Ah, I'm back, finally. I was experiencing a profound episode of insomnia, and I thought I should let off some steam by writing. This is what formed in the process. And I'm finally writing in Kay!Verse y'all *makes gagging sound* Basically junkie!Erik is rambling like a madman during the night hours, causing a minor (read: substantial) lover's quarrel with Nadir. I tried to go from dark to light with this one, so if you find that the general feel of it shifts to really light/unfittingly comical towards the end, that was intentional. I'm sorry if this isn't everyone's cup of tea :(
Now, two things to clarify before you, dear reader, evaluate this work (on the assumption that you do, thank you uWu); I know some shit about botanology, and I am aware that poison ivy does not, in fact, kill the trees it climbs on, but hey, Erik is high on heroin, so I could claim that he wouldn't remember (read for context). If anyone is considering pointing out that particular inaccuracy, then thanks, I already know and I feel awful about the fact that I have to keep it for symbolic purposes :/ That's one thing. The second thing is, I am pretty sure that no human could ever be as active or act as sober as Erik is in this work when on heroin, but I kindly ask you to overlook that… please… I don't want to have to write everything over =(
That's all, um, hope you enjoy, even though my writing skills are a little rusty.
Lastly, this is partly inspired by "Affection" by Cigarettes After Sex. Thought I should mention that. Swell song, by the way.
Please R&R :)
Sticks and Stones
So what does it mean if I tell you to go fuck yourself
Or if I say that you're beautiful to me
It's affection, always
You're gonna see it someday
My attention for you
Even if it's not what you need
~ Affection - Cigarettes After Sex
He can be so despicably vile when he succumbs to the drug-induced stupor that he has admitted to favouring over his company.
When he's resting on the bed, his face propped against the pillow, and his lover acts to touch him, he'll smack his hand away, mouthing "khar"*. And the Persian will retreat, and wait for him to sober up...
He is seldom tender.
"I love you." he says. "I am so lucky to have you."
He is oftentimes funny.
"Oh, why do you fret? Is it because it's Friday? Good grief, come here. As if the date is the only reason Allah would condemn us."
He tells him to keep Allah out of this. But he retorts; "Allah can keep himself out of it, for all I care."
And, always, every time, without fail, he is cruel.
And tonight is no exception.
"You are a fool, Daroga. A weak, rotten old fool. A pathetic fool, really, and one who's fated to die alone. Your wife, your son – do tell me, did your God spit on you? Turn around and look behind you, Nadir – do you see them? The shards of misery and sorrow that you leave in your wake, the thorned vines that you've always had growing under your feet?"
He'll clench his teeth and his knuckles will turn white, but he will not give him the joy of responding by punching him in the gut. His patience does not have the privilege of wearing thin.
"You are the poison ivy that consumes the life of anything it's hinged upon, Daroga. Can't you see it?" Coming closer, he'll drape his skinny arm – wobbly and weak, riddled with needle marks, as it is – over his chest. "And that is exactly why you stay. Because I see you for who you are, and what you are is the selfsame as me. Our sole difference is this; I unleashed death in the Khanum's arena. You, on the other hand…" A small pause, for dramatic effect. He is well acquainted with the sly man's artful tactics.
"You decided to unleash it upon your own home."
"You killed people, Erik. My family died. You must see how our cases differ." He breathes, in an attempt to release some particles of the fury that is starting to bottle up inside him.
"Did they? Why, I think it's the cruelest form of murder, what you did. Rukaiya? Dead because of your neglect. The hayza† made itself known early on. You saw the symptoms. You chose to ignore them. And Reza? Well… You pleaded with an assassin to put him out of his misery. That, in and of itself, should be a testament to your cowardice, your weakness– "
"Shut your mouth!" The Daroga roars and clutches the scraggy hand in his palm, his fingernails digging into the pale flesh.
He sees Erik's reflection grin in the nightstand mirror, or rather, what is left of it, for the rest had shattered during another violent interchange of insults and objects some weeks ago.
No, no, he mustn't get worked up over this. He must not permit his mind games to get to him and set his temper ablaze. This is what he wants, but he will not give in.
