finally free

Clara may have thought she had felt heartbreak before but she had never seen Kyle Cross cry. It tore her in half, her chest aching to the point she could not breathe, if her lungs had physically collapsed she would not have been surprised. It was worse than her parents arms, once warm and inviting, locking her away with nauseating promises that it would be okay. It was worse than the ice cold water that had threatened to take her life away in a stranger’s bathroom and the knowledge that she had not cared if it did. It was worse than the party boys with wandering hands and greedy lips that stared at her like she was an object. It was worse than smoke burning her throat as she gave into exhaustion, not having time to wonder if she would make it to the next day. It was worse than opening her eyes to find herself in a tank filled with exotic fish, sand slipping through her hourglass this time by the hands of someone else. It was worse than watching the flowers she left on her brother’s table die as he lay in his bed, completely shattered over someone he had loved, someone she had only enjoyed torturing, blackmailing. It was worse than guilt that weighed down her shoulders, it was worse than the darkness that threatened to destroy her, the sadness, the hopelessness she had never been able to shake even when she was just a little girl. Seeing tears brim in his eyes was worse than anything and everything she had ever lived through before, the one thing she might not survive.

He hadn’t seen her but that didn’t mean he didn’t know she’d moved, each of her gentle footsteps a louder sound in his head as it had always been. As quiet as the world had found her, as strange, she had always been entirely loud to him. So fucking loud. Maybe he had hated that. In all his ignorance, his ability to fade out everything, she had been an unmovable force in the disguise of a gentle soul. That little blonde girl had held more ammunition than any gun that had ever been pointed at him, more swing than any fist that he had felt in his short life. It didn’t make sense to him but he didn’t fight the touch that came and to his shock, horror, every emotion he could think to bunch up together as her fingertips lightly brushed his cheeks like the ghost of something that had once been, he did not hate it. Hate had been his emotion for so long, the basis of his existence that it was like he had expected it to hurt. He had expected any tenderness to destroy him much more than the anger that had ravaged him, the rage that he loved to live within so very much. It doesn’t fucking hurt. The words echoed in his mind and for the first time in his life Kyle Cross realised that the truth was that it was not love that was meant to be feared, not the hands of someone who wanted to help you. He had spent so long fighting with himself that he hadn’t even realised that the world wasn’t the same as the picture Howard had painted for him in crimson tints and twisted colours. He almost laughed.

Zach had been away for quite some time to do some work and escape the chaos of Whittemore, losing most contact with the group outside of Faye for said time. He wasn’t completely trying to distance himself from them, he knew he’d be stuck with them no matter what, but he needed some time for himself. These past few months had been rough and he had barely gotten anytime to heal himself the best he could, so he was now in a somewhat better place and ready to return to Whittemore, completely oblivious to all the new chaos that had just happened. “Did I miss anything important while I was away?” He simply asked the person closest to him, looking around.

The sound of the voice did nothing for his memory. Who the fuck is that? There had been so many new people around here he hadn’t cared about that now trying to put names to faces was pointless. He’d never see them again. It was a guy. Danny. No. Zach. It wouldn’t of made much difference which of the men it was, Kyle’s response would of been the same as he adjusted his sunglasses, sliding them down over the bridge of his nose as if he could see anything as he turned to the direction of the voice, a dark blur all that was visible to him, chewing gum he halted emotionlessly, “Nah. Just murder and other goodies.”

She didn’t believe him. Not for a fraction of a second. If he would have punched the wall for emphasis, screamed at her, she wouldn’t have flinched. He could place the barrel of a gun to her head and she would not be afraid. He was not the most gentle person she had ever met. He was not soft or quiet, he was not kind, but he was good. He was good. “You saved my life.” It might not have been a credit that he wanted. She didn’t care. It was the truth and had he caused the death of another man, it did not change the fact that he had stopped her from dying. She had always needed an angel and hers had came in the form of Kyle Cross. It didn’t matter if he had not asked for that, if did not see his own wings when he looked in the mirror, Clara did. “You can’t make me stop loving you,” it was then that she was hit with the harsh reality, her voice did not waver, it was something she must have known all along, “just like I can’t make you love me. And that’s okay. It will be okay.”

