Edgar woke up in a bathtub.
While he was technically awake, it took several seconds for thought to return to him and for his eyes to focus and connect what he saw to words and concepts.
Ngh...
A bathtub. Porcelain, or whatever it was they made bathtubs out of. It had been stained from white to a dingy pink, probably from faded blood. An ugly, familiar blanket covered his legs. There was a cabinet under the sink near his feet, a wall cupboard set above the bathtub. The cupboard door was slightly ajar and Edgar could make out glints of light off of something. Weapons he could guess, but he wasn't...
Wearing his glasses...
Despite how unappealing the thought of moving was, he raised a hand to touch his face for sure. His glasses were gone. He trailed his fingers further downwards. The gauze was still wrapped around his neck. He could feel his heartbeat.
A little lower, and he could feel the edge of fabric near his neck.
He looked down. He was wearing a tight black and white striped shirt, long-sleeved and worn in several places. As for his shoulder, it looked like someone had taken a towel and duct-taped it to it.
Edgar still ached, continuously, and he settled back and tried to think.
That's my blanket. He looked down at his legs. That's my blanket from the trunk.
He sat quietly, shifted a little and noticed that something felt tight on him. He lifted the edge of the blanket. Dark jeans, too short and too small.
A few more moments to consider this, to look around the room and at the tiled floor where streaks and smears of blood marked boots and past struggles.
What happened?
What do you think? Scriabin muttered.
Did Johnny do this? Edgar leaned his head back on the edge of the tub and stared at the ceiling. Could Johnny do something like this?
Scriabin snorted, but didn't say anything.
I'm not wearing my clothes...I'm not home, my shoulder's wrapped up-
Badly, I might add.
Did he do this? Edgar felt dizzy. He tried to move his right arm and the resulting flood of pain immediately put an end to that.
He certainly did that.
No, I mean...did he do this? Did he take care of me?
Scriabin was silent for a little while.
Why would he?
Edgar looked down at the blanket.
I don't know. He tried to think. He's...he's done something like this before.
Ah yes, when he clubbed you into unconsciousness then bandaged it up and sent you home all smiles. What fun that was.
He must have...he must have done this. Edgar's stomach gurgled. How long was I out...
I have no idea.
It must have been Johnny. Who else would have done this...? The sudden recognition of his hunger caused it to hit him full-force, to the extent that it actually made him slightly sick.
Maybe I did it.
Edgar didn't dignify that with a response, instead setting his good hand against the side of the tub. He noticed some empty bags of snacks on the floor at this point, along with some paper cups.
Didn't think that would fly. Scriabin didn't seem too surprised. So, let's say that Johnny did do this. Why would he?
I don't know. It was still somewhat difficult to think. Edgar felt weak and tired and hungry, and the pain stayed beneath it all. He's the one that stabbed me in the first place.
Meaning...? Scriabin prompted.
Meaning that he must have felt that things were over, or he didn't want things to get any worse. Or...something like that. Edgar had a headache, although this was no surprise. Did he change his mind?
You think he won't kill you?
I mean...did he decide that wasn't the right time? Maybe that's it. Maybe... Edgar grunted as he tried to lever himself out of the bathtub with only one arm.
Where do you think you're going?
What?
Where are you going?
Edgar hadn't really thought of that. He just felt that he had to get out of the bathtub, nothing further. I'm not sure.
Are you going to look for Johnny?
Maybe that was it. Maybe.
Pardon me for being a "realist" but I think you should look for food. That's slightly more important.
You're the one who said you were a realist, not me-
Food then find a hospital, for god's sake. I can't imagine how much blood you lost.
Why do you care? Edgar snapped somewhat childishly as he slipped and fell back into the tub.
Same body, my dear. We share the same body, Scriabin said very slowly. Don't tell me you've forgotten?
And you don't care about me, you care about my body. Edgar felt his lip curl as he remembered some of the other revelations from before his black out. You've just been using me this whole time.
You wound me deeply. Scriabin's voice dripped sarcasm. Truly, you know how to cut me to the quick.
Answer me. Answer me for once, Scri. You don't-
Don't you fucking call me that. It's too late for that now.
What do you mean it's too late?
What do you think?
Stop it! Stop it, God, I am fucking SICK of you doing that whenever I ask you a question! Fine! You know what I think? I think you meant that it was too late because I know what you're doing now. I know that you've been lying to me. It's too late for you to pretend to be that close to me.
Wrong. Not even close, actually. Want to try again?