He brings his hand up to his lips, sucks in a breath and then expels the molecules of air into his fist, where the protrusion of his clenched knuckles under the tightly pulled skin is evident. The anger won't leave.
"Erik, go to sleep. Please."
"You let them suffer, Nadir. I would never do that. I always killed them before the agony settled in, unless otherwise instructed."
"Erik, please– "
"We are ivies all the same, Nadir. It's time you admit it. We are infections that feed on others. And we have ruined so, so many beautiful trees, Nadir… Too many to name. But– " Erik's hand snakes around his neck.
"You are not beyond saving. You are but ivy. I, on the other hand, am something much worse, and I do not sustain ivies, Nadir. I twist them. I taint them and leave them to wither. Come to think of it, Daroga; when one ivy climbs on another, which will be the one to survive?"
"I don't know, Erik."
He laughs. "Oh, I'll tell you. The one to survive is the one that has droplets of poison flowing along its roots and veins."
His words lack any sense, but he can even work with paranoid ravings like these, if he has to.
"It's that very same poison in your veins that is making you say those things, Erik. Now, tell me where the syringe is so I can hide it away, and go to sleep." His voice has plummeted to a pleading whisper.
"Oh, not that kind of poison you idiot!" The other man snorts and cackles, throwing his head back. Gone is the Erik with the blasé gaze and the venomous tongue from some seconds ago. "I am talking about real poison, the one that has existed in me all along! The one that cannot be contained in syringes and feeble vessels! This dark ichor will corrode them, just as it does with me, Daroga! And it will turn anyone into the foul man that I have become, that I might have always been." A sad grimace is ghosting over his features, his fingers are twitching.
"And no, I will not have you throw this one away, too. I found the others. Better luck next time."
Nadir only sighs and tightens his arms around him. Next thing he knows, Erik feels himself being turned on his back, and sprawled over the Persian's lap, his yellow eyes facing his jade ones. Placing a thin strand of hair behind his ear, Nadir mumbles; "Why do you speak of yourself like that?"
"Because–" He begins, and stops mid-phrase, two fingers coming up to apply mild pressure to his left temple.
"What is it?" A concerned breath has left his lover's mouth.
"Nothing, it's just… dizziness… God, that thing you did, turning me around like that..."
"I'm sorry."
"No, don't– don't be." His eyebrows rise and fall to their original place the next second. "Because– " he continues, "Wait. What was I saying? Oh, yes, of course, because I have nothing to offer you other than pain and anguish, I-" And the thin brows rise again, in realisation, this time.
"I have nothing to offer you." He repeats, blinking a few times. "And yet you stay…"
"Yes, Erik. I stay. I stay, because I– "
"Why?" He hisses, leaping to his feet and stumbling a few times before managing to stand up straight. "Why are you still here, when you know you have nothing to gain, but all that is left of you to lose? Have you made some… some cruel bet with yourself? Why don't you run away?" He waves his hand at the door. "Why don't you go like everyone else did? Why don't you abandon me, leave me here to wail and scream?" His hands are around Nadir's throat now. "Why?"
"Erik, let go."
But the iron grip prevails. "Not before you tell me."
"I'll only tell you if you let go."
"Don't treat me like a child, Daroga. That has never worked." Erik splutters.
He doesn't react. He mustn't...
Right.
Before he knows it, Nadir has delivered a hard blow to Erik's face, and the latter is staggering backwards before falling to the floor, passed out.
The Daroga rushes to his side, checking for a pulse on the artery behind his jaw. Accelerated, but still steady. He'll live, to say the least.
Alhamdulillah* and damn. But mostly Alhamdulillah.
"I stay because I love you and I care about you, you bloody halfwit." He mouths, before taking his frail form in his arms and placing him on the bed.
He can't tell where all this is coming from. The conflict, the bipolarity – it can't be just the heroin. He has tried to trace these hellish qualities back to the dark corner of his lover's mind where they originated, born out of sorrow and baptised in the murk of his tortured soul. Still, he always fails.
