[narrative] calm these hands before they snare another pill and
Todd's room is not a shrine; it's penitence. He chooses that word after a long deliberation and carefully safety-pinning his curtains shut. He hasn't let anyone inside of his room for days, and it's the first time he's used the lock.
He says it's his creative space.
The words that spill off the paper aren't punishment now, they're hallejuahs and praise and promise and his unending devotion to Art. Joy is every muscle cramp, every time his head spins with hunger and his throat crackles with thirst; this is healing and redemption and touching all those things he's always believed in.
*
Sometimes he forgets where he is. He doesn't notice so much anymore.
*
On the fourth day, when the new voice strikes up quiet conversation, he's actually kind of interested in hearing what it has to say.
She. What she has to say.
hi, Todd
my name is Um. I think we can be friends. Do you want to be friends?
"Yeah. I kind of need friends. Everybody says so, Claire, my mom-"
Yay! And I know them, Todd. Of course I know them. You love them very much, and I love them very much too.
He smiles, hesitantly, and rubs at the ink on his face. "They're really nice."
Yes they are! And Todd, I think we should do something nice for them, don't you?
"That's a really good idea...you're really nice, Um."
Aw, thank you. Now, here's my idea...
Todd listens very carefully, with a small, odd smile.
*
YOU CAN'T DO THIS GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT ohhhhhhh fuck no I'll fucking ki-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-
You didn't really think there wouldn't be consequences, did you, Shmee?
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-
Shhhhhh. Todd will hear you.
Nnghk
Much better Now, I wonder what happens if I do this instead...oh, my goodness, that looks painful!
Good. Let's do it again.