The Inevitable Cycle

The careful touches, the soft words, the sexual attention– It was all they craved, all they wanted after what happened. Nothing came close to it, to the familiarity and comfort of Saichon's presence. They'd been there for as long as they could remember, always comforting them. Almyr loved it when they could feel Saichon stroke the bridge of their nose, then their forehead, telling them it was safe to sleep, that they'd protect them. Almyr believed them, why wouldn't they?

They liked the affection, craved it more than anything, but they didn't like the horrendous pit that formed deep in their stomach. They'd ignore the aching feeling afterwards, anything in exchange for his gentle words and caressing hands. Maybe they didn't mind what his hands did, it was still affection after all, or so they believed. He loved them, didn't he? At least that was what he'd told them, and they couldn't help but believe it, to cling onto it like they were drowning.

Maybe it's a good thing I don't remember much from my childhood.

"There's a stereotype that veterans like dogs more," he began, his tone low so people wouldn't hear. He never particularly liked people knowing he was a veteran, never liked how their demeanor would change once they knew. "But I've always preferred cats."

"I care for you."

I guess it's on me. I just didn't know how to say no, and they were clearly struggling. I didn't want to be the reason someone cried, it always made me anxious, and stressed, like I was back with Treene again. I'd noticed the signs, how fragile their mental state was, how again and again the warnings signs of a suicidal person blared whenever we interacted. I'd gotten good at it, noticing when someone was suicidal, but sometimes I wish I didn't notice. Was this my attempt at keeping them alive? Or was this a selfish wish to be in a secret homosexual relationship? I didn't want to think more of it, it would always lead to me ruminating on why and how it ended up like this, pit in my stomach growing bigger and bigger by the hour. I felt like a predator, a groomer– the list could go on. I desperately wished for a break from it all, maybe a longer... permanent one.

"I didn't ask to be gay," Brynde muttered, trying to hold back a sob. His eye hurt, his whole body hurt, a deep pit in his chest that just wouldn't go away. He'd been contemplating it, but he was scared, scared it would hurt, scared he'd regret it when it was too late. He'd found the rope in the garage, hid it away so he could use it when it was time. He didn't think his parents would care, not anymore. The look on their faces when the principal told them about the bullying, that it was because he was gay, haunted him. He'd never seen his parents look more disgusted, a visceral and deep disgust. He didn't think he could survive any longer.

He had tried to be quiet, but the screams would escape him regardless, as if to prove to him he couldn't be in control no matter what he did. He'd grasp at her shirt, beg her to stop, to make it all stop, but she would only respond with more tears, quivering lips asking him if he still loved her. He never fought back, too scared he'd end up hurting her. It seemed to distress her, not fighting back, as if she was expecting to be hit for her anger. Her sobs tore a hole through his heart, as did Iben's as she watched. Husband and wife– two broken people, as much as he was in denial about it.

He'd considered it, more frequently now. He always felt guilty for thinking it, a heavy guilt that sat deep in his chest. It always came down to Iben, how she'd react, how she'd grow up knowing he left her, gone forever. He wondered how Treene would react, if his casket would be met with tears, or anger. The frequency of the thoughts, of revisiting his old carefully selected plans, grew heavy on his mind. He'd often visit the room where they kept all their armed equipment, looking over them, always picking Ulrik's favourite. All he wanted was to meet him again, to talk to him, to hug him. He knew there was only one way to do so, even if he didn't believe in the afterlife.

She knew better, but she always tearfully reached for the taser. She had inherited her mother's anger, her foul words and her painful punishments. She'd made a promise to never hurt her daughter like her mother had hurt her, but when it came to Brynde she lost control. Her mother's words echoed in her mind, 'no wonder no man would want to sleep with you'. Her sadness could be felt deep in her chest– was it her fault Brynde didn't love her? Maybe it was her fault, but she felt so angry, so hurt, by his lack of love. Had she married a gay man? Was he cheating on her with his coworker? Her thoughts only got worse the more she thought about it, her anger amplifying the more she got convinced she was unlovable, a pig with lipstick like her mother would always say. She loved him, but simultaneously hated him. Why didn't he love her?

It seemed like they were meant to be friends, although Brynde wished it could be something more, closer, intimate. His heart fluttered whenever Ulrik played with his hair, how gentle his hands would stroke each lock of hair. They'd grown close over the couple of months they'd known each other for, sleeping together whenever they had free time from their duties, Brynde's head on Ulrik's shoulder. He didn't dare tell Ulrik what he felt, how his heart ached from the wish of something more.

Brynde closed his eyes shut, taking another deep breath– it didn't help hold back the sob that escaped his throat.

Brynde felt broken, felt hopeless, a deep pit in his stomach. He knew where his heart arrhythmia came from, he'd taken enough first aid classes to know. The sound of a taser flashed in his mind, making him close his eyes shut hard, needing to breathe deeply as to not make it worse. It felt unfair, it was unfair, but what more could he do. He accepted the paper, the pit in his stomach travelling deeper.

Joining the IID was a huge decision, a decision Brynde wasn't too sure about. His wife, Treene, had begged him to apply for a less dangerous job, especially after that their daughter Iben had just had her first birthday. It wasn't too different, just calmer, but he had a hard time adjusting to the slower pace, to the calmness of not being in the Huntsmen Regiment. Maybe he was a workaholic, maybe he was truly addicted to the adrenaline, he didn't know. He just wanted his mind to focus on something else, anything else, to escape the intrusive images his childhood had given him.