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Alexander could do it.
His mental state was nothing compared to the incomparable levels of his courage, wit, and strength. At least, that’s what he told himself.
Alexander didn’t want any help.
It was all in his head and he knew that. The shaking originated from his head, and the inconsistent and unnecessary fears that gathered in the darkest depths of his mind. There was no need to be afraid, of course, no need. He was in a strong room, grounded and dry against the wind and rain outside. Yet he still worried. He still shook. He still sobbed dryly into his blanket.
The unforgiving wool dug into the softest portions of his mouth, and he realized just how hard his teeth were digging into the fabric itself. A warm tongue swept over the raw portion of flesh on the roof of his mouth, and Alexander cringed. He could taste the blood. Wool didn’t cut that deep did it? Alexander hadn’t been biting his skin, had he?
Outside, a deep rumble shook the room, or so he thought. The noise definitely shook his ear drums, and he squeaked quietly, pulling the wool blanket back into his mouth to avoid emitting any audible noise that might stir the sleeping body next to him.
After all, Alexander didn’t want any help.
He could handle himself on his own, like the big boy his momma once taught him to be. Oh, his momma. Alex felt his fingernails digging into the soft flesh of his elbow and he squeezed his eyes shut, as tight as humanly possible. There was no pain in his skin, no burning sensations, or feelings of regret. He only wanted to forget.
How could he? When he watched his poor momma die in his arms, shivering in a manner similar to his own shivers in that moment. Alexander had watched his sweet, caring momma take in her last breath, not wanting to believe it when he called out her name again and was met with silence. Her eyes had been open, locked with Alex’s for the last time.
After that, he wondered what that must have felt like to her. How did it feel to pass away in a moment of consciousness? Sure, people passed away in their sleep all the time. But for someone to be mid-word, staring into the eyes of another human being-- what feeling came with that? Any at all? Surely not. It was death after all. Was it like falling asleep with the eyes open? Were they still receptive when Alexander began to weep into her shoulder, shouting words of encouragement to a corpse that would never again breathe his name?
Another rumble of thunder drew itself out in the sky outside his window, and Alexander cowered.
Alexander learned from a tender young age that death does not doddle. It comes and goes, taking whomever it pleases, or deems acceptable to travel along to the other side; whatever that other side may be was dependent on the person. Alex wondered why death didn’t come to take him when it took his mother. He had been the weaker of the two, the lesser deserving to continue on in that lifetime. Yet, there Alexander was, laying in bed, shivering at the slightest arousal of thunder in the dead of the night.
His eyes remained shut as the grip on his elbow increased. There began a dull pain in his skin, but Alexander couldn’t have been bothered to care.
He had to wonder why his dislike for storms never simmered away. Sure, watching your homeland being torn to shreds by rain and wind, watching the trees light aflame after being struck by lightning, watching your neighbors drown in excess flooding… sure, it all seemed plausible in contributing to his everlasting distaste. But that was years in the past, and Alexander still couldn’t find it in himself to move on, and accept what happened.
Or perhaps he did, and he just didn’t know how to get rid of the side-effects that came along with past trauma. Rain wasn’t too bad, so long as it wasn’t hard. Lightning sent chills down his spine, and thunder shook his entire body right down to the core. Wind was the worst of all. The menacing whistle that came along with bustling trees made Alex’s skin crawl and his gag reflex react. It was odd; gagging from the memories of salt water in his eyes, leaves, dust, and rain flooding into his mouth.
When he gagged in that moment, there was nothing there. No rain seeping through the walls, no tree branches lodging themselves inside his mouth by accident, no dust corrupting his vision. There was nothing.
Alexander knew he could do it.
As his mind wandered, Alexander stayed on high alert, listening intently for the slightest shift in whistle tones coming from outside, or the more delicate imbalance of raindrops falling against the glass window of the bedroom. Next to him, a small, almost nonexistent snore erupted, and Alexander thought it to be a roll of thunder. His mind, not body, relaxed when he recalled his location, and the sleeping figure next to him.
He didn’t want to wake him. Didn’t want to disturb his slumber just because Alexander heard a few noises and saw a few flashes of lightning. The man next to him was already tired enough, working the most gruesome shifts at the emergency hospital nearby. There was no need to interrupt what little sleep he got.
Alex inhaled deeply.