Edgar leaned his head back and closed his eyes. You lied to me. You lied to me about everything. How could I have ever cared about you? God...how could I have ever, ever thought you could be my brother?
He expected another sarcastic rejoinder, but Scriabin was strangely silent in response to that.
All you do is hurt me. That's all you've ever done to me. I just got so used to it that I just...thought that there was something more. I made something more. I made you into more than what you were because I couldn't believe someone could be that dedicated to hating me, and I was wrong. You used it against me, used my...my optimism against me. Why was I so stupid? Why did I ever trust you?
Scriabin still didn't say anything. Edgar let loose a shaky breath. His entire body was tensing, although he could tell from the ache and reluctance that he was still physically exhausted. He must not have slept for very long.
I remember how happy we were. How happy you said we were...God, how...how I didn't feel alone and just, all that emptiness gone and we were happy about it, and... Edgar's eyes stung. And I was wrong. I was wrong. You really are just a heartless, manipulative bastard.
There was a pause.
You never cared about me, Scriabin said quietly.
What-... of course I did. You were there.
You never really cared about me.
God- why are- what does- are you trying to make this worse?
What else do I do? Scriabin's voice was still quiet.
The reason this fucking hurts so much is because I did care about you, you ass! Edgar opened his eyes and started to pull himself out of the tub again. He gritted his teeth and felt his good arm shaking violently as he tried to angle himself out. God, fuck you!
Scriabin didn't say anything.
It took some effort, but Edgar finally did manage to get his upper body somewhat out of the tub's confines, although it jarred his wounded shoulder painfully in the process. Some awkward fumbling and maneuvering later and Edgar fell onto the bathroom floor, wincing at the impact. Glad no one was around to see that.
He waited for a few more minutes to get his breath back, then stood on shaky legs. Edgar cautiously made his way to the bathroom door, torn between being as quiet as possible or calling out to Johnny to see where he was. Johnny probably didn't expect him to be up and moving.
What do I really have to lose at this point?
"Nny?"
Edgar walked out into the hallway. He could see a smear of blood marked along the floorboards, although he couldn't see its beginning or end. He could faintly hear something in the background, music or talking. Probably a television.
"Nny?" Edgar carefully made his way towards the sound. Although his progress was slow, he eventually made it to the living room, where Johnny sat in front of a flickering television, eating chips.
Johnny didn't turn to look at him.
"Nny...?"
Johnny's head snapped in his direction, and he stared at him with obvious surprise.
"Edgar! You're up..."
Edgar looked at his shoulder and back to Johnny, not sure if he should come any further in.
"Yeah." He didn't know what else to say.
There was a pause as the two looked at each other.
No smart comment?
I'm thinking. Can you not hear my voice for two minutes without nagging me? Scriabin fairly snarled. I'll talk when I want to, and right now I'm busy.
Edgar wasn't sure what caused Scriabin's sudden flare of anger, but if he wanted to be quiet, fine. He wasn't going to complain.
"I bet that hurts."
"Hmm?" Edgar realized he had been staring off into space and he looked back to Johnny. Johnny pointed at his shoulder with a potato chip.
"That."
Edgar looked at it again. He wanted to believe that Johnny had used a clean towel, but he was pretty sure he hadn't. It definitely didn't look clean now. God, he hoped he wouldn't get a disease from it or something.
"Yeah. It does."
They stared at each other again. Edgar wasn't sure how this could get more awkward and uncomfortable.
I might...I don't have much else to hide now. I might as well just ask...
"Why'd you do it?"
Edgar said that with a great deal more calm and grace than he thought he would. Johnny slowly turned to look back at the television.
"I'd rather not talk about it."
Edgar twitched a muscle in his arm and the ache intensified in response.
What did he have to lose at this point, really?
"Was it related to the...perfection?"
Johnny didn't respond. He just stared at the television with a fixed expression. While he didn't get an answer, at least Johnny hadn't yelled or attacked him for asking yet.
"Did...well, was it a good or bad thing?"
Johnny didn't say anything for a while. When he spoke, he kept his eyes fixed on the screen.
"I don't know."
Asking direct questions seemed to get him as much information as just dodging around them, or at least, it seemed that way now. Edgar looked down and noticed that he wasn't wearing his shoes or socks.
"Did you do this? I mean, fix my shoulder?"
I'd hesitate to call it fixed.
Johnny nodded.
Edgar stared a little more, wondered if Johnny would turn off the television to pay full attention to him, then took a deep breath.
