Trigger Warnings for this chapter:
- descriptions of disturbing and visceral imagery throughout
- very descriptive and detailed depictions of a severe panic attack
Hi again! I'm back with another chapter, and while I'm here, I am also working on chapters five and six! Not too much to say up here right now except that I've added some more songs to the Metanoia playlist on Spotify:
playlist/0nEB6Xd2609maVSGaggtwg?si=zVCDdUh2QsCpjt5B3PD2rQ
I wish it was an actual clickable link, but until that (ever) becomes a thing, or until i figure it out, feel free to copy and paste the Spotify link for the playlist!
Please enjoy, and there is much more to come!
Sometimes I have this reoccurring dream where I'm laid out on a table, arms and legs tied down; and these five figures come out from a door across from where I'm at. The room doesn't look special, or give any indication as to what's going on at first, but eventually one of the five figures pulls over a small cart with surgical tools laid out, and starts to cut me open like a dead animal. Luckily I can't feel the pain, but the panic is very much palpable and urgent; I scream out in the dream and cry for them to stop or for some kind of help. I'm met with a gloved hand smothering my face as the first figure continues slitting me up the middle of my abdomen. He makes cuts in such a way so he can fold back the flesh like drapery and then starts to poke and prod at my exposed muscle and fat tissue. Still to my relief I cannot feel it but I recall still continuing to yell out and cry, regardless of the second figure's hands attempting to silence me. If anything, there is an extremely dull, barely there discomfort, but that's all that I could physically feel within the dream.
This continues on to the point where they get fed up with me, and choose to silence me by slicing off a healthy chunk of my own raw muscle and force me to eat it. I cannot see their faces but I hear laughter as they watch me retch and gag from being forced to swallow pieces of my own body. They think it's funny, they find it amusing.
I jolt awake from the ungodly scene, almost always sick to my stomach and nearly to the point of tears. No matter how many times I have that dream and expect what's coming, it's too hard to fathom.
For clarification I have never been in a situation like that whilst in captivity; there were rumors spread amongst the other slaves that the world nobles experimented on and tortured particularly disobedient and unruly captives in such a manner; but nothing was ever confirmed, and I was never witness to anyone who had the supposed misfortune of being in that situation. The other captives around me kept their mouths shut and did as told to appease those spineless slugs as much as possible, as did I.
Nonetheless I've had this dream on six different occasions, all have been quite spread out from one another as well. Seems like not even the safety and solace of sleep will allow me any comfort.
-GT- Journal Entry 2
God sent an angel of mercy to me, to forgive me for being so mean.
And he said "Do not fear the darkness my son, for the sun will rise again.".
He took this ailing body from me, for he knew it was causing me pain.
He won't give me a new one, 'cause I had my chance, but he forgives me.
He forgives me.
Teen Suicide - Hymn 1
Four hours crawl by. Tesoro awakens in the dead of night, not the least bit rested; his slumber, while deep, passed in an instant as if he closed his eyes for a minute. Now sat up in bed he turns on his bedside lamp and glances at the clock:
2:23 A.M.
Regardless of his restless sleep, Gild found comfort in the stillness of the night aboard Gran Tesoro, something he hasn't been able to experience in years. The place is always bumping and bustling with swaths of visitors from all over the new world and beyond, but now it was dead; as dead and still as those who take their final breaths. He palms his forehead as he sits up and gains his bearings; then decides to go out for a stroll.
Whether it be because he was still attempting to wake up, or for some other reason he was unable to pinpoint, he felt eerily calm for the time being; but knew that it wouldn't last, so he wanted to enjoy it while he could.
A light, airy garment hung loosely at his sides, draped upon his arms and over his shoulders. It left his torso somewhat exposed, but that was not a concern of his since Gran Tesoro is deserted, save for him, Stella, Carina, and his three subordinates; no one was awake at this ungodly hour anyway - or so he thought.
