Trigger Warning: intense.
So it was decided. Alfred could have three days for seeing Matthew, and by the end of it would be back in at least New York City, if not Washington. Alfred would get to see Canada, both bosses would be satisfied, a win-win for everyone involved. All Alfred would have to do would be to find him. "Canada is not picking up anymore, I can't find him", Matt's boss had said, "I can't help you with much more, so do you still want to do this?".
Alfred was willing to walk through hell for his brother, and he had already done the hell part. Mat was the way back. He was more than willing to walk all of the way there. Taking the plane would be so much faster though, and…
A lot of things. Alfred was sitting at a bench, and craned his head to see the airplane. He was squeezing a small bag. Nothing could get him back into the apartment: he bought his only thing by just throwing cash at the register as he grabbed clothes and toiletries. He felt cold, Alfred hugged the bag closer. Maybe Mathew wouldn't make a fuss over his little rendezvous, but he knew that he would be happier if Matt did. Mat throwing his work, the bonds and monotony of a life so unstable, and hold him. Love him. Protecting each other from the harsh world and its tricksters. So he would go to him. It was just… He just..
How come he didn't want to ride the plane? Maybe it was because he didn't want to be in a crowded area with no way out, but he never felt that way before. Flying was movement, the very act of freedom and doing what you wanted. He couldn't be unhappy to fly. He loved flying. He always loved flying. The first time he saw a plane he had laughed, amazed at its abilities. That something could do a thing like flying, unburdened by anything as it flew away from the dangerous world. He had even showed it to Art-
… But a lot of things had changed, he thought, loosening his grip. And sometimes you just can't change them back to how they were before. No matter how much you wished it so.
"Five minutes to board flight 205, passengers have five minutes to board flight 205." Alfred quickly looked at the airplane, like it might leave him forever at any moment. He stood and picked his bag. He boarded.
The plane was small, filled with over a hundred people and only two exits. Alfred would be mobbed and helpless if the worst happened, unable to escape. He examined all possible perpetrators and seats, taking the seat closest to the exit. He tried to breathe and not think. Alfred couldn't do it. Surprising, considering all the times he did that, and only that. Maybe if he actually thought just once in a while, or only once, nothing would had-
Anyway, he was happy. He was happy. Long, gross knives could play around his body and he still wouldn't notice, for even as they cut him repeatedly, he would forget it as soon as it was out of his body. Nothing could get him down, he was too dumb to see what was happening in his face, not knowing and remembering. He closed his eyes. But he was happy. He had to be happy. For he was happy. Happy. He was happy. He was happy. He was happy. He couldn't change it, but that was okay. It didn't matter. He was happy. He was dumb. Happiness was dumb. Dumb didn't know how things happened, it let its mistakes and failures fuse together and rot everything. Inside out. They deserved what happened, okay! It was okay! It wasn't that bad! Why did they think it was that bad, it wasn't, it really wasn't! They didn't need to do that! They deserved what they got, rapists-
Rapists.
Rapist.
Rape.
Destruction.
Betrayal.
Why?
Who knows anymore? Alfred took in a long deep sigh and held it in. He felt too hollow. He needed a drink. He needed something to fill the cavity inside him. He ordered a water. Downed it in one gulp.
It was warm like a gentle spring day. A few days ago when he was walking to a meeting he ate a burger just like that. Just like that he pushed it into his mouth, gagging on it. The warm, putrid juices had filled his mouth on that day and exploded within him, choking on it's addicting repulsiveness. Maybe if he hadn't eaten it, simply hadn't gone there, no matter how well he had known it, he wouldn't have gone up like that, and end up covered in his gross liquids. He felt like his body was rotting from the inside; one strong kick would throw it down. He felt sick. He had felt hollow earlier, but now that his stomach was pulling into himself, he felt an even worse feeling: complete utter sickness from self-disgust.
He turned to excuse himself, but realized that he had no one to turn to. How weird, he'd never done that before. Alfred ran quickly, and turned to stone if he so much as brushed by a person's bag. Belongings were important, they stayed together no matter what. He never knew how mad people could get over a perceived wrong.
Alfred ran to the stall and keeled. He ended up vomiting all over the floor. He hastily took a towel and mopped it up. He didn't want them to be mad at them. Mad people could do anything.
After cleaning the floor, Alfred frantically washed his hands in the stall. Maybe it was not real, a lie, and it never really happened. Alfred had had known them since forever. Even if it did happen, maybe they were just giving him tough love and he reacted out of proportion.
He coughed. It spit up some vomit. After washing the vomit and spit off his coat, he realized how wet his face was, even though he didn't clean it yet. "Smile", he thought "Be happy". "That's who you are. Always happy and dreaming of tomorrow." He moved the corners of his mouth as far apart and high as he could. "See, that wasn't too hard, was it?" he muttered to himself. He looked at his reflection. A man close to tears grimaced with 'GUILT' written in ash black marker across his face. His lungs and stomach contracted. Alfred had vomited again, and swallowed small breaths.
But this time he was choking; his stomach in a vice, and something soft and squishy moving in his throat. Maybe his spastic movements were to free his lungs from this tight movement, from being torn into and groped. He tried pushing away, but they wouldn't let him go. Panting heavily, Alfred kept struggling, kept on trying to escape, but but they gripped him too strongly. Even if death grabbed onto him, they wouldn't him go. He tried to screamed, but he couldn't even hear his voice over some kind of deep rattling croak.
It was when he was falling to the ground that he was able to scream. By then, it was too late.
Once again he was utterly powerless. He was less aware of it than before, but he was still alive then. Or at least he was probably dead. He couldn't feel anything, so he couldn't tell. He didn't know, but he never knew a lot of things that he thought he did.
Everything felt bright, but already he felt cooler, and a hand that felt familiar and cool like an oasis held his. Through the slits of his eyes, he saw that the kid was blond with glasses. It must be-
"Matt-
"Sir, are you alright?" said the blond man in a deep voice,
"He's speaking!", cried a bystander.
"We thought you died".
"Passengers, we are landing because a passenger is sick. Repeat: we are landing because a passenger is sick."
"We have to get him to a hospital."
Uncontent with lying in his own vomit and having things out of his control, Alfred tried to say though his raw throat, "Mat-Matthew Williams. I have to go to Montreal. Matthew Williams is there. I hav..."
He thought that he being being strangled, for couldn't speak. He only coughed hard, almost vomiting when he tried. A soft hand touched his neck, moving the bile away from his throat. Grossed out by the soft flesh approaching his helpless mouth, Alfred tried to rise and push it, stand and run, be strong, free. Clean. Safe. Brave. He instead passed out. But no one noticed.
Except for the man following him.
Hello, thank you for reading this because it means a lot to me. Sorry that it's rough, but I couldn't find the paper that I wrote the middle on. Again, sorry. Originally this was two different things, but I put them together. Songs I listened to when writing this were I=nightmare, and Leave it To Yotsuya san. I don't know if I should put a tag for intensiveness or something on the top. Please leave a review. Thank you.
Edit: No one voted in the poll about how often I should update (the story is already written except for the last chapter, as a treat for me), but my brother would like for me to wrap this up, and move on to something different. Next week I will write on Wednesdays and Saturdays. I hope you all have good lives.
