Turmoil Behind The Mirror

“You would never sleep at night
If you knew what I’ve been trough
And this thought is all I have
To trust upon when light is gone”

- Katatonia -


---------------------------

Karma : Thank you so much for beta-reading this !!! :D
Tsuki : Thank you very much for reviewing each chapter ! , I\'m very sorry for the slow uptdate ; and I\'m sorry , but the gore will come until next chapter , if not , this would have been too long ... hope you like anyway :p
Also thanks to Manuel and Scorponok for reviewing .

---------------------------


They came to Jon’s place to find the front door unlocked. They stumbled their way in with a half-asleep, half-unconscious Jon in arms. They took Jon to his bedroom and laid him down on the bed. Chris took off the boy’s jacket and shoes, tossed a blanket over the shivering body, and sat on the edge of the bed, sinking his face in his shaky hands and letting out a loud sigh.

“Fuck, Jon…” Chris only muttered with laziness and remorse.

He turned his head to Alex, still standing there with a puzzled expression on his face. His furtive glance was studying the room. Chris couldn’t read the frown darkening his features, but got distracted by a half-filled bottle of something pocking from under the bed and picked it up.

“I don’t think he’ll mind…” Chris whispered. “We’ll be doing him a favor….”

Alex took the bottle that Chris was holding up to him and toyed with it, watching the liquid go back and forth, mimicking a stormy night out in the ocean. He shrugged and, opening the bottle, took a few gulps of brandy.

Jon’s shivering had turned into shaking.

Chris took notice of this and turned to the figure lying on the bed. He tried to think, then shook Jon by the shoulder.

“Jon, wake up.” The alarm in his voice drew Alex near. Chris bent over Jon and took his head between his hands and shook him further. “Jonathan, wake the fuck up! Don’t do this to me.”

The high pitched whining made Jon come around, who simply looked at Chris with half-open eyes and frowned. Still trembling, Jon coughed, embracing himself.

“Damn….”

Chris took Jon out of bed, pulling him up and tugging harshly at his bandaged arm, covered by the long sleeve shirt. Jon gave up with a cry of pain. Chris drew up the sleeve and watched the white bandages already staining red on some places.

“Damn it, Jon.”

Alex took a step closer and helped Chris with whatever he was intending to do. Jon coughed again.

“To the bathroom,” Chris told Alex between giggles.

Once in the bathroom, Jon threw up everything left in his stomach and was finally able to smile at his stupidity.

“Better…? Or am I gonna have to give you a cold shower?” Chris added, somewhat pissed off.

Alex silently watched from his spot at the doorstep, noticing all the shards of what seemed to be a mirror lying on the floor tiles.

“I’m so much better, Mom. Thanks,” Jon managed to say with ragged breathing and an ear-to-ear smile.

“Sarcastic fuck! You’re coming back to your senses…. Good.”

Alex laughed at the scene taking place in front of him.

“Yeah, fucking hilarious, Alex!” a pissed off Chris shouted, staring back at him.

Then panic took over Jon. That name. The stare came back to haunt him. Though he felt far better now, he didn’t dare to lift his eyes to look at the silhouette standing at the bathroom door.

“Leave me alone…” Jon muttered with menace in his voice.

“Yeah, sure….”

The irony in Chris’ tone and the hand patting on his head threw him over the edge. He shrugged Chris’ hand violently, risking falling once again. The look on Jon’s eyes made Chris take a step back.

“Well, coming from you, that’s enough for a thanks.”

Then it hit Jon. He remembered what had happened, or at least those quick, sickening glimpses of the night. A collection of frozen images danced through his brain and he felt ashamed of himself.

“I… I didn’t mean to snap at you, Chris….”

“Ahhh, you never do, right?”

Jon smiled at him, taking off his white t-shirt. He left on the black one, and Chris noticed the bloodstained bandages on Jon’s arm.

“What the hell happened to your arm, anyway?” Chris wondered, pointing at the bandages.

“Ah, Chris, you should know better…” Jon answered while storming out of the bathroom into the hall, heading off to his room. He didn’t even looked up at Alex, who inhaled deeply at the air revolving around the room after Jon left it.

He smelled of blood, alcohol, sex, and antiseptics. Alex crossed his arms and leaned against the tiles, bottle in hand, frowning at the shards crushing beneath his feet.

“Chris… ” came a velvet voice from the end of the corridor. “Give it back!”

“Jon… it’s four in the morning. Go to sleep!” Chris was already in the kitchen going through the fridge and grabbing a beer. “I have to go home. I can’t take care of you all night….”

“I’m not asking you to look after me! Give it back!”

“You have tons of shit running through your veins. Go to sleep!”

Alex took a glimpse of a raging Jon storming toward the kitchen and found it amusing. Then the voices got lost in the kitchen and he caught no more than murmurs, the cork of a second beer, and Chris’ chiding and laughter.

“C’mon, you can laugh about it, Jon; it’s funny,” Chris’ voice ringed, moving toward the door.

No sound from Jon.

“I better get going then. See ya around…. And… I’m really sorry, Jon. Honestly.”

Alex could hear the frown in Chris’ tone.

