Green Dark by shegollum -- Part 16/?
Nov. 2nd, 2005 09:01 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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rugbytackleTHIS IS A DARK RIDE -- Shegollum
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Title: Green Dark by shegollum -- Part 16/?
Author: shegollum
Pairing: Viggo/Bean; includes Orlando, too.
Rating: R - NC17
Summary: Morning after the night before...where are they in this strange new space?
Warnings: Angst; mental cruelty/instability; possibly non-con; cutting; substance abuse -- you name it...we've probably got it.
Disclaimer: No truth in it at all.
Archive: Viggo-Cursive and rugbytackle eventually
Previous parts at: http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=shegollum&keyword=Green+Dark&filter=all
A/N: Not beta'd. All errors are completely mine and mine alone.
Not sure why I'm writing this. It's draining and frankly, it's kicking my ass... If you like it -- or hell, even if you hate it -- please take a moment to let me know and tell me what you like or hate.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Banner by the wonderful Amanda (![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
legomyarrow). :-)
When Viggo pulled his hand away – slowly and carefully and without a sound – Sean’s heart broke again. He watched the emotions flicker across Viggo’s face, witnessing the agonizing struggle as the other man worked so hard to rein in his feelings. The attempt at retreat could be seen in tired eyes that were strained with fear and sorrow.
Still kneeling, Sean spoke soothingly, love and concern carried in his voice.
“Vig. Viggo, look at me. Don’t worry about whatever it is you’re thinking. Just think about what I’m asking you, okay, mate? Whatever it is, let me help. Talk to me. Please, Viggo. Please?”
Standing up slowly, Sean was taken aback by how fiercely Viggo kept his eyes locked on his as he moved and he did everything he could to send reassurance and love in his answering gaze. He ached with the want to help and he was going at it with no road map and no real understanding of what he was up against. But he didn’t know what else to do. Not yet.
The Englishman reached out to smooth ruffled brown-gray hair at Viggo’s temple, allowing his palm to just barely skim the other man’s cheek, feeling – knowing – that Viggo was only tolerating the touch and was no longer comfortable with it.
“Too much, Vig?” he asked gently and the other man nodded quickly, looking shamed and resigned.
Sean nodded his understanding and moved his hand to Viggo’s shoulder – far more neutral ground but still a chance to touch, to try to communicate on some level. Quietly, he tried again to encourage the other man to talk. Viggo didn’t respond for a very long time but finally he spoke.
“I can’t… I just can’t. And it doesn’t matter, Sean.” He moved away quickly then as though the proximity of the other man threatened him. He strode to the work table, stopping just short of it and staring unseeingly at it. Finally he placed both hands palms down on it. He looked like he was trying to decide if it was real, Sean thought. He stayed where he was, straining to hear the next words, barely whispered.
“None of that matters… What I did to you is all that matters…”
Sean considered the comment, weighed it, wanting Viggo to know he was truly giving it its due. Viggo never moved and again Sean was struck by how absolutely contrary this stiff reticence was to everything he'd known before about this man. Everything about Viggo had always been active in some way – even his thinking seemed somehow electrified. He’d always seemed to be afraid of wasting even a moment of what he knew was a limited lifespan. And now was completely stilled by whatever haunted him.
“Aye,” he finally whispered. “In a way perhaps, Viggo. But what is it that you think you did? Tell me just what you recall because I think your memory may differ from mine. Tell me.”
The other man looked up at him then, frowning and shaking his head in adamant disagreement. Sean noticed that he was moving again, his hands fluttering over the surface of the table, picking at scraps of cloth and photo paper, moving the empty beer bottle like an oversized chess piece. He caught his breath when he realized that Viggo had picked up the utility knife and was absently running his thumb over the sharp edge, making tiny bloodless cuts that he didn’t seem to register. He was far away in some thought or memory and Sean moved to him, easily removing the blade from his hand and holding it in his own.
“This, Viggo. The blood and such. Tell me about that first. Please.”
Viggo’s reaction was physical and immediate and Sean was reminded of the few times he’d seen Viggo angry. It had always taken a long time for the American to get worked up to that type of intensity but in this new side of the man, it was instantaneous.
