A/N: Just a short fic for the awesome movie that is Devour. Hope I can do it justice.
Summary: Jake knows you can't choose who your parents are. Doesn't stop him from wishing.
Choice
Jake stares at the blank white wall. It's like looking into nothing, and that scares him. How long has he been here again?
Looks down at the scars on his arms. They told him he had a complete psychotic break. Went fucking nuts, he thinks. He traces the healing skin almost reverently. Didn't know he could do this to himself.
Does the crazy account for the things he's seen? He asks about his parents. About Connie and Dakota. Nobody says anything. They give him looks that he can't quite decipher.
---
It feels like reaching into swirling blackness, grabbing around, and hoping that what you come out with is right. He's trying to put the pieces back together.
Sometimes reality fragments itself and mingles with the fantasy. He wonders if feeling it all at once will kill him. And he wonders why that doesn't seem so bad.
Life's not easy when you can't remember what you did, or who you became. But it's probably harder if you do. He decides this quietly, marking off another day on the wall with a black crayon.
---
She's all smiles when she comes through the door. Like everything's okay. Like they're supposed to be here.
And even though he's pretty sure the therapy's been paying off, he can't shake the feeling that something's off. He fakes a smile as she flashes through his mind; a demon giving birth to something... extraordinarily normal.
He turns to the orderly, facade dropping. Doesn't have the energy. "What's she doing here?" He doesn't care that Marisol looks disappointed.
"This..." The orderly looks confused, but tries again, "She's your girlfriend."
Jake looks at her. Shakes his head. "No." And his next words surprise even him. "Could you get me a priest?"
And Marisol is looking at him like he's just kicked her puppy. But those eyes. Those eyes.
He stares her down until she looks away.
---
Jake knows you can't choose who your parents are. But it doesn't matter when he sees their picture on the bedside table. Paul and Kathy were the ones who raised him.
Tried hard as they could. Tried to save him. They were his parents. It was hard sometimes, but they loved him. He loved them.
He tries not to cry as he hangs the rosary over the photo. He won't let them down again.