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Pac could hear the knocking.
Someone was at the door.
He should answer it. He should get up. He should move.
The blanket that Mike had draped over him felt too heavy to move. His bones were cemented in place, immovable from the scrunched-up position. It felt peaceful. Numbing. Like a baby in his mother’s womb, too stupid to know that he’s trapped.
Pac wasn’t like that. He always knew when he was trapped; it just so happened that he wanted it. Normal people think that it’s scarier than it is. There’s a specific kind of knowing that comes with being stuck.
Being trapped on an island with Cell wasn’t scary. Knowing he had no way out, not even death, wasn’t scary.
It wasn’t scary because Pac knew Cell. He knew what made him tick, how he thought, why he acted the way he did. He knew exactly what to expect because he’d played this game with him before.
~~~ ⋆★⋆ ~~~
When they first woke up on the boat, he felt calm. A life of crime often includes crossing the wrong people here and there. Which is to say, it wasn’t Pac’s first time being kidnapped, and he didn’t expect it to be his last. All that mattered to him was Mike.
It was so dark in there that he couldn’t see Mike, but he could feel him. His soulmate was lying on the hard floor beside him, still knocked out.
“Jesus, Pac?” Cell’s voice was always distinct. It was gravelly and coarse, but somehow soft and enticing. “I know it’s you. Nobody else has those glow-in-the-dark eyes.”
Pac felt frozen. He could taste blood in his mouth, or maybe that was bile? Adrenaline assaulted his nervous system so violently that he almost expected it to ram through their soul-tie and wake Mike up. That’s what he hoped would happen at least.
When Pac finally worked up the courage to speak, there was only one word on his tongue: “Cell.”
“No, Pac, I’m—it’s Cellbit. The person I used to be—the person who hurt you—he’s long gone now.” There it was. That warmth. That gentle reassurance. That loving I’ll-take-care-of-you tone that dragged him in all that time ago. “I promise and—”
“You don’t break your promises.” Pac finished his sentence with a whisper, the memories of before flooding him. To think, he was doing so well.
“I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it, Cell. Uh, Cellbit.”
“I mean it, Pac. I’ve done a lot of work on myself in therapy, and I’m trying to be better. I want to be better.”
What a lovely privilege he has; being able to completely destroy someone and then simply get better. It made Pac want to laugh, and if it weren’t for the survival instinct pumping through him that reminded him to appease the psychopath, he probably would’ve. “I believe you.” That part wasn’t a lie. He did believe Cell, because if nothing else, Cell was always honest with him.
True to his word, Cellbit had become a pacifist. He was a safe person to be around, not just for Pac but for their son. That was the big thing; Richarlyson made it easy for Pac to trust him again. Any residual dread was cleared away, and he was able to watch.
He watched as Cellbit met Roier. He watched Roier slowly fall for Cellbit. He watched them get married.
There was never any bitterness towards their relationship. How could there be? Pac was over Cellbit.
Who cares that he was able to settle down with the first bubbly ball of mischief he could get his hands on? It’s not like Pac wanted to marry Cellbit. It’s not like he stays up at night thinking of him. It’s not like he’s sure Cellbit is the only person capable of loving Pac. It’s not like Cellbit is the only person who can understand just how fucked up he is, because he’s the one who did this to Pac.
Not at all.
When Pac started shopping around for replacements—
When Pac started dating again, he wasn’t looking for another Cellbit.
He’s had more than enough Cellbit for his life, which is why Fit seemed so perfect for him. Everything was exactly as he said it; there were no mind games, only gentle, guided baby steps. That was what Pac needed. Even Mike approved.
Then the bodies showed up.
Federation workers with chunks missing.
And he just knew. Even before Bagi said a word, he knew.
For the longest time, he’d been able to delude himself into believing in this illusion of safety that Cellbit gave him. He behaved so differently from Cell that Pac could almost forget they were even the same person, but this?
This was pure Cell, and nothing was more terrifying than that.
He must’ve looked like a crazy person, running around and pinning up posters warning everyone of the perceived threat. Maybe he was crazy. He felt crazy.
Cell makes him feel crazy.
~~~ ⋆★⋆ ~~~
“Pac?” Fit’s voice called out from behind the door. “Can I please come in?”
Maybe if he stays quiet, Fit will leave him to rot here. That would be nice, to die in bed.
“I know you don’t want to see anyone right now. I wouldn’t either, I just—I want to make sure you’re okay.” There was a small pause. “We miss you. I miss you.” Now, Fit was speaking more softly in a voice usually reserved for Ramon and Richarlyson. “We’d hate to lose you over this, Pac.”
Ha.
It didn’t work like that for them, did it? The only one who got to die, who got to leave, was Cellbit. The rest of them were stuck here. Pac was stuck here.
It was supposed to feel good. He kept telling himself it felt good. Why doesn’t it feel good? How could Cellbit do this to him? How could he leave? How could he apologise? How could he dig his claws so deeply into Pac that not even death could get them out?
He thought—he hoped that after Purgatory, everything would go back to normal. And then Cell had the audacity to die.
It wasn’t fair.
None of this was fair.
Quiet tears began to trickle down Pac’s face, eventually being absorbed by the pillow under his head. There was nothing he hated more than this: the weakness, the helplessness, the pity on the faces of everyone who talked to him. That’s why Fit should stay on the other side of that door.
“I’ll stop by again later. I promise.” Fit stuck around for a moment after that before Pac could hear his footsteps moving away from the door.
Promise. What did that even mean to normal people? He wished for a moment that he could ask Cell. Although he’s sure the answer would only be something contrived to position the man as morally superior to all, aside from them.
The others, their word neither meant much, but not Cell. That was the biggest reason Pac believed Cell wouldn’t hurt him again, because he simply said so. In the end, that was the stupidest thing he’s ever done.
If he hadn’t let Cell back in, he wouldn’t be crying in bed, longing for the sweet release of death in a way he thought he had got past with a phantom pain in his missing leg.
He wouldn’t be stuck.