“What do you want to know, Sean? I’m just your run of the mill mad artist, okay? Just a dumb fuck with a gift for pretension. A little blood in a piece of art is hardly cutting edge.” He bit hard on his savage pun, underscoring the words.
Dropping his head in quiet exasperation, Sean gave himself a moment before he replied.
“It’s you, Viggo. What you do – your art and this -- is yours and it’s important to you for whatever reasons. I just want to understand because you are important to me. Still. Always.”
The incomprehension with which Viggo looked at him pained him but he kept talking, trying to find a way to get through.
“Just why? What does it give you, Viggo?” His rough voice was kind and sincere.
“I’m not sure I—we – should have this discussion, Sean.”
“And I’m sure that we should.”
“No. I can still say ‘no’, right? Even though I’m fucked, I still get a vote. Right?” Viggo looked at him challengingly.
“Why are you fighting so hard against me, Viggo?”
“Why are you fighting so hard for me? You deserve better, Bean.”
The nickname – a step backwards from him yet also a reminder of what they’d once had as friends – gutted the Englishman and his pain came out as anger.
“Is that it? You think you’re somehow not good enough?! How is that so, Viggo?”
“I should have been – should be -- stronger!”
“In what way?”
“All ways. Right here, right now, I’m failing again. I want— Fuck. You just don’t need this. I don’t need this. Just go, okay? I’m not going to do anything you’re going to have to worry about seeing on the evening news, okay? Go!”
They were squared off, facing each other and in some surreal way, it was a lot like the easy conversations of old. Things were finally being said without censor.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Sean said stubbornly.
“Suit yourself. I have things to do.” Viggo turned as though to leave.
“Viggo. Fucking stop! Tell me how and why you failed to be strong. What the fuck does that mean?”
“Jesus Christ, Sean," Viggo exploded. “Were you always this much of a fucking nag? Leave it alone! Just leave it all the fuck alone!”
“Just tell me. I’ve never seen you not be strong so I want to hear about how you failed.”
“How long do you have, pal? I can discuss my fucking failures for a long time. It is not a short list.” Viggo’s attempt at biting humor fell flat without a willing audience. Sean waited him out, letting him try a variety of attempts at misdirection, but never letting him out from under the spotlight of his sharp green gaze.
“Look, I’m just having a bad day, okay? Mad artists tend to be moody. It’s not a big de—“
“Viggo.”
“What, Sean? What the fuck?! There’s no reason to talk about any of this.”
“Yes, there is.”
Viggo looked at him questioningly.
“Because of you. Because something is killing you. That is the reason.”
Viggo responded with a derisive snort as he turned away, a hand flung backwards at Sean in dismissal.
“Okay then, Viggo. If worrying about you is not reason enough to talk about this, how about worrying about me? How about the fact that I just now see what I’ve done and what I’ve missed? And the thought of you doing these things – of you feeling such pain or feeling alone – and me not doing anything… it hurts me, too. Can we talk about it then? When it’s not about you, does that make it okay to discuss?”
Stunned blue eyes locked on Sean’s and then faltered as the words sank in.
“I’m sorry, Sean,” Viggo murmured. “Truly.”
“Then let me in,” Sean persisted.
“There is no in. I’m just fucked. I’m not hiding some grand secret, Sean. I’m just screwed up.”
“So, we’re going to do this again, yeah?” Sean’s voice was annoyed but determined. “Go around in another circle and never really talk? I say no. Who was he, Vig?”
Sean was angry now, his frustration evident.
“Who was who?” asked Viggo airily.
“Don’t fucking do this, Viggo. Who was he?”
“Alan. There you go. I’ve said it. And I feel ever so much better now, shithead. You know the way out, right?”
“Fuck you, Viggo. Talk to me.”
“What do you want to know?”
“You were in love? You and Alan? How serious were you?”
Sean caught the subtle change in Viggo as he pressed. There was a tightening around his eyes and his jaw and the faintest sheen of sweat above his upper lip. He turned his head as though wishing for a distraction.
“Viggo? This Alan. What was he like?”
Oh God. He could smell his cologne. Here. In this room. In his house.
Viggo didn’t answer and Sean continued gently.
“Whatever he did, Viggo, you didn’t deserve it. You are a good man. Please know that. You need to know that.”