“Don’t make great deal of it… ” Jon almost whispered, looking at the floor.

“Well, then, I’m off…. Say goodbye to Alex for me.”

And with that, he slammed the door behind him, leaving Jon frozen on the spot.

{ …Hunting you…. The sum of all your fears, remember? }

“Fuck you!”

Alex heard Jon swearing and thought it would be better for him to leave. He felt awkward. He took hold of the bottle in his right hand and drank from it.

Silence befell upon the house.

He decided to go look for Jon in the kitchen, but the lights were out. He looked around and finally discerned what could have been a shadow, sitting on the floor, leaning on the front door. Jon’s face was lit only by the cigarette he drew upon.

Alex walked toward the figure and stretched out his hand to offer the bottle. Jon took it with care, slowly. It made Alex think of an ethereal movement.

Alex’s hand wondered on the wall, searching for a way to turn the light on, but failed. He heard the sound of liquid waving in the bottle.

“May I?”

Silence. He waited patiently for an answer.

“Back to the beginning….”

Alex took that for a yes and sat on the floor, right in front of Jon, who handled the bottle back while giving a deep draught to his cigarette. It allowed Alex a sample of his beautiful features, stained by tears.

Tears. The sight tortured him.

“He has two teeth left…” Alex whispered while giving the brandy back.

Silence, broken only by the sound of Jon drinking silently.

More silence.

“Thank you….”

Alex hardly grasped the whisper and looked up to the frail form sitting in front of him, noticing Jon was looking at him while inhaling deep at his cigarette, then hiding behind the curtain of smoke.

He reached toward it, with care not to frighten Jon (who didn’t move), and reached his face to grace his left cheek with a caress; Jon handled back the bottle with utter indifference. Alcohol was starting to hit them both, though Jon shouldn’t be drinking anymore.

Alex backed off, feeling bad about himself. Then he heard Jon struggling to stand up.

He’d better help him.

Alex stood up and tried to help Jon, but the boy only pushed him away. He took no offence.

He then looked to turn the light on before Jon cracked his skull, slumbering in the dark, and Jon took notice of his attempts.

“Don’t….” The menace in Jon’s voice didn’t have an effect on Alex.

“Why…?”

“Because I can’t stand your eyes!”

Alex didn’t see that coming. “What…?”

“Just… don’t,” Jon almost pleaded.

Alex followed Jon through the house and up the stairs. He hadn’t noticed the stairs. It made him wonder why Jon slept on the first floor.

Jon’s steps were slow and numb. He had to help himself by steadying with one hand against the wall. He finally managed to stop in front of a drawer.

“Are you staying?”

Alex wanted to. Chris had asked him to help put up with Jon, but Jon looked quite fine right now, compared to how he did when he came home.

“If there’s no problem with it--”

Jon interrupted him when he tossed a blanket roughly toward him after going through the drawers in the dim light coming through the windows. He headed downstairs to the living room.

Following Jon, Alex never stopped roaming the walls with his fingers. There had to be a light switch somewhere. And there it was, near the foot of the stairs.

Against Jon’s wishes, he turned the light on, allowing the living room to come to life. There were drawings, pictures, and writings on the walls; all seemed to be awakening, as if beckoning him closer.

Alex smiled at this, then stared at Jon’s back, who was a few steps away from him.

“I asked you not to….” The hurt, almost tangible, was poisoning his voice.

“Why?” Alex asked, closing the distance between them.

“I can’t handle your gaze….”

Alex laid a hand on Jon’s shoulder and felt him stiff at the touch.

“Look at me, Jonathan, and tell me why….”

Silence.

“You can sleep on the couch,” Jon snapped and walked away without looking back.

Alex frowned and felt confused.

“I don’t even know the guy…” he mused while tuning the light off.

He decided to just take his jacket and shoes off, then laid on the sofa, covering himself with the blanket Jon gave him. He lost his gaze on the ceiling, unable to find sleep. Suddenly, he heard the Jon’s door slam and then no further noise.

Alex couldn’t sleep and the ticking of the clock on the wall near him awoke anguish in his senses. Jon’s words had almost shocked him.

He had drunk enough for not being able to trace a single idea. His brain, numb; avoiding itself; avoiding the yearning for torturing the boy now that he knew he could make him suffer, but felt bad at this.

He shrugged in the darkness, curling on his side.

Unease.

Something was lurking through his mind, something morbid, and he laughed at himself, creaking the womb of darkness around him.

To recall Derek curling on the floor, covering his already wretched face made him laugh even harder. Then Jon’s pain made the saddened laughter disappear, the long-lost happiness ringing in the cadence of the tone.

“Nor will it be the last…”

The phrase running over and over through his head, until he almost heard it again, whispered in his ear. Tossing the blanket away and sitting on the edge of the couch, he thought hard on what he had heard. Over and over. Once a fixed idea takes hold of a sickened mind it’ll hardly be gone.

Frowning and narrowing his eyes at the darkness, he gave wings to his imagination. After giving up a quiet sigh, he stood up and walked silently down the corridor. The carpet swallowing his steps.

