BLACK SWAN
BY
AMATERASU KINESI
Part, II:
Manic
…
Jasper's POV
…
Ears ringing with the wail of someone screaming in terror, I jolt awake. My head seems to be swimming in murky waters and my every breath is nearly nonexistent. Coming in harsh, painful whizzes that soon turn to gasps, rattling hauntingly in my ears to the rhythm of the rise and fall of my chest. But I have no time for teaching myself how to breathe again….
Instead, I gaze around me and all I see is a swirl of trading shadows. Unsure of where I am or if I'll be safe for long, I trying not to panic further. Lifting my trembling hands before me, I stare at them unseeingly, and bring my hands closer to my eyes. Wiping at my face roughly with the palms of my hands, I try to focus once again.
But as my palms connect with my skin, the fact that I'm clammy to the touch and covered in a cold sheen of sweat distracts me once again. There's a familiar scent that permeates from my every pore that comes to my attention. It is the smell of panic and... As I assimilate a memory that is brought to the forefront by the assaulting scent of my panic, my cognition and sense of smell seem to trade places… Further disorienting me.
This smell, which I can't quite place, is too familiar. Terrifying. Though my mind doesn't place it yet, my entire frame seems to already have as I tremble involuntarily with apprehension. Fearful, I spread my fingers wide before me and, gazing between the gaps of my fingers, I try to locate the danger I feel present. Trying to swallow the bale and terror rising as I see nothing but still sense the threat, I desperately jostle my bungling body into a sitting position to help ease my breathing.
Springs squeak in protest beneath my weight and I realize one thing. I'm in bed. However, this revelation does nothing to sooth my fears. Feeling out of breath, I clutch frantically at my chest, it feels as if I've been running and pushing myself toward a precarious point, were my lungs can no longer take it and are beginning to burn from the exertion. Looking up, I see something else reassuring: glow in the dark stars floating across and overhead.
Assuring myself that I am safe and that I'm still in my bed and in my room, I touch the fabric of my bedspread tangled between my legs and glance around at the surrounding darkness for further assertion. However, the moment my eyes do focus on something and that something stars taking shape… I'm hoping that it is an ephemeral trick of the mind, but the something is rapidly taking form within the shadows and solidifying into a familiar shape just ahead of me. Heart in my throat, I freeze.
Someone, breathing and alive, is at the threshold of my door. It is invading my sanctuary with oozing malice that shimmers in the air around and wraps possessively around me when the figure smiles savagely. Shaking my head in frenetic denial, I try to blink.
Flailing my limbs, I shy away from the shutter image after image of the statuesque woman's shadow while I watch her come at me like a predator, one suave step at a time, as one hypnotized. Immobile as I am, the only part of me that isn't paralyzed are my eyes and as I take in the rest of the shadow-woman, I realize that she is holding a belt and a knife on each hand. In paralyzing horror, I watch as the shadow-woman poises for attack.
Involuntarily, my body quivers violently and I continue to excessively blink and blink in my attempt to force the shadow-woman's image to fade with what's left of my crippled will, but she doesn't go away. No matter how much I try to shut my eyes and count backwards until time stops ticking, like I've been taught to do… Regardless of what I try, the shadow-woman's still advancing.
Panic rakes through me anew and sinks into my crawling skin as every hair follicle in my body rises, puckering with apprehension to full static alert. The shadow-woman takes another step and the air crackles with a snap of her belt and vacillates menacingly as the shadow-woman comes to a halts. Staring at me through bottomless eyes, the shadow-woman takes a moment to tilt her head and mock me from where she stands—still, too close for comfort.
Breathe… I tell myself.
But I can't. Again, I try to inhale, but I'm heaving instead, drowning with each shallow breath, and my head sways from depravity of sufficient oxygen. Sneering at my weakness, the shadow-woman takes three lithe steps and launches.
Scrambling out of bed, I stumble painfully to the floor on a tangle of bedsheets in my haste and the wailing that originally woke me up intensifies. Trying to get away from the shadow-woman and escape the wailing, I on hands and knees on the floor and clumsily crawl to a concealed corner in the hopes of getting as far away from the shadow-woman as possible. Still, the wailing follows…
Once my back is against the adjoining corners of a wall and my body is in a tight ball with my knees pressed against my chest, I decide to add another measure of protection between myself and the shadow-woman so that she won't see how much she terrifies me or how ashamed I am. Shielding my face with my forearms, I cross them before me and rest my elbow on my knees…
Now waiting to feel the bite of the shadow-woman belt or the slash of the blade, but nothing happens… Then, suddenly, I'm still flailing and fighting against hands that touch me with kindness… Kindness? But, no, I can't bring myself to trust what I feel. She's a deceiver. In the midst of my fear and agony, I intellectually and mentally come to understand I've long lost sense of what is and isn't real.
