon aside, took Dustin by the shoulders, and shouted only once, "Dustin!"
Violet irises abruptly appeared, dilated and sleep ridden, confused but wide with alarm. I heard and felt his heart bounding from where I sat over him, and the vein in his neck followed a perilously swift speed that pulsed every half second from the dangerous increase of his heart rate.
Dustin saw Lumiere first, then the rest of us beyond, and asked in a weakened voice still layered with sleep and rugged from sudden consciousness, "Where did he go?"
Lumiere held him tighter, "Who?"
"The Count." Dustin sat up in a flurry, flipping in all directions, breathing just as hard with eyes just as wild, "He was here, he was just here! I saw him! He was-" Dustin swallowed dryly and his cheeks paled further, "He was here..."
"No one was here, Dustin." Lumiere told him calmly, "It was just you and Sadie until we got here."
"What are you talking about? I saw him-"
Brandon ripped at Dustin's arms, "For the love of God, let go!"
Dustin stared at his cousin in bewilderment, then he followed his arms to where his fingers were still stoned around mine so tightly that the surrounding skin was stark white and bloodless. Groggy from sleep and baffled by the Count's sudden disappearance, Dustin didn't truly understand the situation until he saw tears streaking down my face and splattering against the bed between us.
Finally, his fingers loosened; the joints in his locked knuckles cracked from the movement.
Blood sailed through my depraved veins and scalding heat flooded down my arms like a dam of lava released, blazing from my biceps to my fingers and blistering the internal surface of my skin. Once released, Lumiere plucked me from the bed and carried me backwards, away from where Dustin was rooted in place, staring after me, sufficiently perplexed by what he had done.
Lumiere set me down gently across the room where he and Corinth crowded closer to inspect the already dark ringlets that were forming around my arms in the same location as each of Dustin's fingers, resulting in five separate elongated marks printed around the circumference of my arms, bordered by lighter shades of purple spreading outwards both above and below. Lumiere pressed a single finger against the tender area and I flinched.
"Sadie?" Dustin asked quietly. He was sitting straight now, wearing those same wide eyes that were now partially hidden below long strands of hair hanging low on his forehead. He had been watching me closely; examining my arms, then his own hands, then my arms again. When he finally realized it was he who caused the abrasions on my arms, his face turned to ash, "I'm sorry ... I'm so sorry, I didn't know ..."
Lumiere stooped lower to further inspect the integrity of circulation in my fingers. While I was examined, I sniffled to clear my voice and conjured a forceful smile to ease Dustin's concern. But despite my best efforts, my traitorous voice came out weaker than I wanted, "It's okay."
His expression cracked.
Self loathing dragged his frown lower and his eyes swarmed with shame at knowing he was the cause for my pain. Slowly he shifted forward as if to reach for me but he stilled with his hand suspended in air, glaring at his own fingers. He settled back with his hands tucked away below him, ashamed.
Lumiere dried my cheeks with the sleeves of his shirt, "You okay, sweetheart?"
"I'm fine." I mumbled.
He lifted my hands to view them again, pressing on each of my nails and assessing how they first turned white then painted pink once more before a second had passed. He nodded approvingly, "Circulation is good, any numbness or tingling?"
"No, doctor." I told him with a pathetic laugh.
Corinth swept the hair away from my face and Lumiere gave my hands a slight squeeze, "Most importantly, your sarcasm is still intact. You will have some serious bruising but I'm pretty sure you will make a full recovery."
Dustin leaned farther away.
Brandon peered around Lumiere to see the condition of my arms, "We should put some ice on there before your arms begin to swell. Corinth, can you-"
"Already on it." Corinth obliged without hesitation. She kissed my temple quickly then ran from the room.
Lumiere helped me sit on the edge of the bed, as far from Dustin as the bed would allow, then he sat beside me and slung a loose arm around my shoulders. My arms hung limply at my sides, too weak to hold themselves up, and so I folded them around my stomach to anchor them against me. To stop them from shaking.
Dustin was still watching, eyebrows knitted with that same expression stitched over his features; eyes too wide and frown too deep, sitting like a small child with Brandon standing over him ready to scold.
"What the hell was that?" Brandon started, quieter than I would have thought. He was angry about the situation, but worried about how it would affect Dustin.
There was a long pause before Dustin answered in a tone clipped by an odd assortment of exhaustion, anger, and extreme resentment, as if the words tasted like bile as he spoke them, "I tried to stay up ... but I just got too tired."
"That was nothing like the nightmares you had when your family died." Brandon's tone was similar to porous stone, grating but hollow, angry but worried.
"I didn't know that I was ... I thought Marx was ..." Dustin's voice was small, still confused, trying to sort through what he remembered the Count doing to him before Lumiere pulled him back. Dustin spoke through a shuddering breath, "It seemed so real."
I knew all too well what it was like to be enslaved by your own subconsciousness. My dreams of the beast had so much power that they physically dragged me under even when I wasn't sleeping. And the horrors I saw while asleep still haunt me to this day; images of the skeleton smiling with teeth like razors, a soulless version of Dustin perched in a throne of thorns while patches of his skin were ripped off, darkness and smoke so consuming that it followed me into reality.
