Axel

He doesn’t sit as much as his legs give out underneath him, his ears are filled with cotton and a weight has seemingly decided to make his guts a home. He’s pretty sure his heart isn’t working anymore due to the boiling gaping empty hole he feels in his chest. 

There are voices around him, he can’t quite understand what they’re saying, logically he knows they’re close, he can decipher two vaguely human shaped shadows on the ground before him, though they’re slightly misshapen and terribly blurry due to the tears drowning his eyes. 

He blinks them away sniffling, confused about why his body was reacting this way, what was bringing the heat around his nose this way. He’s not sad, he’s not even really sure he’s anything right now. He raises his hands automatically to wipe them away, wincing slightly as his own touch sticks slightly to his sore cheek. The pain mixes his consciousness with reality just enough to catch the voices rising, their words to start making sense, he doesn’t move his head just continues staring at the shadows on the ground so he doesn’t have to face the familiar figures behind him, one of the voices rises again, anger palpable forcing him to make sense of what the bigger shadow’s origin is saying: 

“-ck is wrong with you?! He’s your son- What kind of mother does that?!”

This shadow is sputtering, angry beyond anything he’s ever witnessed before, there’s a slight shake in its voice he’s never heard. The slimmer shadow doesn’t let him stutter out another sentence, She’s eerily calm, bile rises to his throat when Her voice comes out and Her silhouette starts to move a few feet to the left, closer to the fridge, away from the bar: 

“This isn’t my son anymore Ivan. Take it in, send it to your parents. I don't care. It’s not my son anymore and I have to protect my family.”

The shadow turns to him and he doesn’t move, the emptiness is replaced by pure unadulterated fear, he’s petrified as the slimmer shadow on the floor gives way to color in his peripherals due to where She’s standing, he can’t breathe as the next words leave Her mouth, spitting them like venom in his direction: 

“Whatever it is, it's evil, it wants to cause pain, Ivan. I don’t want it in my house.”

There’s a second of pause and he feels like he’s going to vomit as her hand enters his vision, soft green sweater riding up on a golden chain with a damned cross dangling as it tumbles from the wool; attached to a pale wrist, connected to a pale hand that used to bring so much comfort not 2 months ago and now could only strike the fear of god and the devil alike in him. She grabs something on the table in front of him and finishes Her thought at the same time as She takes a couple of steps back releasing his vision but still keeping him from moving with Her mere presence, She finishes her thought still moving away: 

“I should have known better than to expect you to understand my choice, you never did trust me.”

This was probably the worst thing to say as the bigger shadow chases after Her, newfound anger replacing the silence of the past couple minutes on its part: 

“What does trust have to do with Abandoning OUR CHILD?! And-And What choice exactly did you expect me to understand exactly?! huh?! Leaving your family for a cult? Mistreating your son when he refuses to share your belief?! Or maybe even ABANDONING him because his bedroom was cold and you need a stronger prescription for your glasses so it can only be DARK MAGIC and your 16 year old son HAS to be POSSESSED by Satan?! Do you even HEAR yourself woman?!”

The conversation fades once again into the background as the shadows disappear and sounds from the outside fade into the small unfamiliar flat. He doesn’t try to hear anymore, doesn’t try to move, he still cannot inhale and he’s running out of air. At some point his body tipped forward, his head angled towards the floor, hair stuck to sticky cheeks caused by the tears. A strand of hair is poking him in the eye but he can’t move, he can’t breathe. His hands are shaking and he finally manages to move taught muscles but there’s no gentleness when he moves his hair, he pulls at it, scrapes at his skull as he tries to breathe still. Just breathe. Why can’t he breathe? He tries to focus on himself, focus on moving a little bit more, to do anything but he’s not sure there’s any self left. 

He’s gone. The realization strikes him violently. There’s nothing there. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to feel there, a person probably, but She left him and he’s pretty sure She took the person he’s supposed to be with Her. He’s gone because She doesn’t care anymore. 

He hasn’t been able to breathe for an eternity when the first shadow comes back, voice calmer but still tense as it calls out to him, to the person he can’t feel:

“ “

He doesn’t answer, can’t answer really, he doesn’t know why, doesn’t think he should. He can’t lose the other shadow, he doesn’t know what he would do if that were to happen. He can’t make the mistakes he made with Her again. He cannot go through this again. 

“ “

Again. Its tone changes, he can’t quite identify what but it’s different, he doesn’t move. His entire face is burning and his entire being is so tense he can feel his neck and shoulders start to cramp. He feels utterly pathetic when the voice calls out again, closer, more carefully:

“ “

This time he’s forced to face the figure instead of the shadow and sees a middle aged man, grey and black battling for dominance in a 3 day old beard and utterly sad dark eyes. He sees a terribly sad man, clear angst and worry shaping his features. He’s never seen the man like this. The man raises a hand and he waits for rejection again, for horrible words, screaming, he waits for the man to throw the rest of his life away but instead the huge calloused warm hand wraps around him. Next thing he knows the man is holding him like the most precious and delicate thing in the universe. 

“I’m so sorry, bug.”

The words reach his ears and he can feel that there is more that the man wants to say but nothing words can express, still the second the sound waves reach him, oxygen hits his lungs. It’s not clean, it’s not sudden calmness that washes over him it’s hundreds of hours of hanging on, of not feeling like a person, of trying to fix a mistake he didn’t know whether or not he could fix. He sobs, each cry leading to the next, he loses control totally and the man holds onto him a little tighter. The man takes the weight, takes the responsibilities wordlessly, running a hand along his back and cradling his head. Shushing him like He used to when he was a child with a scraped knee. Every movement is caring and it’s enough to finish breaking the shell he tried to make for himself. 

He babbles, apologizes, begs for things he’s not even quite sure of or why but he does anyway, the man just holds him through it, rocking them slightly repeating the same words like a mantra for the teen in his arms:

“It’s alright. We’ll figure it out. You’re okay, bug. Breathe. You’re safe. Breathe Axel.”