Tesoro quietly made his way out of his private quarters and strolled down the hallway nearing the elevator. Once inside, Stella opened the door to her room and took a peek around. She had heard him earlier yelling to himself and it worried her; she has not slept in fear of him having another episode. The anxiety kept her awake; it reminded her all too well of the unnerving feeling of being helpless. Stella wanted to help Tesoro, yet her feelings clashed with one another still; he was now a ruffian; dealing in violence, bloodshed, extortion, and forced labor; the anxiety of that reality was keeping her up at night as well.
When Stella heard Tesoro leave his quarters, she followed suit.
The opportunity to be alone while outside was something he missed; he could hear himself think and didn't have to worry about the behavior of others. Tesoro was free to simply - be; to exist within himself, and for himself. There was no one to please, to feign hospitality towards, to keep tabs on; he felt free. As he continued to walk the streets of downtown Gran Tesoro, he was astounded by the emptiness of his creation; he hasn't seen it so barren since he first built the floating behemoth. As of now it was a giant diorama, flashing lights, warm gold reflecting said lights into a luxurious cascade of welcoming soft hues and gradients. It's as if he was walking through the blueprint of his dream!
This exhilarating feeling mixed with the cool ocean breeze softly wisping between the buildings gave him comfort; something he scarcely felt wholeheartedly in years. He got goosebumps on every square inch of his body as he stopped to take the sensation in.
Stella had kept her distance but managed to follow Tesoro without him knowing. Something in her gut told her to do it, to keep following. Stella watched Tesoro wander quietly through Gran Tesoro, eyeing his expressions and body language. She settled out of his view in a darkened alleyway between one of thousands of restaurants aboard the floating city, and a convenience store.
The smile she saw on his face was a combination of happiness and grief; he finally felt the pure joy of making his fantasies a reality, but it now ate away at him knowing it was built upon a plot of rage and anger. The foundations had tainted roots that made the entire tree sickly and frail. Tesoro knew that the roots grew from him, as Gran Tesoro functioned as an extension of his body; both figuratively and very literally because of the Gol Gol fruit.
The smile then faded; only grief remained. He was staring at his amazing creation, but reality hit him with full force; he has his dream in the palm of his hands, but it was lifeless. Like a physical manifestation of what he became, a glitzed behemoth of a figure, with no substance to back himself up with, no one that cared about him. It's all for show.
Everything I made - My dreams, my ambitions, have been tainted by malice. He thought to himself.
Just as life gives and takes away in equal measures, he was happily reminiscing on his dream only to have it whisked away with that single realization.
He might as well have been at a funeral, again his pain felt so internal as if it ran through his veins like sludge. Positivity was always so hard to come by for Tesoro, so he settled into the familiar feeling of indifference and negativity as easily as it is for him to walk.
Nothing can be enjoyed.
No emotion can be processed fully.
Every single atom of his current way of life was as stale and fake as a mannequin.
His eyes widened slightly when the single feeling he was accustomed to, loneliness, flooded into his consciousness; exacerbated by the current vast emptiness of his creation.
Stella, still out of sight, grew concerned when she saw Tesoro's now pained expression. She almost convinced herself to run over and hold him when he sat on a nearby bench and hid his face in his hands, but she held back.
He began to talk aloud to himself.
"I wanted to make people happy. Regardless of everything that happened to me I wanted to bring others joy. I end up hurting them -"
He sat forward on the bench, his light garment blowing gently in the cool breeze as it stung his eyes, and looked down at the concrete ground as if to find some answer to his problems there.
"- because it made me feel better."
Something's wrong; something is wrong with me.
He was afraid to acknowledge that aloud, but was aware that it was true.
Thoughts raced through his head:
I feel this need to control everything, including people's emotions. I trap them physically and mentally, like how I was trapped. How Stella was trapped.
Not a single human being deserves to suffer like Stella and I suffered, yet I chose to put others through that. The ship is a monument of pain, nothing more.
"I hate myself." Anger tipped in his statement; volatile, like poison on his tongue. It wasn't a self-depreciating jab made for clearing stress; he meant it.
Gild slumped backwards, head resting on the back support of the bench, looking up to the dark night sky.
Stella watched as he closed his eyes; he sat there and tuned out the world for a bit, or as best as he could. Trying to find some solace in the quiet only lasted for so long though; being left to rummage through his thoughts wasn't the best thing to do, but he desperately needed silence and calm.