And still, the howling screams do not stop… But the shadow-woman's gone… and so is that touch, receding in a flutter and pitter-patter of urgency, which carries along a distorted voice. It echoes back to me with words that I fail to make out above the incessant wailing and just as quickly block out.
Clutching and clawing at the rawness of my throat, I feel it vibrate beneath my fingers and realize that what I'm hearing is the sound of my own scream. Its dissonant decibel, so unfamiliar to my ears, is what awoken me from my restless slumber in the first place, and I realize that I don't know how to make it stop… But soon the sound of my scream starts losing momentum and turns into a rasping echo around me.
Though I try again, I can't seem to stop the scream that raggedly tears apart my sore throat. Despite the knowledge and the pain it causes me, I don't know how to make myself stop and the agonized sounds I'm making are frightening me. Soon, however, my attention focuses elsewhere…
Glancing around me once again, I grow restless as every hair follicle covering my body prickles with another warning. Everything around me is still dark and I no longer know if the shadows mean me any harm or if I'm making it all up. Shadows within shadows, is all I see and know right now. They are shifting, menacingly advancing toward me, and trying to suffocate me with their shallow ink.
Trying to stop the dull ache in my head and cognition of paranoia, I bury my face in my hands. Concentrating, I start counting back from ten to one.
Ten:
Lean my clammy limbs against the coolness of my desk.
Nine:
Try to ease my breathing.
Eight:
Calm my staccato heartbeats…
Seven:
Breathe.
Six:
Exhale.
Five:
My heartbeat is back to something resembling normalcy.
Four:
For a moment, I allow myself to believe I am safe…
Three:
My heartbeat picks up where it left off…
Two:
Alas, my sense of safety shatters once again.
One:
I face reality.
My sense of hyperawareness alerts me to an approaching presence, just a moment before I actually hear the garbled of whispers. A disembodied voice that belongs to the intruder and is followed closely behind in quick succession by another two voices and another as the owner of the voices banter among themselves…
Teeth rattling, I stiffen anxiously as I make out tentative footfalls just outside my room and making their way toward my room. Glancing distrustfully to the door, I watch a faceless figure clocked by shadows enter past the threshold of my sanctuary with weariness. Holding my breath, I drift away and try to escape reality as my body stays in place.
Abruptly, the shadows and darkness vanish. A muted click echoes and my room floods with warm light, mercifully scattering the darkness out of existence. Blinking furiously against the sudden light, I lean around the side of my desk and glance toward my bedroom door once more. There I spy two uninvited figures that are still here, walking, approaching me, and moving their mouths to form speech, saying things I cannot understand…
My breathing halts and my mouth opens–
No, no, no… no… no… I scream, but no words comes out as my previously persistent scream wails louder. Soon, it turns to an unintelligible, croaky moan that dies in my throat. Again, I open my mouth, desperately trying to speak, and nothing.
That's right, I have no voice.
Instinctively, I shy away from the approaching figures and try to shrink into my corner of the wall, disappearing behind the concealment my desk offers. Holding my breath I wait to feel their touch, like shards cutting my skin, but they don't neither figure tries to reach out or touch me. Instead, I feel that their eyes are regarding me from a safe distance. Momentarily, I am grateful. And then, I grow wary.
Deep inside me, something tells me that I can trust them and that I know these faceless people, but my self-defense mechanism is currently telling me otherwise. Therefore, I know I have to try and find out which part of me I should listen to and trust
Still holding my knees tightly to my chest, I rest my chin on my knees and lean forward slightly. Glancing at the two figures, I try to piece their faces into recognizable features instead of the garbled blurs and shadows they appear to be now. Too afraid to do otherwise and seeing as my original plan doesn't work, I instead try to formulate the distinct sounds of their voices into intelligible words of speech.
At last, after a tense moment of listening to discomforting white noise, it slowly works…
"Jasper… Jasper, son, you're safe," the voice coaxes. A moment later, once I process the meaning of the words, I am distractedly aware of the fact that I do know and recognize the voice. It is a male voice and compassionate. "She can't hurt you here…"
He knows... He knows…
My heart gallops with the knowledge and I swallow compulsively. As I gulp, my cries die down slowly within the confine of my raw throat. My body trembles viciously and I frantically shake my head, hoping that he's right.
