Chapter Text
The moment light flits in between my eyelids and I blink awake, something feels different. The ropes around my wrists are still there, pulling the skin raw, so it can’t be that. Henry seems to be awake somewhere, taking some sort of ice cold shower if the distant sound of rushing water is any indication. My throat still feels scratchy, nausea ever present in the recesses of my mind.
Ah… the dreams. As I sleep, my vision is taken over by long, winding tunnels. They appear in flashes of movement, twisting this way and that. I feel weak, as if these bits of imagination took a lot out of me.
In the last year, I haven’t found myself dreaming much. The night passes as if tucked in the space of a blink. When something does appear, some colour in the darkness, it’s more a memory than anything else. I think of ironing shirts and making soup, of studying, of talking by the lake, of being scared when he left instead of wishing he would.
I remember when He was just a drawing, a vague mention. Now, He never leaves.
From morning to night, it’s dark eyes and sweat-soaked skin, unkept hair and crumpled clothes, small black veins and an animalistic growl underlining veiled threats. A lot of the time, it’s pure silence.
Sometimes, I see tears, hidden behind shaking hands whenever I’m pushed from sleep too early. Strings of murmured, meaningless apologies. I listen to them all anyway, my eyes closed. The barest sign of care. A lifeline.
I sit up, leaning against the headboard. I can’t do much until the ropes are gone, so I’ve learned. Instead, I wake, eyes trained on the cracks in the ceiling.
The water stops, there’s a shuffling sound, footsteps, clothes are donned. A bit later, there are cold hands on my wrists, expertly untying. There is never a good opportunity to try and run. I know he’s purposefully keeping me weak, years of training rotting away.
The portal has been opened. I’m not needed anymore.
When I glance up, absentmindedly running my fingers along the raw skin, I notice Henry’s eyes seem lighter. He looks… distracted, like he’s multitasking. He’s seemed this way more and more recently. I suppose that’s a good sign.
I get up, heading downstairs to make myself breakfast. I can’t trust this version of Henry to do so, it’s always a fifty-fifty between real food and a pile of raw meat. I can’t use the stove or oven though, something about how it produces too much heat. Instead, I eat cereal at the table in five sweaters because every window is opened and it’s–I glance at the calender–November 2nd.
Hm.
That date sounds familiar.
I squint.
Hmmm.
A hand wacks the side of my head and I wince. “Hurry.”
“Yes, demon person.”
His eyes narrow. “Stop with that name.”
“Okay, demon person.”
He hits me again but turns and walks away. Worth it. I spoon the last bit of cereal into my mouth and go clean up. I pull my sleeves up, turning on the hot water to do the dishes. The heat is nearly blistering, but I can’t deny how good it feels. My joints feel constantly tight, almost frozen in place. My blood seems to flow slower through my veins.
He likes it cold. I know that. I get that. Is that the only reason He insists on such low temperatures? Or is it also some trick to keep me docile? I can’t tell.
I cough once, that familiar weight in my throat. I feel it wriggling, crawling up my oesophagus. My fingers grip the edge of the sink and I pull myself closer, slamming my stomach into the corner as spit drips from my lips. With just a few pushes, the slug lurches forward, falling into a bowl of nearly boiling water.
Wiping my chin on the back of my hand, I watch as the creature writhes, contorting its ugly, slimy little body in the hopes of escaping. Distantly, I hear a scream.
Henry bursts into the room seconds after it stops moving, after it melts. His face is flushed, shirt damp, eyes wide. Right. All these monsters are connected. I hurt one, I hurt them all.
“...uh, you okay?”
He stares at me, gritting his teeth. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“It was technically an accident.”
“He’s upset.”
“When is He ever not?”
With a flick of his wrist, he pulls me towards him, holding me slightly off the ground. I feel the pressure on my bones, as if he’s showing off. ‘See?’ his actions mock. ‘One step out of line and I break you.’
His hand is shaking. If he curled his fingers in just a bit more, I’d end up like the others from the lab, like my friends, like his family. I nod once, acknowledging the threat, and he drops me.
I land on shaky legs, not resisting when he drags me back to the attic. In the glimpse of the outside I get between home and the library, I realize the number of those disgusting faceless dogs has increased. More of them are fully grown, for one. They watch me pass–as much as a creature without eyes can ‘watch’--and I know they’d like nothing more than to open up their disgusting flower-heads and swallow me whole.
I shiver. Those brief reprieves away from being here, attached to that disgusting thing, are really the only highlight. Are they to keep me alive, or is there something else. If Will hadn’t been saved, would he have been given the same grace? I shake my head. Again, I’m only trying to look for some touch of humanity, a sign that Henry is still there, still trying to help.