He wished he could disconnect from his own head for a while.
"I hate myself," he repeated through clenched teeth while reopening his eyes. He could feel the energy drain from every square inch of muscle in his body until the heaviness he experienced constricted him to the bench, melding him with it. It was hard for him to even muster the strength to turn his head, like some unseen force had paralyzed him in place.
How can one person be so pathetic, so lost, so disgustingly evil and vile? The simple fact that he became the one thing he wished to vehemently run away from had haunted him incessantly. Tesoro couldn't even enjoy the view of the sky anymore, he was too lost in his thoughts. All he could do was think back to his past, and allow the guilt to pick away at his brain. How can I hurt so many in the same way I was hurt?
Anger welled up in his chest like a vicious infection, that was the only thing that gave him the will to eventually move once more; Tesoro sat back up slowly, as if dazed or disoriented. In all honesty that's how he truly felt; his ligaments and muscles were somehow burdened and worn out like frayed strings, and his limbs were heavy and difficult to carry; yet he fought through the fatigue. That same fatigue also fueled his anger and annoyance further; being left to mull over mistakes, relive tragedy after tragedy, tethered to a spinal stem and a sickly brain that only causes extreme and insurmountable suffering. Oh how tearing that pathetic bony branch out of his back would feel, along with the cranial organ that sat atop it; imagining the thought of being unable to think any further, it was very appealing.
Tidal waves of intrusive thoughts and violent memories crashed into the forefront of his mind, Stella saw another visible change in Tesoro's expressions again; because of it; he stood up in a slight panic and paced quietly. His body language was tense and uncomfortable to look at; shoulders were visibly stiff and arms tightly crossed and trained against his torso. To Stella it looked as if he was masking hugging himself with crossing his arms because of how rigid and uncomfortable he looked; trying to recede back into nothingness. It unintentionally made him look smaller than he actually was.
Breath started to escape; seeping out of his lungs and exited through the very pores on his partially exposed upper body. Regardless of the nice crisp feeling of the cool early morning ocean atmosphere, oxygen felt as if it chose to evade his esophagus. The struggle to catch air made his panic heighten, hypervigilance slowly setting in, thoughts becoming less and less linear and more fragmented and half thought out; skipping threads and missing fluency. All negative thoughts rush to the forefront, more aggressively, more vividly than a few short moments ago. Tesoro squeezed his biceps in his grip from fear and impending panic, and in reaction to the heightened sensations around him; the cool wind was now loud and aggressive in his ears, muffled his hearing. Lights were blinding and headache-inducing, like visual screams, scratching and tearing into his retinas and corneas until they burrowed into his brain. A few feet away from the bench was a gold lamp post; Tesoro walked to it hurriedly, simply to cling on to it with one hand; an iron grip on the post. He tried desperately to calm himself down and breathe; air still felt scarce, only tiny bits of oxygen seemed to want to enter into his lungs. It did not help, as the consistency of his nigh breathlessness made him feel like something was genuinely wrong inside his body. Everything was so overwhelming to the point of it being plain torture; hands grew clammy and cold yet he felt the sweat perspiring from them, he was lightheaded from being unable to breathe properly, and his mouth was dry. Reality felt too real, sight was so crisp from hypervigilance it might as well have been fake. To top it all off, Tesoro's fragmented and intrusive thoughts became hypervigilant as well; feeling as if they were set in reality mentally, but not physically. He played back the screams of victims in his head, but it felt as though they were partially within reality, and it was frightening.
Things he saw that he wished to never, ever remember, flashed through his head like a sickening memory book; watching other slaves be beaten and tortured, the rigid, icy feeling of trying to sleep in the cold with nothing on but pants and a raggedy old shirt, seeing life snuffed out before his very eyes, being forced to watch people die, forced to witness fellow slaves convulse and writhe like worms after being given death blows, the final sounds he has heard people make; whether it be bloodcurdling screams, crying, gurgles, or heartbreaking silence where voices used to be. The sensations and emotions in those moments came back and Tesoro became so weak he fell to his knees, gasping and panting as he was able to catch one single fulfilling breath of air. In the midst of the panic, the tension and mental pressure caused him to shed tears, which he very much did not want to happen. Not only did it make it somewhat harder to breathe, but he was sick and tired of crying; he gained nothing from it and felt as if he did not deserve the right to shed tears.
