The first time wasn't that bad actually.
He came directly into my cabin directly after one of their first missions after they found out that Sam said 'Yes' to Lucifer. But right after he stepped onto the floor where I was sitting, surrounded by pillows and the smoke of weed that took me far away from this terrible place they called 'life', he turned around. And went away.
I didn't get why people even fought so hard to stay alive.
I knew he would come back. When everyone was asleep he would sneak into my room and steal some of my drugs from me. I pretended that I was asleep, like everyone else at the camp. But I always knew when he took some drugs or smoked some weed. I knew because when he was with me I could smell it on his tongue. On his skin.
I once thought about keeping him away from this stuff, cause I don't wanted him to end like me. But in the end I gave up.
You couldn't hold one word against this man. He changed so much since the Croatoan Virus kept getting around the globe infecting people that other people loved and the other way around.
Within days he became more drunk he ever was.
Within weeks he became more violent I thought he ever could be.
Within months he became to look like an empty, lost person that found salvation in alcohol and killing Croats without regrets.
He beat me up one time.
We went on a mission to collect some groceries for the camp and he just started yelling at me out of nothing. He started talking to me about what it was to be one of those asshole angels back then. What it felt like to be left behind like I was now. I didn't know why he asked me those questions and I don't know if the question was a bad or a good one, because he looked at me with this empty and strange look in his eyes which I couldn't tell what it really meant.
I kept silent, didn't gave him an answer. And then he yelled more at me, the same question, over and over again. But I didn't said a word. I'm sure that was the point he'd lost it. He came up to me and crashed his fist against my jaw with full force.
I couldn't hit him back then.
After that everything was different. After that he became that what he was and stayed away from me. After that he would step into my cabin and looked at me for a few seconds, only to turn around and leave. Like he couldn't bear it to be in one room with me.
So I let my eyes stay closed. Hoping that everything would be over when I fall asleep.
Camp Chitaqua wasn't a place where you would end up happy. Probably not. It was more like feeling safe and that was something you'd only found rarely in these days.
Feeling loved wasn't important anymore. It was important to know where the next Croat was. Or where the next mission started. Or whom you could trust.
Feeling love was maybe a little extra you would get if you were extremely lucky. And with extremely lucky I mean a 0,0000001% chance to get this luck. Some people found it. Other not. You heard about it some days from other camps, but no one seems to care about that.
But there was one day when I thought I might've found it.
It started again with him, stealing some of my 'Happy-Stuff' at night. But I was in my bad that night. Awake. He saw my open eyes staring at him. But he didn't said one word. He had no reason to do that. So he sat down in my own cabin, with his back against my bed, and smoked the stuff that would make him feel light and carefree.
I could tell that he was drunk when he came here. And I knew that it wasn't good to be drunk and smoke weed at the same time. But I wouldn't ever teach him. I could be high and drunk as fuck but I wouldn't ever try to teach him better. Because I knew what he was capable of.
So I watched him getting high.
Leaning his head back on my bed, looking at the ceiling.
I could feel how much he was hurting, because we were connected back then. Our bound was still intact, but I didn't know if he felt it too.
My fingers itched with the urge to put my hand on his forehead, to touch him once more like I did back then when everything was 'alright'. Running my fingers through his hair, feel his heavy breathing against my neck and having his arms around me, keeping me safe and giving me something to hold on to after I fell.
It was pure.
Now it was some kind of dirt wrenched piece of paper, which used to be shining white and got ripped into 1000 pieces. One by one. Little by little.
"I hate you."
I know. I know he does. Hearing those words out of his mouth, that were prepared for me, helped me to get out of my thoughts from the past. He put the empty joint into the bucket next to the bed to the other ones and let his arms lie limp on the floor, keeping his head on my bed.
"You with your fucking weed stuff, with your fucked up mind in your own fucked up world."
His eyes stayed open, watching the ceiling as I moved to the edge of the bed.
"I hate the way you look at me, stop looking at me."
And so I stand up only to get on my knees right in front of him. Near to him like I wasn't the last months. I got closer to him every second. Slowly. Not once breaking the eye contact. And then I sat on his lap, straddling him, with his eyes still turned away from me.
"I hate the way you touch me, stop touching me."
His voice barely a broken whisper by now, I let my fingertips run over the back of his hand, drawing small and big circles over his bruised skin, light as air. They made their way up his forearm, over his elbow, over his upper arm , to put my hand on the burned skin that I made when I saved him from hell. My other hand reached to the exposed skin on his neck, to draw again, the gentle fingertips circles that I knew he loved so much.
"I hate the way you made me feel.. Stop doing that to me.."
I ran my lips lightly over his jawline, feeling his stubble against my skin. I could feel him shake, could feel him tense. So I continued till my lips reached his ear. Placing a soft kiss under his hear I whispered the only words I had in mind right now. The words I told him back in hell when I came for his rescue. The words that I knew that would safe him again, and ever again.
"I've got you."
And so he put his arms around me. Running them up and down on my skin. Making me feel like I was worth. He whispered words into my ear. Words like 'sorry'. Words like 'stay away from me'. Words like 'I can't bear it anymore, the thing you are giving to me.'
We lost us in our self this night, not thinking about whats going to happen after that. We lived in the past for a few hours. We lied to our self, but it felt good. And inside, he broke down. But after all he got me. I would break down with him every time. Again and again.
I think losing myself in him isn't that bad. It's the last thing on earth that keeps me alive.