Chapter Text
Blearily Stolas looked at the canopy of his bed. Another day. What was the point of even getting up?
Stella would inevitably insult him and somehow still make him feel even worse. The one goal he had had for this marriage failed. Octavia would hardly look at him anymore and when she did it was always with a glare. Now he was left wondering if he shouldn’t have protected her from the truth. Would it have been better if she knew they were never a family in more than blood? Or was it better that she had a normal childhood even if it was a lie?
An answer was unlikely to come anytime soon.
Groaning he sat up, his quilt pooling on his lap.
The Prince thought that Blitz knew he loved him, had loved him for a very long time. That Blitz thought the only thing he wanted, needed from him was sex. It made fresh tears burn behind his eyes and a desire to curl into a ball hidden on some far-off planet.
Was he incapable of love? Had Stella broken him? Had he always been broken? He thought back to his childhood. He had always been “too innocent, too excitable, too happy”.
Dragging his hands down his face he sighed before throwing back the covers.
Slouching the owl made his way to the bathroom. Avoiding his reflection in the mirror, he swiped the bottle of happy pills, throwing a few back, and began filling the bathtub.
The water was scalding hot but the burn felt good, right. Sinking down until his chin touched the water and his face was obscured by the bubbles.
His life was a mess. And after Ozzie’s it felt like the barely stable pieces were falling apart.
Reviving a bit from wallowing in his failures, he Conjured a picture of Blitz in one of the bubbles. His lover was asleep on his couch, dried tear tracks running down his cheeks. Frowning, he popped the bubble. The imp was always so strong, the fact that he had broken Blitz enough that he felt the need to cry, caused something ugly to rise inside of himself. That he needed to pay for the damages he had caused. Thinking about the enjoyment he got from the burns, he slowly sunk to the bottom of the tub.
Tears started to involuntarily emerge and his lungs spasmed. By force of will, he rejected the instinct to draw in a breath. Dark spots were appearing in the corners of his eyes. He waited a few seconds more before sliding up.
He gasped and coughed raucously then layed bonelessly against the edge of the tube exhausted.
Surprisingly, he got the same jolt of happiness. Or rather it wasn’t happiness, it was relief. The absence of feeling. The pain, fear, and adrenaline distracted him from his thoughts.
As he went about his day, whenever thoughts of how miserable his life was started creeping in he would hurt himself. Each time bringing that same momentary relief with it.
This became a ritual. Every morning he would almost drown himself. While doing paperwork he would occasionally stab his forearm with his quill. During Stella’s parties he would stand with his arms crossed, talons digging into his arms.
Until it wasn’t enough. The pain became normal. So he escalated, instead of stabbing with a quill, he used a spell to break his arm. Leaving it broken until he heard someone out in the corridor and hurriedly mended it.
Until Stella and Octavia moved out.
The servants wouldn’t say anything.
His life wasn’t getting any better. Alone in his giant house, the silence was suffocating. He wanted to do anything to get out of there but Blitz never answered his calls. The imp probably didn’t want to see him. And he didn’t want to be hounded by the press. So he stayed in his house, talking to no one but his plants.
Staring at his reflection in the mirror, he wondered just when the outside started to resemble the inside. There were bald patches all over him, and the feathers left were splintered and broken. The owl hadn’t been bothering to preen for- a while. Dark circles stood stark under glassy eyes.
It was a pitiful sight.
Maybe a bath would bring him comfort. It had always worked before.
Groaning he sunk into the blistering hot water. Sadly he conjured a picture of Blitzy. He had his arms around his two little employees, a bright grin stretched across his whole face. He beckoned, and Stolas thought for a moment that he was talking to him but he remembered that he couldn’t see him, and Loona walked into the picture clearly reluctant to join in the group hug.
A sob broke out of him and he popped the bubble unable to bear looking at Blitz so very happy.
His life was fine without him in it. Blitz didn’t need him. No one needed him. Certainly not Octavia, that was clear from the last thing she said while leaving. That he had ruined their family and now he could wallow in his misery in an empty house reminding him of his failure.
His eyes fell on the bottle of happy pills. An idea began to form in his mind that beckoned like a siren's call.
He got up and walked over to the counter. Dumping the contents of the bottle into his palm, a grand total of about 20 came out. That should be enough.
What irony that he would die from happy pills. He gave a sad hooting laugh.
Then threw back the pills. He sighed and looked briefly into the mirror once more before climbing back into the tub.
Relaxing against the back, he stared up at the ceiling memories swirling through his vision.
He was very tired.
The time between blinks was decreasing.
Before they stopped altogether.