mogust

A double post, to hopefully add more context to the events and reactions of the previous one.

If this is the first one you're reading you may have missed the last part.

Chapter 4 – Pain.

Chris didn’t leave his room. He couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to get up, to see anyone. To see everyone. Especially Rachael. He didn’t know if he could face her, or how he’d react. Or how’d she react. She’d seen everything. She seen his secret, and how his body had reacted. It wasn’t just that either. He did actually like her, you know as a person. But seeing her that way had set things off inside of himself, broken barriers that he had set up inside himself and now he couldn’t shake that image from his mind. He both wanted to forget it, but at the same time not. He felt deep shame. And Fear. His emotions were in complete turmoil, so many different aspects all fighting for attention, and none winning. In the end he just curled up into a ball on his bed and sobbed.

He heard a soft knock on his door a little later.

“Are you alright?” a worried sounding Rachael asked.

He didn’t answer. Of course he wasn’t. She knew that. She tried to open the door, but he had had enough state of mind to lock it.

“I’m sorry Chris. Please talk to me. Don’t leave it like this.” she sounded sad, but did she even have any right to be? He just curled up even more, and said nothing.

Was she going to tell everyone else? He broke down and cried even more.

That wasn’t the first time he’d seen her dressed like that though, so why had he reacted that way? No, that wasn’t completely true. He’d seen her in exercise tights plenty of times, whenever she got back from the gym on a Friday afternoon, or when she’d gone out for a run on the weekend with Millie. Even though he’d never admitted it to himself, or even realized it till now, he had been very jealous that they got to wear them and how good they looked on them, and that he would never be able to pull something like that off. She had a lot of different pairs too, but he’d never seen the ones that she had worn today. However he’d also never seen her in a tank top. She always worse a loose fitting top or jumper over her top half, so why had today been different? It wasn’t like it had been warm or anything, and she would have been back from the gym for quite a while. He also hadn’t seen her car at all, which was odd.

Peter was the first one of the others back, Chris making out the sound of his old Nissan as it pulled up outside the house. There was some faint small talk between him and Rachael as he entered the flat, and then he went straight to the bathroom to shower. Chris wasn’t entirely sure why Peter just didn’t walk to work from home and a Wednesday, and then run to and from the gym. Given how much he seemed to be focusing on his body of late it would do him a lot of good, not to mention saving on petrol money.

Millie was back next, though not until after night had fallen, the usual small chatter between her and Rachael before she went about her post work routine to clean herself up while Rachael put on some food for them both. Chris could hear Rachael in the kitchen which was downstairs and across from his room, one of the reasons it was smaller than the others. It was something that they had been doing for a few months now, as otherwise Millie had a tendency to skip meals when she finished late.

Paul was next, the roar of his new car, the make of which Chris had no idea, drowning out all other sounds. He used to cycle around town, but that phase of his life seemed to have finished. He could hear Damian as well as they got out of the car, and then some roaring laughter not too long after they had entered the kitchen. Oh Gods, did they know now?

Chris tried to drown out all of the noises of the house, willing himself unsuccessfully to sleep. Fear plagued his mind, despair raking across his soul.

Then there was loud singing from Paul and Damian. Had they been drinking? That didn’t bode well, especially if Rachael was looking anything close to what she had been earlier. Mind you, she wasn’t stupid.

Rachael knocked on his door again a bit later.

“Chris... can we talk. Please.” She still sounded sad, but there was something else in her voice that he couldn’t place.

He still didn’t answer though, and after a couple of minutes he heard her go to her room, locking the door behind her.

He finally dozed off, his dreams plagued by the days events. He found himself running down the street naked, chased by Paul who was shouting slurs at him, gloating over Pyre’s death. He dashed around a corner and down an alley, trying to loose him, only to find Paul waiting at the exit for him, his torn female clothes held in his hand, a wicked grin on his face. He screamed, and woke, his body drenched in sweat. Chris sighed, at least he’d still been lying on top, and moved under the sheets. He checked his phone. 11pm. There was no way he was going to work tomorrow, so he sent a message to his line manager informing him that he was sick and wouldn’t be able to make it in. It wasn’t far from the truth.