"Why?"
Another long pause, and in much the same tone before, Johnny said, "I don't know."
Is this just because he's insane or is he just conflicted about something? I can't even tell...
"...Are you still going to try? Try to find that perfection with me?"
Johnny leapt to his feet, his hands balled into fists and he shrieked in pure fury, "I don't fucking know, Edgar!"
Edgar instinctually backed out of the room and hid slightly behind the doorway. "I was just asking-"
"I don't fucking know anything anymore!" Johnny pressed his hands to his head, shaking. "I thought I knew what I was doing and then- then I- fuck! FUCK!"
Johnny turned away from Edgar and stalked out of the room into the kitchen. Edgar stayed where he was.
Well, are you going to follow him?
...I'm not sure if I should.
Or what? He'll kill you?
W-
You can't die.
What?
Remember? You're a lock now. He can't kill you.
...What do you mean?
Come now Edgar, you haven't forgotten, have you? It wasn't so long ago. Johnny asked you to participate in an experiment, to test whether or not he could actually die, and you-
I... Edgar took hold of the doorway to try and stay upright. His legs were trembling. The taser...
That's right, the taser right to the forehead. To the brain. No one should have survived it. Remember the shotgun, Edgar? Remember being able to see through Johnny's head, the bits of skull and brain?
Please...
You do remember, I know you do. It still makes you feel sick, but think, Edgar. Think for once. He was shot straight through, right through his skull, and yet he's here, and he's speaking with you. No wound, nothing. Don't you ever wonder how that happened, exactly?
I...I was imagining things...wasn't I?
Did you imagine the fact that Krik kicked your ass too? The fact you had to get new glasses because of it? Do you remember, Edgar? It happened, and we were there. We saw it happen.
But...
And if this lock system exists, Johnny was a part of it not so long ago, back before you went off to Heaven and I...either way, he's still alive, Edgar, and so are you. Now you've taken his place, and you know what that means?
Edgar sank down to his knees, unable to stop shivering.
You can't die, Edgar. You can be injured, like Johnny was, but you won't die. Do you realize what this means? You're immortal now, you're untouchable.
I...
Johnny has no power over you, Scriabin whispered. Johnny can't control you anymore, because he can't kill you. You can escape, Edgar. You can get away. He can't stop you anymore.
But...he'd find me-
And do what? Do what?
I...I still got stabbed-
You can be hurt but you can't die. Are you willing to sacrifice your freedom over a few flesh wounds? Or is there something else that's keeping you here apart from animal fear?
What?
Edgar, here. Here's the test, the final test. There's the door. Edgar looked across the living room at the front door that he had, against all logic, walked through so long ago when he should have died in that machine. Leave, Edgar. Leave this masochistic, abusive, co-dependent relationship behind, and leave. You can do better than this, you can do better than Johnny. Scriabin's voice soft, determined. Cajoling. Prove that you're different, prove you still have a spine, prove that you can stop this spiral that we all can see and take those steps out. Leave and start a real life. Escape the circle, Edgar. All you have to do is walk out that front door.
There was a crash from the kitchen and the sound of swearing. Edgar stood on shaky legs, wishing that he had his glasses.
"Nny, are you alright?"
The question hung in the air for a few minutes, and Edgar thought. Scriabin was silent.
The question came naturally, without reserve, without thought, and the emotion behind it was genuine. Edgar closed his eyes and took a few faltering steps into Johnny's living room.
It's not that simple.
You know it is! Scriabin hissed urgently. You know it is, you keep inventing these elaborate reasons, these excuses to keep you here with him instead of facing the pain of doing what you know you have to do! Leave, Edgar! Stop the cycle and leave!
I can't.
Why not?
Edgar hesitantly looked around the edge of Johnny's kitchen doorway. Johnny was sitting in the midst of a few dented pots and bowls and a collection of snapped plastic sporks, plastic wrappers, and fast food napkins. He was staring at his hands and panting, his eyes narrowed and watering.
I know for some unbelievably stupid reason you love that man Edgar but you can't throw this away! Scriabin's voice was fast and sharp. You can't throw away this chance to make this stop! You can't shut the door on your chance to break free! You know how bad this is, you know how bad he is for you, you know how this will end and stop, Edgar! Let him go and run!
I don't love him.
Prove it.
Edgar stood in the doorway, unable to think of an answer. He stared at Johnny, who still had yet to notice him.
Prove you don't, Edgar. Scriabin's voice was filled with hate.
