by Scy

Something about thunder on a day when sunshine had been so bright minutes before. The light breeze ruffling trees, and tentative raindrops falling.

All of the others have more purity than he can stand. Being around humans, normal, is like inhaling Holy Water. Their perspiration is saturated with lives untouched by anything that would require therapy, and he doesn't fit in. Will never be able to forget the sounds.

Heart and voice not in head, but veins. It might not have been so bad, except for the sweat. Bright and see-through and it's as though skin is lit by the moisture. And he can still hear it - the voice, but it tells him different things now. Maybe the commands don't come from David anymore, but him. Always him, just that it took David and sweaty nights, stomach cramps and a slick body for him to realize it.

It's not as though the taste is ever going to leave him. He never got into a decently embarrassing discussion with his mother afterward, neither of them wanted to go through the pain that would eventually yield words which they might have benefited from hearing. He thinks that Sammy knew they were avoiding talking about it, and stared at the two of them as they ate dinner.

His mother feels that she failed in some way; didn't teach him enough, lecture, love, and it's all that he can do to keep her from feeling guilty when he has his own which claws at his stomach. Never can eat enough, won't drink milk unless someone is staring at him and threatening him with time in bed, because he has to be nourished. Doesn't mention what he thinks will help him stay well.

It's not necessary that he hears the questions that Sammy asks, just that there is noise at the tips of his ears, never really going in, but it seems better that way.


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