The Fine Line | A Haven Fanfiction
Title: The Fine Line
Characters: Nathan Wuornos
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: 1x03 "Harmony"
Summary: Drabble; set during Harmony. "Rage. Rage and anger and hollowness. You couldn't feel pain, but you could sure as hell inflict it. And that's what frightens you most, because you enjoyed it."
Word Count: 1,002
Disclaimer: I don't own Haven.
Rage. Rage and anger and hollowness.
You grip the rail of the deck tighter and take a steadying breath. It hasn't even been an hour since you came back into your right mind, and you're still a bit disoriented. Errant thoughts and emotions keep darting through your head, cutting through whatever sane thought you're trying to follow and effectively obliterating it. It's like vertigo on drugs. The world's not just spinning around you, it's spinning inside of you too.
Your weight shifts to one leg, cocking a hip lazily as you stare out across the water. Focus on the horizon. It's easier to keep your brain on track when you've got something to focus it on. Thoughts aren't solid. The place where the ocean meets the sky is. Well, alright, technically it's not. It's just an image. A facsimile of a physical object. Kind of like you, and the way you look like a real person, but aren't.
Damn it, there you go again.
Curiously, you twist your arm and look at the spot on the underside of your forearm, where the skin is red and glossy. Not that you can feel it of course. You can remember that moment in the Scupper, when reality had suddenly skewed around you. All you could feel was hatred. Hatred for the place, for the people. Hatred for yourself and your condition.
Duke's words rang in your head. "Does she know you're not a real boy?" Real. You're not real. You look like it and if people didn't know better they might even believe it. Except for the fact where they could stick a knife in your back and you wouldn't even realize it until you passed out from blood loss. It was a playground game when you were in school. Kids would throw things at you, hit you, just because they thought it was hilarious you wouldn't feel it. They sprayed water on your clothes and you walked around with your pants wet, wondering why kids kept shying away and giggling. One kid put a tarantula on your back and you didn't know it was there until it was creeping across your face.
And then of course there was the tack incident. You can still hear the screams, echoing inside your head. Can still remember the way The Chief had raged about it, raged to anyone who had listened until you felt like maybe he blamed you for not feeling all of the tacks piercing your skin. Still remember looking at your back in the mirror and seeing the angry red dots that had speckled your flesh. And the victorious grins the other boys had worn when you'd turned to look back at them in horror after realizing what they'd done. Duke, who you'd once thought was your friend, had actually laughed.
Duke. That was it. It was all his fault.
It had suddenly made so much sense to you. You had barrelled past Parker and headed straight for the docks. You couldn't feel pain, but you sure as hell could cause it. You were going to make him pay. For everything that he did to you as a kid. For all the trouble he's given you as an adult. For threatening to tell all of your darkest secrets to Parker and ruining this new partnership you've developed with her. You will make him pay.
From there everything is just a blur. A swirling chaos of rage and fire. Just channelling every ounce of hatred that you have ever felt and throwing it at Duke. From the captivity of about sixty pounds worth of dock chains anyway.
Thinking back on that, your actions terrify you. You are calm. Collected. It takes a lot for you to lose your control. But there you were, wild and vicious and angry. Feral. You wanted to make others feel all of the pain that you couldn't feel. There was no remorse and hesitation when you hauled back and punched Duke in the face. Or when your hands closed around his throat with the intent of getting him out of your life for good, before he could destroy everything you struggled so hard to build. No, all that you'd felt then was satisfaction. A deep-seeded satisfaction in knowing that you had caused him pain. You liked it. You thrived on it. You wanted to do it again.
You shudder and let your head drop, taking several slow breaths to steady your racing heart. As much as the Troubles worry you, at the moment the thing that you're really afraid of is yourself.
"How you feeling?"
Audrey Parker. She walks up behind you and offers you a cup of coffee. You take it but don't drink, just in case it's still too hot. You might not feel the burns on your tongue, but the swelling will impede your speech. You learned that one the hard way.
"I don't know what's worse," you answer. "Going crazy, or being sane after."
