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Charles
I hold onto the edge of my seat as the drive down the uneven path jostles the truck. The military men are as sturdy and unfazed as ever, sitting in perfect rows on either side of Erik and I.
“Is Shaw still there?” Erik asks me.
I focus in on my powers. Far away in a Russian building, Shaw’s presence still whispers in my mind. I come out of my telepathy and nod at Erik. “Yes. For now.”
“Good.”
Someone knocks a few times on the wall behind us. I open the flap and Erik and I lean in toward Levene and Moira.
Levene glances back at us. “We got a problem.”
I narrow my eyes. “What?”
“I’m so sorry,” Moira sympathizes. “This wasn’t on the map.”
I duck down and squint to see in-between them.
Up ahead, coming up fast, is a gate flanked by Russian military men, one of them holding a dog on a–
A dog. A big dog.
My entire body runs cold and my mouth goes painfully dry. Shit. That’s not good.
I’ve avoided all kinds of dogs for the past twelve years because ever since that traumatic day as a ten-year-old, I can’t even pass by one on the streets without feeling short of breath.
Shit. DAMN IT.
I don’t have much time to sit in my steadily-growing terror before Levene is easing the truck to a stop.
I address him and Moira. “No matter what happens, act normally. I’ll take care of this, all right?” I turn around and address the rest of the truck. “Now, listen to me. When they open up the back, I’m going to alter what they see and project into their minds an empty truck. They won’t see anything back here, so you’ve no need to panic.”
No need to panic. What an odd choice of words given that my heart is writhing in my chest and my hands are already starting to tingle. And the uncontrollable shaking has already started too. SHIT.
I hear the muffled sounds of Levene talking with one of the guards outside. Sniffing and scratching noises waver just outside the door, claws on wood, teeth pressed against loose lips, and I try and sneak in a deep breath or two, what I’ve taught myself to do whenever I’m in the presence of a dog I can’t escape.
The military men in the truck with me don’t notice how badly my exhale shakes, but Erik does.
He lightly touches my arm and I give him a sidelong glance. Even in the afternoon shadows of the truck, I can see the glint of concern in his eyes. “You all right?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure? Because you look– .”
Footsteps crunch just outside the door. All of my muscles clench up. The latch on the door shifts to one side, I place two fingertips on my temple, the door opens and…
Levene and the Russian military officer stand there, staring towards us with blank expressions.
I maintain the picture of a vacant truck in their minds, focusing as hard as I can on selling the image despite the fact that my heart is hammering out of my chest. I know that there’s a giant dog just outside the truck and I can’t see where it is in relation to me and it’s almost making it worse.
Levene and the military personnel mutter to each other in Russian, then Levene reaches for the doors.
Yes, shut the doors. Please, please, please shut the doors.
A round of deep barks interrupts him, sounding way too close, and I flinch backward into the wall. The barking increases in volume, a black shape bobs around by Levene’s waist– a tail, ears, a head– and my anxiety doesn’t even have time to gradually rise before a giant German Shepherd clambers into the truck WITH US.
I recoil into the back wall with a gasp, clutching at the edge of my seat. I manage to keep my fingers at my temple, keeping up the illusion in the guards’ heads.
The German Shepherd pulls against its leash, showing its teeth and barking and snarling AT ME. The white of its teeth glimmers in the shadows, its beady eyes gleaming with a stray malice, the saliva flying from its jaws as it barks over and over and over again, and now all I can see in my mind’s eye is blood on those teeth, my blood– A terrifying shadow in the shape of a German Shepherd, burning in the afternoon sun, the claws scratching at my bare legs, its jaws locked tight around my side, the rows and rows of teeth stabbing into my flesh, the memory doesn’t stop, and I see flashes of reality, of me in the truck with the military men staring at me, then the trauma grabs ahold of my mind again, sending me into a visceral reliving of one of the worst days of my life.
The barking fades away, the enclosed shadow of the truck returns, the doors snap shut. I drop my hand immediately and hide my face in my hands, struggling desperately to get a handle on my breathing. I’m hyperventilating to the point of being lightheaded, and I can feel the eyes of every single person in the truck on me. But I can also feel the burning, throbbing phantom pain of the dog’s jagged teeth in my side–
“Charles? Are you okay?” Erik’s hand brushes against my side, the same side that–
I violently flinch away, curling into myself. “Don’t-don’t touch me!” I cry, sobs building in my throat. Blood roars in my ears like waves crashing against a shore, drowning out Erik’s voice. My side throbs, further intensifying the flashbacks, and I double over, gripping the sides of my head. Every beat of my heart is a punch to my throat, the blood rushing through my jugular veins and drumming painfully against my skin: Thump, thump, thump, thump. I try to inhale and exhale in time with my heartbeat, but then the memory of dog’s ferocious bark echos in my head and I lose control all over again– I can’t breathe, I fucking breathe– It was a dog, it literally was just a DOG, and I can tell myself that, then my anxiety and panic take control again: Yes, it was JUST a dog, but a dog who’s teeth and terrifying snarl reminds me of being torn and ripped apart when I was ten fucking years old.
