Caliban had waited for Victors return, the touch on his shoulder still lingered longer than he ever expected. He had known that Victor had a gun to his head. Nor did he care. His life had no more meaning. The pain in his chest from the cruelty of the world was tearing apart his soul. Being a corpse would have been the sweetest pleasure that the world had denied him. As beautiful as any flower in bloom. Not as cold inside as the snow that paved the London streets around him. Strength that he was given he wouldn't of used to save his life. For what life had he lived? Human cruelty was all he knew except for the kind man who took him in. Gave him work, a home and now that was lost to him. So he had waited for the trigger to be pulled as he along with it would be pulled into deaths blissful embrace. That's what he wanted. Until Now.
Oh yes.
Now.
As his fingers itched to touch the shoulder that his creator awkwardly placed a warm hand. The first act of kindness from the man he desperately craved it from. New meaning came into his life. Simple thoughts that weren't so simple. Hope and perhaps. Just perhaps acceptance was crawling under his skin. If his father, his creator, the one who brought him into this world could accept him than maybe the world wasn't as malicious as he had come to known.
Caliban waited. For he saw the hesitation those blue eyes gave him. A shaky voice that told him to wait. 'I waited and you never returned.' He once told Victor when they reunited after so long. This time, he knew that he wouldn't be abandoned. This time Victor would return to him.
Questions burned into his mind of what Victor may be doing. After all, Victor had been neglecting what was acquired of him. To bring life from death again. For Caliban would no longer be alone. Loneliness was one of life's cruelest lessons. Was there ever a person so lonely such as him? He wondered. Was even his creator lonely? He didn't know.
A past week had passed as Victor stayed locked away from him, taking glances out the window. Caliban always knew which window he would look from. The screams in the house told hidden secrets he knew he'd never know. Nor would he care to. All he wanted was for Victor to walk out and start his work. So every time their eyes had met the message was clear. Their bond was unbreakable and Caliban accepted what Victor fought to deny. Tales of poetry could never weave such tragedy as them. Lost souls in a vast world where only each other could understand. Yet, they were separate. Creator and creation. Mad doctor and demon. Both, yes, both were monsters. One couldn't hide it as the beast showed to any one brave enough to gaze on his face. Victor though, his you had to look deep in the Windows of the soul to peel away what lies beneath.
Caliban couldn't move from his spot even as his muscles wanted nothing more to move. To gaze out the win do and see when Victor would return to him. Every time his hand wanted to move to his shoulder he'd bite his lip to remind himself not to. Afraid of he touched than the warmth would seep out of his body to never return. Comforting thoughts were as foreign to him. Feeling like a new born infant wanting the caress of its mother to sooth the fear of an unknown world. How he dreamed of such a comfort from the man who created him. Rejection was what he had known since he was born in blood and pain. Would Victor be so cruel to reject him again after showing even an ounce of kindness? Was his God capable of such evil? Yes. He feared. For man is vile. Animals were mere objects if even that. For he was an animal. A beast.
His heart beat faster as the sound of the door opened and he held his breath. What would his creator do now? How would he act accordingly to Victor's presence? What was expected when two monsters were in the same room together? None of the prior meetings offered any solace of etiquette. No kind words ever greeted each other's ears.
Victor walked into the room and his posture showed that he was anxious. His usual demeanor spoke songs of woe. Was his creator expecting a certain question to be asked towards him? Was he to embrace the man and comfort him? That's not what animals do. Caliban had to remind himself. Animals were merely subjects to be used as seen fit. But Caliban was more than an animal. He was a monster. Just like the fidgeting man who stood before him.
Silence spread over them. A blue gaze as the sky of a clear day found its way to the ground. Moments passed and neither could speak a word to each other. Then, footsteps sounded on the wood floorings once again as he kept his gaze on Victor. Without saying a word Victor walked to his brown medical bag and took his seat at the table. Only the sound of his ragged breath and fingers opening the bag in a shaky heist could be heard in the dim room.
Caliban just watched as Victor pulled out a syringe and veil. Setting them down softly on the table as he then removed the leather tourniquet and set that down as well. Golden eyes stared down at the veil and questioned its contents. Was it meant for him? Was their death in such a small vile? Was the swift death of a gun too soon for a monster such as him? If so then his creator was crueler than he had once perceived, as his mouth opened to speak he shut it instantly when Victor rolled up his own sleeve. Rolling the tourniquet in place and fastening it as blue veins popped out.
