Sixteen hours. That’s how long Eli’s been back in control of his own skin, and it’s still a disorienting feeling. The silence in his head that’s terrifying with how unfamiliar it is now, no longer drowning in his own screams. His hands move when he tells them to, and it feels like the first time in a long time they’re not covered in blood. He doesn’t know the exact time frame. The better part of a year at least, left in some waking nightmare that his brother swears to him is over now. But it still leaves him almost terrified to fall asleep, like the moment some kid ripped a demon from his chest will all be in his head.
He does anyway. Demons don’t sleep much, and it leaves him with months of exhaustion and an ache in his chest he’s trying to shake off. It runs deep this time, a wound left behind when a monster was torn out of him. The few hours he gets might not be enough to soothe that, but it’s something.
He’s already upright when the door opens, though he hasn’t made it much farther than the edge of his bed. That’s unfamiliar now too, and if his body’s been dropped right back into his old life, his head hasn’t followed yet. He’s too busy staring at the window, skin warmed beneath the suns rays, but there’s an oddly tilted reflection looking back at him. It’s just as foreign to him now, when he looks closer to some wild beast just waiting to bolt.
He doesn’t. He’s still and quiet, a sharp contrast to the chaos that’s raged in his mind, until he hears those footsteps stop next to the bed and he offers a weak greeting. “Hey.”