A chasm opens up in the back of my mind, a yawning darkness that creeps closer with every second that passes, and with how my senses are growing more and more muffled, I can tell I’m about to pass out.
“Erik…” I wheeze, trusting that he’s listening. “I’m gonna pass out…”
“What? What’s…?”
My hearing fades out, and my other senses are next. “I’m not hurt, I promise, just…wait for me…”
I don’t hear Erik’s response. My balance fails me, my body weight pulls me down, and I fall forward, the darkness swallowing me up before I hit the ground.
Erik
“Charles? Are you okay?” I reach forward to comfort him and lightly touch him.
Charles flinches with a shuddering gasp. “Don’t-don’t touch me!”
I recoil at once, my confusion morphing to deep-rooted concern as I watch him double over.
He hunches over, as if protecting himself from threats, and his hyperventilating is broken up by sobs that are getting increasingly more frantic. Both of his hands are clutching the sides of his head.
A helpless feeling settles in my gut. I’ve never seen him like this before– what the hell happened? He was fine a minute ago… And he clearly doesn’t want to be touched right now, I made it worse by touching him, so what the hell am I supposed to do?
“Erik…” he mumbles, muffled by his arms folded around his head. “I’m gonna pass out…”
A cold stab of pain crunches my stomach up in knots. “What? What’s wrong? What– ?”
“I’m not hurt, I promise, just…wait for me…”
He’s not– what? He’s not making any sense, how the hell am I supposed to react to this?
I don’t have time to ponder the answer to that question. Charles’ body tips forward and tumbles out of the seat. I lunge forward with his name on my lips and catch him. His weight brings me to my knees, but I’m able to break his fall. I turn him over in my arms and he is completely limp, his face frozen in an expression of pain. Tear stains dry on his flushed cheeks.
Someone knocks on the window to the front of the truck.
I reach for the window hatch and flip it up.
Moira squints into the truck trailer. “What was that noise? You guys okay back there?”
“Are we out of sight of the guards yet?” I ask, fighting to keep my voice from trembling.
“Uh…” Moira ducks out of sight for a moment, then pops back into the window frame. “No, not yet. Why?”
“Charles just passed out.”
Moira’s face falls. “What?” She cranes her neck to look further into the trailer and sees Charles motionless in my arms. “What the hell happened?”
“I don’t know– He was freaking out a second ago, and then he blacked out. I have no idea what happened.”
Moira whispers something to Levene. She turns back to me. “When we’re farther down the road, we’ll pull over.”
I nod, close the hatch, and turn back to face Charles. The other military personnel surrounding me shift around, muttering to each other. I can’t focus on them right now. Charles may have said he wasn’t hurt, but my anxiety still flies out of control when it comes to him and his safety. And it makes it so much worse that I don’t even know what the fuck happened.
After a few minutes, the gravel and dirt crunches under the tires and the truck slows to a bumpy stop. The truck shakes a bit as it’s put in park and a few seconds of tense silence ensue as I wait for the doors to be opened.
The latches whine and the doors fly open. Moira clambers into the truck while Levene waits outside as a lookout.
She drops to her knees by his side. “Oh, Jesus… So you don’t know what happened?”
“No. When the inspection started, he seemed a bit nervous, but it got worse when the dog jumped in. Then he had a panic attack or something and passed out, I don’t know.”
“Okay, let’s get him out of the truck and give him some fresh air.”
With Moira helping, we successfully transport Charles out of the truck and lay him out on the grass. He doesn’t seem to be in pain or anything, so that’s a plus, but my heart is still trying to claw up out of my ribcage and into my throat.
Moira holds two fingers to his jugular vein. “His heart’s beating really fast. Shit.” She shuffles through her pocket. “You got him for a moment, Erik?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks.” Moira steps away to talk to Levene. They whisper in hushed voices, probably trying to figure out a course of action.
Charles said he wasn’t hurt and I trust him. Maybe. He knows himself better than I do, and for all I know, he could’ve just gotten too hot or something. I ease back onto my heels and take off my hat, running my hands anxiously through my hair. Fucking hell, now I’m finding it hard to breathe. Worrying over Charles is gonna give me a panic attack.