"That's it," he soothes warmly. Appreciatively, I am aware that he still keeps his distance and doesn't touch me or comes any closer. Again, I am thankful for their distance and I strain my eyes to focus on the man's face, making out cobalt eyes that stare at me kindly and smooth hair the color of wheat. "It was only a nightmare, a memory son."
Carlisle… I realize and my body tremors, yet again, but with relief.
"You are safe, now. You are home and no one can or will hurt you," Carlisle assures me and I perceptibly relax at his words. "I can promise you that. We are here for you. And I won't let anyone hurt you as long as I'm—we're—here."
Another nightmare… another memory… I am safe… I find myself thinking, trying to process his words and making myself believe them. No one can touch me. Carlisle wouldn't let that happen…
"I won't let anyone harm you, I promise you," Carlisle again pledges and I believe him, despite the fact that it is a promise that he always says I constantly believe him anew.
Listening to Carlisle's crooning words, I try to sooth myself and will my erratic heart to dwindle down into a less bruising pound as his face comes into vivid focus. Next, I spy Esme's face, just over his shoulder, and see that she's looking at me with love and worry creasing her kind features.
"Are you hurt anywhere?" Esme asks, noticing that my eyes are on hers.
Keeping the both of them in sight, I moan and point at my throat in response, wanting to let them know, somehow, that I ache there.
"Of course." Carlisle nods, understanding, and relief floods through me as I slump against the wall and my desk. Suddenly, I feel exhausted but I can't bring myself to move or look away from Esme or Carlisle. Without breaking eye contact and as not to startle me, Carlisle speaks quietly, "Esme?"
Still, I stiffen, uncertain and wary.
"Yes, Carlisle?" Esme answers just as quietly and sidesteps Carlisle with deliberate slowness to look at me, all the while keeping her distance. Now that I can see more of her and my eyes connect with hers once again, she smiles sweetly at me.
"Any suggestions?"
"Would you like some water and maybe, something to sooth the ache?" she offers delicately, her words directed at me and enunciated so I can process them as she worries her hands together on her lap. Uncertain, I nod slowly and when Esme beams encouragingly I nod again, confident. "I'll just go to the kitchen a moment and fetch you something, sweetheart," she informs me gently. I nod. "I won't be long, promise."
Placing a hand on her husband's shoulder, Esme squeezes down gently and, without waiting for an answer from Carlisle, turns toward the door. The next moment I allow myself to blink, Esme is gone.
For a long while, I stare after her thoughtfully and I feel my lips twitch into a tentative smile as the silence of her departure stretches. Esme is kind to me and nothing like the woman in my memories and nightmares… I shudder… No, Esme is everything I hope my biological mother is, or was…
"This is the first time we hear your voice…" Carlisle murmurs, distracting me from my musings. Surprised, I blink up at him and he smiles sheepishly back at me. Only then, do I realize that I wasn't supposed to have heard that. "You have a unique and lovely voice," he offers blatantly, now that he's been caught.
Embarrassed, I flush and look away from him as a sheepish smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. Nodding, I offer a silent thanks and I feel Carlisle smile.
"May I sit?"
Alarmed, I glance at Carlisle and follow his outstretched hand, which is pointing to a trunk of dark mahogany at the foot of my bed with its three plush coal gray decorative cushions for sitting. Frowning, I look up at his open face to see him looking at me with a quaint smile playing on his lips and patiently awaiting my permission. Blinking, I shrug and nod, granting him my go-ahead.
He'll be far enough from me there. As I watch him like a hawk might watch a mouse, Carlisle takes a slow and cautious stride to the end of my bed. Five strides later, he takes his seat and his body slightly shifts in my direction with his left ankle resting over his right knee, looking at ease, so I can still see his hands and face and he can watch me, too. For longer than necessary, we stare at each other in silence—me weary and Carlisle contemplative.
"Why don't you come sit on the bed and get comfortable, Jasper?" he offers quietly after a little while.
After a moment, since I come to the conclusion that Carlisle doesn't seem to have any ulterior motives behind his request, I uncoil my body and shakily stand to my feet with the support of the wall and desk. Once I know my legs will not give out on me, I cautiously make my way to my bed while keeping a wary eye on Carlisle.