"Nny?"
Johnny turned and looked at him for a few seconds, then turned back to staring at the floor. Edgar watched him, leaning against the doorframe to keep himself upright.
"What is your perfection?"
Johnny didn't react to the question. Edgar wasn't sure he'd heard him at all.
"What is perfection, with me? What is it you're looking for? What are we working at?"
Since when were you working at it?
Johnny didn't move for a long time.
"I used to know."
Edgar thought about that and stayed where he was. Johnny picked up a broken spork, tested the sharp edges against one finger.
"What was it before?"
"It doesn't matter." Johnny pressed the spork hard into his skin. "It's gone now."
"...Are you giving up?"
"I don't know. I can't get what I wanted before." Johnny tossed the spork against the wall. "Everything's changed now. Everything's different."
Ruined.
He didn't say that.
"So you've changed your goal?"
"...I shouldn't have a new goal, Edgar. When things change, they end. That's how it's supposed to be. Even before they change, they end. I...I don't know what to do."
"Things have changed, but it's not over, not unless you want it to be."
You're such a tool.
"Make a new goal and work for that. Things haven't been ruined unless you want them to be ruined."
Johnny made a noise that indicated how little he cared for that particular philosophy.
"What do you want with me now?"
"I don't know if I want anything with you anymore," Johnny said quietly. "You're not who I thought you were."
Edgar lowered his eyes.
"I did lie to you, I admit that."
"And that's that." Johnny sounded strangely detached. "Everything's different. I wanted who I thought you were, not what you are now."
"If that's the case..." Edgar said with some difficulty after a while, "why did you fix my shoulder instead of letting me die?"
"I..." Johnny stared blankly at the wall in front of him. "I don't know. I just..." Johnny pressed one hand to his eye. "Something...I just..."
"You couldn't do it...?"
Johnny turned and looked at him, and Edgar took a step back.
"It...that's what it sounded like you were getting at..."
"I don't know, Edgar." There were tinges of anger, but still Johnny's voice seemed strangely level. "I...I should have been, I should have, I meant to, that's why I did it, and then...when I...saw you, there was something...I just...something said it wasn't..."
"Hope."
"What?"
"You still had hope...remember what I said before? About having faith? That you had faith that we could...achieve what you wanted, even if you didn't recognize it?" Edgar felt dizzy and weak, and it was becoming a struggle to just remain standing. "That must have been it...you still had hope that I could make you happy."
That simplified things too much for Edgar's liking and he wished he could take the words back, but it was too late. Johnny stared at him strangely, and Edgar slumped against the doorframe and let himself fall to his knees. The dizziness slowly eased.
"What would it take for me to make you happy?" Edgar said softly, and he closed his eyes. He could see Jimmy, face eager, asking him for advice on the playground. Jimmy standing against a darkening sky, hovering over him with a knife in hand, Jimmy the slumped and broken heap of a person and he felt sick but more than that he felt an immense sense of loss and sadness. He could still feel the fluid hitting his face, Jimmy's horrified and betrayed expression, hear his screams and see how smoothly Johnny moved, how he never faltered, never questioned, never stopped, never knew that it was wrong.
Is it even worth it for someone like you...?
...Did you really just think that? Scriabin sounded shocked, and Edgar found he felt the same.
I didn't...I didn't mean that...
You don't sound very confident.
"With everything that's happened...I don't know if I can feel happy again." Johnny leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. "Everytime I do it's snatched out from under me, ruined somehow."
"Then why am I here? You have to believe that I can do that for you, or else you would have killed me a long time ago."
"That's true..." Johnny looked thoughtful.
You believe Johnny's life is worth more than other people's.
What?
If you didn't, you wouldn't be sitting here talking to him, enabling him. You'd be trying to stop him from doing this again. Did Jimmy's life mean so little to you?
No, it's not like that, I...I tried to stop him-
He'll kill again. The blood will be on your hands and it won't be new, Edgar, you've been stained for a long time. You've refused to acknowledge it because it doesn't mesh with your beliefs and your feelings for him. You refuse to take a stand by avoiding my questions, so I am going to state it outright in hopes of getting your legs working and you out of this house. Either you do not tolerate meaningless slaughter of innocents and leave Johnny, or you do tolerate his behavior towards others and stay with him, absolving him of responsibility. Granting him status above other human beings because he is above your judgment. One or the other, Edgar.
That's not fair, you can't simplify it like that-
I just did. Answer me.