Stop crying, stop it. I've had enough.
"Please." He was able to quietly, yet shakily say to himself.
No more, I don't want to hear it anymore.
Tesoro's eyes were burning and aching from attempting to hold back his crying; his eye sockets were in physical pain, like knives digging into the marrow of his skull, violently pushing the blades deeper and deeper with even the slightest movement of his head. Only more annoyances, more bullshit, more setbacks, more frustration. Regardless of no one being around and the ship being practically empty he refused to cry out loud, he did not want a single living organism, not even the smallest iota of a sentient being to hear his sobs. He couldn't show weakness; that's a loss of control, something he was losing exponentially. If he could not control himself then what is there to do?
In the midst of it all Tesoro hardly realized that he'd already lost control by then; the inner pain was too great and his body simply wouldn't allow himself to hold back his emotion.
Stella watched him while quietly and to herself, urging him to get up and calm down. She did not want to interfere out of fear of embarrassing or hurting him emotionally. He was obviously in an extremely compromised state of mind, and as long as he did not do anything drastic, she would just watch over him and make sure he was okay. She knew she could not take care of him, like a child; and Stella knows that Tesoro is very aware of that fact as well; but at the same time Stella knew he was silently watching over her and making sure she was safe, so she felt the need to reciprocate that action to him. Her feelings pertaining to his past actions still burn inside her gut like acid, but the steps he has been taking in the last few weeks show that he is serious about changing. Stella couldn't leave him behind.
She was roused from thought as Tesoro now cried somewhat audibly; hunched over on his knees on the concrete sidewalk and facing away from Stella.
"Stop crying." The Casino King was able to say it aloud to himself, but it was slightly warbled from still attempting to do just what he stated.
I don't want to remember these things, stop making me relive it!
Grasping the back of his neck and intertwining his fingers, he used his folded arms trained at the sides of his head to muffle his hearing, to block out everything; from the ringing now present in his eardrums, to the disturbing senses playing back within his head. But control was lost, the panic was now closing in around him; heart now racing to the point where it felt as if it could burst out of his chest. Tesoro felt like he was dying and could not do a single thing about it. Body now giving out, still hunched over but now arms were struggling to hold his body from laying on the ground; sight becoming blurry, arms were shaky, time stopping to nearly a snail's pace.
It was then that Stella removed her slippers and held them in one hand while she ran to him, making sure to not yell or call out to him loudly. He was in such a severe state of panic that he was genuinely about to collapse and pass out.
Stella got closer and slowed her steps, softly knelt near him and gently made her presence known before reaching out to touch him in any way. The man's breathing was hoarse and labored.
"Tesoro," she quietly proclaimed to him, "lay on your back, you're exerting energy by trying to hold your body up. Here, lay back."
Gently, to the point of being almost ghostly, did she touch Tesoro's back. He was able to register her touch through the panic because of how heightened his senses were; Stella noticed that when he felt her touch, he actually was able to gain slight control over his spiraling state. She unknowingly grounded him back in reality, as slight as it was, it staved off some of the panic.
Tesoro listened to the voice he registered to the right of him and lackadaisically sat on the ground; giving his aching knees a rest. His breathing was still somewhat labored and his throat and eyes ached.
Panic sets in quickly but always lingers on painfully, rushes the body with uncomfortable feelings and sensations, attacks the senses and tricks the mind into thinking it's slowly dying. Stella was fully aware of what severe and unrelenting panic attacks do, she is no stranger to the terrible experience of going through an episode.
Her left hand found his lightly clothed back while her right hand went to his chest, resting upon his left pectoral to feel his still rapid heartbeat. Tesoro's skin was cold, another indicator to her that he was nearly about to pass out. He was having such a difficult time attempting to regulate his breathing that trying to take in small breaths only furthered the panic.