Only when she said those words out loud did he realise that somehow all this time she must have known that he did not feel love in his heart for her like she did for him. He didn’t know he could feel at all but suddenly he was torn into a million pieces, the broken ugly parts of him jagged on the floor and cutting everyone that attempted to get close. He couldn’t love her. He couldn’t feel anything at all and now it was like a scream inside his head, his eyes well and truly blinded from any light that could of saved him before he knew he needed it. Tears burned those already broken eyes and it didn’t really matter if he was looking at her or not, he’d never really seen her just like she refused to just fucking see him. He sat there and was glad that he couldn’t see her face, he wouldn’t of wanted to. 

He was her hero, in her eyes he had been the only one to try to make an effort to help, even when she didn’t want him to. It didn’t matter if he cared about her. It didn’t matter if he would never love her back the way she loved him. If he would have shouted it at her she would not have flinched, he could have shaken her shoulders, he could have slapped her, he could take a knife and stab her directly in the heart and even with a clear mind she knew that would not sway her opinion one bit. She would not be alive if not for him, maybe a few other people as well, but he was the most important. He had saved her from herself. “You might want to believe that, Kyle. And you might want me to,” she knew that it was true as she finally turned to look at him, her voice level and certain, “but I know you’re not bad. Life is hard and it might have made you angry, it might have made you cold,” her eyes did not drift from him, “but it did not make you bad. I will never believe that.”

Something shifted. Her voice flowed through the room and he knew she was looking at him. For some reason all the things he had fucking loathed the most, the sight of her crazy eyes staring back at him, the weird tattoo that laced her skin, marking her permanently as something to do with him, even that unkempt hair he had seen once, were things that he would do anything to see again. He’d kill to see anything. No. He wouldn’t. That was the fucking problem. No matter how much his blood boiled now, for the first time in his life as her words crippled and disarmed him as if he was throwing himself against padded walls beggingto bleed, he was exhausted. “I killed someone, for no fucking reason, I thought it was funny,” the words were bitter, his fist clenched and his anger overtook him, skin splintering against the door frame. The motion had not been enraged, it fell short, fell into some emotion he didn’t quite understand. What the fuck was wrong with him? His eyes burned. He’d already lost his vision it wasn’t like he coul – oh fuck. He understood too late, already given up, he simply dropped to sit on the ground, an angry sound leaving his lips, “Just stop fucking loving me. Stop it. You’re driving me insane.”

It was like coming up for air after being underwater too long, like a moment of peace in the midst of a storm, her thoughts were more silent than they had ever been, a break from insanity that she knew wouldn’t last. Soon enough her mind would slip from her own grasp once again and she would be trapped inside, maybe confused, maybe afraid, maybe numb, but at least she would not be sad. His voice brought a slight smile to her face, barely a twitch of her lips that lasted only a second, but it was a brief moment of joy. Strange. Life did leave her behind, her own family did, there was only one person that hadn’t, even when he had no obligation to try to rescue her from herself. Struck by a realization, Clara turned only slightly, not enough to see him in the doorway but to talk in his direction. “Thank you.” She did not acknowledge his sentence, offering no explanation for the seemingly random two words but he would know. Turning back, she spoke barely above a whisper, “I never said so before.”

He was torn. Not between two worlds. Not between two mind sets. Between the empty ache that took over his entire body, the reminder of all his new losses and his incomparable rage. He knew she was not looking at him and he couldn’t look at her. How fucking ironic that in that moment for the first time he wanted to look at her. He wanted to grab her and look into those fucking eyes and see if her love was still there and then he wanted to lay his fist into a wall and scream WHY. Those two words were understood immediately, blood pumping around his body, his fist clenching but his hands not shaking (not like usual), “I’m not your hero,” his jaw clenched, he moved, grip releasing, his body tense too with anger. Finally he understood. He fucking understood she thought he saved him but he hadn’t. He wasn’t capable. His words only just made it from his lips, a harsh whisper, tight with unvoiced rage, “I’m bad.”