"Edgar..."
"What?"
"Why are you here?"
"...What?"
"You could've..." Johnny gestured vaguely. "You could've left while I was in here, or when I wasn't paying attention...why are you still here?"
Edgar blinked several times, trying to think of an answer.
"Well, I'm still wearing your clothes...I'd like my own back, wherever they are." Edgar smiled weakly. Johnny did not return the gesture, and Edgar let his smile fade. "To be honest...I'm not sure myself."
Bullshit. You know why you're here.
"You don't know?" Johnny raised an eyebrow.
Edgar stared, took some deep breaths and thought of what Scriabin had said, the decision that he had laid at his feet and the implications in its answers. All that had been said and done in his and Johnny's turbulent and unpredictable friendship, frightening and supernatural and beyond the power of prayer to sooth. So many things had happened to him that were unbelievable, unreal, and still, against all odds, he was here. He was still alive, sitting in a kitchen with a sociopath and one arm dead against his side.
The diary entries Johnny had left, the screaming argument when he ran out of the house, the calls on the phone so late at night, that first night when he hadn't hung up and still, still all this time he did not know why.
What did it all lead to? What did it all come down to? Why was he here? Why was he still alive, and why was he here?
Edgar closed his eyes, took a deep breath through his nose and released it. When he looked at Johnny, he found him staring with a quizzical expression.
"What is your perfection?"
Johnny tilted his head.
"I told you, I don't know anymore."
"What was it before?"
Johnny kept his head tilted and stared at Edgar, unblinking. Edgar steeled himself and asked the hardest question he'd ever asked in his life.
"Did you want me to love you, and you to love me back?"
Johnny's mouth fell open.
Holy shit.
Edgar kept his face emotionless as he stared at Johnny, trying to gauge his reaction. Johnny was sputtering, looking everywhere, and his hands were twisting, clawing as he pointed at himself, at Edgar, gestured vaguely in various directions, all while not managing to say a coherent word.
It took almost a minute for Johnny to collect his thoughts enough to think of something to say.
"Edgar, I'm-...I...I can't believe-"
"I'm trying to be honest, since you've shown me lying has its consequences." Edgar's voice was steady and calm. "I want to know."
Johnny stared at him with wide eyes, mouth still open, before his eyes slowly narrowed. "I wanted to be happy. With you."
Edgar closed his eyes and found his muscles tightening prematurely, his good arm lifted slightly to protect his face. Johnny was standing over him in seconds, breathing hard in fury.
"You think that's what this is? What this was?" Johnny's voice had hit its high, manic, furious tone and Edgar kept his eyes shut tight, sure that whatever was going to happen next was going to be painful.
But not lethal.
Johnny's hands grabbed his shirt, just barely managing to get enough fabric in-between thin fingers and Johnny was shaking Edgar as hard as he possibly could, enough to make Edgar's vision black around the edges.
"Of all the things to say- to do to what we had, the one thing in my life that wasn't corrupted, wasn't tainted with all that ridiculous bullshit about true love and deep devotion and all those worthless words to justify our monkey emotions that we can't get rid of! All the trappings of our animal heritage glorified, given unworthy prestige and desirability by changing the name, by making it something different! You think that's what I wanted? You think that's what I wanted with you, some disgusting carnal display of empty lust masquerading as some higher function?!"
"No!" Edgar managed to say. "No, that's not what I meant-"
"How could you- how could you do this to me!?" Johnny shrieked in Edgar's face.
"What do you want from me?!" Edgar shouted back as best he could, and this apparently surprised Johnny enough to make the shaking stop. Edgar's breath felt tight and short and his fingers on his left hand tingled unpleasantly, his heartbeat jumping and God was this another anxiety attack, his chest was aching "I want to make you happy but God, God I don't know what you want from me!"
Johnny didn't say anything, his hands still tightly wound in Edgar's shirt.
Edgar let his head fall forward, his voice shaky. "I don't know what you want that will make you happy, I didn't know if that's what you wanted so I asked, that's all...I didn't mean anything by it, I just wanted to know if that's what it was...you never told me, I never knew..."
The image of Jimmy's eye bursting above him, and Edgar shivered violently, wanted to be sick somewhere but tried valiantly to keep his stomach in check. The image repeating and repeating and God when would these flashbacks stop?
Darling, have you ever heard of PTSD?
"You didn't know?" Johnny's voice had changed without warning again, this time mildly curious. "How could you not know?"
Edgar took in a few gasping breaths while he had the chance. "You never told me..."