She softly urged him backwards with a kind hand on his chest and he did not hold back or resist, the man was simply too exhausted to do so.
"Tesoro, can you look at me? Don't push yourself anymore, you're safe, you're okay."
He eventually did look up at Stella, visible confusion emerging through the dying embers of his urgent and animalistic panic. For a second he looked as if he saw a ghost, but then his expression relaxed.
"Stella." Was all Tesoro was able to croak out of his dry and aching throat. She smiled in response, and brushed the stray locks of messy greenish hair out of his line of sight. For the first time, he was able to take in a big gulp of air, and he shakily exhaled it through his mouth as his clammy hands made their way to Stella's face. The man was so unbelievably relieved, it was like he survived another near-death experience.
"Tesoro lay on your back, it'll help you calm down." She gently removed his hands from her face and then urged him to rest his head on her lap, to lay back and breathe. He did so, an arm draped over his eyes in an act of fatigue.
She wasn't surprised that he went through similar troubles that she used to struggle with; the severe panic, the seclusion, the anger. Her left hand caressed his bare chest softly in a circular motion to help calm him while just allowing him to settle back into reality. She used this short span of time to examine his torso more closely, the scars that she could now clearly see underneath the millions of lights infesting Gran Tesoro. The first scar that caught her attention was on his left pectoral muscle, right near his collarbone; as a matter of fact the scar ran slightly over his collarbone, leading downwards on to his pectoral into a jagged 'X' shape. Small, nigh insignificant cuts and hardly noticeable scars were present; but one had to be very close to see their remnants still lightly pinned in his flesh. It caused her to look to the hand she had resting on his chest; to acknowledge some of the wounds left on her own body. Her wrists and arms were also covered in small barely there cuts, as well as permanent skin discolorations around her wrists from being chained up almost constantly. Stella refused to dwell on it for too long, but just enough to feel that unfortunate and tragic connection that bound them to one another.
Bad things can cause good people to do bad in return, it pulled at her heart - no, not just her heart, her entire chest cavity felt heavy and as though it was being tugged at, to know that Tesoro fell victim to such a fate. Yet, from what she just saw and overheard him say, she can tell that he truly is trying to make up for what he's done.
He always had good in him.
"Why are you out here?"
Stella was roused from her thoughts when she heard his voice.
"I heard you get up; I got worried and had the urge to follow you. Something felt off."
"You don't have to trouble yourself with worrying about me. Focus on you." His voice was still a little hoarse, but she felt him breathing at a normal rate once again and now registered the warmth returning to his skin.
"I'm privy to what you've done for me quietly in the past weeks. Checking in my room to see if I'm okay, personally bringing me meals, and the single fact that you've given me space to myself after all that you told me; you've been doing so much on my behalf that it would be wrong of me to not extend the same kindness to you."
"Why?" Somehow the tired single worded response Tesoro replied with took her a bit to process.
"'Why?' Because I still care about you. I'm not leaving, because you've done more for me than any other person on this planet; the things you revealed to me are nonetheless terrible, but I can tell that it's weighing heavily on you and that it's something you want to move past and make up for."
His silence registered as contentment; he was happy that she would not leave him, but it was still puzzling. She saw the slight dazed confusion on his face. Stella quietly scoffed to herself.
"All I care about is that you move away from all of the crime and violence; and that's what you have been doing. I know that you're hurting in more ways than one; I can see it in your eyes alone, Tesoro. It's clear as day, how much you're suffering in your head."
He couldn't fathom a response because she hit the nail right on the head. Tesoro thought he was hiding his pain quite well, but the physical effects it had on him made it more apparent to outsiders that something was wrong.
In that moment he wondered if she still loved him, yet that was something too terrifying to bring up at that point in time. Another question came to mind instead:
"Are you afraid of me?"
"Absolutely not. You are one of only a small handful of people that I can feel safe around. I'm more so afraid of the things you did and the circumstances that brought you to do that. But not you as a person. If my presence and help can cause you to correct this, then I will gladly stay with you and assist in your growth, as a better man; the man you were meant to be.