“Sean?” asked Viggo softly, his voice unsure.
“I’m right here, Viggo. Not going anywhere.”
"I can’t… I don’t mean to be—“
He could hear the grunts and hiss of words in his ear, sounds that coincided with every sharp stroke of pain. God, he’d fought so hard against the restraints. Against Alan. Nothing had been enough…
“Vig? You’re going to be okay. Look at me. We have all the time in the world. Do you want to sit? Come on, let’s at least sit. Haven’t I told you that you need some artsy couch in here to get your subjects to pose for you or something? Let’s go out to the lounge—“
“No.”
Sean watched Viggo’s face, so subdued now, and he gave in to him.
Lavender. They'd sprayed lavender on the mattress and he could never smell lavender again without going back there in his mind. Such a sweet and pretty smell before. And now so dark.
“Okay, then. How’s the floor?”
Viggo nodded slowly, forehead crinkled with thought. They sat cross-legged and facing toward each other, Sean watching Viggo but Viggo focused on the tile beneath him. Without warning, behind a savage breath, he started talking, his hands clenching and unclenching reflexively and his body rocking slightly in a rhythmic pattern. Words poured out of him all in a disjointed rush and Sean felt like he was drowning under the ugliness and despair that came with it.
“He wasn’t my first. There were others. But I thought it was more with him. I trusted him and I shouldn’t have. I was so stupid. And so weak. And it put other people at risk and I couldn’t have done anything to stop him from hurting them. I was worthless. Am worthless. He wanted to go away for a weekend and I thought we were okay – that it was good. But he wasn’t like I thought. Wasn’t who I thought. He was a total fuck but it was my fault. I should have seen it long before then. And he could have hurt Henry. Oh God. He didn’t. I would have killed him if he had. I swear to God that I would have killed him if he’d even gone near him.”
Viggo’s voice broke into a sob and Sean moved closer, scooting on the cold tile floor until he could pull him into the shelter of his arms. Viggo let himself fall silently into the sanctuary, hot and angry tears overwhelming him finally.
“It’s okay, Viggo. You protected Henry. It’s okay, love.” Sean tried to give comfort but felt so helpless against the enormity of the feelings.
“I didn’t mind going. I was willing to be with him. I’d pursued him. I’d picked him! God. God! I was so fucking stupid! It could have been so bad.”
As Viggo continued, he pulled away from Sean, his speech becoming more urgent, his motions more agitated. Sean tried to bring him back just a bit, scared to backtrack on any of the progress they might be making but growing concerned.
“But he’s gone now and no one hurt Henry. Your boy is okay. It sounds to me like you did all right. You did the right things, Viggo. You did.”
“No.”
“Everyone was okay—“
“No,” Viggo whispered vehemently and Sean felt a fist of ice clawing at his heart.
“What?” he asked quietly, knowing.
“He won, Sean. He won.”
“Oh, Vig. I-- Tell me. Let me know. It wasn’t your fault, Vig, whatever it was. You’re not to blame.”
And Viggo told him, reliving the entire night with him. Sean listened and whispered and never let him go, absorbing each word and each sound and feeling them etched on his soul forever.
He could see the playfulness and desire that would have been on Viggo’s face as the evening began – knew what it was to receive such attention – and he couldn’t fathom the evil cruelty that followed. Alan had used his lover viciously as he’d had him tied, taunted and belittled him as he'd pressed down over him, savagely fucking him with nothing to ease his entrance until the blood flowed.
He’d hissed images and fears into Viggo’s fevered brain as he tore into his body, continuing on and on, long past the extent of Viggo’s ability to argue or deny. Long past the ability of the leather straps to hold onto their own color and not be superseded by the red of blood. Long past Alan’s second orgasm and then his third erection. Long past the unconsciousness that came with a beating so savage that the monster had become afraid that he may have gone too far. Long past it all.
And then Alan had waited for him to wake so that he could sit beside him and make sure he knew that he had everything: his address, the keys to his house, photos of Henry. And that Viggo could do nothing. And then he’d disappeared, leaving the broken man behind without a backward glance.