I glance over toward Moira and Levene. They’re still talking. Moira’s furrowed brow and Levene’s pinched frown pave a pathway into the weight of their conversation. I hear the words hospital and medical attention and chills spider along my arms. Shaw’s in that Soviet official’s house. This could be our one time to catch him, we might not get this chance again. And Charles said he wasn’t hurt, so…what does that mean for the mission?
I raise my voice to be heard over the din of the forest. “Charles said he wasn’t hurt.”
Moira and Levene cut their conversation short.
“What? What do you mean?” Moira questions.
“Before he passed out, he warned me. He said that he wasn’t hurt and to wait for him.”
Levene and Moira exchange a glance, and her partner shrugs. “So we just wait? Do what he says?”
“I trust Charles,” I put my hat back on. “He knows himself better than any of us.”
Moira sighs, massaging the back of her neck. “I hope so.”
We wait. One minute turns into two, which turns into five, which turns into ten. By that point, I’m seriously considering saying fuck it and figuring out an extraction plan to get him to the hospital, because no naturally-occurring fainting spell lasts this long.
I’m in the middle of breaking down the steps in getting Charles to the hospital when the person in question stirs. His face screws up in discomfort and he groans.
“Charles?” I lean over him, smoothing back his hair from his forehead. “Charles, hey. Wake up. It’s me.”
“Erik…?” Charles’ eyes flutter open. He blinks a few times at the forest canopy before shifting his attention to me. “Oh, hey.”
I mask my concern with a smile. “Hey. Welcome back.”
Moira runs to my side and sees Charles awake. “Oh, thank God. Charles, are you okay?”
“Mmhmm.” He lifts his head off the ground, his face trapped in a wince.
I help him sit up, keeping an intense eye on him as he reorients himself.
Moira withdraws to go have another word with Levene, and I keep all my attention on Charles.
I can’t help but ask again: “Are you okay?”
“I will be. How long was I out?”
“Maybe…fifteen minutes.”
He snaps his head up. “What?” He props himself up with one arm and places two fingers to his temple. After a moment, his face contorts into a guilty frown. “Shaw’s gone. He left the building.”
A rock falls into my stomach. “He… What? He’s gone?”
Charles nods. “Emma’s still there though. We still have a chance.”
“Okay, then we can get her.” I look Charles up and down. “Can you stand?”
“I think so.”
I get up, give him my hand, and hoist him to his feet.
He lurches to the side and staggers, and I’m quick to grab him so he doesn’t falls again.
“Whoa. Steady. Don’t fall.”
Charles grips my arm like a lifeline, his fingers curled around my forearm. His eyes are screwed shut and he grimaces. “Sorry, I…stood up too fast.” After a moment, he pries his fingers away from my arm. “All right, I’m okay.”
“You’re okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want you falling over. Again.”
“Erik, I’m fine.” He steps toward the truck–
“What, you’re just leaving us with nothing? You fucking pass out in the middle of a covert mission and you expect us to– ?”
“Will you STOP pestering me please? God, I can’t…!” He trails off with a shaky exhale, bringing a hand up to massage his forehead. “Sorry. I’m-I’m sorry, I…shouldn’t have snapped. It’s just…” He glances quickly at me to assess my reaction. “I’ll explain later, I promise. Just…don’t-don’t ask questions right now, please,” he whimpers, sounding like he’s moments away from bursting into tears, and that worries me much more than anything he’d said.
Regardless, I respect his wishes and nod. “Okay, I’ll hold you to that.”
“Please do.”
Great, now I’m even more concerned. What the hell does that mean? Is there something he hasn’t told me?
Probably.
Charles
Despite the bone-deep exhaustion in my muscles from my earlier panic attack, the mission goes well. We find Emma, question her, and bring her to the nearest CIA base. I get so swept up in completing the mission that I almost forget about what happened. Almost. Erik’s worried stare searing a hole into the back of my head keeps that memory stuck at the front of my mind.
Once we finally get back to the hotel room, we settle in for the night and I head into the bathroom to do my nightly routine. Which, for tonight, simply means avoid talking about my problems and also try not to break down crying in the bathroom because that was the most embarrassing, humiliating thing to ever fucking happen to me. And especially in front of Erik.
I manage to suck in the tears and perform all of my nightly hygiene tasks in the span of ten minutes. When I come out of the bathroom, Erik is standing there with a towel and a shower caddy. We wordlessly exchange places in the bathroom and I get comfy in my bed with a book as Erik takes a shower.
Except I can’t. My entire body is achy to the point of throbbing, probably due to the intensity of my earlier panic attack, and I can’t sit in one place for more than five or six minutes before I end up needing to change my position.