There was a second's pause as Johnny considered this.
"But how could you not know?"
He doesn't understand the concept of other people, that other people don't feel or know the same things he does. He doesn't understand people as anything other than things, concepts, therefore it would not occur to him that you wouldn't know about the perfection that dominates his fractured reality. You're such an important part of his reality that the thought you don't know why would never occur to him. You know why, Edgar? Because he's crazy. He is absolutely, completely insane, and you know what?
Stop, please, I'm sick already...
You know what, Edgar? You will never redeem him. You will never fix him because what's wrong with Johnny is not something that can ever be fixed.
That's why you have to leave, Edgar, you have to stop this. You think you can save him, fix him, but you can't. There is nothing to be done for him, Edgar, he is gone beyond repair, and you'll never be able to interact with him like you would a normal human being.
There has to be hope...
No, there doesn't.
Edgar's breath hitched in his throat and his face felt warm, his eyes watering.
There has to be.
Quiet response. No, there doesn't.
Edgar opened his eyes, to try and see what Johnny was thinking or doing and he found him staring at his face. Edgar couldn't quite tell what he was focusing on for a few seconds, then Johnny raised a hand and glanced his fingertips across his cheekbone, across the near-deadened skin that marked the beginning of the end.
"They're still here..." Johnny said.
"They'll always be there." Edgar tried to keep his voice from breaking. "I think they're permanent. If not before, definitely now because I keep scratching at them." Talking to try and keep his mind off the fact he wanted to cry. He could not do that, it was simply not an option.
"And I did that..."
"Yes...back when we first met...I don't know why."
"I don't remember myself." Johnny smiled, his violent mood having either passed or for the moment temporarily forgotten. The smile faded slowly as Johnny kept staring. "From the beginning, I was already making mistakes..."
"You didn't want to do them?"
"...I'm not sure." Johnny looked thoughtful. "I'm sure I had a reason at the time, but I don't remember it now. But hurting you...I don't think that's what I wanted to do. Or maybe I did...all of it is so blurry. It all fades and mixes together."
"They're still there." Edgar wasn't sure what Johnny was talking about exactly, but had to keep in the conversation. "I'm still here."
"Yes, that's right. You've stayed. Through everything..." Johnny let go of him, pulled back to sit on his heels. "You've been here through almost everything I can remember now...you haven't left. Maybe that's why you're still here, you're supposed to be here."
"How am I supposed to be here?"
"But you're not who you were before..." Johnny ignored the question. "You're not the Edgar I thought I knew."
"Why?"
Johnny's eyes narrowed. "The Edgar I know isn't two people."
Edgar shut his eyes and lowered his head, felt his chest tighten uncomfortably and he tried to keep his breathing regular. "The Edgar I knew wasn't either."
Don't don't don't don't don't don't don't don't
He took a deep breath, noticed his nose was running and sniffed. "I didn't want it to happen this way. This isn't who I wanted to be. This isn't what I wanted to happen. This isn't how I thought my life would turn out." He took another deep breath and somewhere along the way it turned into a sob, and the shame and self-disgust associated with it made Edgar struggle to stand up and get away. "I didn't want this to happen fuck I've- excuse me-"
Edgar stumbled up onto his feet and made his way through Johnny's living room with no set goal in mind except someplace where no one could see him. His shoulder throbbed painfully, his right hand hanging leaden and heavy and he couldn't believe this, he couldn't believe this he was crying, of all the stupid, worthless, pointless, self-indulgent things to do he was crying, in front of Nny no less God how could he let himself be this weak
His words kept running through his head, more agonized and sharp on each repetition and he ran the events of his life through his head, what had led him here to this place and this time in this condition and God, this wasn't what he wanted to be, this wasn't who he wanted to be with, this wasn't who he was supposed to be or what he was doing, what had happened dear God what had happened
What do you want for this, Edgar? What is this pathetic display for? Do you want me to feel sorry for you, for your decisions? Do you think your tears justify the mess you've made out of your own life, absolve you of the mistakes you made that got you here?
No, no, that's not why-
That's what you want from this, Edgar. These tears are just a way of asking for pity you don't deserve, lamenting your bad decisions that you never have and still will not take responsibility for. You are here because in some way you wanted to be here, not because the hand of God put you here.
"That's not true!" Edgar gasped through his tears, still stumbling blindly through Johnny's house. "That's not true, it's not, this isn't my fault-"
How can you even say that?! How can you say it isn't your choice to be here?