In your head you know the truth: being sane after is far, far worse.
Characters: Nathan Wuornos
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: 1x03 "Harmony"
Summary: Drabble; set during Harmony. "Rage. Rage and anger and hollowness. You couldn't feel pain, but you could sure as hell inflict it. And that's what frightens you most, because you enjoyed it."
Word Count: 1,002
Disclaimer: I don't own Haven.
Rage. Rage and anger and hollowness.
You grip the rail of the deck tighter and take a steadying breath. It hasn't even been an hour since you came back into your right mind, and you're still a bit disoriented. Errant thoughts and emotions keep darting through your head, cutting through whatever sane thought you're trying to follow and effectively obliterating it. It's like vertigo on drugs. The world's not just spinning around you, it's spinning inside of you too.
Your weight shifts to one leg, cocking a hip lazily as you stare out across the water. Focus on the horizon. It's easier to keep your brain on track when you've got something to focus it on. Thoughts aren't solid. The place where the ocean meets the sky is. Well, alright, technically it's not. It's just an image. A facsimile of a physical object. Kind of like you, and the way you look like a real person, but aren't.
Damn it, there you go again.
Curiously, you twist your arm and look at the spot on the underside of your forearm, where the skin is red and glossy. Not that you can feel it of course. You can remember that moment in the Scupper, when reality had suddenly skewed around you. All you could feel was hatred. Hatred for the place, for the people. Hatred for yourself and your condition.
Duke's words rang in your head. "Does she know you're not a real boy?" Real. You're not real. You look like it and if people didn't know better they might even believe it. Except for the fact where they could stick a knife in your back and you wouldn't even realize it until you passed out from blood loss. It was a playground game when you were in school. Kids would throw things at you, hit you, just because they thought it was hilarious you wouldn't feel it. They sprayed water on your clothes and you walked around with your pants wet, wondering why kids kept shying away and giggling. One kid put a tarantula on your back and you didn't know it was there until it was creeping across your face.
And then of course there was the tack incident. You can still hear the screams, echoing inside your head. Can still remember the way The Chief had raged about it, raged to anyone who had listened until you felt like maybe he blamed you for not feeling all of the tacks piercing your skin. Still remember looking at your back in the mirror and seeing the angry red dots that had speckled your flesh. And the victorious grins the other boys had worn when you'd turned to look back at them in horror after realizing what they'd done. Duke, who you'd once thought was your friend, had actually laughed.
Duke. That was it. It was all his fault.
It had suddenly made so much sense to you. You had barrelled past Parker and headed straight for the docks. You couldn't feel pain, but you sure as hell could cause it. You were going to make him pay. For everything that he did to you as a kid. For all the trouble he's given you as an adult. For threatening to tell all of your darkest secrets to Parker and ruining this new partnership you've developed with her. You will make him pay.
From there everything is just a blur. A swirling chaos of rage and fire. Just channelling every ounce of hatred that you have ever felt and throwing it at Duke. From the captivity of about sixty pounds worth of dock chains anyway.
Thinking back on that, your actions terrify you. You are calm. Collected. It takes a lot for you to lose your control. But there you were, wild and vicious and angry. Feral. You wanted to make others feel all of the pain that you couldn't feel. There was no remorse and hesitation when you hauled back and punched Duke in the face. Or when your hands closed around his throat with the intent of getting him out of your life for good, before he could destroy everything you struggled so hard to build. No, all that you'd felt then was satisfaction. A deep-seeded satisfaction in knowing that you had caused him pain. You liked it. You thrived on it. You wanted to do it again.
You shudder and let your head drop, taking several slow breaths to steady your racing heart. As much as the Troubles worry you, at the moment the thing that you're really afraid of is yourself.
"How you feeling?"
Audrey Parker. She walks up behind you and offers you a cup of coffee. You take it but don't drink, just in case it's still too hot. You might not feel the burns on your tongue, but the swelling will impede your speech. You learned that one the hard way.
"I don't know what's worse," you answer. "Going crazy, or being sane after."
In your head you know the truth: being sane after is far, far worse.