Getting into bed, I press my back comfortably against the headboard and get comfortable under the covers, eyes on Carlisle's blond head. Suddenly, I really wish I could be looking at his face instead. Shifting slightly on his seat at the foot of my bed, Carlisle smiles and approvingly gazes sideways at me as if he could hear my thoughts.
"That's much better, isn't it?"
Sheepishly, I nod. My long legs are now stretching out before me, while my left arm stretches protectively over my chest so that my left hand can hold onto my right forearm, just above my elbow, and my sweaty right hand rests on my lap. Much more comfortable than the floor and the wall, indeed, I can't agree more.
In comfortable silence, we await Esme's return.
…
"How do you think I did?" Esme's quiet voice inquires of Carlisle as she comes back into the room fifteen minutes later and makes me jump slightly. Looking toward the door, I watch her walk toward us with a tray held securely between her hands. When I glance at her face, I note that she is apologetic. Understanding, I nod dismissively.
"Grated radish and shaved ice?" Carlisle muses appraisingly, just slightly craning his neck to look at the rest of contents on the tray.
"With a side of honey," she quips, nodding proudly. Glancing at me as she adds, "I wasn't sure if Jasper would like it if I added honey." She frowns. "Jasper, sweetheart, do you like honey?"
Looking suspiciously at the gooey and gold substance on the tray, I realize I recognize it. Remembering that I had some in the past, I nod in the affirmative. If I remember correctly, the last time I had honey, I really liked it.
"Good thing I thought to bring it then." Esme smiles winningly.
"You did terrific, my wife," Carlisle praises and Esme blushes delicately at his praise, glancing over at him coquettishly, while he offers her an impish smile. "You are certainly a doctor's wife… and an amazing mother."
Glancing between the two, I smile and flush slightly.
"Oh…" she blushes, glowing with pride, "I've picked up a thing or two here and there from this great doctor I know." She winks at him. Again, I blush.
"You are irresistibly amazing, Esme," Carlisle commends, impressed, and his gaze is heated as he looks at his wife up and down with a secret smile turning the corners of his mouth upward. "Will you ever cease to amaze me…?"
"Don't count on it.!"
These two are always shamefully flirting with each other, no matter who is and isn't watching… It truly is a pity that they can't have children of their own without having to result to adopting unwanted kids like me. Something they discovered after Esme underwent two miscarriages that almost took her life and the doctor's told them they were all out of options. I would have loved to meet their children, for sure.
"Jasper, may I walk to your side of the bed so I can put this tray on your bedside table?" Esme asks, interrupting my reverie.
Swallowing nervously, I stare between Esme and the tray with intense worry creasing my brow and at a loss as to how to answer her question. What if she touches me?
"I just want to put the tray down so you can help yourself to what I've brought for you and then, I'll come back here and sit with Carlisle," Esme assures me with a trusting smile. "That is all, I promise." Taking her index finger, she makes an 'X' over her heart, saying, "Cross my heart and hope to die."
Smiling lightly at her childish antics, I nod dejectedly and gather my feet, holding my knees to my chest once again. Beaming, Esme walks slowly but purposefully by Carlisle, who stops her to place a kiss on her elbow, before allowing her to proceed and walks over to my side of the bed, while I watch her closely and wearily.
Maintaining eye contact and not willing to risk setting me off in a panic attack, Esme avoids coming too close to the bed once she reaches the point that she's too close for comfort. Looking fleetingly away and making sure that she is placing the tray on my bedside table, she glances back at me reassuringly and places the tray on top.
Watching her go with some relief, I feel the tension steadily ebb from my body as I wait until Esme is securely sitting in Carlisle's lap with his arms around her waist to look away and glance at the contents of the tray. There is water, a side of honey, a spoon, napkins, and a clear wide-mouthed dessert dish made of glass with paneled sides that Esme usually uses to serve us ice cream in filled to the brim with shaved ice.
And grated radish, I remind myself, remembering Carlisle's words. Chancing giving my back to Esme and Carlisle, I shift positions to throw my legs over the side of my bed and make to pick up the spoon.
"Just pour the honey over the ice and mix it up, it should still be warm," Esme instructs lightly and I tense up. "Only if you want to, of course…"
Looking over my shoulder at them, I confirm that Esme and Carlisle are still sitting on my trunk at the foot of my bed and haven't moved an inch. Exhaling, I relax and do as Esme suggested as I make a grab for the honey container in the shape of a bear made of glass. Like Esme mentioned it would be, it feels comfortably warm to the touch.