I can't be afraid of you because I know that you need help; and I won't let you suffer when you've extended a hand out to me, willingly, and shown me that you want to do this for yourself. I won't let you suffer because when I was suffering, when I was extending my hand out for someone to help me, you were the one who grabbed on, and never let go."
Looking up at Stella, he was unable to comprehend her kindness towards him, he didn't deserve it and didn't want her to waste it on him. While that feeling eats away at his insides and bleeds into his bones, he found that it was hard to express it with words; guilt began to build up and gather until it made him physically uncomfortable. At the same time, discomfort was nothing new, so he allowed it to ache as he gently locked eyes with Stella.
Her smile hurt him, in the way someone hurts when they know they are not worthy of what is given to them; an internal sting, an electrical blip in the nervous system shot into the cerebral cortex, screaming to him that he did not merit such action. She was so gracious and loving.
"I, I don't-" he couldn't find words, and before he could even attempt to string a sentence together, Stella kindly nudged his head to look at her and rested the pads of her fingers against his soft cheek.
"- Being given a little assistance in the right direction never hurt anyone. What would you like to accomplish?"
That was quite the multi-layered question for him to answer. Tesoro took a moment to collect his thoughts.
"I ... I want to stop hurting people, I want to stop hurting those that I think have wronged me for simply having better circumstances than I. I don't want to get unreasonably angry when people laugh around me. I also want to live my dream and entertain without having a shroud of corruption over it. I don't want to be seen as the 'Monster of the New World' anymore."
The aching guilt continued with nigh sentience, traveling up and down his tired body in shocks of shrieking, skin splitting agony; tearing him apart, numbing his extremities, mutilating his brain from behind the eyes, stomping on his skull. Any manner of extreme bastardization of the physical body could not fully encapsulate the mind numbingly voracious and unrelenting internal suffering he felt.
"Those are strong goals to strive for, and ones that you can, and will follow through with. I know you will, and I support you, Tesoro. I'll always support you, as long as your intentions are good."
Nothing on his face signified that he was uncomfortable, but with every kind word did his pain grow exponentially stronger. For every moment aboard Gran Tesoro where he dabbled within his monumental life of crime, shame came back to hit him tenfold. Tesoro knew he didn't deserve her words of encouragement, her company, not even to look in her general direction. He wanted to speak, to thank her, to try to hide his outwardly puzzled demeanor. Yet, words were still drained from his mind.
Something snapped him back into the present: Stella's hand cupping his cheek and continuing to urge his head in her direction, and her other, now kindly tracing the lines of scars on his chest. It seemed to be an unconscious action, one bred in the need for tactile sensation of another human. As asinine as it seemed to her, she wanted to touch him so badly, show him that people will not always be violent and destructive towards him.
Don't cry, don't cry god dammit; not in front of Stella, not ever again. Stop it!
Tesoro registered her fingers lightly dragging across damaged wounds and it brought the internal pain to such a raucous and violent fit that his bones gave a sense as though they were breaking, cracking and snapping into little pieces like dry and coarse dirt; his chest was tight; body was rejecting itself. That alone made him afraid and uncomfortable enough to cry; but Stella, finally being able to feel her, mixed his emotions and brought it into a tailspin.
It induced fear; he felt stuck.
She shouldn't be touching me, after everything I've done; putting her hands on desecrated evil skin. I don't deserve her.
Stella, please don't do this.
He vehemently swallowed at the lump in his throat to keep himself from breaking down; Tesoro would not allow himself to cry anymore, he would not acquiesce to the feeling, especially in front of her or any other human being from this point onward. He swore it.
"I - let ... uh, let's go back inside." Tesoro sat up and arose from the ground. Stella followed suit and walked beside him, once more gauging his behavior.
He now refused to look at her.
Stella is no fool to what was going on, but she knew she had to time when to bring it up to him; right now was not said time. Maybe in a couple days, when he's in a better headspace.
Regardless of helping him stave off a nasty fainting spell, she felt defeated; she couldn't pry into his head and dispel all of the horrific memories and events that plague him. She wanted to help him in any way she could but felt powerless; all she could do was be there for him, like he was for her, and hope for the best.
"You asked me this before, but, are you afraid of me?"
