Author: The Wanlorn
Title: A World in a Grain of Sand 9/?
Summary: This is a sequel to "Every New Beginning…"
Rating: PG13 for language
Spoilers: I honestly don't know, so beware.
Distribution: Ask, and ye shall receive. Take without permission, then screw the Law of Three, I will cures you with the nefarious curse of…da da dum…WRITER'S BLOCK!!!! BWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!
Disclaimer: Same as all of the last times, so far.
Chapter Nine
(A/N: Ugh. Got into another argument with my mom today about religion. *Sigh* She is so pig-headed! Then again, so am I… R/R/E!)
7:58 am. Silent tears rolled down Abel's face as he lay, huddled on the couch. He was deathly still, and looked to be sound asleep at first glance. A closer inspection would reveal his open eyes and wet face. A slight movement of his arm turned his wrist to check his watch. 8:00 am.
Sleep was the enemy. Sleep was a time for nightmares, a time for remembrance. Sleep was a time when he could not forget. He forestalled the cursed darkness for as long as he could, no matter how tired it made him in the 'morning'.
The wakeful times were not necessarily his friend, either - there was too much time for thought.
In the blackness of sleep, demons lay in wait for him. With his eyes closed, he could not see potential pain coming for him, and that made him nervous. In darkness, thought and memories could attack, and there was nothing to stop them.
Every day, he searched through ads to find somewhere to live. Although he made sure to appear to be diligently searching, he was truly filled with trepidation. He would not know what to do if he had to live alone. Among the SM crowd, he was what was known as a 'pet'. A high-functioning pet, but a pet nonetheless. He could not live on his own. He needed someone there to remind him to pay bills, to tell him to go get groceries, to order him to do things in general. He had done everything for Kane, but his brother had *told* him when to do it, and basically set him on a schedule.
He *liked* living with Nick and Natalie, at least, so far. They did not hurt him.
He worked as hard as he could to make himself invisible, to keep from notice. If he made himself unnoticeable, hopefully they would not kick him out as soon. And, hopefully, they would not begin to use him as their plaything. He knew that this new, idyllic lifestyle had to end soon, and it would end in one of those two ways. The question was, which would he prefer? They could not be as harsh as Kane had been…
What would he do when they kicked him out? Or when they started beating him? He did not want to go back to that lifestyle again. His biggest worry was his butterfingers. He had already spilt his water; something that would have gotten him beat with Kane's belt before. It was only a matter of time before he did something unforgivable.
Nick was one of them, one of the fanged ones. He had easily pieced the clues together. Scars from two puncture wounds marked countless places on his body. His brother had them over often, finding it humorous to see him writhing on the ground in pain from the things they did to him. He had heard them talking one day after feeding off him, saying how the pain made his blood ever so more sweet. And, even though Kane was locked up, it hadn't stopped. Every night, after work…
The tears flowed harder as his thoughts meandered their cruel way to his history, his past. No matter how much he tried to redirect his treacherous thoughts, they kept returning. He was still deathly silent and still. He had much practice in crying silently, having been whipped, literally, every time he allowed tears to trickle down his face.
His parents had been Christian zealots, taking their version of the Bible extremely seriously. Parties, celebrations, happiness, were the work of the Devil. Friends merely distracted from the teachings of the Lord. They were old-school parents, firmly believing in the philosophy of 'spare the rod, spoil the child', and often put it to practice where he was concerned.
Abel could never do anything right, whereas Kane was their Golden Child. Even as a child, Kane had been cruel. If Abel said something to their parents about what Kane was doing to him, he was called a liar and locked in his room, sometimes for days on end. He had been told that crying was for girls, and someone would punish him. He couldn't count the number of broken bones he had suffered from Kane's hands. Even though drink was supposedly the work of Evil, his father would get drunk almost every night, and blame Abel for bringing out the Devil. Then it would get ugly.
All decisions were made for Abel. He never had a say in anything. He never learned *how* to make any kind of major decision. If he was asked a question, and he gave the wrong answer, someone would beat the shit out of him. Or if he asked for something, wanted something, he would be beat. He hadn't really been here for long enough to know for sure, but Nick and Natalie seemed to actually *want* him to make decisions on his own, and accept what he decided.
