Wednesday, 14 April 2010

leaves - part two.

his mind was sluggish. he didn't know where to start. perched on the edge of his settee, he cradled his head in his hands and tried to calm himself enough to plan. his living room was plain with off white, bone, walls. the settee he was perched upon was huge, deep, and almost beyond use. brown cracked leather, soft as butter, ripped in places. scratched. the carpets, deep, dirty brown, he'd ripped up immediately. now, his floor was french railway oak. and he loved it. warm, beautiful. he'd split a full glass of merlot just under the left hand side of his settee, but it wasn't that noticeable. he took a strange kind of comfort from stains though. knowing they were there, meant things remained unchanged. he was a very big fan of unchanged.

the room was a perfect square. he was unsure of the exact dimensions, as he'd never had a need to measure. two walls were lined from floor to ceiling with shelves, in turn filled with books. his only other adjustment. escapism was most definitely important to him. there was a scratched table right in front of his settee, which had three ring marks scorched into the wood. english breakfast tea. not leaves though. some things were too messy, even for him.

there was a hole in the wall just past the table, with a white pillar candle in it that he'd never lit. it was covered in dust. he lifted his head and smiled at it, all teeth, no eyes. he felt the sudden urge to destroy it. an urge he withheld easily. he had iron willpower, now.

he could feel a panic attack coming on. the slow slip slide of hands crawling beneath the skin of his spine, the nausea, the tightness in his chest. it never failed to amaze him how minute detail fascinated him when he knew he was about to lose control. his iron will clamped down again, and his only outward reaction was a deep shudder, a slight pant.

how the hell that bitch had found him, he did not know. it was impossible, IMPOSSIBLE. the dirty whore. how she couldn't just leave it well alone. the past was EXACTLY THAT. he retched, despite himself, falling forward off the settee to land on his knees, then slumped forward again so his wet forehead hit the floor, his side braced against ruined leather.

he had maybe a week, before they had him again.

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