He knocked on the door at the end of the hall, waiting patiently for a response. Hearing nothing, he knocked again.

“Jon?”

“Fuck off!” the voice on the other side of the door shouted at him. Now Alex was pissed off.

On the other side of the door, a furious Jon lying on an unmade bed, smoked a cigarette with a deep sombre frown on his face. Then he heard Alex sitting against the door, sighing loudly as if in defeat.

No further exchange took place; the sun was already rising. Jon finally felt sleepy after days of uneasy sleep. He was tired, he had to admit that to himself; tired and emotionally worn out.

-----------------------

By the time Jon regained consciousness and woke up, it was already three in the afternoon. His head spun and stung. After half an hour of wondering and slumbering into half-wakefulness, he had the strength to leave the bowels of his bed.

He walked out of his bedroom to an empty doorstep and a silent house. Walking like a shadow around the house, he checked the living room to find no more than a neatly folded blanket on the couch.

Sitting on the edge, wearing no more than a pair of boxers, he sank on it after grabbing a cigarette from the carton lying on the coffee table in front of him. Warmed by sadness, he abandoned himself to the grip of threatening despair.

He slowly lied on the couch, sinking his head on the blanket next to him, drinking from the lingering smell. Tears betrayed him once again, stinging his eyes and warming his face.

He looked intently at the cigarette between his fingers, swallowing his pain. Blue eyes full of sorrow went from his fingers to the blackening bruises on his thighs, making a sickening contrast against the ivory skin.

Roaming the raw markings with his fingers, more tears left his eyes, blurring his absent world. After giving a last draught to his cigarette, he hovered it over the skin, lowering it slowly, feeling the burning heat caressing his flesh.

Four times he left the cigarette mark his left thigh, over the mocking bruise, feeling purified by the pain while letting a loud sob escape his throat. Putting out the cigarette on the ashtray on the table, he cried himself to sleep, shedding tears on the sweet perfume of loneliness.

He dreamed of blackened skies, tainted by a blinding sun. He dreamed of emancipation. He dreamed he engulfed his own soul.

------------------------------------------

He woke up to his body shivering badly. A cold chill was blowing like a breeze through a long-forgotten window.

It was already dark.

{ …Near…. }

Jon closed his eyes tightly in purest deicide.

// I thought you were gone. //

{ …You should know better, then…. }

Jon almost felt the breath contained in that inner whisper on his skin.

It had to be tonight.

Putting on a pair baggy black pants, a black t-shirt, and a cosy jacket, he started to collect everything he needed once again.

An artist needs catharsis; he needed material to have his piece complete. Looking for the small metal case that contained what were brushes for him, he went through his room, running into it while trying to get his backpack.

Jon opened the case to find all of his knives and razors lying there, greeting him. Having checked the case, he headed off to the basement. There, his father kept what he would hopefully find. He turned the only light bulb on and looked around.

{ …Is this a peace offer…? This time there will be no truce. }

The voice went on and on, on the same vein, but Jon was concentrated on what he had gone downstairs to find. He went through a bunch of trash before it came to his eyes; she revealed herself to him.

He grabbed her carefully, enough not to disturb her, and tested the blade. Such a beautiful axe it was, full of rust all over.

Looking further, he found no rope, but ran into something much more appealing to him: wire.

// It’ll do, // he thought, smiling to himself.

With axe and wire he went upstairs and shoved them in an empty backpack. Heading for he kitchen, he began looking for duct tape under the sink.

Jon patiently wrapped the tip of his fingers with it, for he had no gloves at home he could use. After the meticulous job, he also shoved the tape in the bag. There was only one more thing for him to get.

Going upstairs, he reached his sister’s bedroom and opened the door with utter respect. The images flooding his memory made him feel ill. This time, he hadn’t to look that hard.

After a quick search trough her closet, he decided to look under the bed. He had to remove some things in order to finally come upon it: the leather phallus he had been looking for.

Jon felt forlorn and sick while he stared at it, trying to recall how many times his older sister had forced it into him such a long time ago.

Dismissing such cruel remembrances, he took it downstairs, not forgetting to close the door behind him. The voice was still nagging at him, but he wasn’t paying attention to it right now.

Finally, tugging the last tool he would use tonight in the backpack, he gave put a sigh of relief. Jon lifted his eyes to look at the hour.

Two in the morning.

He wondered if he should wait longer, but decided to leave.

Everything seemed to be quiet on the street, the barking of a strayed dog forced him into his senses. He walked with low pace, enjoying the beauty of the night spreading around him. The icy air filling his lungs, and the thick clouds his breath formed while exiting his body.

The sound of the wind caressing the swaying trees was poetry to him.

He shoved his hands in his pockets to warm them up.

// Such a beautiful night; pregnant with sorrows. //

{ Sorrows it won’t share. }

// That, I know…. //

He looked up to the sky above, looking for his lost witness crowning the blackened clouds. There it was this time, looking down condescendingly.

// Yes, Mother…. Tonight, I shall grant you a work of art… as full of pain as you are… as bloody as the path you want me to grasp. //

Jon walked down the street, still smiling to himself, reaching the alleyway so familiar to his eyes.