"You'll have your mate, soon enough." Victor's voice sounded broken as he picked up the syringe. Not even sparing a glance at his own creation.
Caliban could not believe his own ears at his creator's words. What he had been waiting for since he was forced into a dark world of horror was going to come at last. A promise made between monsters in the dark with the smell of death and blood on their face was going to be accomplished. An act against God itself that surely damned them both to hell. If such a place existed. He was about to smile. A true smile of happiness that rarely graced his scared lips.
When Victor injected himself that's when Caliban stood and made his way over to stand behind his creator. Not responding. No words were needed. They both could read each other enough. Once Victor removed the syringe and the small pool of blood dripped down his arm, Caliban silently unfastened tourniquet from his arm. A small act of understanding even if he didn't know what was now circulating through his creators life supply.
A small grip of fear overcame him. What if this was another of life's cruel lessons. His master finding a way out of their agreement. To leave Caliban in a world alone with no one to ever understand him. Victor was a monster. But he was also his father. He felt anguish terror on the day of his birth but the present was far much worse. If Victor left him alone after such words then he was not worthy of existing. A fate that was worse than death.
"What was in the vile?" He asked. Anger seeking through on the last word. He could never allow Victor such an easy release from this life. Selfish as it was he just couldn't allow it. There was nothing he feared most. If Victor had chosen to do such a terrible thing than the consequences would be great and he held onto that hope that Victor knew that himself.
"Morphine." Victor responded as he leaned his head back and up. Eyes closed as he inhaled a deep breath. A fog already starting to settle in his creators mind. An escape from life in itself but not the action that he had feared.
That.
That answer sent a wave of anguish through his beating heart. If he could weep, he would for Victor.
Morphine. A release from pain. Pain was something he understood more than most lost souls. Abandonment at his birth. Loneliness from a world that doesn't accept his kind. Bruises from kicks of cruel men for simply passing them by. Morphine was meant to resolve one from pain. What pain must his creator be feeling? Psychical or something so much deeper. His eyes scanned over the man's body as best as he could from his position. Nothing seemed to be of injury and that just made his heart ache more. Victor hurt. Victor was in pain. Living in a hell of his own making as most monsters do. What comfort could such a creature as himself provide? Is it even possible to ease the burdens of a harsh world that was thrust upon them? It made him grasp at thoughts from earlier of if being a corpse was something his creator craved himself? A man who was so driven by obsessions of life and death. Comfort in another addiction to keep him going in his daily affairs. Determination that most men could never even fathom. That heroes often wished they could possess. Victor was capable of as much cruelty but as well as much mercy as mankind had.
Without much prompting his hand stroked Victors wet cheeks as tears started to drip down his master's face. Another inhale of breath, he watched his stomach rise and fall before blue eyes gazed into his own. Blue eyes that had a rim of red from tears of troubles past. Memories that haunted his very soul. Sins that were unspeakable or else the church would hang him for acts against God. Catholics claimed that their God forgave all sins from his children. Had Victor who was his God forgiven him? For what else could Victor be to a creature as himself but a God? God brought death and life and Victor had managed to do both. By the laws of such a world Victor was the only one who could offer such forgiveness for him alone. For his atonements against his creator. Do monsters deserve such a thing?
Nothing was spoken and that was a pleasantry. For what words could any author write to encompass what they were feeling? What artist could paint a picture of these two monsters who were so bonded to each other? What songs could be song to convey the raw emotions that flayed the skin off their bones? No. Words were not a necessity for them both.
They were one in the same. And as a warm hand covered his own their story was writing a new chapter that even the writings of Shelley could never imagine to put down in a book.
A mate was no longer a need to survive in this dark cruel city that they resided in. It was an epiphany that Caliban never even dreamed of as a possibility. A life as a monster to be alone no longer felt like a certainty as he felt the warm hand squeeze his slightly. No, more need for persuasion through violent acts. No more promise of heart ache to either. For they had one thing. Even if it wasn't much in this world. They would forever be sculpted in each other's lives. If one of them entered the gates to heaven. No. Monsters didn't belong in heaven. If one of them entered the gates of hell, then one of them would always be waiting for the other.