atwt fic: the never-ending pain of forced becoming
title: the never-ending pain of forced becoming
fandom: ATWT
characters/pairings: Chris POV; mentions of Chris/Katie and Luke/Reid
rating: teen
disclaimer: so very much not mine; no harm, no profit
author notes: angst; dark themes; not a stand-alone fic (see notes below)
This would not exist were it not for two very different stories. rhiannonhero's amazing novella Raise Up, Heart was the inspiration for and, in very large measure, the substance of this story. NOTE: This is most definitely a companion to Raise Up, Heart, NOT a stand-alone story - it makes no sense outside of that world.
The style is cribbed from That He Will, a beautiful J2 RPS story by standing-fic. The original challenge that author responded to was “to write a story in the second person where every sentence is a command.” Her submission is far more eloquent than mine.
the never-ending pain of forced becoming
Come back to awareness through a fog of anesthesia. Look over your prone body at the pale green walls, the peripheral IV in your hand, the vent tube that rests across your chest. Send up thanks to God, the skill of your surgical team, modern medical technology, and Reid Oliver because you. are. alive. Picture the life that stretches out in front of you, Katie, and Jacob. Imagine the children you and Katie will have together. Tap your finger in tempo with the strong, steady beat of your new heart.
*
Begin - cautiously, joyously - to live your life again. Put too much mustard on your sandwiches. Plot out complex strategies for a game you've never before played. Realize you are losing longer and longer stretches of your days. Ignore these first few small changes. Tell yourself they aren't really happening, that they cannot be happening. Know without a doubt that they are happening.
Fear for your sanity. Teach yourself to ignore the anguished and desperate screams only you can hear. Refuse to dwell on the macabre explanation that your mind provides you.
Wrack your brain for a logical explanation. Fail to find one.
*
Find a blank sheet of paper. Hate yourself for what this will do to Katie. Write a note. Tear it up. Try again. Manage to scrawl some words that explain nothing to no one. Throw some things in a duffel bag. Abandon a life that no longer belongs only to you.
*
Take a car. Leave Oakdale behind. Catch your breath at the sudden, startling pain in your chest. Keep driving. Cross the county line. Fail to keep the screams trapped inside any longer. Keep driving. Stifle your screams with the heel of your hand. Keep driving. Head towards the state line. Waver on the edge of consciousness. Stop driving. Pull off the road. Cradle your head in your hands. Turn the car around.
*
Scout out the cabin. Satisfy yourself it remains abandoned. Grit your teeth against the gnawing pain in your guts. Carry in the few things you brought with you. Tack a photo of Katie to the wall at the head of the mattress. Quash all thoughts of the homes you once had.
*
Find a fishhook in a drawer. Place the barb high on the flesh of your chest. Apply pressure. Break the skin. Ignore the sweat stinging your eyes. Twist the hook back out through the skin. Pull. Pull harder. Tear the skin. Revel in the sensation of a pain outside of your body.
*
Find some old composition notebooks that were left here, shoved back on a shelf. Document as much as you can of this illogical metamorphosis. Wonder if you can possibly survive this process. Wonder if what survives will be you.
*
Stare into the mirror. Touch your face with gentle fingers. Pull the skin taut. Run your fingers over your nose, cheeks, chin. Examine the dilation of your pupils, the muddied colors of your eyes. Take off your clothes. Look over your body. Trace the outline of the scar on your chest. Palpate the muscles in your biceps, thighs, calves, abdomen. Try to make sense of the impossibility that is you. Trace the outline of the scar. Sink to the floor and tremble uncontrollably.
*
Dream of Katie, naked and beautiful. Wake up hard. Spit into your palm. Wrap your hand around your cock. Stroke yourself. Pump your hips. Twist on the upstroke. Run a thumb over the head. Stroke faster. Reach down and cup your balls. Balance on the precipice of orgasm. Breathe harder. Think of Katie. Whisper Luke's name. Jerk your hands away. Come without even a touch. Bite down on your lip to stay silent. Clean yourself up. Forget.
*
Choose a way to end this insanity. Roll up a wad of the cash you took with you. Head for Chicago. Make cautious inquiries. Buy a handgun off a filthy man on a filthier street. Return to the cabin. Sit on the bed. Feel the heft of the gun in your bare hands. Slot bullets like promises into the chamber. Rub your index finger along the smooth, cool metal of the barrel. Disengage the safety. Nestle the barrel against the underside of your chin.
Open your eyes.
