[ASPrompts]
"The mind is its own place, and in itself, can make heaven of hell, and a hell of heaven." - John Milton
Your hands are brutal tonight. There's none of that underlying tenderness, that unspoken care you've always had for me. This is torture, pure and simple, and even your eyes shine bright with malice.
I try and fight you, actions born of panic. This isn't you, not the you I've grown to know over these last few weeks. This is the you of old, the one that called himself Zane Taylor to get into my affections, then strung me out to dry on my own ceiling. This is the you that feeds on pain, fear, suffering, who doesn't understand what it means to love, to show mercy.
What have these weeks meant to you, then? It's all I can think about when it becomes apparent that my struggles won't stop you. You've always been stronger, after all. You have powers I can't even begin to imagine possessing. So I lose myself to my thoughts as you slam me against the wall, again and again, trying to block out the pain, both physical and emotional.
Has something within you flipped? Snapped? Broken? Has Peter pushed you over the edge, like you worried about just the other night? Or were you always this way, playing me for a fool yet again with your sugar sweet caresses and coy glances. Have I been the idiot, letting myself open up yet again to you? Was this always your plan, to make me fall then make me pay? I wish I could have the answer, but I doubt I ever will.
You're stalking closer, that look in your eyes sending me straight back to the day in my apartment when you stopped the curare from flowing. You're going to kill me, I can see the truth of that in your eyes. You're going to kill me, and you're going to do it in your own time. You're going to make me suffer first.
Your hands are on my hips now, fingers digging in so hard I can feel the bruises already swelling. That wicked grin distorts your features into something completely inhuman, and I wonder how on earth I could have fallen in love with that same face. Now I see it without the mask, see your soulless façade, and I hate it. I hate you. My heaven in this Godforsaken world, turned into a living hell.
"Mohinder." You roll my name around your tongue, eyes sparkling at the taste of it. It's taunting, a threat of what's still to come, and I cower at the thoughts that begin to play in my head. Thoughts you're placing in my head, visuals playing in front of my eyes.
Oh, Matt, I'm sorry.
"Mohinder. Mohinder." You keep saying it. I hate how my name sounds on your lips, now. How you used to make me tremble in want with the same sounds... you really are the skilled deceiver, aren't you? I'd spit in your face, if you weren't telekinetically holding me in place.
I scream, when the first cut comes, my shirt quickly becoming sodden with my own blood as your mind tears at my abdomen. I scream and scream, my terror stronger than your abilities to hold me, scream to block out your mantra of my own name, hating hearing it sound so dirty.
"Mohinder!" Your voice is louder than my screaming, louder than the pain, your face so close to mine I can't breathe. Eyes boring through mine and into my very soul, alight with... concern?
I'm on my back, soft bedding around me. My chest, my stomach, feel completely intact... in fact, the only pain I feel is in my throat, hoarse from panic-driven screaming. And those eyes aren't a killer's at all, they're soft, scared and concerned.
"Mohinder. You... you're alright. You were dreaming."
You pull me into your arms, hold my body, damp from perspiration, close to you. You make me feel safe, I remember that now. You would never hurt me... would you?
"I... I can't," I stammer, unable to voice my turmoil coherently, instead just pushing your warmth and security away and getting out of bed, standing on shaky legs. "I... I have to go home now. I can't stay."
I don't look at you long enough to see whether I've hurt you. I couldn't stand to see you hurt. But I can't stand to be here either, right now. I can't be around you, with the nightmare so fresh in my mind. I will only doubt your motives, wonder whether you're conning me like you did when you called yourself Zane.
And as I walk out the door, I curse myself, my mind, for turning my heaven against me. The one thing I had, the one consistent source of happiness in this rotten existence, and now I don't know whether I can even trust that. Just as surely as in my dream, my heaven has become my hellish insecurity.
[Sylar is heroslayer and used here without permission on the grounds that he says about 4 words, and if I can't get those IC? I should give up RPing right now.]