My dreams were awful but Dustin's were much worse. He couldn't escape his dreams like I could. They haunted him while he was awake, they warped and grew every time Dustin saw the scars left behind from his time with the Council. And when his eyes finally closed after days of forcing himself to stay awake, he was ambushed by the memories he would do anything to forget.
My dreams of the beast, as their most fundamental level, were creations of my own mind. But Dustin's dreams were real and torturous, acted upon him in reality by men even the devil dare not refute.
Dustin reached forward again, hitting the same limit as before, "Did I really do that?"
"She was trying to wake you up." Lumiere leaned backwards so Dustin had better view of me without obstruction, "She was just trying to help-"
"We all tried to wake you up." Though Brandon maintained his sympathy, the rigidity of his posture insinuated that he believed it was Dustin's fault for losing control, "If it weren't for Lumiere ..."
Ironically, a small pang of jealousy leaked into my heart.
Because Dustin woke up when he heard Lumiere's voice. One word, that's all it took for Lumiere to dive deep enough into Dustin's subconsciousness and pull him out of the hell he was reliving. Lumiere accomplished that with one word.
But I couldn't. I begged and cried for Dustin to stop but it wasn't enough, I couldn't reach him. Why wasn't it enough?
Why didn't he wake up for me?
"I'm so sorry, Sadie." Dustin could not get past the consequences of his actions, traumatized by what he had done, "I didn't mean to hurt you."
Lumiere stared between us, "She knows that, Dustin. She knows you didn't hurt her on purpose." He anxiously nudged me with his shoulder, "Go on, love. Tell him."
Before I could answer, Lumiere's compassion was overshadowed by Brandon's louder statement of contempt, "Intentional or not, he still hurt her."
Dustin's defense was halfhearted, "I didn't mean to-"
"You don't get it." Heavy footsteps sounded with Brandon's approach. He lifted my hands into the air with a touch I barely felt, "You were gone, Dustin. Your nightmares have been bad in the past, but never this bad. This time ..." I was shocked to discover how worried Brandon sounded, maybe even a little ... scared? For my wellbeing? No, of course not. For the wellbeing of his younger cousin, "This time, you wouldn't have stopped if Lumiere hadn't been able to get through to you."
I retracted my hands.
Brandon has always been brutally honest, even if it was hard to say or unwanted to hear. Though it was a quality that often hurt the listener, it was also a feature of his persona that I have always admired because I would never be able to speak the truth like Brandon could.
Especially not to someone who looked as guilt stricken as Dustin.
"I didn't know." Dustin whispered again, "I would never ..."
Brandon fixed him with a hard stare, "You just did."
His statement issued clarity and the air shifted with previously unrealized change that was now too daunting to ignore.
Something about Dustin was different; of course he was angry, with a soul darker that I remembered, but it was much more than that. A piece of him was stolen when his heart stopped, and that piece was somehow left behind in the abyss when his heart began beating once more. Perhaps not a large piece because the others have only just begun to realize. But Lumiere realized ... I realized.
At least I thought we did.
But when Dustin thought no one was watching, his true colors showed. Fragments and slices of what he once was, kept together in miserable fashion that unraveled at the seams when he found himself alone. Beneath his charade, he was bruised and scarred, a compilation of melted flesh and splintered bone in shards beyond damaged that no longer work properly. Behind his mask he was miserably disfigured by the anguish he endured day after day, without anyone knowing, because he hid it so well that even Lumiere and I did not realize how prominent his pain truly was.
He was still Dustin, but he wasn't the Dustin we once knew.
And I didn't know how to fix him.
Or if there was anything left to fix.
I did not blame him for being this way. A man can only accept so many lashings before he crumbles, and Dustin has been taking beatings for years without end. The fact that he has survived this long is nothing less than divine intervention.
As he once told me, a man doesn't get to cheat death as many times as he has without there being a few consequences. He was right. Because the consequences he now faces are solemn and grave; holding him down while a cosmic firing squad dealt his punishment with bullets made from nightmares, leaving wounds that will never close.
I want to help him, I want to be the one who leads him through hell and back into the light, but he would never place such a burden on me even if I begged him to do so. He would rather walk alone and stumble the entire way, so long as it means the rest of us are spared.
He does not want help and he does not want pity.
He just wants peace.
The same peace he felt after his eyes closed and death nearly took him.
Perhaps that is why he is spiraling so radically out of control. He is chasing that peace he once felt without even realizing.
In the company of others, he is the same undefeated leader we all rely on for protection, the same pillar of defiance and victory and glorious justice that is unbreakable. He is still our captain and we still serve him, loyally and without doubt.
But days fade into night, and fear comes trampling back. And when the audiences leave, Dustin King sheds that strength and he becomes what he has always feared.
He becomes weak.
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So as I'm sure you all can tell, school has started back up and guess what ... college is hard lol so I apologize if updates are slow. I am writing as fast as I can without compromising the integrity of the story. I don't want to post material that I hate :/
That being said, I hope you all enjoyed!
Please vote, comment, and follow me!
Thanks again my lovelies :)
xoxo