This goes on for maybe fifteen, twenty minutes.
The shower water turns off. I hear Erik messing around in the bathroom, getting dressed, brushing his teeth, going about his evening like normal. I peek into his mind ever so slightly, and his head is stuffed full of questions regarding my earlier mental breakdown. His concern floods sharply through me even with the tiniest glimpse into his thoughts. I hop out of his mind immediately. Any longer in it and he’ll know I’m there.
Erik comes out of the bathroom, ruffling his hair with a towel, and I hide my face in my book.
Silence.
Erik moves about the room, putting away his clothes and the items in his shower caddy, but his eyes pierce through my book. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”
I wince and lower the book, making an effort to avoid his gaze.
Erik reads my expression. “You don’t have to, but I have to say, you really scared the shit out of me back there.”
“I know.”
“And you wanted me to hold you accountable for telling me what happened so…that’s what I’m doing.”
“I’m sorry. I…should’ve warned you or something.”
Erik stuffs his shirt in the drawer and straightens. “Okay. Warned me about…what?”
I take a deep breath, as deep of a breath as I can. I’m shaking, I’m fucking shaking. “I, um…have cynophobia. A fear of dogs.”
Erik’s eyebrows twitch downward toward his eyes and his mouth curls into a deep frown.
“You can laugh. It’s okay. I know it’s stupid and childish and– .”
“What? No, absolutely not. Stop– Don’t do that to yourself.”
“But it’s a fear of dogs. Lots of people have dogs, everyone loves dogs.” I slam my book down on the blankets and drop my head back against my pillow. “I can’t even be around one without having a fucking mental breakdown, I can’t even pass one in the streets without feeling like I can’t breathe. Do you realize how pathetic that is?”
“Charles, stop! You’re making yourself feel worse, can you not see that?”
“I know, I…!” I cover my face with my hands, digging my nails into my forehead. “I just… It’s so fucking embarrassing and degrading and I HATE it because it’s such a stupid thing to be scared of!”
Erik walks over to the bed, crossing his arms. “It seems like it’s more than just being scared of them. That panic attack was really bad– you were fucking terrified. I’ve never seen someone pass out from a panic attack before.”
“It stems from my mutation, like an extension of the fight or flight response. If I’m under a lot of emotional distress, my brain will just shut itself off. A defense mechanism, I guess. That’s what happened today.”
“That kind of reaction is pretty intense. That’s gotta come from somewhere.”
I stare at my hands, at the patterns imprinted in my palms. Anything but at Erik.
That’s gotta come from somewhere.
Yeah, being chased and tackled and mauled by a dog twice my size as a child.
“Charles?”
I look up at him. His gaze says the same thing as it did before, just with more questions. I purse my lips and rub the back of my hand in a self-soothing motion. “It happened when I was ten.”
Erik sits on the edge of the bed and actively listens as I start the story.
“I was playing outside, as kids do. I was happy. My mom was absent a lot and I was tossed around from my father to my stepfather. I was playing in the yard, like I did every day. I had started seeing a dog wandering around the property for the past week, but I didn’t think anything of it because my stepfather didn’t think it was a big deal, and I believed him because I was a kid and I thought my stepfather knew everything. But one day, the dog…went crazy. It ran toward me, barking and snarling and spitting saliva everywhere, just like the one today did. I ran away from it, screaming, but I was too far out into the yard for anyone to hear me. The dog tackled me to the ground and started scratching and biting me. I wish I blocked it out, but I still remember everything. I remember its claws on my legs and feeling them rip my skin, and then it locked its jaws around my side and tore it open like someone tearing open a Christmas present. It shook me a couple times like I was a fucking rabbit or something. I remember kicking and punching it in the face because it hurt so bad and I was crying and screaming and NO ONE heard me. I didn’t pass out either. I wish I did, but I was awake for all of it.” My throat clogs up and I blink, releasing tears from my eyes.
Erik’s hard eyes soften and he moves closer to me.
“Eventually, my stepfather came to save me. It was just after the dog went for my throat. I thought I was gonna die, I could feel the blood coming out of me, and then my stepfather showed up. He pulled the dog off me, and the dog still had me in its mouth. I was suspended in its jaws for a second or two before it let me go and my stepfather beat the hell out of it. And I sat there, covered in my own blood, as he drove the dog away. Its teeth and lips were red with blood, MY blood…” A sob climbs up my throat and bursts from my mouth. I hide my face, letting a few more sobs emerge. “I thought I was gonna fucking die… And that dog today made me think the same thing. It sounded exactly like the one that attacked me, and I tried to keep it together, but all of a sudden, I was back on the grass screaming and being torn apart and…” Another sob rips the words out of my mouth.