There was not a single light on, she sat at the empty table with an unopened bottle of water in front of her, it could have been minutes since she left her bedroom, it could have been hours. As far as she knew the sun was coming up or it had just set. Time held no meaning. Nothing did. She was there but not there, she didn’t turn to face the sound of footsteps, she didn’t move at all for a moment. “Isn’t it funny?” Tucking hair behind her ear, she leaned back, gaze falling on nothing particular, still unsure who’s company she was in. “You get everything you want,” she laughed but it did not sound hysterical, it was short and sad, “and the whole world, it just takes it away from you. Again, and again, and again.”

The lights were off. The shapes that had became a dark blur were gone, drenched within the darkness of not only the room but their dirty world. Being blind did not make him stupid. At first he had wanted nothing more that to see everything again but slowly he was beginning to wonder if maybe being blind was a side effect of her blind he’d been for years now. The voices was familiar. It would always be now. His fingertips rested on the door frame, the detailing familiar beneath his grip. He knew exactly what he was facing, whether or not she was facing him. He listened. It wasn’t something he had done often, always hasty to feel his entitled rage. It still bubbled inside of him but there was something else that was sharp, like a knife through the guts. Maybe it was a sign of how foreign anything but anger felt, he could not place the emotion as any number of things from relief to sadness, “Yeah, well, that’s it, isn’t it?” He didn’t know what his question meant, his voice hesitant, unsure why he was trying to breach her at all, “Life just fucks you up and leaves you behind.”

Laughter had been the last thing that Sophie had expected. Her pulse jumped and she hoped that he hadn’t noticed. She kept her breathing even, a skill she’d managed to perfect over years of people telling her startling news about which she had to act neutral. She glared at him, training her brown eyes to his. “Of fucking course,” she wanted to mentally hit herself in the face. Kyle, only Kyle could have a psychotic break and still make her feel like she was the idiot. She huffed, lessening her grip on his shirt and giving up altogether. It was pointless now. He wasn’t going to stop moving or laughing. Trying to do anything to help him let alone buttoning up his shirt was fruitless. The laughter was creepy. It wasn’t the type of laughter that she was used to Kyle having. The type where he laughed at humanity in his own sick sense of humor. This laughter was humorless, void of any happiness. He was laughing away the remainder of his sanity. She stayed quiet, just looking at him. She searched for any remnant of her former best friend. Anything. 

Even for someone as dark as Kyle, this was a new kind of misery. His throat physically ached from the laughter that tore unnaturally at it. He did not laugh. He did not cry. He did not feel anything. While this may have appeared to be a breakthrough into his warped mind, heart, emotions, anything, it was not. This was just a new level of absolute darkness, an unending pit of turmoil marked by breaks of absolute insanity. He was going mental and he didn’t care. Not one fucking bit. Any part of him that had thought there were answers was dead just like the rest of him. Just like his eye sight. Her grip disappeared and the shadow stepped slightly away but he didn’t care, just like he wouldn’t care if she wasn’t there to begin with. A cruel thought but the only kind he was able to have, Howard had accidentally turned his son into a creature darker than even him and Kyle had no will to fight. He raised his arms in the air, “So this is it, Sophie?” Another laugh, a long laugh, a smile tugged at his lips that was wickeder than ever before, “This is our fucked up life and it just keeps getting fucking better! God, I love it!”

He was so close to smiling. Not because he was happy. Not even because hearing the sound of Joey’s voice was familiar but at the sheer stupidity of this. The man thinks he’s a fucking duck. The pieces gelled together at the sound of an animal, the brush of a small bird at his ankles. He grimaced. He fucking hated animals, this was worse than that rat that Sam’s assistant had been keeping. “Nothing,” the word was completely flat, his body angled slightly away, what would of been his gaze floating off into the distance, instead blank eyes, a hint of annoyance still flashing obviously in them, “This is no place for a fucking duck.”

