Jean x Marco

Nightmares (Jean)

No! I was suddenly jolted from the gory scene behind my closed eyes and back into the familiar bunk house. I sat bolt upright in bed, horror and shock penetrated every single cell within my body. My thunderous heartbeat echoed in my ears and pounded throughout my entire body. The stillness of the bunk house was almost too much to bear, I wanted to shatter the empty space around me and scream until I had let all the fear out. I gulped down mouthfuls of stuffy air, desperately trying to slow my pounding heart. My sheets clung to my sweaty body, and my knuckles were white. Little red half moons marked where I had dug my fingernails into my palms. It was just a dream, just a dream. It's not real, I told myself. If only that were true. I wrapped my arms around my knees, and buried my head. I needed to fight the panic that was threatening to take control. I tried to slow my breathing, but I felt as though invisible hands were wrapping around my throat, robbing me of every breath of necessary oxygen. I was slowly and silently suffocating in the confines of the dark bunk house. Her face flashed across my consciousness, bringing new waves of agony and terror. Those swollen empty eyes...No! I wouldn't think about it! I could feel bile rising in my throat, making my mouth taste like metal. I tried to swallow before realizing it was hopeless. Racing against time I kicked off my blankets, trying to hold it down long enough. My sheets wrapped their phantom arms around my legs, tripping me as I launched myself from the top bunk. I hit the ground hard, looking back I can't believe the noise of my failed landing didn't wake up Connie, who slept beneath me. The impact traveled through my body like an electric jolt of pain, I would have cried out had I not been so consumed by keeping my mouth closed to halt the vomits progress, it was no easy task but I somehow still managed to get up and stagger outside before letting loose the contents of my stomach. I leaned against the side of the bunk house for support before falling down to my hands and knees, void of the strength to stand, as wave after wave of nausea overtook me. Every time I vomited, her face would appear all the more vividly in my mind, imprinting itself permanently in my brain. Tears flowed along with the sick. My stomach was empty but the acidic bile wouldn't stop coming. My throat burned but I was powerless to stop it. Powerless... just like before. I felt a cool hand against my back, "Jean, are you alright?" I managed to look up to see Marco's concerned face hovering above me before bending down to hurl again. "Sorry, that was a stupid question." He whispered and patted my back reassuringly. I didn't want him to see me like this. "Marco, go back to-" my sentence was cut short by yet another river of bile. I wiped the tears from my eyes. I was panting pathetically from the exhaustion of throwing up so many times. "Go back to bed." I told him, as though I actually had the means to enforce my command. He just smiled at me sympathetically, like he always did when he knew I was being childish and unreasonable. He got up and disappeared through the open door, only to return a moment later with a canteen and a washcloth. His gentle smile never faltered as he took my sweaty shaking hand and lead me away from the puddle of vomit. He walked me around to the back of the bunk house, supporting me the entire time, for my head was spinning much too fast to allow me to walk on my own. When I could no longer smell the sharp oder of my own vomit he stopped and knelt down beside me. My face burned with shame. at having been found at my weakest. I nervously plucked at a few strands of grass that had managed to grow in the dry ground. I felt Marco's cool fingertips on my cheek as he turned my head towards himself. Marco smiled as our eyes met and I felt another flush of heat. He wet the washcloth and began gently dabbing at my face. Despite the embarrassment I felt at the situation, I liked having him close to me. He smiled again as he pulled the washcloth away from my face. He then offered me the canteen. I took a long swig and spat, trying to remove the metallic taste from my mouth. I looked up at Marco, he would want to know how I had come to such a state. And he deserved the truth as well. I searched his hazel eyes for a hint of curiosity or suspicion, but I found none. I took another sip from the canteen, letting the cool water settle into the burning crevices in my mouth. I swallowed, unable to take the silence any longer. "Did I wake you?" I asked tentatively. Marco tucked a strand of jet black hair behind his ear, "No, I was already up, I couldn't sleep so I stepped out for some fresh air." He replied absentmindedly. Several seconds of uncomfortable silence hung in the air until i felt his hand on mine, "Do you want to tell me what that was about?" He asked gently. I sighed and rested my head on his shoulder, nestling into him for warmth. "It was nothing," I lied, "just a nightmare, they happen, I'll get over it." I knew he didn't believe me, but he remained silent, not only had he come to help me, but he was willing to accept my lie in the