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Bete Noire memories: Trauma
Mar. 18th, 2014 08:26 amRelevant thread #1
#2
"We're just cattle to you," Jim had said, with that flat, hardening look on his face. "How could you? How can you talk to us, to me, knowing I'm food?"
Some remembered how tired and thin Jim looked, that day. And how human. Human in a way he had thought he'd stopped seeing. The famine had pared Jim down, harshened the lines of his face and wasted the muscle of his arms and shoulders. And Some knew, on a level that had nothing to do with his mind, what that half-starved flesh would taste like if he bit into him. What flavors would be lacking in that malnourished blood. And that knowing gave a weight to Jim's words like the force behind a stab.
"I never called you food!" he protested, throat thick. It turned his lower voice into an alarmed hiss, one that cracked like an adolescent's. "Or cattle! Jim, you're my friend!"
Jim wasn't afraid of him, but that couldn't balm the terror in Some's gut. He was looking into Jim's face and seeing a wall, a wall that hadn't been there when he'd met the man. Everything, the kindness, the body-friendship, the trust was gone. And that wall was Some's fault. He tried to explain himself, caught himself trying to make excuses, and the knife twisted in his gut.
"You can turn yourself in, or you can wait for someone to come," Jim said, unequivocal. The voice of the law Some had been hiding from so long.
And Some had been craven. He had fought that wall in Jim's eyes with pathetic desperation. He had told Jim, not in so many words, that only Some's friendship, his love for him would be the force to stop Some-the-Hunter. He didn't know if it was true. Skin crawling with terror, he had begged for reassurance, for any flicker of the once-lover he'd known first. "How am I supposed to stay there if I am afraid for my life?" he'd begged, speaking of prison. "If I am starving? Hurt? I have to choose to stay there!" he'd flung at him.
When Some had gone with him, Jim had stood by his side, seeing him through the barely-understood process of incarceration. But that wall had stayed in place, so much worse than the prison walls that closed around and around and around Some until he was in a cell so small that he couldn't stretch out his full length.
And then, before he'd even had a chance to catch his breath or calm his heart, he had had to go through it all again with Lance. And it was so much worse, because where Jim had thrown up a wall, Lance's pain had been like the ground collapsing under him. And then they have left him, his friends, had left him alone in a cage where they were the bars.
#2
"We're just cattle to you," Jim had said, with that flat, hardening look on his face. "How could you? How can you talk to us, to me, knowing I'm food?"
Some remembered how tired and thin Jim looked, that day. And how human. Human in a way he had thought he'd stopped seeing. The famine had pared Jim down, harshened the lines of his face and wasted the muscle of his arms and shoulders. And Some knew, on a level that had nothing to do with his mind, what that half-starved flesh would taste like if he bit into him. What flavors would be lacking in that malnourished blood. And that knowing gave a weight to Jim's words like the force behind a stab.
"I never called you food!" he protested, throat thick. It turned his lower voice into an alarmed hiss, one that cracked like an adolescent's. "Or cattle! Jim, you're my friend!"
Jim wasn't afraid of him, but that couldn't balm the terror in Some's gut. He was looking into Jim's face and seeing a wall, a wall that hadn't been there when he'd met the man. Everything, the kindness, the body-friendship, the trust was gone. And that wall was Some's fault. He tried to explain himself, caught himself trying to make excuses, and the knife twisted in his gut.
"You can turn yourself in, or you can wait for someone to come," Jim said, unequivocal. The voice of the law Some had been hiding from so long.
And Some had been craven. He had fought that wall in Jim's eyes with pathetic desperation. He had told Jim, not in so many words, that only Some's friendship, his love for him would be the force to stop Some-the-Hunter. He didn't know if it was true. Skin crawling with terror, he had begged for reassurance, for any flicker of the once-lover he'd known first. "How am I supposed to stay there if I am afraid for my life?" he'd begged, speaking of prison. "If I am starving? Hurt? I have to choose to stay there!" he'd flung at him.
When Some had gone with him, Jim had stood by his side, seeing him through the barely-understood process of incarceration. But that wall had stayed in place, so much worse than the prison walls that closed around and around and around Some until he was in a cell so small that he couldn't stretch out his full length.
And then, before he'd even had a chance to catch his breath or calm his heart, he had had to go through it all again with Lance. And it was so much worse, because where Jim had thrown up a wall, Lance's pain had been like the ground collapsing under him. And then they have left him, his friends, had left him alone in a cage where they were the bars.