Viggo had come to in the dark dawning of early morning, knowing only that he needed to be sure that Henry was safe. Frantic, he’d called Exene, making her promise to get up right then and get Henry out of the house and to somewhere even he didn’t know of so that no one could learn it from him. She’d been so confused but did as he asked, equally determined to defend their child even though she didn’t understand the threat. He’d scared her, but he couldn’t – didn’t – tell her more. None of that had mattered. She just needed to go. He made her promise to call Walter first and have him meet her wherever they went and thankfully she’d agreed to it all.
And he’d hung up and finally saw the crazed man in the mirror. His body was bloody and horribly bruised and there were deep ruts around each wrist where he’d fought the restraints but it was his eyes – his own eyes – that scared him. He'd stepped closer to see them, leaning on the counter, and had been horrified to find two bloody leather straps artfully arranged into a heart shape in the space between the couples' sinks.
After he vomited again and again, he looked in the mirror to see his eyes and realized that he could no longer find himself in them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Title: Green Dark by shegollum -- Part 16/?
Author: shegollum
Pairing: Viggo/Bean; includes Orlando, too.
Rating: R - NC17
Summary: Morning after the night before...where are they in this strange new space?
Warnings: Angst; mental cruelty/instability; possibly non-con; cutting; substance abuse -- you name it...we've probably got it.
Disclaimer: No truth in it at all.
Archive: Viggo-Cursive and rugbytackle eventually
Previous parts at: http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=shegollum&keyword=Green+Dark&filter=all
A/N: Not beta'd. All errors are completely mine and mine alone.
Not sure why I'm writing this. It's draining and frankly, it's kicking my ass... If you like it -- or hell, even if you hate it -- please take a moment to let me know and tell me what you like or hate.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
legomyarrow). :-) When Viggo pulled his hand away – slowly and carefully and without a sound – Sean’s heart broke again. He watched the emotions flicker across Viggo’s face, witnessing the agonizing struggle as the other man worked so hard to rein in his feelings. The attempt at retreat could be seen in tired eyes that were strained with fear and sorrow.
Still kneeling, Sean spoke soothingly, love and concern carried in his voice.
“Vig. Viggo, look at me. Don’t worry about whatever it is you’re thinking. Just think about what I’m asking you, okay, mate? Whatever it is, let me help. Talk to me. Please, Viggo. Please?”
Standing up slowly, Sean was taken aback by how fiercely Viggo kept his eyes locked on his as he moved and he did everything he could to send reassurance and love in his answering gaze. He ached with the want to help and he was going at it with no road map and no real understanding of what he was up against. But he didn’t know what else to do. Not yet.
The Englishman reached out to smooth ruffled brown-gray hair at Viggo’s temple, allowing his palm to just barely skim the other man’s cheek, feeling – knowing – that Viggo was only tolerating the touch and was no longer comfortable with it.
“Too much, Vig?” he asked gently and the other man nodded quickly, looking shamed and resigned.
Sean nodded his understanding and moved his hand to Viggo’s shoulder – far more neutral ground but still a chance to touch, to try to communicate on some level. Quietly, he tried again to encourage the other man to talk. Viggo didn’t respond for a very long time but finally he spoke.
“I can’t… I just can’t. And it doesn’t matter, Sean.” He moved away quickly then as though the proximity of the other man threatened him. He strode to the work table, stopping just short of it and staring unseeingly at it. Finally he placed both hands palms down on it. He looked like he was trying to decide if it was real, Sean thought. He stayed where he was, straining to hear the next words, barely whispered.
“None of that matters… What I did to you is all that matters…”
Sean considered the comment, weighed it, wanting Viggo to know he was truly giving it its due. Viggo never moved and again Sean was struck by how absolutely contrary this stiff reticence was to everything he'd known before about this man. Everything about Viggo had always been active in some way – even his thinking seemed somehow electrified. He’d always seemed to be afraid of wasting even a moment of what he knew was a limited lifespan. And now was completely stilled by whatever haunted him.
“Aye,” he finally whispered. “In a way perhaps, Viggo. But what is it that you think you did? Tell me just what you recall because I think your memory may differ from mine. Tell me.”
