skirting the edge of the deep dark

[mute_clay]

(continued from here)

Nobody looks at him. If you’re right at the edge of the deep darkness, nobody looks at you. Not even if you almost knock them over, running past.

It’s hurting to breathe now. That is good. Hurt is good. Hurt fill up everything inside, even the mind. Hurt silences everything. No names. No faces.

He knows it’s cold, too cold for being outside for long with no shoes on and wearing nothing but jeans and a shirt. His body knows. His mind doesn’t care.

Flee. Flee.

She’s found another one. Another one like – Him. Maybe that has been the case all along. No difference. Maybe she saw himself as –

No.

Running faster, trying to outrun the thought with burning lungs and burning eyes. But thoughts are fast. Quicker than any man’s feet. And they never tire.

He is slowing down. There are no buildings now. Just trees. Trees.

He doesn’t want to think. To feel. To – he touched her - remember.

The ground is damp.
If he curls up tight enough he can almost fit between two large roots.
Yes
Splaying his palms.
Yes
Turning his head a little, breathing, tasting earth.
Yes

And now, staying here. Breathing slowly, evenly. Listening to the sounds of birds wakening, leaves moving in the breeze. Leaving no room for thoughts. Letting the forest hold him.

It’s hard. Fear has sharp fangs and it does not let go without a fight.

Comments

[mute-clay.livejournal.com]

Clay nods and gets to his feet, water rushing off his skin.

He still feels weak but more present.

He gets out of the tub and lets Jon help him towel off.

[jon-r-meyers.livejournal.com]

Jon gently dries Clay's body, then moves him to his bed, taking the lotion with him.

"I'm not sure what this is, but if it's going to help, I'm sure it's going to sting now." Jon smiles a bit at Clay, trying to lighten the mood at least a little, then applies the lotion, carefull, to any cuts and bruises he can find. Especially on Clay's feet. He winces slightly. Looks like walking is going to hurt for a few days.

[mute-clay.livejournal.com]

It doesn't sting. Clay turns the jar over in his hand and then shows it to Jon. Callie had written her name in tiny letters at the bottom of the label. Complete with a heart over the i.

He can look at the name without losing his breath. That is good.

Jon has gentle hands.

[jon-r-meyers.livejournal.com]

Jon caresses Clay's thigh softly as he reads the name under the label. "Home-made stuff is always good." He frowns as he remembers something. "I... I'm not sure we shouldn't get a doctor or something. You didn't hurt yourself badly, but one or two of the cuts were bleeding and I don't know how up-to-date you are with your shots... It's up to you."

He smiles a bit and lies down next to Clay. "I will stay here for the night. I can sleep on the floor or take the couch, but I won't leave you alone tonight."

[mute-clay.livejournal.com]

Clay turns to face Jon, one arm snaking across his chest. He is not exactly clinging to him, but it comes close.

He rests his face against Jon's shoulder, sighing softly, then places a hand on top of Jon's heart.

Thank you.

[jon-r-meyers.livejournal.com]

Jon caresses Clay's hair. "Hey, it's what I'm here for. Sleep now, you're safe."

[mute-clay.livejournal.com]

Clay sighs again, letting his breath grow soft and even.

He falls asleep fairly quickly, a dreamless sleep at first. Later there are dreams, confused colors and the sense of running. But Jon is laying next to him and he stays where he is, even when his dreams are suddenly filled with darkness and a taste of blood.