Before It's Voiced

Drama

So the FOB Fic Awards thing has opened voting and, even though I still don't entirely understand it, I am guiltily following the votes and squealing a bit each time I see one of you amazing people vote for me or this fic. I'm so new to this thing and you all have been so welcoming. It's perfectly astounding.

Also, bless chaotic-panda for beta'ing <3

~

dra·ma

noun

an exciting, emotional, or unexpected series of events or set of circumstances

By the time the stars are blinking out of sight, Pete's ran out of questions to ask himself. By the time he realizes he should stand and leave the ocean behind, his knees are numb from kneeling on a pile of unforgiving rocks.

Gradually, with aching joints and shaking legs, he stands. The sun kisses over the waves as he glances across it, the susurration of the water a welcome escape from the silence the monsters now taunt him with.

Awhile ago, when he'd grown bored of counting the stars, he'd wondered if the silence meant the monsters were coming for him. Terror gnawed at his thoughts but, even with this fear, he hadn't wished to go back inside. He couldn't bring himself to face Patrick's stories anymore. Perhaps it was cruel to leave Patrick alone after forcing him to relive those horrors but Pete couldn't bring himself to return to the siren's side. Each time Patrick crossed his thoughts, a dozen reasons to stay away appeared.

Patrick couldn't possibly wish to speak with Pete.

The mermonsters may find more terrible images of massacre to present.

Pete could lose all will to write his book.

Pete could find every ounce of motivation needed to finish his book. He could find a reason to leave this place behind for good.

Though, was there anything wrong with that last thought? Shouldn't he want to go home? Shouldn't he want to escape an adventure he never asked to begin? Shouldn't he feel nothing for a creature who shouldn't exist? Each question made him feel sicker than the last.

Now, though, in the light of day and with his back to the water, reasoning awakens. He'll write his book and he'll go home to the city, he decides. Whatever happens between now and the last page of his book hardly matters.

Or so he repeats to himself as the back door slams shut behind him.

The Sun is up, he thinks as light infiltrates the sky, so Patrick must be asleep. It's a pattern Pete learned from the time they spent on the rocks.

He could ill-afford to wake Patrick and have him asking questions about the shard of Sunset Blade so Pete heads to the kitchen sink, wincing when he unfolds his dirtied, cut up hands from their roles as fists at his side. He doesn't bother with his own comfort when selecting the temperature. Patrick had scorched away the mermonsters' control before and, as he sticks his hands under the steaming flow, Pete wonders if he can do the same. Replace the voices with his own, with memories instead of forced thoughts. Now, in the moments of silence, Pete believes he has as good a chance as any to escape.

His skin burns red from the heat as seconds pass, his arms and fingers twitching as instinct demands he pull away. Just a moment longer, he insists against it. Just another instant and these cackling creatures will lose their claim on his mind. He repeats it to himself like a line from a favored daydream.

The mermonsters awaken with a piercing laugh, called to action by the sound of water rushing free from Pete's faucet.

Pete's hands snap back into fists, water pouring across the skin like fire but it's nothing compared to the inferno of voices in his mind.