Dead eyes. His eyes were dead. It hurt to look at them, but she did anyway. She didn’t usually bother with people. Kyle had been her friend. She couldn’t help but hear Jess’ voice prove to her that he knew her when he was stuck in his whore sister’s body. Sophie was in misery, so maybe being with someone who was dead inside would help. She couldn’t imagine how, but what’s logic anyways? She pulled even tighter on his shirt. “I’m the nosy type. The incessant prod until she gets her way type, so fucking deal with it.” She knew he wasn’t the same guy, even if she wanted him to be. She knew he wasn’t and he would never be the other Kyle. The one that actually could care about her at all. But she cared about him. He was probably the last person that she didn’t hate. He was struggling. He was blind, from what she could see. Her bit of medical experience was causing her mind to race to address symptoms. His fist didn’t scare her. She looked at it, not jumping, not reacting. He wasn’t scary. This Kyle hadn’t even succeeded in killing his father. “I’m not your doctor. I don’t know a damn thing. Fuck, guy like you probably doesn’t even have a doctor. Since he’s fucking fine all the time.”

His heart was so full of rage he thought it might explode. It hadn’t been full of anything for a long time and this was new. This was all old but new. It had returned so quickly that he had all but forgotten that he was able to feel things. He’d reached a new stage of emptiness, losing something he didn’t even know he could. Each of her words caused a new wave of complete rage and despair within him. This wasn’t fucking fair. She wasn’t afraid of him and he didn’t care, he wasn’t trying to scare anyone. If he wanted them fucking scared he would of really done something. All this time they had been afraid of a force that didn’t give a shit about their lives at all. His reaction shocked even him because when he opened his mouth to respond, he started laughing. What the fuck was he doing? At first it was a low chuckle but soon it exploded into a full force laugh, his body falling slack against the counter momentarily in his hysterical outburst, “Of course I don’t have a fucking doctor! I’m an escaped prisoner!” He had truly fucking given up, he wasn’t even trying to hide how absolutely mental he was anymore, “That’s the fun of it all, right? Just keep it coming. Keep the punches rolling. That’s what life’s all about. Grind everyone fucking down until there’s nothing left. Fuck it. Why not.”

“What?” She was taken aback by the attitude he was giving, if he wanted her to leave then that was fine but he offered her no amount of help, his glare cold and almost frightening. It was like he was blaming her for existing, like it was a choice she had made and as far as she knew, it wasn’t. She had to agree, anywhere would be better than here but she was young, she was afraid, she couldn’t navigate the world on her own, especially not when she didn’t know her name, choosing now to be known as Sue. The girl feared him but she wouldn’t show it, her eyes narrowed instead, mind set, if he killed her then so be it, she wasn’t aware of anything that she had to lose. “You are being awful. I did not ask to be kidnapped and brainwashed or–… or whatever, however I got here, I did not ask for it. Now you can either suck it up and stop being an arse,” the word sounded strange in her soft voice but she did not care, she was growing irritated, “or you can stand there and fuss and pout and struggle to button your clothes up, but I am not moving.”

Whatever, he didn’t give a shit. Her voice was inside of his head and two versions of his life and three of her was enough for him to be well and truly done. This was the dumbest fucking situation he had ever been in. “I’m pissed off, alright?” It was the closest that Kyle would ever come to even nearing an apology or kindness, an echo of a surgeon who had the use of two eyes in his mind causing him to clench his jaw again. He hated both these lives, he hated every single one of them for putting him through this and he resented her wholly for loving him. “Well, I didn’t ask for you to be either, did I?” He stopped, a bitter laugh escaping his lips as he shook his left and right multiple times as if it was as hard for him to get a grip of what the fuck was going on as it was for him to do up his shirt. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Was someone going to fix this? Maybe those three were better off as kids, they’d never seemed like they should be part of all this shit, they were still alive. What a bitter thought. He could barely believe he was actually thinking about someone deserving more. It made his stomach turn, “Do what you want,” she always had before.

He wouldn’t of known what hit him even if he could see but being trapped in a mess of dark shapes was not something that helped when being ambushed. The latest dark blur collided with him so fast that his foot faltered in mid air, step never to be taken as he was forced to the ground. The collision was not hard, not that he would of cared, he was used to pain. He had felt so much of it that now it was just a sick rush, a reminder he was right about this bitter world. “For fucks sake,” he muttered in one angry breath finding a body beneath him, arms blindly fumbling to push himself to his feet. He may have the pleasure of not seeing who it was but he’d reconised that voice, he grimaced, “Joseph fucking Monroe.”