He lay in the bed, tossing around for a while, unable to settle back down. His thoughts were a jumbled mess, but at least no one would hear him if he started crying or screaming again.

Bruce snuck back into the house at 1am. It wasn’t unheard of for him to return so late, but it was unusual, especially at this point in the week. Fortunately he wasn’t making a lot of noise, so that meant that he wasn’t drunk.

Chris fell back asleep, and this time his dreams were of Rachael, in the gym gear that he had seen her in this afternoon. It was kind of pleasant, but there was also shame as well, that her thoughts had gone back there. Was she objectifying her? She was more than that to her. She was with her though, holding hands. And then Paul entered the dream, in his drunk state, and Chris was startled awake. For a second he thought there had been a light in his room, but no it was still dark, the residual glow from the street light showing that his door was still in fact closed and locked (and another reason why he had ended up with this room). 3am. Lying back, he could hear a soft sound and a little movement from Rachael’s room. Was Peter with her? No, he’d be making a lot more noise. He shook his head, trying to ignore it. Why, now of all days, was he super sensitive to everything going on around him?

Paul and Damian’s drunken laughter rang throughout the house again. Chris curled up into a ball, and started crying again.

It was 12pm when he finally woke again, the midday sun streaming in through his window, well trying to at least, with his curtain blocking out most of it. Listening carefully to see if anyone else was about, he made a dash for the bathroom. Some things couldn’t be ignored.

Back in his room he locked the door, opened the curtain, and looked around it. It was a mess, more so than he usually left it. The pile of clothes lay in the corner of the room. He went over, picked them up, and then lay them on the bed in front of him. He felt torn. It’d felt so right, and then everything had gone so wrong. Should he destroy them, purge them from his life and try and forget that yesterday even happened? He reached into a nearby draw and brought out a pair of scissors, holding them over the clothes. No, he couldn’t do that, not after everything in that he’d put into them. Chris put the scissors away, and then picked up each garment one at a time, carefully folding them before he put them away in his backpack, followed by the heeled boots. Zipping it up, he slid it deep under his bed, where hopefully no one would find it.

He then went back to bed.

Chris finally got up at four. He was hungry, and was starting to feel claustrophobic. The sun was no longer shinning into his room, clouds having masked the sky. Pyre sat there on the shelf, looking at him, and he could almost see a sad expression on her face. None of this was right. He hastily threw on some clothes – pants, top and hoodie, socks and sneakers, and grabbing his wallet and key he headed downstairs. He deliberately left his phone behind.

Rachael was in the lounge, sitting at the table and scribbling away on a sheet of paper as he came through. It looked as though she had just gotten back from class. Her hair was tied back, as she was wearing a sleek long back skirt and a tight blouse. She looked tired too. Chris felt a pang of guilt. Was he responsible? But he couldn’t face her right now.

“Chris...” she asked quietly as he hurried past.

He stopped and turned, briefly looking at her before a flash of images of her forced him to look down as he felt himself redden. “I’m sorry... I can’t. Not right now. I want to... you... but... sorry...” The words weren’t even able to come out properly. He turned, and run out of the lounge and out the front door, the pain searing hot and raw again.

Chris finally stopped running when he had reached the end of the road, where the neighbourhood takeaway store stood. Cor’s Takeaways. His stomach rumbled, so he went inside, the bell ringing as the door opened, and ordered a scoop of chips. It wasn’t a healthy option, but it’d sate his hunger for now. He stared at the blank wall as they deep fried his order, shivering a little in the cool atmosphere of the shop. Why were they always so cold. He guessed that it would take too much power to heat, and cost the business too much. At least he wouldn’t be here for long. He looked down at the magazines on the bench beside him. Trashy woman magazines, home decor magazines, and a tabloid piece on all of the current conspiracy theories and “real life stories”. ‘The Government is hiding the Truth from you’, ‘Magic is real’, ‘I saw a real life demon’, ‘My husband wasn’t what I thought he was’, and the like. Demons probably weren’t anything at all like what they thought they were. Stories romanticised those types of things, and the reality was often far less pleasant. He sighed, collecting his order now that it was ready, and left the store, the bell signalling his exit. Tearing open the paper on one corner, he slowly muched on the hot chips, being careful not to burn his mouth, as he wandered, lost in the act of trying to ignore his thoughts.