The mattress shifts beside me and Erik’s voice emerges from my right:
“Is it okay if I touch you now?”
Him thinking to ask makes me cry harder and I nod.
Erik scoots closer to me and puts his arm around my shoulders, opening himself up to me.
I crumble into tears and let my head fall onto his shoulder. Erik hugs me against him and wraps his other arm protectively around me, trapping me in his embrace. He holds me through all of my messy, inconsolable crying, and he doesn’t pull away. His embrace gets tighter the longer it goes on. Eventually, my tears do slow to a stop, and once Erik realizes this, he loosens his arms around me so I can move away if I want to. I wait to withdraw until my tears have fully stopped and my breathing is mostly back to normal.
I twitch in his arms, and when Erik releases me, he lets his hand fall onto my back and rubs up and down.
I wipe my eyes. “I’m sorry. I cried all over your shoulder, it’s all wet now.”
“I don’t care. That’s what it’s there for.” I expect to find laughter in his eyes at his comment, but there is none.
I scrub my face with my hands, trying to stimulate some feeling back into it. “I should probably get changed.” I inch off the bed, grab my sleepwear from my drawer, and wander back over to the light next the en-table. “Erik, can you…um…”
Erik’s hand halts on the back of his neck. “What?”
“Can you…come over here?”
“Yeah, of course.” Erik clambers off the bed and shuffles to my side. “What is it?”
With him so close, now I’m debating whether or not to change in front of him. Erik’s changed in front of me plenty of times, but I’ve only ever changed my pants in front of him because I’ve never wanted him to see my scars. This would be…new, and not the good kind of new. I don’t want him to look at me any differently.
“Charles, what’s wrong?”
I jerk to attention, my heartbeat picking up again. “It-it’s… This whole thing, this fear of dogs… I never went to therapy for it, I never really processed it, I never dealt with it because…well, my stepfather never talked about it after it happened. After I got out of the hospital, he just kind of pretended that it never happened.” I stroke the crumpled up shirt in my hand, once again trying to self-soothe.
Erik drops his gaze down to my hands and notices. He cups my hands with his own and whispers, “What do you need?”
“I don’t know, I…guess it’s appropriate for you to see this.” Without waiting for an answer, I toss my night clothes onto the nearby chair and ease my shirt off over my head. I turn my body toward the light so both I and Erik can see better:
The orange light glints off the network of jagged, uneven scars scraping down my side, red lines in twisted angles, raised puncture marks where the dog’s teeth had cut the deepest. With some of the larger, longer ones, there are pale, white notches sprouting outward from the countless stitches that had been there. The scars litter my side and then up into my chest and part of my back. The highest one up is on my collarbone.
I look up at Erik, who’s eyes are snaking up and down my upper body, taking everything in. An unreadable emotion glitters in his eyes, punctuated by the night light behind me. Maybe prompted by the fact that I can’t read his expression and that scares me, but I pipe up with, “I can barely look at myself in the mirror most days. It’s hideous. And I wouldn’t blame you if thought the same.”
“Charles, no. Look at me.”
I do, and this time I find an overwhelming vault of love and compassion.
“This,” he nods to my scars, “doesn’t matter. Or… Okay, that didn’t come out great– .” He restarts with a deep, conscious breath and runs his hands up and down my shoulders. “It does matter, because it’s part of you, and I love every part of you, and you are still beautiful. I still love you. I don’t think any less of you.”
I smile, tears filling up my eyes and preparing to fall. “Really?” I whisper, almost afraid to believe it.
“Yeah, really. I love you.” He leans down and kisses the scar near my torso. He travels upward with his kisses, hitting every scar, every blemish, and when he finishes up by my face, he pulls back to look me in the eye. “All of you.”
My smile grows larger and I wrap my arms around his neck, clasping my hands together behind his head. “I don’t deserve you.”
“No, you do. I’m arguably the one who doesn’t deserve you.”
I scoff. “Don’t sell yourself short, my friend.”
“Friend?” Erik raises his eyebrows in mock offense. “Did you just break up with me? Because if you did– .”
“Oh, shut up.” I bridge the gap and kiss him, holding his head in place with my hands. He softens into my embrace, leaning into the kiss. His hands find homes on my body, one in-between my shoulder blades and one on my side, the side with all the scars. As we make out, he traces them one-by-one, almost like he’s celebrating them being a part of me.
I wouldn’t put it past him. He loves me, he’s made that clear. But what he’s made clear tonight is that he will love me no matter what.
And here is the text that I sent to my best friend immediately after I got the idea 🤣