The other man looked up at him then, frowning and shaking his head in adamant disagreement. Sean noticed that he was moving again, his hands fluttering over the surface of the table, picking at scraps of cloth and photo paper, moving the empty beer bottle like an oversized chess piece. He caught his breath when he realized that Viggo had picked up the utility knife and was absently running his thumb over the sharp edge, making tiny bloodless cuts that he didn’t seem to register. He was far away in some thought or memory and Sean moved to him, easily removing the blade from his hand and holding it in his own.
“This, Viggo. The blood and such. Tell me about that first. Please.”
Viggo’s reaction was physical and immediate and Sean was reminded of the few times he’d seen Viggo angry. It had always taken a long time for the American to get worked up to that type of intensity but in this new side of the man, it was instantaneous.
“What do you want to know, Sean? I’m just your run of the mill mad artist, okay? Just a dumb fuck with a gift for pretension. A little blood in a piece of art is hardly cutting edge.” He bit hard on his savage pun, underscoring the words.
Dropping his head in quiet exasperation, Sean gave himself a moment before he replied.
“It’s you, Viggo. What you do – your art and this -- is yours and it’s important to you for whatever reasons. I just want to understand because you are important to me. Still. Always.”
The incomprehension with which Viggo looked at him pained him but he kept talking, trying to find a way to get through.
“Just why? What does it give you, Viggo?” His rough voice was kind and sincere.
“I’m not sure I—we – should have this discussion, Sean.”
“And I’m sure that we should.”
“No. I can still say ‘no’, right? Even though I’m fucked, I still get a vote. Right?” Viggo looked at him challengingly.
“Why are you fighting so hard against me, Viggo?”
“Why are you fighting so hard for me? You deserve better, Bean.”
The nickname – a step backwards from him yet also a reminder of what they’d once had as friends – gutted the Englishman and his pain came out as anger.
“Is that it? You think you’re somehow not good enough?! How is that so, Viggo?”
“I should have been – should be -- stronger!”
“In what way?”
“All ways. Right here, right now, I’m failing again. I want— Fuck. You just don’t need this. I don’t need this. Just go, okay? I’m not going to do anything you’re going to have to worry about seeing on the evening news, okay? Go!”
They were squared off, facing each other and in some surreal way, it was a lot like the easy conversations of old. Things were finally being said without censor.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Sean said stubbornly.
“Suit yourself. I have things to do.” Viggo turned as though to leave.
“Viggo. Fucking stop! Tell me how and why you failed to be strong. What the fuck does that mean?”
“Jesus Christ, Sean," Viggo exploded. “Were you always this much of a fucking nag? Leave it alone! Just leave it all the fuck alone!”
“Just tell me. I’ve never seen you not be strong so I want to hear about how you failed.”
“How long do you have, pal? I can discuss my fucking failures for a long time. It is not a short list.” Viggo’s attempt at biting humor fell flat without a willing audience. Sean waited him out, letting him try a variety of attempts at misdirection, but never letting him out from under the spotlight of his sharp green gaze.
“Look, I’m just having a bad day, okay? Mad artists tend to be moody. It’s not a big de—“
“Viggo.”
“What, Sean? What the fuck?! There’s no reason to talk about any of this.”
“Yes, there is.”
Viggo looked at him questioningly.
“Because of you. Because something is killing you. That is the reason.”
Viggo responded with a derisive snort as he turned away, a hand flung backwards at Sean in dismissal.
“Okay then, Viggo. If worrying about you is not reason enough to talk about this, how about worrying about me? How about the fact that I just now see what I’ve done and what I’ve missed? And the thought of you doing these things – of you feeling such pain or feeling alone – and me not doing anything… it hurts me, too. Can we talk about it then? When it’s not about you, does that make it okay to discuss?”
Stunned blue eyes locked on Sean’s and then faltered as the words sank in.
“I’m sorry, Sean,” Viggo murmured. “Truly.”
“Then let me in,” Sean persisted.
“There is no in. I’m just fucked. I’m not hiding some grand secret, Sean. I’m just screwed up.”
“So, we’re going to do this again, yeah?” Sean’s voice was annoyed but determined. “Go around in another circle and never really talk? I say no. Who was he, Vig?”
Sean was angry now, his frustration evident.
“Who was who?” asked Viggo airily.
“Don’t fucking do this, Viggo. Who was he?”
“Alan. There you go. I’ve said it. And I feel ever so much better now, shithead. You know the way out, right?”