place of the truth. No. I didn't want to lie to him, if there was one person I wanted to tell the truth to, it was him. I wound a lock of his hair around my finger, black, just like the flies... I inhaled and finally breathed out the story that had remained behind my lips for three years. "I used to love living in Trost. My father was a merchant and we lived on the edge of the financial district. My family was reasonably wealthy and unlike most children I was given the opportunity to attend school." I looked up at his face, and he nodded encouragingly. I continued, "Everything was so easy in those days. It was just my father, my mother, my kid sister Matilda and I." I paused, I hadn't said their names in so long. I tried to keep my voice from breaking as An icy fist wrapped around my heart. "I was just a kid, and I felt invincible, like nothing bad could ever happen. At least I did until Matilda died." I felt Marco squeeze my hand a little tighter as I regained my composure, I wouldn't cry. "I was six years old and she was four, I knew something was wrong when I woke up that morning, she almost always shook me awake at the crack of dawn, especially on days I had off of school, we would go down and hunt for treasures in the street, or steal candy from the marketplace. She was an energetic kid, just really full of life, but that morning she just slept, no matter what I tried to tempt her with she just wouldn't leave her bed. I didn't know what to do." My voice wavered dangerously, but I continued. "In a few short hours the whole room was just a mess of doctors and relatives. No one really had the chance to explain anything to me. And before I knew it, she was gone." My voice broke over these words as I let the loss I had denied for so long wash over me. I took one more deep breath, now that I had started I had to finish. "After the funeral nothing was the same. My Mom stopped smiling, she would just look at me with teardrops just behind her eyes, and my Father started to spend more and more time at work like he was slowly trying to detach himself from us." I felt another light hand squeeze from Marco. I could do this, I had to. "When I was seven my father decided he was going to make us rich by changing jobs, he was going to grant loans to people who had been denied by other brokers, and charge twice the normal interest. It was also around this time that my Mother found out she was pregnant with another child, for a short while life became happy again, my father talked about how we would all have more money than we knew what to do with. My mother got better to, her spirits grew along with her hopes and dreams for the new baby, she began to sing again, and she always seemed preoccupied either with knitting small blankets and outfits, or jotting down baby names on a piece of parchment. While my Mother began to return to her normal self my father just seemed to get worse. He would come home late, if at all, sometimes he would return the next morning, wearing the same clothes and reeking of alcohol. I learned later that several of his clients had skipped town, they left no traces and no payments behind. My fathers drinking quickly dried up what we had left in the bank." I looked back at Marco, I had forgotten that he was there for a second. I had been lost in a past. I wasn't crying yet, I just had to get through the story without letting my tears fall. "Jean," Marco said softly, "you don't have to tell me the rest if you don't want to." "I want to." I replied, "You should know." He smiled, I really hoped he wouldn't cry, if he did I would probably follow suit. I took yet another deep breath, these were the fuel that allowed me to continue speaking. "We eventually lost the house, but my mother's good mood continued. Looking back I guess she didn't care that we were broke, she just wanted her family. She was so excited for the baby." I clenched my fists, digging my nails into my palms, just to remind my body who was in charge. She was probably about eight months pregnant when it happened." I tried to swallowed the pain slowly building inside of me, but I couldn't. Tears flowed from the corners of my eyes, and I made no move to stop them, but still I continued, the story was almost over, and somehow I knew that the crushing pressure I felt inside my chest would not go away until I told it all. "It was my eighth birthday, and my dad came home more drunk than usual that night. I could tell he wasn't himself the moment he walked through the door, and I ran for cover, but he caught me by the back of my shirt." Marco placed both his hands over mine. "Oh my God. Jean..." He whispered. I could see the pity in his eyes. I looked away, I didn't need his pity, I needed to heal, and I couldn't, not without telling the truth. I kept speaking. "It was hard to understand what he was saying because his speech was slurred beyond recognition, but at least to me it seemed like he wanted me to do something, but like I said, I couldn't understand him, so I didn't know how to do what he wanted. He just got more and more angry with me until it came to blows...I screamed, and my mother came rushing in to my rescue. She was brave, but