See the floor right next to your face. Reach for the gun that isn't there. Ransack the cabin. Search everywhere, inside and out. Do not find it. Realize you will never find it. Know that this is his doing. Fall back onto the mattress. Turn toward the picture of Katie. See nothing but an empty tack shoved into the wall.
*
Drag a notebook close enough to write in. Use your teeth to uncap a pen. Flip through pages to find the place where you left off. See handwriting that isn't yours and words you have no memory of writing. Sweep everything to the floor.
*
Remove all the food from the cupboards. Drop the canned goods at a homeless shelter two towns over. Lock yourself in the cabin. Let everything that is perishable rot. Work on your journals. Distract yourself. Refuse to think of food.
Open your eyes.
Feel the crusty whole grain roll in your hands. Smell the tang of yellow mustard. Taste the smoked ham, the baby Swiss, the crisp lettuce. Spit the half-chewed mass onto your tray. Stand up. Walk out of the deli.
*
Scream as the ligaments in your legs loosen and slide into new positions. Collapse under your own weight. Scream, always scream. Never stop screaming. Regain consciousness, still screaming. Rock back and forth on the mattress. Call to mind a time you weren't in constant agony. Remember when you were simply dying, and how easy that was.
*
Wipe away tears. See the stain of blood on your fingers. Run towards the mirror. Stop before you get there. Weep. Leave your hands bloody.
*
Scream with your ruined voice. Demand that he let you go. Look in the mirror. Whisper Katie's name. Watch as blood flows from your nostrils. Allow it to run down your face, over your lips, onto your chest, over your scar and your heart - the heart - his heart.
*
Panic. Hyperventilate. Shriek. Watch your tears fall from his eyes. Damn him. Curse him. Put your fist through the mirror.
*
Scream until you spit blood. Think of your mother. Keep silent.
Run through the woods until your muscles burn nearly as much as your insides. Think of your father. Hold yourself perfectly motionless.
Punch the walls until your knuckles are split, bloody, cracked. Think of Katie. Wrap your arms around yourself and remember.
Cry until you nearly choke on the snot and tears. Think of Luke. Tear fistfuls of hair from your scalp. Think of Luke. Try to breathe past the pain. Think of Luke.
Think of Luke.
*
Say your name. Say your names. Say his name. Admit defeat. Accept your loss.
Believe he will use this life well. Surrender. Surrender.
Surrender.
fandom: ATWT
characters/pairings: Chris POV; mentions of Chris/Katie and Luke/Reid
rating: teen
disclaimer: so very much not mine; no harm, no profit
author notes: angst; dark themes; not a stand-alone fic (see notes below)
This would not exist were it not for two very different stories. rhiannonhero's amazing novella Raise Up, Heart was the inspiration for and, in very large measure, the substance of this story. NOTE: This is most definitely a companion to Raise Up, Heart, NOT a stand-alone story - it makes no sense outside of that world.
The style is cribbed from That He Will, a beautiful J2 RPS story by standing-fic. The original challenge that author responded to was “to write a story in the second person where every sentence is a command.” Her submission is far more eloquent than mine.
the never-ending pain of forced becoming
Come back to awareness through a fog of anesthesia. Look over your prone body at the pale green walls, the peripheral IV in your hand, the vent tube that rests across your chest. Send up thanks to God, the skill of your surgical team, modern medical technology, and Reid Oliver because you. are. alive. Picture the life that stretches out in front of you, Katie, and Jacob. Imagine the children you and Katie will have together. Tap your finger in tempo with the strong, steady beat of your new heart.
*
Begin - cautiously, joyously - to live your life again. Put too much mustard on your sandwiches. Plot out complex strategies for a game you've never before played. Realize you are losing longer and longer stretches of your days. Ignore these first few small changes. Tell yourself they aren't really happening, that they cannot be happening. Know without a doubt that they are happening.
Fear for your sanity. Teach yourself to ignore the anguished and desperate screams only you can hear. Refuse to dwell on the macabre explanation that your mind provides you.
Wrack your brain for a logical explanation. Fail to find one.
*
Find a blank sheet of paper. Hate yourself for what this will do to Katie. Write a note. Tear it up. Try again. Manage to scrawl some words that explain nothing to no one. Throw some things in a duffel bag. Abandon a life that no longer belongs only to you.
*
Take a car. Leave Oakdale behind. Catch your breath at the sudden, startling pain in your chest. Keep driving. Cross the county line. Fail to keep the screams trapped inside any longer. Keep driving. Stifle your screams with the heel of your hand. Keep driving. Head towards the state line. Waver on the edge of consciousness. Stop driving. Pull off the road. Cradle your head in your hands. Turn the car around.