“Fuck you, Viggo. Talk to me.”
“What do you want to know?”
“You were in love? You and Alan? How serious were you?”
Sean caught the subtle change in Viggo as he pressed. There was a tightening around his eyes and his jaw and the faintest sheen of sweat above his upper lip. He turned his head as though wishing for a distraction.
“Viggo? This Alan. What was he like?”
Oh God. He could smell his cologne. Here. In this room. In his house.
Viggo didn’t answer and Sean continued gently.
“Whatever he did, Viggo, you didn’t deserve it. You are a good man. Please know that. You need to know that.”
“Sean?” asked Viggo softly, his voice unsure.
“I’m right here, Viggo. Not going anywhere.”
"I can’t… I don’t mean to be—“
He could hear the grunts and hiss of words in his ear, sounds that coincided with every sharp stroke of pain. God, he’d fought so hard against the restraints. Against Alan. Nothing had been enough…
“Vig? You’re going to be okay. Look at me. We have all the time in the world. Do you want to sit? Come on, let’s at least sit. Haven’t I told you that you need some artsy couch in here to get your subjects to pose for you or something? Let’s go out to the lounge—“
“No.”
Sean watched Viggo’s face, so subdued now, and he gave in to him.
Lavender. They'd sprayed lavender on the mattress and he could never smell lavender again without going back there in his mind. Such a sweet and pretty smell before. And now so dark.
“Okay, then. How’s the floor?”
Viggo nodded slowly, forehead crinkled with thought. They sat cross-legged and facing toward each other, Sean watching Viggo but Viggo focused on the tile beneath him. Without warning, behind a savage breath, he started talking, his hands clenching and unclenching reflexively and his body rocking slightly in a rhythmic pattern. Words poured out of him all in a disjointed rush and Sean felt like he was drowning under the ugliness and despair that came with it.
“He wasn’t my first. There were others. But I thought it was more with him. I trusted him and I shouldn’t have. I was so stupid. And so weak. And it put other people at risk and I couldn’t have done anything to stop him from hurting them. I was worthless. Am worthless. He wanted to go away for a weekend and I thought we were okay – that it was good. But he wasn’t like I thought. Wasn’t who I thought. He was a total fuck but it was my fault. I should have seen it long before then. And he could have hurt Henry. Oh God. He didn’t. I would have killed him if he had. I swear to God that I would have killed him if he’d even gone near him.”
Viggo’s voice broke into a sob and Sean moved closer, scooting on the cold tile floor until he could pull him into the shelter of his arms. Viggo let himself fall silently into the sanctuary, hot and angry tears overwhelming him finally.
“It’s okay, Viggo. You protected Henry. It’s okay, love.” Sean tried to give comfort but felt so helpless against the enormity of the feelings.
“I didn’t mind going. I was willing to be with him. I’d pursued him. I’d picked him! God. God! I was so fucking stupid! It could have been so bad.”
As Viggo continued, he pulled away from Sean, his speech becoming more urgent, his motions more agitated. Sean tried to bring him back just a bit, scared to backtrack on any of the progress they might be making but growing concerned.
“But he’s gone now and no one hurt Henry. Your boy is okay. It sounds to me like you did all right. You did the right things, Viggo. You did.”
“No.”
“Everyone was okay—“
“No,” Viggo whispered vehemently and Sean felt a fist of ice clawing at his heart.
“What?” he asked quietly, knowing.
“He won, Sean. He won.”
“Oh, Vig. I-- Tell me. Let me know. It wasn’t your fault, Vig, whatever it was. You’re not to blame.”
And Viggo told him, reliving the entire night with him. Sean listened and whispered and never let him go, absorbing each word and each sound and feeling them etched on his soul forever.
He could see the playfulness and desire that would have been on Viggo’s face as the evening began – knew what it was to receive such attention – and he couldn’t fathom the evil cruelty that followed. Alan had used his lover viciously as he’d had him tied, taunted and belittled him as he'd pressed down over him, savagely fucking him with nothing to ease his entrance until the blood flowed.