"I didn't ask Johnny to abduct me!" Edgar screamed and fell forward, unable to force his shivering legs to move any further, and he pressed his one functioning hand to his head.
You didn't hang up when he called! Scriabin screamed back. You never hung up, Edgar, and your good intentions have doomed us both!
"God, what do you want from me?! What do I have to do to make you stop?!" Edgar's voice was hoarse and scratchy and he shuddered violently, not sure if the fact that his stomach was empty would stop him from being sick again. He could feel his voice rebound off the wood floor, his own breath against his face.
I want your fucking life that you're too stupid to appreciate and protect! And if you won't give that to me no matter how much I deserve it, then I want to share a life with you that isn't a fucking joke!
His jaw ached, his teeth clenched tight together. "How do you know you could do better?"
Shit, Edgar, how could I do worse?!
Edgar's body convulsed with the power of his next sob, everything that had happened all coming at him at once, memories he had tried to control by focusing on them one at a time. Jimmy's death, Scriabin's dual possessions, the knife through his shoulder, Jimmy's eager face at the playground, all of Scriabin's lies and manipulation, the promise of some darker purpose in his never-ending words and none of it was real, all of it was just to use him, all of it just to use him for his own ends, everyone just using him constantly using him and it would never stop because Scriabin would never leave and Johnny would never let him live and everything kept spiralling out of control and why hadn't he hung up so long ago, why hadn't he stopped this when he still had a chance
"Edgar?"
Edgar felt a shiver of fear, an attempt to keep himself curled in a tighter ball and he realized it wasn't Scriabin's voice.
"Edgar, I'm..."
"God, Nny, I can't...please, just..." Edgar struggled to speak normally, to control his breathing and stop the stinging in his eyes. He wanted to stand and move away, hide somewhere but his legs still refused to move. "I don't know what to say, I don't know what you want."
"This is why I wanted to stop this," Johnny said quietly, and he heard him sit down some distance away. "I wanted to stop this from happening, the decay."
"Why haven't you? Why did you keep calling me, why did you keep reaching out to me?"
"I always felt like...you could do more. You made me feel...normal sometimes, and I liked that, but I always wondered if...you could do more. I wanted to know, I wanted to be happy with you, but...it never happened."
His breathing was slowing gradually, and Edgar felt some semblance of self-control coming back. "If I hadn't called you...set off that trap, if I hadn't come to see if I could save you..."
"Save me..." Johnny laughed once. "You think you can save me?"
Edgar was quiet for a few seconds. He kept his eyes closed.
"No."
"So why did you stay with me? Why didn't you hang up when I called you? You had a reason to stay in contact with me. If you didn't think you could save me, then what?"
"I don't know," Edgar said softly. "I just...I don't know."
"Did you know that...being around me was doing...this to you?"
Edgar thought of the action figure. "No, not for a long time. I...believed his lies, and I never thought...I didn't think it would go this far."
"So what do you think we should do, Edgar?" Johnny asked in a perfectly normal tone of voice. "Do you think there's a reasonable chance that things can improve from here on, or do you think that if we stay together, we'll just make things worse for both of us?"
"I don't know."
"Did you know? Once?"
An odd question, but now that Edgar thought about it... "Yeah, I did."
"But not anymore."
"I don't know what Scriabin wants, I don't know who or what he is. I don't know how to make him stop, how to make this stop. I don't know how to help you or make you happy when you can't trust me, when I disgust you because I lied. I don't know what I can do for you or for myself anymore. I've tried as hard as I could and now I don't know if I can try anymore."
There was silence, and Edgar sniffed and kept his breathing calm. Forcing the emotions back as best he could.
"It wasn't your fault that this happened...but you should have told me."
"You would've killed me for it."
"Yeah, but at least it wouldn't have come to this."
Edgar shuddered at the ease that Johnny spoke of his death. Still, after all this time, the idea of killing him didn't bother him in the least. No matter how important he was, he'd never be important enough to be kept alive, to have a life of any value other than what impact it had on Johnny's. Scriabin was right, there was no world outside of Johnny and to him, Edgar had no existence outside of that shared with him, and would not have one afterwards if Johnny had anything to do with it. Still, in the end, for his benefit, for his happiness, his perfection and then his death, so easy and without any thought, any remorse. It wouldn't bother him that he'd be dead, and how could he care, believe that they had any kind of friendship, relationship when his life meant so little to him?
But...
"Why am I still alive?"