It’s hard to find anything when I’m choking for hours on end. Instead, I close my eyes, force my body to go limp, and pretend I’m someplace else. I picture meadows and kingdoms, worlds created behind my lids.
In this one, I’m a hero.
A pale blue dress with layers of flowing skirts and armour overtop. Iron is the metal of choice, coated in a thin layer of diamond for strength: a chestplate to protect the vital organs, a shoulder piece, gauntlets on my wrists. Chainmail fills in the gaps on my arms and torso, with leather below the gown itself.
A broadsword rests at my hip, ready to be pulled out at a moment’s notice. The land is full of dangers, many of them life-threatening. Yet, I must rid the world of evil and save the poor townsfolk. It is my duty.
I secure my helmet and set off on my mighty golden steed. I can just make out the flashes of red fireworks in the distance, signalling a village in need. Faster, horse! There is still time yet!
Wings burst from his sides, lifting us into the air, and I give him a grateful pat on the neck. From this height, I can survey the dangers ahead. A pair of binoculars in hand, I can see now that it is dragons that terrorize them.
Two smaller, green ones spit out poison gas, filling the air with a foul smelling haze. Their leader is the biggest I’ve ever seen, purple and covered with multi-coloured crystals. Not only can it shoot out spikes but it can create tornados big enough to swallow entire mountains whole. I don’t have much time.
I toss the binoculars aside, leaping into the air. As I fall, I pull on my mask, protecting myself from the power of the green dragons. I land on the neck of one of the green ones, slicing its head clean off with my mighty sword.
Its brother turns in horror, attempting to spew more poison at me, but it’s useless. I raise my hand, lifting him into the air, and throwing him straight into the magical lake to be eaten by carnivorous fish.
I wipe my hands off as the gas clears, hearing the whooping and cheering of the villagers, and turn to face my true adversary: the purple dragon. She bares her teeth at me, unafraid, and I run forward.
She flings her tail towards me with a smug expression, ruby-encrusted spikes flying at my head. Hah! She thinks that can stop me? I leap into the air, using the barbs as mere stepping stones and jumping onto her neck. She growls, surprised by my skill, and tries to summon a tornado, but it’s too late for her. With a single swish of my sword, I have her blinded.
I grasp her horns, take control of her, and fly her away from the village. She collapses in a field, blood spurting. With a final blow, I split her skull cleanly in two and jump off into the grass below.
“That is what happens when you mess with innocents, beast! You must face the blade of a powerful warrior!”
Yet, despite it all, she smiles, melting into the ground and killing the plants with her blood. It sizzles, burning through my sword, the dirt, my armour. I step back, the blue skies above staining red. Cold winds nip at my now-bare arms, dust-like spores filling the air.
When I look down, I’m covered in blood. It stains my skin, soaking my clothes, dripping from my hair. I try to wipe myself off, but it’s as if it’s coming out of the lines of my joints like some broken doll.
“What did you do!?” I screech at the dragon’s body, only to find something very different has taken its place.
A person.
With each step I take, another death has taken its place. My mother’s soulless gaze, Papa’s quiet rage, Joseph’s teasing smile, Will’s choked cries, Barb’s worried complaints, Eleven’s confused gratitude, Jonathan’s distant shouts, Hopper’s stern questions, Nancy’s promise.
Each corpse looks different. Cut open and bleeding, limbs snapped, eyes gouged out, organs spilled.
I scream around the vine down my throat, choking and sobbing. The water of my tears makes a path over my dirt-stained cheeks, my teeth digging into the pulsing tube. It spasms and my throat spasms with it, bringing up more bouts of saliva.
It’s finally wrenched from my throat, the bonds around me dropping me onto the floor. My knees scrape the rough ground, flashes of severed heads filling my vision whenever I blink. Henry lifts me with a yank of my hair, annoyed at getting bitten I assume.
He’s beautifully free of blood though, so I can’t bring myself to mind.
“You are aware that when you bite the vine then it spasms and nearly kills you, right?” he asks, dark eyes narrowed.
I cough a glob of spit onto his vest and wipe my mouth. “I know.”
He glances down at it. “Had I not already been here to remove it-”
“Yes, yes. It was an accident. I got… scared.”
“He is not happy,” he snaps, dragging me back to the house.
I’d bitten it numerous times when this had first started, hoping to become more trouble than I was worth, or maybe to… to die. Unsurprisingly, the habit had been beaten out of me once I realized he wouldn’t stop no matter how much I did it. All it led to was more pain. When hours of your day are already filled with pain, then… you don’t seek out more.