He’d hissed images and fears into Viggo’s fevered brain as he tore into his body, continuing on and on, long past the extent of Viggo’s ability to argue or deny. Long past the ability of the leather straps to hold onto their own color and not be superseded by the red of blood. Long past Alan’s second orgasm and then his third erection. Long past the unconsciousness that came with a beating so savage that the monster had become afraid that he may have gone too far. Long past it all.
And then Alan had waited for him to wake so that he could sit beside him and make sure he knew that he had everything: his address, the keys to his house, photos of Henry. And that Viggo could do nothing. And then he’d disappeared, leaving the broken man behind without a backward glance.
Viggo had come to in the dark dawning of early morning, knowing only that he needed to be sure that Henry was safe. Frantic, he’d called Exene, making her promise to get up right then and get Henry out of the house and to somewhere even he didn’t know of so that no one could learn it from him. She’d been so confused but did as he asked, equally determined to defend their child even though she didn’t understand the threat. He’d scared her, but he couldn’t – didn’t – tell her more. None of that had mattered. She just needed to go. He made her promise to call Walter first and have him meet her wherever they went and thankfully she’d agreed to it all.
And he’d hung up and finally saw the crazed man in the mirror. His body was bloody and horribly bruised and there were deep ruts around each wrist where he’d fought the restraints but it was his eyes – his own eyes – that scared him. He'd stepped closer to see them, leaning on the counter, and had been horrified to find two bloody leather straps artfully arranged into a heart shape in the space between the couples' sinks.
After he vomited again and again, he looked in the mirror to see his eyes and realized that he could no longer find himself in them.
no subject
Date: 2005-11-03 02:15 am (UTC)That part gave me chills, just because the description of Viggo's energy is so spot-on perfect. Imagining him so stilled and stifled by his pain just hurts. Argh.
I'm glad he's opening up to Sean. Finally. Whew...
Good work, darlin'. Keep writing. *hugs*
no subject
Date: 2005-11-05 04:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-11-03 02:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-11-05 04:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-11-03 02:50 am (UTC)I can't even begin to tell you how this chapter tore at me, I am literally shaking over here. Viggo's pain is so tangible that it almost makes me feel sick to my stomach. You write so beautifully, and your efforts are really appreciated. I envy your ability to make the raw emotion shine through.
“He won, Sean. He won.”
That line just about broke my heart.
Also, I've been meaning to say this to you since a few chapters back, and it is why I post this anonymously. I just wanted to say, as someone who has been a self-injurer since before she became a teenager, thank you for not glorifying it or making the issue of people purposefully hurting themselves seem "cool." It is a struggle uphill, and so many writers seem to forget that because "scars are pretty lolz." So yeah. Thanks.
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Date: 2005-11-03 03:02 am (UTC)And at times I have thought about pulling this whole story because I have worried that I might somehow guide someone to do this -- which is certainly not what I ever meant to do. Your comment gives me some peace in that regard and I thank you.
Its not something to be ashamed of or to be proud of. I hope you don't feel shame and that you are just posting anonymously as a precaution. I don't pretend to know what your needs are or what your path is, but you can come here or to my LJ to talk to me about it any time if you ever want to. I'm on the other side of it now and have been for a long time (too hot in Florida to always have to wear long sleeves and high necks! lol!) but it sure has been an interesting road!
*hugs and more hugs*
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Date: 2005-11-03 03:35 am (UTC)And I can assure you that it's not out of shame. Of course, I can't say that I am proud of what I do, but it is my private business and I need to be able to choose who I let in on it as a way of keeping some amount of control over my own situation. That's my only reason, and from what you tell me, I am sure you have a pretty good idea about what that's like. I thank you for your offer, though, and who knows? Maybe I'll take you up on it sometime in the future. ;)
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Date: 2005-11-05 04:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-11-03 05:21 am (UTC)...I'll stop telling you things you're already fully aware of any day now. :P
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Date: 2005-11-05 04:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-11-03 05:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-11-05 04:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-11-03 05:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-11-05 04:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-11-03 10:52 am (UTC)Thank you so much for sharing!
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Date: 2005-11-05 04:23 pm (UTC)(nice to meet you, too! and thank you again.)
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Date: 2005-11-03 11:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-11-05 04:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-11-03 11:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-11-05 04:25 pm (UTC)thank you so much! i don't believe i've ever been bravo'd before! *giggles*