"I...I don't know."
You two are such a matching pair.
"Do you want us to go our separate ways, Edgar?"
Edgar was silent.
Think about it, Edgar. Think about a life without him. No fear, no paranoia, no constant questioning, no late nights spent in prayer for a soul way past redemption. No more moral quandaries, no more emotional abuse, no more unpredictable mood swings. No more constantly imminent death. Your life could be normal again.
My life will never be normal again.
It could-
It'll never be normal again because you'll still be there. Edgar tensed. You'll always be there, and you'll never let the pain stop.
Scriabin was silent for a moment, then his voice was came in a whisper, his tone strangely calm. A long-term relationship with me doesn't end in death.
Neither does one with Nny. Not anymore. You said so yourself.
You can't honestly be thinking about staying with him, can you? You never did answer my earlier question. How can you reconcile Johnny with your beliefs, Edgar? Could you live with the fact that he kills people? That people die through your inaction? How much do other people matter to you, really?
"Nny..."
"Hmm?"
"Do you think you'll ever...stop killing people?"
Johnny didn't say anything for a while.
"I don't think people will ever stop being unpleasant."
That was vague.
"If I wanted to stay with you...would you stay too?"
"...I don't know anymore. I don't know you anymore."
He never knew you to begin with.
"I...I can't, I can't...killing other people, it's...I can't understand, I can't...it's not something I can ever live with. I can't...if you keep killing people, it's..."
"If that's the case, why have you stayed with me for so long? I haven't stopped since I've known you. Has it always bothered you?"
"Yes. And...I'm not sure. There were always...reasons that I couldn't-...I didn't want to leave."
Because you might kill me.
It's funny how you didn't speak up, didn't do anything to stop him when it was your life on the line. Is that the answer to my question?
No, no-
I think it is.
"Hmm."
There was a short pause. Edgar tried to think of something to say to both Scriabin and Johnny, and could only find something for one.
"Nny, if we reach that perfection, if we reach some kind of new perfection...would you still kill me?"
"Of course." Johnny said this as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.
What would he say if he knew he couldn't? That he'd be stuck with you and your mediocrity forever? You should tell him.
I can't. I don't know what that would do to him.
Why do you care?
Another question he couldn't answer, and he found that Scriabin's quiet disappointment in his lack of response stung more than his typical smugness.
"...I heard you talking to him," Johnny said idly after another pause. Edgar jerked.
"What?"
"Just now...I heard you screaming at him. Scriabin." Edgar felt another distinct shudder at Johnny saying Scriabin's name. "I heard you...what was he saying?"
The thought, the possibility of talking to Johnny about what Scriabin said had never seriously occurred to Edgar.
"That this was my fault." Edgar felt too tired and weak to think of some kind of lie, some way to smooth it out. "All of this...I'm here because I chose to be here, so it's my responsibility..."
"All of it?"
"Yeah..."
Johnny made a thoughtful humming sound. "That's not entirely true. What we do is usually my idea, or what happens is usually because of me. I called you first, didn't I?"
"I didn't hang up."
"That's true..." Johnny thought for a few seconds. "I suppose we're both responsible to an extent. That's not how he makes it sound, is it?"
"No."
"Does he do this all the time?"
"Pretty much."
"Is it usually that bad?"
"Sometimes." The answers came quickly and without thought.
"Do you remember...was that seizure I saw you go through, was that him? Was that his fault?"
"I...I think it was."
His shoulder hurt, his eyes hurt, his stomach gurgled unhappily. Miserable again, and how often had he felt like this in recent memory?
How much of it has been Johnny's fault?
"I don't think it will stop, Edgar. Mine were taken away from me, and it only got quiet after I died...but that's not the end of it, I know it. It never stops."
"I want it to stop..."
"It won't. No matter what you do, it'll never stop. Everything you try will just give it more fuel against you, all the rage just against a brick wall. It never stops." Johnny's voice sounded distant.
"I don't want to live like this." Edgar's voice shook, and he curled himself tighter. Johnny didn't say anything for a few moments.
"I should have killed you."
He knew logically that the comment wasn't supposed to hurt, wasn't supposed to have the undercurrent of disappointment that stung so badly, but it did. Without thinking about it, he responded with the first thing he could think of.
"I should have hung up."
Silence on all fronts that went on long enough so that Edgar knew he'd made a mistake, and he heard Johnny get up and walk away.
Did you mean that? Scriabin sounded honestly amazed.
...Maybe I did.