But then again, his lover's mind has so many of them – dark corners, that is; unlit crevices that expand along the corridors of his brain, paths bending and curving, and turning, and arching, to invade and pollute his sense.
But following them in order to try and save him is unwise. Should he attempt to do so, he would lose himself, and Erik's prophecy would be fulfilled.
The sun has risen. He can't afford to dedicate any more of his time to this. He hastily covers Erik with a blanket before rapidly walking up the stairs to the rooftop.
"Allahuma thabetna*." He mutters as he flattens his prayer rug for his morning salat.
The hours pass. When Erik shows up at the living room door, the Daroga is reading, or rather pretending to read, the daily paper. The skinny man's digits drum along the wooden frame, once, then twice, and are interrupted by the Persian's piercing stare, looking up from the pages on his lap. The fingers freeze mid-air, while Erik's thumb lingers on the frame, and the air is ladened with the overhanging tension of the unconcluded third tap.
"Ah, there you are! I didn't notice you standing there. You slept well, I hope?"
"You are the patron saint of bad liars, Nadir." Erik crosses his arms over his chest. A tentative smile is tugging at his lips but his eyes fall to the floor, following the intricate designs of the living room rug. "I am sorry."
"Hm?"
"I said, I am sorry." His eyes insist on remaining downcast as he sits in the armchair opposite the divan, where the Daroga lay settled. "About yesterday. For keeping you awake. And for saying those horrible, horrible things." His fingers are now fiddling with the fabric of his trousers.
"I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about."
Erik's eyes become wide as saucers. "You– I, I was– and you– " he takes a deep breath. "Are you trying to vex me?"
"I'm telling you, I don't know what you are referring to, or apologising about, but I am certain you dreamt the whole thing."
The Frenchman grins sardonically. "Oh did I? Why, this must have been a truly vivid dream because– " he gestures at his head, where the skin above his right eye has turned a dark reddish purple. "Because I woke up to a rather annoying headache and had this greet me when I looked in the mirror. I must have dreamt about this one, too. Right?"
Nadir shrugs.
"So, you insist."
"I do not insist on anything. All I can say is this; next time, try to refrain from making any mentions of my past, as well as those nonsensical plant parallels of yours, and we'll be fine. Oh, and above all, stay away from the blasted heroin."
Erik responds with a low 'mh-hm'. He is silent for a few moments. "So, is that all you have to say?" He adds, with a little hesitation.
"Oh, right. One more thing– "
"I knew it! Now, come on, show no mercy, call me anything you like, just please do not knock me out again, my head is killing me as it is– "
"What I wanted to say is; I prepared this for you." Nadir throws him a bag of ice, wrapped in a towel, which Erik catches. "I figured you would need it to soothe the, uh, you know…"
"I thought you said I dreamt the whole thing." Erik smirks.
They both know better.
"Once again, I am terribly sorry."
The Daroga dismisses his apology with a smile, his full and undivided attention now truly shifting to the newspaper for the first time since the moment he took it in his hands some hours ago. "'Sticks and stones may break my bones…'" He mutters, absent-mindedly.
"I see; 'but words will never hurt you'." Erik chuckles, only to have the gleeful sound fade into a moan of pain as he presses the ice against his head. "Oh Lord, I'm having a migraine. Nadir, I'm dizzy. Nadir, I think my vision's blurring, and there's this unbearable soreness on the spot where you punched me, for Heaven's sake Nadir– "
Nadir contains a silent laugh, rising from the divan and kneeling by the bastard's side to inspect the bruise. "You, on the other hand…"
The birds that were perched on the tree branches outside shifted from their place in panic at the sound of the Daroga being kicked in the face, accompanied by a groan and Erik's triumphant cackle.
*
khar (tr. Farsi): ass, fucker
Alhamdulillah (tr. Arabic): "Thank God."
Allahuma thabetna (tr. Arabic): "Allah grant me strength."
†hayza (tr. Farsi): cholera (This is sort of a headcanon of mine. There was a cholera epidemic in Iran during the 1800s, and I have always thought this to be the cause of Rukaiya's death.)