not that strong, he only hit her once and she just crumpled to the floor, but you see, Marco, he hit her in the stomach." I said slowly, letting the impact of my words sink in. Marco's face contorted into an expression of absolute horror, he opened his mouth as if to say something, but then shut it again. Tears fell from his deep brown eyes and he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into a tight embrace. "I'm so sorry Jean." He sobbed into my shoulder. I could have stopped there, but I waned him to know the rest. "My father never let himself slip back into sobriety since that night, and my mother...well, she just kind of shut down. She wouldn't sleep or eat, or even talk. She was gone, and eventually she decided to end it officially." My entire body was shaking uncontrollably, "I was nine when I went home that day, there she was, with a rope around her neck. My father was on the floor at her feet, screaming and crying with a bottle in his hand and two more broken on the floor. He hadn't seen me yet so I slipped out, If I had been braver maybe I would have left forever." I could see tears in his eyes, I smiled at him, fighting back against my own pain, "But we both know i'm a coward, so I stayed." I removed his hands from mine, I didn't want his sympathy. "You're wrong." He said, looking away from me. "Jean you weren't a coward. You were a kid. Anyone would have done the same thing!" I could see the defiant anger in his eyes, and I could feel it radiating off his body. The night air bit at my face as I remembered her body dangling there, clad in white, like a phantom...or an angel. Huddled into Marco's warm body I finally let myself cry, the tears rolled down his shoulder and onto his chest. I was pathetic and helpless, but I didn't care, Marco just held me until I had drained away all my tears. I looked up to see that he was crying too. He wrapped his arms around me, and I could feel his own repressed sobs as I laid against him. "I'm so sorry Jean." he whispered. I wiped my eyes again. "It wasn't all bad." I said, I was smiling and crying at the same time. "He remarried, and his new wife was ok. Sure she yelled at me a couple times, called me a 'problem child', but she sobered him up. And she really did love me. She came to see me when we traveled through Trost on training. She helped me win the cook off with Sasha, remember?" He smiled through his tears, "Yeah, Jeanboy." He chuckled. His tears still falling. "Just because she calls me that doesn't mean that you can." I punched him in the shoulder. He laughed and rubbed the point of impact before playfully tackling me to the ground. I looked up at his tear streaked face and suddenly we were both laughing and crying simultaneously and hysterically. "I can't believe you won that cook off." He hiccuped. "I can't believe Sasha killed a boar." I laughed. I rolled over on top of him studying the freckles that stood out on his cheeks which were still puffy and red from crying. "I love you." I whispered. "I know you already know that. I just wanted to remind you. Please don't ever leave me." He chuckled, "Jean, you're the only other guy I know who likes other guys. Who in the hell could I even leave you for?" "I'm not afraid you'll leave me for somebody else, well at least I wasn't, now I am. Thanks a ton." I said shooting him a look. He smiled up at me innocently, "You don't have anything to worry about, trust me. You're the hottest guy here anyway." I rubbed my finger over his freckled cheek. "That's a lie, you know that you are. I'm just afraid that one day you'll stop looking past all the stupid things I do, and all the mean things I say when I'm upset." A little puff of air left his nose as he chuckled. "Jean, I've never looked past any of those things. I've accepted them. They make you who you are. And I know I've said it before, but in case you've forgotten I love you, including all your flaws and faults." He rolled me over and climbed on top of me. Then he leaned down and kissed my brow, "You need to get some sleep now Jean, we have training tomorrow and all these late nights are going to start affecting our performance." I wiped my eyes, trying my best to recover from his speech. "You're probably right." I sighed. But Neither of us made any move to get up. The silence settled in around us like a blanket, and I was the first to break it. "Thank you Marco, thank you so much for just being you, and for listening, I was never able to tell anyone about it before. Thank you." He stood up then smiled gently, extending a freckled hand to me. "Come on Jean, lets get you to bed." He said softly. I felt the shift of gravity as he pulled me to my feet. We walked back around to the front of the bunk house, hand in hand, in a state that was almost dreamlike, he opened the door without a sound, for he was practiced in this maneuver now and be led me over to my bunk. I didn't want our hands to part, but I knew that it was necessary, I straitened the sheets and blankets on my bed and pulled them up to my chin. "Just promise me you'll still be here when I wake up," I whispered gently. "I will be Jean." Was all I heard from the other side of the bunk house.