Is that liquid? His mind wandered down to his left hand, still gripping the inside of his right elbow with an unrelenting force. It was then that Alexander realized he was drawing blood. Odd, he thought as his fingers wandered over new wounds freely, feeling the depth at which he’d created.
He didn’t feel anything, didn’t experience pain, even after discovering that the cuts were present. In fact, he carefully replaced his fingers back into their exact slots, then covered in a thin layer of his own blood, and dug down deeper. It was almost… a hunt. For what? Something unimportant. All Alexander knew was that it was a hunt, and he needed to find the end.
Moments later, Alexander felt a drop of warm liquid slip down the bridge of his nose. Tears? Alex couldn’t cry, there was no reason to. There was no need to show such weak and feeble character. Crying proved nothing, other than one was not fit for the difficult tendencies of life.
There he was, gripping his elbow with all the power his body held, crying silently into the bed sheets. Though, it must not have been silent enough.
“Alex?”
I don’t need help.
Alex let out an involuntary whimper when another roll of thunder shook the building, threatening to topple the structure from the ground up.
“Alexander?”
The world doesn’t give help to those who don’t need it. I don’t need it.
A warm hand was touching his back, he felt it low, moving up higher in an unsteady pattern. Then there were lips against his temple, and a warm breath hitting the skin right next to his ear. Alexander wanted to smack it away, tell it to go back to sleep, but his body wouldn’t move.
“Shh, I’ve got you.” The voice whispered, and Alexander felt his blood boil. There was nothing there to ground him, nothing there to keep the fine line between reality and dreams distinguished. “Your name is Alexander Hamilton, you live in New York city, in the heart of Manhattan. You’re studying law.” The voice cracked, most likely a side effect from the lack of use.
Alexander dug deeper into his skin, feeling an arm loop around his waist and a firm chest press up against his back. There wasn’t much to distinguish, yet it all made Alexander… angry. He wanted more than anything to scream and shout, to make the voice go away.
I don’t need help.
See? He didn’t need help.
But the voice didn’t go away, it continued on.
“You’re studying law to become the best lawyer this city has ever seen. No, the best lawyer this state has ever seen. Your best friend is Elizabeth Schuyler, she lives with her sister upstate in a little townhouse. The one with those pretty mahogany doors that you dream of getting someday. Lafayette and Hercules are here in the city with us. You and I. I’m your boyfriend, John Laurens. I’m here.”
Alexander felt his hand being forcefully, yet gently pulled away from his elbow and it made him squeeze his eyes tighter.
“We’ve been dating for over three years. We are safe, in our apartment. There’s some thunder and rain, but nothing inside. Nothing can hurt you. Nothing can hurt me. We are safe. You are safe.”
There was a hand pressing firmly against the tender skin of his elbow, and Alexander started to feel the pain seeping in. It was as though that hand brought with it pain. He didn’t like it. But he didn't refuse it, or make a big deal to try and rid himself of the touch.
“John.” Alexander croaked out, his eyes easing up on their attempts to keep the lids together.
“Yes, baby girl, that’s me. I’m John, I’m here.” There was a warm material on his elbow, and Alexander couldn’t help but cringe.
“S-storm-”
“Shh, I know, I know.” A kiss pressed up against the spot right behind his ear. “I’ve got you.”
The soft whispers continued on for some time, with Alexander slowly pulling himself back into the reality that was his life. John was kissing his temple by the time the crying stopped, using his free hand to wipe away tears that had fallen down Alex’s cheeks. John’s other hand was pressed firmly to the bleeding skin on Alex’s arm.
It took a few minutes, but John managed to coax Alexander up out of the bed and into the pale light of the bathroom. An entire first aid kit had then been laid out, and Alexander sat with his eyes unfocused while John cleaned his newfound wounds. The white bandage on his arm bothered him. He had never liked white. Maybe John would go out and find a different color. Did doctors make different colored bandages?
Alexander walked back to the bedroom with a hand on the small of his back, guiding him gently in the right direction. Once settled back under the covers, Alex heard more thunder and immediately recoiled on himself.
“Hey, hey.” John mumbled as he replaced the empty space in the bed with his own body. “I’m here. You’re not alone.” Alexander let his head fall on John’s chest, and tried his hardest to focus on the thump, thump, thump, of his partner’s heart as opposed to the rumble in the outside world.
See, Alexander didn’t want any help.
But he knew deep down that he needed it.