*
Scout out the cabin. Satisfy yourself it remains abandoned. Grit your teeth against the gnawing pain in your guts. Carry in the few things you brought with you. Tack a photo of Katie to the wall at the head of the mattress. Quash all thoughts of the homes you once had.
*
Find a fishhook in a drawer. Place the barb high on the flesh of your chest. Apply pressure. Break the skin. Ignore the sweat stinging your eyes. Twist the hook back out through the skin. Pull. Pull harder. Tear the skin. Revel in the sensation of a pain outside of your body.
*
Find some old composition notebooks that were left here, shoved back on a shelf. Document as much as you can of this illogical metamorphosis. Wonder if you can possibly survive this process. Wonder if what survives will be you.
*
Stare into the mirror. Touch your face with gentle fingers. Pull the skin taut. Run your fingers over your nose, cheeks, chin. Examine the dilation of your pupils, the muddied colors of your eyes. Take off your clothes. Look over your body. Trace the outline of the scar on your chest. Palpate the muscles in your biceps, thighs, calves, abdomen. Try to make sense of the impossibility that is you. Trace the outline of the scar. Sink to the floor and tremble uncontrollably.
*
Dream of Katie, naked and beautiful. Wake up hard. Spit into your palm. Wrap your hand around your cock. Stroke yourself. Pump your hips. Twist on the upstroke. Run a thumb over the head. Stroke faster. Reach down and cup your balls. Balance on the precipice of orgasm. Breathe harder. Think of Katie. Whisper Luke's name. Jerk your hands away. Come without even a touch. Bite down on your lip to stay silent. Clean yourself up. Forget.
*
Choose a way to end this insanity. Roll up a wad of the cash you took with you. Head for Chicago. Make cautious inquiries. Buy a handgun off a filthy man on a filthier street. Return to the cabin. Sit on the bed. Feel the heft of the gun in your bare hands. Slot bullets like promises into the chamber. Rub your index finger along the smooth, cool metal of the barrel. Disengage the safety. Nestle the barrel against the underside of your chin.
Open your eyes.
See the floor right next to your face. Reach for the gun that isn't there. Ransack the cabin. Search everywhere, inside and out. Do not find it. Realize you will never find it. Know that this is his doing. Fall back onto the mattress. Turn toward the picture of Katie. See nothing but an empty tack shoved into the wall.
*
Drag a notebook close enough to write in. Use your teeth to uncap a pen. Flip through pages to find the place where you left off. See handwriting that isn't yours and words you have no memory of writing. Sweep everything to the floor.
*
Remove all the food from the cupboards. Drop the canned goods at a homeless shelter two towns over. Lock yourself in the cabin. Let everything that is perishable rot. Work on your journals. Distract yourself. Refuse to think of food.
Open your eyes.
Feel the crusty whole grain roll in your hands. Smell the tang of yellow mustard. Taste the smoked ham, the baby Swiss, the crisp lettuce. Spit the half-chewed mass onto your tray. Stand up. Walk out of the deli.
*
Scream as the ligaments in your legs loosen and slide into new positions. Collapse under your own weight. Scream, always scream. Never stop screaming. Regain consciousness, still screaming. Rock back and forth on the mattress. Call to mind a time you weren't in constant agony. Remember when you were simply dying, and how easy that was.
*
Wipe away tears. See the stain of blood on your fingers. Run towards the mirror. Stop before you get there. Weep. Leave your hands bloody.
*
Scream with your ruined voice. Demand that he let you go. Look in the mirror. Whisper Katie's name. Watch as blood flows from your nostrils. Allow it to run down your face, over your lips, onto your chest, over your scar and your heart - the heart - his heart.
*
Panic. Hyperventilate. Shriek. Watch your tears fall from his eyes. Damn him. Curse him. Put your fist through the mirror.
*
Scream until you spit blood. Think of your mother. Keep silent.
Run through the woods until your muscles burn nearly as much as your insides. Think of your father. Hold yourself perfectly motionless.
Punch the walls until your knuckles are split, bloody, cracked. Think of Katie. Wrap your arms around yourself and remember.
Cry until you nearly choke on the snot and tears. Think of Luke. Tear fistfuls of hair from your scalp. Think of Luke. Try to breathe past the pain. Think of Luke.
Think of Luke.
*
Say your name. Say your names. Say his name. Admit defeat. Accept your loss.
Believe he will use this life well. Surrender. Surrender.
Surrender.