When he finally took note of his surroundings, having finished his meal, he found himself standing in the Old Town. He guessed he’d been wandering for over an hour and a half as it was quite a fair way from home, and he didn’t really come here. At all. Nobody did, if they could help it. It had once been a wealthy suburb of New Elderpass, Gemhaven he seemed to recall it being named. But then there had been the Earthquake of 10 years ago that had rocked the city. While it had done little to the rest of the city other than jolt most people awake, as earthquakes do at 3am in the morning, Gemhaven had not fared so well. The quake had apparently been centred on this suburb, 7km down, and the entirety of it had near been flattened, right up to its electoral borders. Theories and conspiracies had been rife, the death toll had been massive, and nobody had wanted to return here to resettle, afraid of what would happen if another earthquake hit. So, it was abandoned. Now, people just called it the Old Town, and did their best to forget about its existence. What once was. Chris was certain that there had probably been quite a bit of looting at the time, once the police presence died down, but now days even those sorts avoided this place. Ditto for the gangs and the seedy underground of the city. There weren’t a lot of superstitions surrounding the area, just the usual about ghosts, hauntings and ill fortune, but people just seemed to avoid it, like they would a plague. Even he did so, yet here he was, and not just at the outskirts either. He’d managed to wander quite a ways in.

The sun was starting to reach the edge of the horizon, coating the remains of the buildings in a golden light. The days were shorter and colder at this time of the year, but even so the sun’s rays gave him some warmth. He almost felt comfortable here, something strangely alluring about the place.

That wasn’t right though. There were reasons that everyone avoided this place. Turning around he was relieved that he could still make out the outline of the neighbouring suburb, and folding his arms around himself, he started walking briskly back in that direction. Hopefully he’d be able to make it out of here before nightfall.

Panic started to settle in as the sun started to sink below the horizon, the light fading here quicker than he had expected. Every block here looked the same, just piles of rubble, weeds and trees, and he didn’t seem to be making any progress. He broke into a jog, then a run, speeding along the footpaths as fast as he could manage. As the light faded even more he switched over to the road itself, which, while not in the best condition, still had less cracks than the path. He could see the lights in the neighbouring suburb come on, a beacon for where he wanted to go, but he was still no closer.

Then there was a tink as he stumbled on the road, something flying out his pocket, bouncing on the pavement and landing in amongst the rubble of the adjacent plot. He skidded to a halt. Pyre! He hadn’t even realized that he’d put her into his pocket. He raced over to pile of stones and grass desperately searching for the figurine. He knelt down, looking closely, but the light was almost gone, and he couldn’t see between the stones clearly. He didn’t have a torch either, having left his phone at home. Chris swore. Could things get even worse. There was no point is searching any further now though. He wasn’t going to find her in this light, and he certainly didn’t want to get trapped here in the dark. Calming himself down, he started taking stones from the plot, and piling them on the road, leaving himself a marker. No one came here, so it wouldn’t be disturbed, and he could come back tomorrow during the day and have another look.

After five minutes of piling he was satisfied that he had made a large enough pile, and getting up, he broke back into a jog, heading directly towards the ambient light of the neighbouring suburb. Ten minutes later he finally arrived, making it onto a lit street. He stopped, panting heavily. Perhaps he should take up running, he certainly wasn’t fit enough. Maybe Rachael would run with him. He shook his head. No, that wouldn’t work. Once he had his breathing under control, he started to walk again, past the empty plots of land that formed the border with the Old Town. Just like no one wanted to go there, no one wanted to buy the plots of land adjacent to it either, or live that close. So they sat empty, going for rock bottom prices, and he had to walk another three, and then pass a block of abandoned houses, before he finally saw signs of life. He wasn’t familiar with this area, but if he walked in a straight line for long enough he’d eventually find is way to somewhere he recognized.