Pouring the desired amount of honey over the contents filling the dessert dish, I idly mix the contents round and round. When I'm sure it's all mixed properly, I grab the foot of the dessert dish between my fingers and ease back into the bed and wiggle back, until I settle myself against the headboard once again with my legs crossed Indian style.
Acutely aware that Esme and Carlisle are watching me, I lift a spoonful of shaved ice, grated radish, and honey, to my lips and tentatively place the cool concoction in my mouth. The instant the ice touches my tongue, it melts in my mouth deliciously, leaving a cool and sweet taste to linger, and goes down my throat easily, soothing the rawness. Surprised, I quickly glance at Esme and she is smiling encouragingly at me as Carlisle kisses her cheek with his smiling eyes on me.
"Tastes good?" she asks hopefully and I nod enthusiastically before taking another generous scoop. She giggles jovially at my enthusiasm and Carlisle chuckles, placing another light kiss on her exposed shoulder. "Eat up then."
Without needing to be told twice, I do just as the Doctor's wife suggests and eat up, surprised by each enjoyable bite that further soothes my discomfort as it coolly goes down my throat and the sweet taste of honey lingers on my tongue.
…
After I finish eating my small late night treat and drinking my water, Esme takes everything with her after my nod of acceptance and with a final word of goodnight, she is gone for the night. Following in her footsteps, Carlisle trails behind his wife, but lingers by the door to glance back at me.
Meeting his gaze, I blink up at him questioningly and he gives me a patient but pointed look. At once, I understand what he's asking and waiting for. As I settle back into bed and under the covers, Carlisle patiently continues to wait on me to give him the okay with a finger on the light switch.
Looking up at Carlisle from under the covers, I try to convey the words of thanks that I can't form into words as I nod. With a nod and an understanding smile, Carlisle casts my bedroom into night once again and all the shadows come back to life.
"Goodnight, Jasper," Carlisle's silhouette murmurs warmly from the doorway. "Sleep well, son."
Sighing and sinking deeper into my mattress, I watch as Carlisle turns on his heel and leaves, wishing I could return the simple words. Once again, I am alone with my fears and no one to chase them away, only ominous darkness and a nightlight that accentuates the shadows shifting nature.
Staring out the door, I'm glad that Carlisle left my door wide open and that the hallway light is still on, casting a dim glow into my room and somewhat chasing away the darkness. Not everything is in shadow and that knowledge is comforting…
Pulling the covers to my chin, I stare at the ceiling and ponder…
…
My name is Jasper Herve Whitlock and for as long as I can remember I have been an orphan, born and raised in Texas, until the age of thirteen. The very year I almost lost my life and became a lost soul.
Somehow, I managed to survive the foster home and Maria within an inch of my life and given a miraculous second chance at life and living thanks to Carlisle and Esme Cullen in their kindness and compassion. But now that I know I have my whole future ahead of me live a different life, I find that I am too afraid and haunted by the memories of my violent past to actually do something with it and live my life.
Broken and marred by scars of thousands of terrors unspoken, that's who I am. Guilty and blemished, tainted and anguished, unwanted and loathed, haunted and afraid…
So afraid... Because I feel her near. Every day and night I am drowning in sorrows never forgotten or forgiven, without a voice.
Finding it hard to exist, I'm constantly drowning out the sound of my sorrows and hoping to find somebody better, but I just keep running into myself. Still, I'm trying to prove whether or not it's true what people say, that in the end, what leaves you broken makes you better. Forgiveness for the woman who was stronger comes so painfully, and it chills to the bone, because I was just a little boy and I can't go back.
I don't want to care and I don't want to hate… But I do I have any other choice? I want to scream but I'm one without a voice… I can hardly speak and so I scream... I don't want to be broken!
So I live inside a dream, that same reoccurring dream of a nightmarish memory, where everything seems so sweet at first and then I everything tastes so bittersweet, like blood corroding my taste buds. Then the dream shifts and… As long as it agrees with how she feels, she keeps me dancing in my sleep.
Every time… I can never know what to expect she's manic, manic… She loves me and hates me. I break down, she feels good. She will have me bleed from her insecurity.
When will she let me heal from this? I love her still… Face to face she's sweet, like candy sticking to my teeth, but underneath so damaging. For all the eyes that look at me, she's working my anxieties…
I'm so afraid, so she tries to break me.
I won't give again. Because she takes so often, nothing anyone says will wash what happened away. When will I heal from this?
…
…Manic…
They say it will never happen again,
They're manic…
Nothing anyone says will wash it away,
I'm manic.
…Manic…
…
…
…
