Enigma Nocturne
folder
DarkFic › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
20
Views:
5,240
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
DarkFic › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
20
Views:
5,240
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Emotional Chains
~*~*~*~
Part Nine.
Jore regained consciousness, and the first thing he did was inhale, moving his lungs out, expanding his rib cage… and he felt the wound on his torso stretch, the thin scab over it crackling. It still hurt a lot.
But Jore realized there was something different about this awakening… there was light beyond his closed eyelids, and the smell of the air he took in was of dust and old wood… and it was so familiar. And he was warm.
He opened his eyes. He was lying on his back, and soft, fluffy comforters covered him. He stared blankly up at dark rafters. The sun was hitting them in a few places, the light dappled across the wood. It was such a simple beauty… but Jore felt emotion rise in him. Feelings of undeniable vulnerability; but also softness, relief, and the dull pain of memory.
He was back in his dorm room. He sniffled and felt his eyes watering, then felt cool tears slide down the sides of his face to his ears. He wasn’t dead. He was wounded, broken, and aching, but not dead. And he was warm. It felt like the first time in his life that he had ever been warm. He smiled despite himself.
There was a knock at his door.
Jore turned towards it and wiped the tears off his face with the back of his hand. He felt a light scratch against his skin, and looked at his wrist. A light-colored scab shown in a ring around his wrist, and Jore frowned. The Headmaster had done this.
“Um, Jore?” Sun’s soft voice called through the door. Jore looked up. In that moment of remembrance of the dark past two days, he had forgotten that someone had knocked.
“Yes, Sun, please come in,” he called out, and then touched his throat in surprise, as hardly a whisper had come out when he had tried to speak. But his sister had heard him, and she came rushing in, a look of serious worry and sympathy on her face.
“Jore… you sound terrible. I knew you were out for three days, but… you sound like you haven’t healed at all. What… what happened?” That last sentence was whispered, and as she sat on the side of Jore’s bed, she took one of his hands and squeezed it comfortingly.
She’s asking ‘what happened’? Jore looked down at the covers blankly and thought for a moment. She believed that he had been sick again for three days, just lying in bed. His roommate had probably told her that. Jore noted that he would have to thank the guy later.
Jore knew that he couldn’t tell his sister what really happened. She was too young to hear it… and he wasn’t ready to tell anyone, yet. He would have to carefully hide the wound on his torso, and remember to wear gloves that hid his wrists until they healed.
Sun sensed Jore’s uneasiness, and knew he was hiding something. She had some idea of what happened, but she knew that no one ever talked about those things… although in this situation, she had to say something. “Jore… it… it was… the Headmaster?”
Jore looked up at his sister. She probably thought he had just gotten beaten like he had been in the past, and that, coupled with his previous sickness, had taken a heavy toll on him. He cleared his throat. “Yes, but mostly it’s just that darn sickness,” he lied softly in his raspy voice, giving her a little sad smile.
She still looked concerned, but left it alone. Jore was thankful for that. “Okay… well, please, get more rest. And drink lots of water. And eat soft foods, and take throat lozenges, okay?”
Jore smiled, and would’ve laughed at the long list of motherly demands had his throat not been hurt. “I will, Sun. Thank you.”
She smiled. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Sun left the room and closed the door carefully. Jore leaned back on his pillow and sighed, then took a sip of water.
How much longer would he have to endure going to this school, and being under the Headmaster’s surveillance? He wasn’t safe anywhere, and his schoolmates were more than a little worried about him.
At the end of the year, or during summer break, Jore would have to do something. Go to the police, most likely. He hoped they could do something… they might be able to help him get into a different school, and at the very least investigate what goes on at the Berns P. Nairicks’ School for the Arts.
But for now, Jore had to live through school and pass his classes. He had to stay strong, and keep these secrets until they could be used.
Only after this year would he let himself take that passive revenge.
* * *
Part Nine.
Jore regained consciousness, and the first thing he did was inhale, moving his lungs out, expanding his rib cage… and he felt the wound on his torso stretch, the thin scab over it crackling. It still hurt a lot.
But Jore realized there was something different about this awakening… there was light beyond his closed eyelids, and the smell of the air he took in was of dust and old wood… and it was so familiar. And he was warm.
He opened his eyes. He was lying on his back, and soft, fluffy comforters covered him. He stared blankly up at dark rafters. The sun was hitting them in a few places, the light dappled across the wood. It was such a simple beauty… but Jore felt emotion rise in him. Feelings of undeniable vulnerability; but also softness, relief, and the dull pain of memory.
He was back in his dorm room. He sniffled and felt his eyes watering, then felt cool tears slide down the sides of his face to his ears. He wasn’t dead. He was wounded, broken, and aching, but not dead. And he was warm. It felt like the first time in his life that he had ever been warm. He smiled despite himself.
There was a knock at his door.
Jore turned towards it and wiped the tears off his face with the back of his hand. He felt a light scratch against his skin, and looked at his wrist. A light-colored scab shown in a ring around his wrist, and Jore frowned. The Headmaster had done this.
“Um, Jore?” Sun’s soft voice called through the door. Jore looked up. In that moment of remembrance of the dark past two days, he had forgotten that someone had knocked.
“Yes, Sun, please come in,” he called out, and then touched his throat in surprise, as hardly a whisper had come out when he had tried to speak. But his sister had heard him, and she came rushing in, a look of serious worry and sympathy on her face.
“Jore… you sound terrible. I knew you were out for three days, but… you sound like you haven’t healed at all. What… what happened?” That last sentence was whispered, and as she sat on the side of Jore’s bed, she took one of his hands and squeezed it comfortingly.
She’s asking ‘what happened’? Jore looked down at the covers blankly and thought for a moment. She believed that he had been sick again for three days, just lying in bed. His roommate had probably told her that. Jore noted that he would have to thank the guy later.
Jore knew that he couldn’t tell his sister what really happened. She was too young to hear it… and he wasn’t ready to tell anyone, yet. He would have to carefully hide the wound on his torso, and remember to wear gloves that hid his wrists until they healed.
Sun sensed Jore’s uneasiness, and knew he was hiding something. She had some idea of what happened, but she knew that no one ever talked about those things… although in this situation, she had to say something. “Jore… it… it was… the Headmaster?”
Jore looked up at his sister. She probably thought he had just gotten beaten like he had been in the past, and that, coupled with his previous sickness, had taken a heavy toll on him. He cleared his throat. “Yes, but mostly it’s just that darn sickness,” he lied softly in his raspy voice, giving her a little sad smile.
She still looked concerned, but left it alone. Jore was thankful for that. “Okay… well, please, get more rest. And drink lots of water. And eat soft foods, and take throat lozenges, okay?”
Jore smiled, and would’ve laughed at the long list of motherly demands had his throat not been hurt. “I will, Sun. Thank you.”
She smiled. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Sun left the room and closed the door carefully. Jore leaned back on his pillow and sighed, then took a sip of water.
How much longer would he have to endure going to this school, and being under the Headmaster’s surveillance? He wasn’t safe anywhere, and his schoolmates were more than a little worried about him.
At the end of the year, or during summer break, Jore would have to do something. Go to the police, most likely. He hoped they could do something… they might be able to help him get into a different school, and at the very least investigate what goes on at the Berns P. Nairicks’ School for the Arts.
But for now, Jore had to live through school and pass his classes. He had to stay strong, and keep these secrets until they could be used.
Only after this year would he let himself take that passive revenge.
* * *