Chapter Text
He closes the door to the IPC issued taxi, looking up at the marble luxury house. It was a modern beauty, one he could care less about. In truth, he hated it, abhorred it even; he would take a box on the side of the street over this. Nonetheless, it was home. He walked up the steps with a flowing grace, ever flashy, ever perfect, even when the door was closed. A sigh slips from his lips as he leaves the doorway. He rests on his couch, feeling the sun from the floor to ceiling windows heating his olive skin. He leans his head against the back of the couch, covering his eyes with his hand. The pain from his wound floods through his whole side, burning him from the inside out. He could feel the exhaustion ebbing from his bones, a tired so deep set it will never fully fade. Ignoring the pain, he pushes himself up, heading to the kitchen for… he didn’t know. His fridge was empty and he just had water on the way here. Perhaps it was just to move. Sitting in a bed for 4 months straight, only getting the occasional walk down the hall, was possibly the most boring endeavor he’s ever experienced; like hell he was gonna continue sitting. He lets out a heavy sigh, turning around in place. Maybe a shower will help set his mind straight. With unsteady steps, he makes his way up to his bedroom. A shine catches his eye, forcing him to gaze upon the woven turquoise necklace; hand-crafted by his mother, bathed in the blood of his sister. He felt his throat sweal, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. A myriad of emotions flow through him, choking him. He hastily grabs his satin pajamas, throwing them on the counter as he starts the shower. He forces his mind to quiet as he wipes off his makeup and strips off his clothes. He was too tired for this shit.
Resting his head against the cold tile wall, he let the hot water run over his back. The stinging of the water drumming on his skin helps drown out the pain in his side and head. He really didn’t need more reminders of that day, having relived it in his memories for the past 4 months. “I’ve seen that same necklace for years, why now?” He questions himself, banging his head against the marble tile. He let his knees fold, collapsing to the shower floor. It was sunny, he shouldn’t be falling apart, especially in his shower of all places. He leans back against the wall, pulling his legs out from under him and curling into a ball. His wound throbs every time he moves, but Aventurine doesn’t acknowledge it.
His normal 5 minute shower turns to 25 minutes of stinging tears and throbbing pain. Standing in the mirror, a young boy with medium length, honey blond hair stares back at him. He wears tattered white clothes, burned and so dirty they look gray, making the red burn of a serial number stand out. He’s covered head to toe in bruises, cuts, and burns, blood dripping down his collar bone and down his chest. The boy cocks his head, smiling at Aventurine with a knowing, mischievous look in his eyes. Aventurine cannot help but to stare back, the number on his neck burning as if fresh. With a breath, Aventurine forces the same smile on his lips. He couldn’t falter, couldn’t let the world know his pain, couldn’t let himself know. Without so much as a thought, he gets dressed and leaves the boy behind in the mirror, his magenta and cyan eyes tracking Aventurine as he leaves. In every reflection, the boy follows; mirrors, windows, the glint of sun on the desk, even the turquoise necklace hung above the mantle of his fireplace. The boy’s smile never fades as he tracks Aventurine around the room. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand. He needed a distraction, something to get his mind off this… Boy. Huffing a sigh, he fixes his appearance before walking back to the kitchen.
Aventurine was never much of a drinker, but his guests were. He himself never fancied the taste; always too bitter, sour, or just down right unpleasant. Yet, here he stands right next to the liquor cabinet with an empty glass. Don’t drink any alcohol, Gambler. Those words swim in his head. He knew he shouldn’t, it would kill him. But so would all the other stupid things he does. As tempting as it was, he is on medication and alcohol and pain meds do not mix. With a sigh, he settles for a simple glass of water. The face of a little boy, around 8 years old, shows in the water's reflection. The glass drops to the floor with a loud thud, shattering. Aventurine jumps back, all hair standing on end. His breathing catches in his throat along with his heart. The taste of bile seeps into his mouth making him gag. “Fuck!” He yells in a whisper, stepping back from the broken glass. It was like he was being strangled. “He’s… he’s not here. I killed him.” Aventurine reminds himself, running a hand through his damp hair, tugging at the roots till a sting of pain shoots through his scalp. Tears sting his eyes, threatening to spill. The golden light of the setting sun gleams on the shards of glass. Right, the windows. The whole world had a view into his home, into him. He takes a deep breath in through his nose, breathing out through his mouth. Calmly, he cleans up the shattered glass and dumps it in the trash, getting another glass of water.
His head spins as he walks to his couch. The setting sun paints the marble tiles in burning amber, bathing the room in fire light. That was one good thing about this house; the beautiful sunsets. Sunsets, oh how he loved them; the red ocher, the burnt orange, the amber- and oh how he loved the way they mixed into a vibrent, fiery display of elegance. One he knew well from the eyes of a certain doctor.