"I have no reason to be afraid of you, Stella." Tesoro responded without moving to look at her. It was true, he wasn't afraid of her in the sense one may think, but he was afraid for her; seeing how he was now; after all he has done, the scars on his body. He was scared of her getting too close.
If anything, he may feel this fear towards Stella because he is afraid of himself. He knows what he has done, can recall how he has felt, how he has made others feel; and because of that he cannot come to terms with someone willingly loving and caring about him. Her touch now made him sick and frightened him to no end, and her smile, while beautiful, was like a stab through the spine. She frightens him because the guilt he endures tells Tesoro that he is not worthy to love Stella back. He cannot corrupt her.
He knew she was catching on a bit so he attempted to relax himself and act like nothing was wrong; his disheveled dark forest green hair softly swaying as he walked to keep pace with Stella, the light airy garment gently flowing behind him while they made their way back to the Reioro.
The elevator ride back up to the VIP area where their rooms were was nothing short of awkward; Tesoro still couldn't bear to look at her, and subsequently they both stayed silent.
The gold around them, injected into the walls, the floors, the furniture, everything, changed hues with the time of day. The halls were dimly lit which in turn bestowed a sensual glittering, ethereal dim shine to the furnishings. The luxury was ignored within the melancholic silence as Tesoro and Stella turned the corridor to their rooms. He fell out of step with her and walked slightly ahead of the small woman once he neared the entrance to his quarters.
"Hey, hold on a minute," Tesoro stopped walking to turn back and face her. He had not a single clue what she wanted to say; he needed to lay down. Going for that walk was a mistake.
Stella closed the distance between them; her smaller stature caused her to have to tilt her head upward to look at him; at her full height, she only went up to, about his collarbone. It was the first time since they reunited, that she was able to properly compare her height to his, regardless of it being something unimportant at the current time. It was a nigh unconscious thought on her part.
"Stay here with me, just for a second."
No. He didn't want to burden her any further with his problems. He knew he still cared for her and loved her but it was painful to realize. He wanted to devote his entire existence to her; protect her from any pain, love her tenderly; show her the genuine care that they were both deprived of. But as much as he wanted to do that, he knew it would all be null and void because of the choices he's made in the past.
She wrapped her arms around his midsection into a soft hug. Stella saw his indifference towards himself peeking through. Again she could only think back to how she used to feel the same sensations; the uncaring feelings towards herself, and to an extent other people. But Tesoro buried it, repressed it; never coped. So now it lingers, more amplified than in the past.
"Go get more rest."
His body was on fire. Hot coals scalding and melting his flesh, snapping apart veins, boiling and clotting his blood, and reducing his bones to charcoal-like ash. Tesoro would care for her until the day his heart stops beating, but when she offered a kind gesture to him, he felt that he could not accept it wholeheartedly. He still couldn't look at her; his head turned to his side and he gazed down at the floor past Stella.
"I will."
Fight or flight started to kick in. Why is there so much anxiety linked to Stella? This shouldn't be, it doesn't make any sense; her presence should be a positive experience. Why does it have to be this way? Why is there so much fear? Why, why, why?!
The burning sensation continued, aching muscles and melting skin.
Why does her touch hurt me?
Tesoro kept up his façade as best he could as Stella let him go, but at this point his entire body was screaming in pain. He needed to lay down desperately.
He made sure to wish her a good rest of the night, and let himself into his private quarters. Stella watched his door close, an aching pain of her own now welling up in her chest. She spoke quietly, and solemnly, under her breath:
"I love you."
The tired woman made her way back into her own room, right across from Tesoro's, shut the door behind her and settled back into bed.
She saw right through his mask; she knew he was terrified, and saw that her presence somehow came to exacerbate that feeling in him. Stella thought to herself as her head rested on the cool pillow,
I can tell that it bothers him, otherwise he wouldn't try to hide his anxiety. He's afraid.
She wouldn't pay too much heed to the situation right now; sleep was the priority. She'll think more about it later.
But, it was a little white lie she told herself, because she stayed up for a while mulling about it until the heaviness of sleep finally brought her to close her eyes.
