Broken (BoyxBoy)

Part IV

Yes I know... THIS IS SO SHORT! It's supposed to be like that :P If you want you can think of this chapter as a sort of epilogueish chapter, but I'm not going to call it that because an epilogue is kind of like a view into the future or a sum up, with no important info (at least to me). And this chapter isn't like that. So anyway, I'll leave you to read. 

Let me know what you think alright??

Hope you enjoy reading,

-> Desyre

                The cleaning was done, we’d finished the second floor that day and now my house was spotlessly clean, on the inside at least. On the outside, the entire house was still covered in graffiti, the white paint was still chipped and falling down, the porch still looked like it was going to fall apart when you stepped on it. In general it still looked like if the wind blew strongly enough, my house would fall apart. But I didn’t know what to do about that. I didn’t have the money to pay for everything we needed, paint, wood, the hand work that Shel and I obviously couldn’t do ourselves. I knew I had ways of getting that money, like turning on my computer and finding another editor or contacting my old editor, but I kept remembering that I hadn’t done that because I wasn’t supposed to be staying for much longer.

                Supposed. There were a lot of things I wasn’t or was supposed to be or do. I wasn’t supposed to fix my house, I wasn’t supposed to need more money, I wasn’t supposed to be alive. But I was alive, I was fixing my house, and I needed more money. I was also supposed to be a loner, but I liked to spend time with Shel. I wasn’t supposed to get involved with someone, but here I was, thinking up excuses to spend more time with Shel. I was supposed to try to do it again and succeed this time. I wasn’t sure anymore whether to do what I was supposed to do or what I wanted to do. What I was supposed to do just didn’t seem all that appealing anymore. But then again not always what’s right is what we want to do. Yet doing what I was supposed to do didn’t sound right anymore, it sounded wrong. Biased. Decisions made while I was uninformed.

                Information was supposed to be good, the whole thing about ignorant people being blind and stuff, but I just didn’t know how to live with all this new information buzzing around in my mind, weighing me down. I’d died. I didn’t want to be alone anymore. I wanted to spend time with Shel. He was the one that found me. He cared about me. I wanted to stay. My ex came back while I was away and tried to enter my house. Dr. Wheeler was in a prison far away from me. What did you do when your worst fears were just taken away from you? Develop new fears? Did we have a scale of fears and once one was eliminated or we got over it, the one below it just rose to take its position?

                Well my worst fears hadn’t exactly disappear, they were still there, I just… wasn’t all that afraid of them anymore. I wasn’t afraid that Dr. Wheeler would come to take me back to Giuseppe Moscati, he was in jail. I wasn’t afraid that I’d been the one to make Jerrod a monster, he proved he was a monster regardless of whether I was there or not by trying to force his way into my house. No. I was now afraid that what Dr. Wheeler did to me would happen again. I dreamed of the blinding pain I felt when the electricity coursed through my body, the remaining shivering, the days spent getting nothing more than water, the constant cramps in my stomach, the casualties. I dreamed of his words, Jerrod’s words. They rang through my mind endlessly, telling me just how screwed up I was, the lingering feeling that I’d heard them before and the fear that I was nothing more than a waste of space, that I was keeping someone better from being in this world eating me up until history repeated and I winded in the hospital again. Maybe our fears never truly went away, maybe they just transformed.