Work Text:
A COPIED RECONCILIATION
Clark had been inside this.. place (he wasn't fully sure what it even was) for a while now. And, maybe it was his delusion, but he felt he was thriving. Yellowed walls and moldy carpet, somehow, didn't put a damper on his mood. He'd found himself, in this place that didn't know, itself, what he was. Along the way, he'd ran into a few other "beings". Beings was the most moderate description he could give them. Horrific, twisted renditions of everyday people, their features distorted.. arms, just a little too long, just a few too many faces.
Where most people saw disgusting, horrifying monsters, Clark saw beautiful works of art, reflecting all of the real people's worst traits, onto what was extensively a blank canvas. You could do anything to these beings, and they would barely do as much as bat an eye. His greatest find was one of himself. It was double his size, walked around on a peg leg, carved from a chair leg, and wore his pirate outfit from the real world. That part irked him slightly, as it felt like the creature was mocking the man he had been in the real world. A pirate, selling furniture, robbing people of their money (not that he got many clients). Besides that, though, he was happy where he was..
Clark sat down at a table. The scene before him was a misremembered dining room, the table itself being partially hidden in the ground. Before finding refuge in this strange, wonderful place, he had been the victim of a brutal, unfair divorce. His wife, Barbara, had rushed in one night, as he'd accidentally knocked a glass off the countertop, shattering it. He had been thrown out of his own house. Since that day, he'd enrolled in therapy, wanting someone else to take his side. Instead, he was met with Dr. Mary Kline. An uptight know-it-all, who had forced him to roleplay the scenario, trying to show him how he was "wrong" and "being cruel". She didn't understand the situation. How could she? She wasn't there. She hadn't seen the pure bliss in Barbara's eyes, as she finally, FINALLY, got what she wanted. For the entirety of Clark's life, he'd been seen as a failure, as "in the wrong". But here? He'd only made right moves. He'd managed to befriend and tame a beast (the copied version of himself, ironically). He'd found a place, all to himself, that made him happy.
Sure, he'd seen a few weird people in hazmat suits pass by. But, he just figured they were more monsters.
He took a breath in, his mind wandering back to Mary. Back to Barbara. While he did despise them, he also - conversely - missed them a bit. The idea of the roleplay, put him in the mood to do it again, as a form of stress relief. In a place where he was never wrong, why not indulge a bit? Indulge in the scenario that he believed. Indulge in the truth. Looking around the room, he made eye contact with the three monsters he'd brought with him (the copy of him, unlike these three, was more active, for some reason, wanting to wander and explore the area. Clark didn't mind that, he appreciated the curious nature the creature had). Across the table, near the corner of the room, there was a man in a wheelchair, holding the pull chain of the lamp that seemed to be attached to the chair. The next, was a bearded man, in a blue and white striped shirt. Clipped into the shirt, was another collar, and row of buttons, just slightly off-centre. The man had six eyes: two on his forehead, two where eyes usually were, and then two on his cheeks. He'd taken to this particular monster, because of how unassuming he was. He didn't react to anything. He'd seen small glimpses of character in the others, but him? He sat at the dining table, staring off into nothing, as if completely dissociated.
The final one, that Clark had placed across the table from him, was the woman. He always got the chills, looking at her. Was it due to the odd ghosting effect her face had, splitting off into multiple eyes, mouths and noses? That may be a part of it. But, for the most part? No. What really got to him, was how similar she looked to his ex-wife, Barbara. In his time between first meeting the creature, and now, he'd had no way to definitively confirm that this was a misremembering of his wife, but it had the red hair and the cold demeanor, so that was good enough for Clark. She sat at the other end of the dining room table, staring at him quietly. He cleared his throat, retrieving a glass he'd brought with him to this place, and setting it out between them, setting the scene. Then, he turned the lights off, resulting in the man in the wheelchair switching his lamp on. He appreciated that. Sitting back down, he got into character, and gave the red-headed woman the softest gaze he could muster.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I... broke the glass"
Nothing. She didn't respond, she didn't give any hint that she was even processing Clark's words. He ran a hand through his short cut hair. That was fine, if she wasn't going to respond, he'd just keep going.
"I know you like to sleep early.. uh.. I was at the store late, doing inventory.. guess time just slipped away from me. Then, I stopped off for a few beers. You understand.. right?"
The silence continued on her end. No acknowledgement that she understood...
No acknowledgement that he was right for doing so...
Something about that thought, twisted something in his chest. He felt something akin to anger, begin its slow build-up within him. He usually enjoyed their silence, but this began to touch on something deep and personal. He quietly huffed, and then continued his monologue
"Barbara? I said.. I stopped for a few beers. You understand. RIGHT?"
At his harsher tone, he noticed something...
Her head lolled forward slightly. It wasn't exactly reacting to his comment, but it was movement. That alone made his anger build further. She could move, and yet refused to utter a word, to play into his idyllic scenario. He'd wanted her to speak, to tell him it wasn't his fault, that she was being unreasonable that night. After a further moment of silence, he slowly pushed his chair back from the table, standing up, and wandering past the two other creatures, to the redhead.. to Barbara. He stared down at her..
She didn't stare back up..
In an instant, letting his anger get the better of him, he struck her with the back of his hand, her head smacking against the table. However, she sprung back into place, a red patch barely visible on her forehead now. Seeing that, he felt a conflicting mix of anger and horror. Horrified at his own actions, but angry that she hadn't reacted any further. She hadn't looked at him, and berated him. She hadn't tried to fight back.
"I-I'm sorry. I'm so.. so sorry, I didn't mean to.."
He said, the words slipping out, before he had a chance to contain them. The redhead continued sitting, staring down at the table, as if it was the most interesting thing she'd ever seen. In a sense, Clark could understand that. Being a furniture store manager, the make and model of the table was... interesting, to say the least. He snapped out of it, glaring back down at her
"Answer me, you piece of shit. Be my Barbara"
He grabbed its hair, pulling its head back, so he could look it in the eyes (of which, it had many). It didn't respond, but the eyes did focus in on him, staring at him, unblinking. Having to stop himself from repeating his prior actions, he let it go, feeling his hand shake with it
"Just.. just answer me, tell me I was right, for what you forced me to do"
No response
"Tell me, Barbara. Tell me it was all your fault. You kicked me out of my house, because you couldn't handle the fact that I pay for us both to live. You're never going to amount to anything, at your rate"
No response. His hands shook harder, his rage dissipating into.. sadness. The longer he looked at the creature, the less of Barbara he saw in it. The hair was wrong, the faces were wrong. Barbara, even when angry, had a face that threatened to break out into a smile at a pin drop. He dropped to his knees
"What am I doing?"
He thought aloud, speaking to no-one in particular, as he put his hands in the creature's lap. It made no move to pull away.
"You're not her. Still, why can't you just... answer me? Give me something, please. I've seen you move. You were moving and groaning, when we first met. So.. why the indifference now?"
Feeling a lump begin to form at the back of his throat, Clark dropped his head, his voice cracking
"Why have you abandoned me?"
He brought a balled fist up, going to hit her leg, before bringing it down softly, his emotions trailing off into exhaustion. He eventually ended up resting his head on its lap. In his time here, he'd done so much. He'd allowed himself to slip into his delusions. He'd allowed himself to replay every scenario, every interaction, and justify his reactions. This one, though? He couldn't pretend. The redhead woman was giving him nothing to feed his delusion, and so, the artifice began to crumble. As tears began to flow, tears he instinctively knew he had no justifiable reason to shed, he felt disfigured hands rest on his shoulders. It was oddly comforting. He spoke up...
"I'm sorry..."