Love always felt just out of my reach, even from my own parents; I never felt truly loved by them. It was hard for me to believe that they even loved each other; I would grow up seeing my father waste our money, and eventually his life away, while my mother drank to the point of unconsciousness. Somehow they apparently loved each other.
But that doesn't seem like love to me.
After I left home, I saw couples from all walks of life holding hands, dining together, dancing, laughing, embracing. Looking back on it, I wanted that for myself. Roaming alone on the streets and moving from abandoned house to abandoned house, trying to stay alive, it was hard to do anything but.
Even now, as I'm past all of that, it's still difficult to recapture the genuine devotion I had for Stella with another woman. I've tried so desperately, it's almost embarrassing to know how many women I attempted to converse, get to know, and dine out with, just to see where it goes. And none have ever made me as happy as I felt when I was with Stella. At this point I keep the company of women to feel less alone, not for a genuine connection anymore. It's all empty sex, hollow touching, and a quick relief; just another way for me to feel something.
That's not love either.
-GT- Journal Entry 3
Author's Notes:
- I always try to do research on topics that I don't know too much about, or aren't well-versed in, and other times I take from personal experience, if it applies. The scene where Tesoro has a massive panic attack hits pretty close to home as it's something I've dealt with for about ten years now. I'm diagnosed with panic disorder w/agoraphobia, and I've had past incidents where I've nearly passed out from panic, once I've even blacked out. Not very fun. But over those ten years I've been able to manage it quite well and even do some things I never thought I'd be able to accomplish, like go to, and eventually graduate College. The pandemic has set me back a bit, but I'm still doing better than I was all those years ago.
- Also, I haven't fully stated it, but I guess I'm writing Tesoro with a bit of Haphephobia (fear of touch). It wasn't truly my intention at first but then I realized that he would absolutely have such severe guilt to the point of feeling unable to reciprocate Stella's gentle affection. But I do plan for it to be a temporary instance that will go away as he begins to cope with all the stuff he's been repressing, and actually allows himself to open up more.
- The journal entry in the very beginning I first thought was too much, but having extremely vivid and visceral nightmares or night terrors is very common for those who have experienced severe trauma. And since Tesoro is the way he is, he would only talk about it in his journal. I know that some dreams may have to do with the actual trauma, but I would also assume that the brain would make up some totally unrelated nightmare scenario, or have some bits of the experienced trauma laden within. I dunno, dreams are weird.
- I am also trying very desperately to make sure that this doesn't come off as one of those scenarios where one person in the relationship is like "I can fix them, I can change them!" because I do genuinely hate that shit. I'm attempting to come from personal experience here, in a mental health aspect. For example: I realize that something I'm doing because of my mental illness is wrong, and I make genuine attempts to fix whatever is wrong, whether it be a habit or behavior that is caused/exacerbated by what I go through. That's why I'm so glad Tesoro was never honestly written as a pure evil type of villain; yes his actions in the film I am not trying to condone whatsoever, but I stand by the idea that Tesoro questioned his harmful actions periodically and then would justify his gross behavior by referring to his past. This is focusing on the idea that the one good person in his entire existence is still alive, and brings semblances of his humanity back that he very much buried or straight up killed off within himself. It then makes him realize that he has been doing obscene things, makes him understand that he was becoming what was essentially, another version of a Celestial Dragon. Just know that I am not trying to have Stella ""fix"" him; Tesoro is gonna go through the fucking ringer. I want him to have genuine accountability and change on his own, while Stella encourages & supports him.
- Basically what I'm trying to say is that there is a line between "I can change/fix their behavior", and "I can help you, but you need to want to help yourself, and I will support you". And also that Tesoro isn't the "pure evil" villain, like a certain flamingo man. He is genuinely mentally fragile and extremely compromised, and has a fucked up worldview from being treated like garbage for decades. and its a very real thing that can happen to us, very deep and severe trauma can change how people perceive the world; and that's why I think Tesoro is such a layered, sympathetic, and unbelievably tragic villain that I want to explore in this fic. Also I deeply need Tesoro/Stella content because I need them to be happy. They deserve a happy ending.