“It showed the same truth”

By: JaMeZ! And Mara

 

Disclaimer: The characters in this story are MINE and MARA’S! Though they are loosely based on real people [*ahem*]… please don’t steal our story! Ask first!  ^_^

 

Note: JaMeZ! wrote the first section, and Mara wrote the second.

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He awoke, panting and sweaty, in the dark dead of night and heaved a sigh of relief; he had only been having a nightmare.

 

            “Yes, that was all,” he thought to himself, “just a – NO!”

 

His relief turned to horror as he realized that the sheets around him felt damp and heavy. Quickly, he turned on the lamp that resided on the bedside table. The sheets, once a pale, powdery blue, were now soaked in large irregular patches with a deep, dark crimson that had begun to dry in places to a sickly red-brown color. The blood came from both his arms, which were as well crimson covered, from cuts that looked angry and deep, with the skin around them starting to pull back far from the wounds. Tears sprang to his eyes as he gingerly touched the slashes on the softest parts of his arms. Then he let his eyes wander to the to the lamp he had just turned on, now spattered with his blood; the floor, all the way to the door and most likely down the halls and into the kitchen, had a trail of his blood. But the knife… Frantically, he searched for it and he found it tucked safely away under his pillow. Grasping it tightly, still crying, he arose from bed and made haste to the bathroom. Locking the door securely behind him, he paced the room and cried, with kitchen knife still in hand like a maniac. On his fourth lap around the bathroom, he caught his reflection in the mirror above the sink. Staring back at him was the face of a crazed young man, hair matted with dried blood and face streaked with it, too, but places on his cheeks newly wetted from his tears. No, that was not him. He screamed and stabbed at the mirror with his knife. The mirror shattered, the pieces of it falling into the sink bellow it, with a few pieces finding their way tinkling to the floor.

           

“LIAR,” he cried out to the pieces of broken mirror.

 

Seeking another opinion, he opened the bathroom closet and peered at himself in the full-length mirror bolted to the inside of the door. It showed the same truth as the little one had, and he sank to the floor in front of it and wept all the harder.

 

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Neil awoke with a start, aware that loud noises had jostled him out of his sleep. Taking a minute to blink the sleep out of his eyes, he glanced over at the clock on the wall. He grumbled when he saw that it was after four-thirty in the morning. Then he noticed the lights were on…and the blood…there was blood everywhere…

 

            “JOHNNY!”

 

Scrambling out of bed, he followed the trail of blood down the hallway and into the kitchen, but there was no sign of Johnny. A pit of knotted gloom and terror settled into his stomach as he retraced his path back to the bedroom, but the sound of running water from the bathroom made him pause momentarily, and then backtrack towards it. Putting an ear warily to the door, he could just make out the faint sounds of sobs. Trying not to make a sound, he gently tried to open the door, only to find that it was locked from the inside.

 

            “Johnny,” Neil called out, worry tainting his tone, “open the door.”

 

The sounds of water stopped, and the sobbing was still there, but no answer came. Neil braced himself and rammed shoulder first into the bathroom door, throwing every ounce of his body weight and brute strength into his mad struggle to bring the door down. It took a couple tries, but the lock eventually gave way under Neil’s force, and he rushed inside.

 

            “JOHNNY!”

 

And there Johnny sat, soaked in blood, on the cold tiled bathroom floor, sipping water from a blood-covered cup, a large kitchen carving knife nestled in his lap. The tearful eyes of a scared young man looked up at Neil.

 

“I did it in my sleep,” Johnny whispered in a dejected voice that was barely audible, and nonchalantly dropped the cup he was holding so its contents spilled and rushed out over the floor tiles, mixing with the blood already there. “I didn’t know I was doing it. That’s not normal, right? It must be because I’m unhappy, and my mind knows it and because I don’t do anything about it so my mind does it for me while I’m asleep and I don’t think I can stop and—”

 

“Shush, Johnny,” cooed Neil, who had walked up to him during his mindless babble, “you need to calm down. Let me clean you up.”

 

Neil started to haul Johnny to his feet and at the same time reached for the hand towel hanging by the sink.

 

            “I’m crazy, aren’t I?”

 

Neil paused his cleaning and looked Johnny in the eyes. The young man’s eyes, still spilling perfect glassy tears, shimmered in their brilliant green beauty, but a beauty that was only skin deep. The emotion these eyes held was overwhelming; sadness shown through that gave hints towards a soul twisted from a depression so intense that the wounds on the surface of his body seemed to stretch far deeper then the cuts the knife had made in his delicate flesh. His insight into Johnny made him sigh.

 

            “You’re not crazy. You’re just sad. You just need some old fashioned love.”

 

            “Do you love me, Neil?”

 

            “Of course I love you, Johnny. I’ll always love you. Now let me take care of you.”

 

Johnny mutely nodded, but started to wobble as his balanced waned. Tenderly, Neil picked up the smaller man and plopped him down on the small counter space by the sink, then began to fill the bathtub with hot water. Steam started to fill the small room and Johnny moaned.

 

            “I’m going to be sick,” murmured Johnny, head lolling back and hands searching for something to grab hold of.

 

Neil turned around just in time to catch a half-conscious Johnny and lean him over the toilet. Once expelled, Neil then set him into the bathwater, clothes and all. Johnny remained silent, slipping in and out of consciousness while Neil cleaned off dried blood and worked to stop still bleeding cuts.

 

            “I’m sorry,” Johnny whispered in a momentary state of consciousness, nearly incoherent from all his loss of blood.

 

            “For what?”

 

            “For trying to kill myself.”

 

            “You didn’t mean to,” Neil assured him while removing the stained and wet t-shirt Johnny wore. “You didn’t know you were doing it.”

 

            “I know, but all the same, I’m sorry. Especially since I’ve worried you so much.”

 

            “I know, Johnny, it’s all right. Relax now. Just let me take care of you.

 

Now after five in the morning, Johnny nodded, wiped lazily at the tears still on his face, and closed his eyes. Neil sighed, brushed a matted piece of hair out of his wounded charge’s face, and settled in for a long day.

 

*~END~*

 

Note from Author (JaMeZ!): Thank you, Mara, for finishing my story! I loved your half of it! You know my type of writing very well. *squee* Thanx! ^_^!