A leg twitches, a body moves. Someone sneezes, and all is quiet.. Eyelashes flutter.
Dull blues drift open, seeing nothing but a fuzzy blur. Slowly, his mind catches up to the situation.
What was he looking at? A ceiling. Nondescript, white.
Where was he? In some sort of… bed. Surrounded by people.. no, girls in particular.. a whole pile of them.. some were naked.. some bloody.. whip marks prominently standing out on their skin.. Some of their blood was on him. He could feel it, sticky and cool, dried on his skin. Soaking through his thermal outfit.
Pain lanced through him, but it was a familiar pain. An ache he couldn’t escape or heal. The mark of grief and anguish. It was his old friend, now…
Gods, was he cold… freezing.. he should just go back to sleep.. Nothing ever helped anymore.. there was no warmth to be found, no matter how many girls he fucked, or how much pain he caused.. the Rage seemed to be slipping away, and wearing his collar on full moons to prevent the change was becoming maddening.
What was a wolf who couldn’t hunt? What was a man who couldn’t do more than hide with his sister most of the time? He was avoiding everyone, all the time.. sending text messages to his mates to let them know he was alive, but hardly ever visiting.. a few minutes here and there.. brief and distant kisses, false smiles and reassurances..
He reaches out with one blood smeared hand and shoves a brunette off him.. disentangles himself from a redhead’s leg.. and climbs out of the bed, staggering toward the bathroom.. by the time he arrives, he’s out of energy.. So weak.. pathetic.. Spiraling down into an endless pit from which there seemed to be no return..
He nearly collapses against the sink, but catches himself by slamming his palms onto the porcelain and gripping hard.. swaying forward, he stares into a mirror.. Hollows under his eyes, the once bright blues were now dull and lifeless.. His cheeks were sunken in, and he looked.. hard.. angry.. bitter..
Was this the man he wanted to be? He couldn’t remember ever feeling this way without the influence of his grandfather, but Farzik was nowhere to be seen. This spiral had been entirely of his own doing.. which made it all the more crushing to his soul.. He was..
NO! No.. no, that wasn’t it.. it couldn’t be it.. He’d never let himself get defeated.. not by anything.. no curveball was too tricky, no fastball too quick..
But it would be so nice to just lie down….. sleep a while… relax…
He was so cold. So incredibly cold. His teeth began to chatter. Nobody knew where he was. Everyone who cared had been properly misled, and he had surrounded himself with trash.. Much as it was every other day, except the times he spent glued to his sister, absorbing her good moods and feeding off her un-broken emotions in order to prop up his own..
The image in the mirror slid to the side.. wait, no, it was him.. He was falling.. Had already fallen.. Stars burst in front of his eyes as his head cracks on the tiles.. He spends a little while watching the spinning display, idly realizing that it was even chillier on the ground. The cracks in his skin had started to open again, the scars splitting into fissures.. light peeking out from them like smoldering flames licking out of a crevice..
He was breaking. He was broken. In so many ways, he had been destroyed, obliterated.. and it had gotten the better of him.. She was gone. His love was gone.. he would never look into her impossibly blue eyes ever again.. Never feel her arms around him, or smell the sweet purity of her scent.. He had spent endless hours either torturing or worshiping girls who looked just like Jayden.. alternating between missing her so much that his heart felt like it was being seared on a grill, and hating her so passionately that he wanted to rip apart anything that looked even mildly like her.. She had abandoned him…..
No, that line of thought was poisonous. He was sick of this. Sick of the cycle, of the girls, of the drugs, the hiding.. Disgusted by the man he had become.. a twisted monster trying desperately to kindle his Fire.. This was not Havoc.. This was a twisted shadow of him, an image of the Beast within.. A man who had given himself over to darkness and self defeat.. But he didn’t want to be that man any longer.
He had to let go of the grief. Had to let go of the guilt. Had to buck up and be a man. A father.. If he didn’t, he would simply… fade away..
There was only one person left who could help him.
When the stars cleared from his vision, and his muscles began to obey his commands again… he left the whorehouse, and headed for the single source of life and comfort and knowledge that he could think of.. the only person who would understand what he was going through.. who could warm him up.. help him last these last few weeks until his children were born.. someone who could teach him how to handle this ache, who understood the mark, and his heritage……. his mother.
Standing before the door to the Hole.. he hesitated.. Maybe she would turn him away.. make fun of him.. say he was overreacting..
Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door, and waited.. Moments later, the security door opened, and his mother stood before him.. she took one look at him, and shook her head.. “you look awful..”
Suddenly prepared for rejection, he started to step back.. but she opened her arms “come here, silly.. tell me what’s wrong, and let me help..”
With a sigh of relief.. he collapsed into his mother’s arms, and began to spill everything…