Your hands are brutal tonight. There's none of that underlying tenderness, that unspoken care you've always had for me. This is torture, pure and simple, and even your eyes shine bright with malice.
I try and fight you, actions born of panic. This isn't you, not the you I've grown to know over these last few weeks. This is the you of old, the one that called himself Zane Taylor to get into my affections, then strung me out to dry on my own ceiling. This is the you that feeds on pain, fear, suffering, who doesn't understand what it means to love, to show mercy.
What have these weeks meant to you, then? It's all I can think about when it becomes apparent that my struggles won't stop you. You've always been stronger, after all. You have powers I can't even begin to imagine possessing. So I lose myself to my thoughts as you slam me against the wall, again and again, trying to block out the pain, both physical and emotional.
Has something within you flipped? Snapped? Broken? Has Peter pushed you over the edge, like you worried about just the other night? Or were you always this way, playing me for a fool yet again with your sugar sweet caresses and coy glances. Have I been the idiot, letting myself open up yet again to you? Was this always your plan, to make me fall then make me pay? I wish I could have the answer, but I doubt I ever will.
You're stalking closer, that look in your eyes sending me straight back to the day in my apartment when you stopped the curare from flowing. You're going to kill me, I can see the truth of that in your eyes. You're going to kill me, and you're going to do it in your own time. You're going to make me suffer first.
Your hands are on my hips now, fingers digging in so hard I can feel the bruises already swelling. That wicked grin distorts your features into something completely inhuman, and I wonder how on earth I could have fallen in love with that same face. Now I see it without the mask, see your soulless façade, and I hate it. I hate you. My heaven in this Godforsaken world, turned into a living hell.
"Mohinder." You roll my name around your tongue, eyes sparkling at the taste of it. It's taunting, a threat of what's still to come, and I cower at the thoughts that begin to play in my head. Thoughts you're placing in my head, visuals playing in front of my eyes.
Oh, Matt, I'm sorry.
"Mohinder. Mohinder." You keep saying it. I hate how my name sounds on your lips, now. How you used to make me tremble in want with the same sounds... you really are the skilled deceiver, aren't you? I'd spit in your face, if you weren't telekinetically holding me in place.
I scream, when the first cut comes, my shirt quickly becoming sodden with my own blood as your mind tears at my abdomen. I scream and scream, my terror stronger than your abilities to hold me, scream to block out your mantra of my own name, hating hearing it sound so dirty.
"Mohinder!" Your voice is louder than my screaming, louder than the pain, your face so close to mine I can't breathe. Eyes boring through mine and into my very soul, alight with... concern?
I'm on my back, soft bedding around me. My chest, my stomach, feel completely intact... in fact, the only pain I feel is in my throat, hoarse from panic-driven screaming. And those eyes aren't a killer's at all, they're soft, scared and concerned.
"Mohinder. You... you're alright. You were dreaming."
You pull me into your arms, hold my body, damp from perspiration, close to you. You make me feel safe, I remember that now. You would never hurt me... would you?
"I... I can't," I stammer, unable to voice my turmoil coherently, instead just pushing your warmth and security away and getting out of bed, standing on shaky legs. "I... I have to go home now. I can't stay."
I don't look at you long enough to see whether I've hurt you. I couldn't stand to see you hurt. But I can't stand to be here either, right now. I can't be around you, with the nightmare so fresh in my mind. I will only doubt your motives, wonder whether you're conning me like you did when you called yourself Zane.
And as I walk out the door, I curse myself, my mind, for turning my heaven against me. The one thing I had, the one consistent source of happiness in this rotten existence, and now I don't know whether I can even trust that. Just as surely as in my dream, my heaven has become my hellish insecurity.
[Sylar is heroslayer and used here without permission on the grounds that he says about 4 words, and if I can't get those IC? I should give up RPing right now.]