When Kane was eighteen, their parents died in a car crash. Abel was put into his brother's custody. Things descended into the pits of Hell from there.
Abel would be passed around to Kane's friends, tortured, sometimes sodomized, and given to another one. Kane made him work nights, and give up all the money. Then he had to be awake all day to wait on Kane. He had learned to survive on one or two hours of seep. If Kane had a bad day, Abel would suffer for it. If Kane was horny and there were no girls to be found, Abel would have to relieve him, and Kane was an *extremely* sadistic person. If Kane did something illegal, the rap would fall on Abel. If that ended Abel in jail, Kane would bail him out and beat him for wasting money. And Kane had told him that if he ever told anyone, he would be found and would wish he were dead. Kane had Abel completely terrified of him.
Abel curled into a tiny ball, trying to slow his tears. What had he done to deserve this? And when would it start again? He did not make enough money to afford food, rent, and bills. There was nowhere he could go, except where he would be a pet again. At some point, Nick and Natalie would stop pretending to be nice people, and start hurting him. There was nowhere he could go, nothing he could do. He just had to give in to his fate.
His eyelids were growing heavy. Sleep could be forestalled no longer. Why couldn't he just forget? Why couldn't he stay awake for a little longer?
~~~~{@
Natalie eyes opened, and she was awake. The question was, what had woken her up?
Nick was still sound asleep. Natalie sighed softly, looking at his angelic face. They had hoped that Janette's cure would work, once Nick was able to control himself. But, as luck would have it, Nick wasn't even becoming a *little* mortal. She could only assume that Robert had some kind of rare gene that allowed Janette to begin to cross over, and it was the stress of his death that caused the final crossing. And, to be honest, he didn't seem all that interested in becoming mortal again.
She heard the noise again, coming from downstairs. It sounded like someone whimpering in pain. She could easily tell that it was Abel. He sounded so hurt, so terrified, so *alone* that she had to go down and see what was the matter. Glancing at the clock as she eased out of bed, she saw that it was only two in the afternoon.
Once downstairs, she could see that Abel was on the couch, asleep. Instead of sleeping soundly, he was twitching and whimpering, quite obviously having a nightmare. Natalie remembered hearing somewhere that you weren't supposed to wake a person who was having a nightmare. She didn't know about the person who first came up with that, but *she* would certainly prefer to be woken from any bad dream. She moved to stand by the end of the couch.
Abel seemed to sense her movement, and his eyes opened, glimmering in the soft light. As soon as he saw her, he curled into a tight ball, trying to hide in the couch.
"I'm sorry," he whimpered. "I didn't mean to wake you up. I was trying to be quiet. I'm sorry. Please…" He trembled, curled up in a little ball, with his head buried in his knees.
"Abel," she said gently. He tensed, expecting a blow. She crouched down by where he was curled, and he whimpered a little. "Abel, sweetie, I'm not going to hurt you."
Abel clung tighter to himself. "Please," he begged, her words not registering. "I'm sorry. I promise…"
"Abel, honey, look at me." She waited patiently until he raised a tear-streaked face and dragged terrified eyes to meet hers. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not even going to touch you. I just came down to make sure you were okay. Do you want a glass of warm milk?" His eyes questioned her uncertainly. "You know, nuke some milk in the microwave? It calms you down and helps you sleep?"
"Yes please," he said tremulously.
Natalie smiled reassuringly and pushed herself up by way of hands on her knees, wincing slightly as they twinged. As she heated a glass of mile, she leaned against the edge of the counter. She could see the back of Abel's head as he sat up and wiped the tears off his face. The poor boy. Perhaps she should have just stayed upstairs. When the microwave beeped, she brought the warmed glass over to Abel and crouched down by the couch again as he hesitantly took it.
"Better?" she asked as he slowly drained the glass.
"Thank you," he said quietly when he was done. He looked uncertain as to what to do with his glass now that it was empty. He flinched as Natalie reached out and gently took the glass from his trembling hand and set it on the floor.
"You look like you need a hug," she said, tactfully asking permission.
He looked at her in surprise and nodded hesitantly, tearfully. When was the last time someone hugged him? Natalie wondered to herself as she wrapped her arms around him carefully, squeezing him gently. Surprisingly, after a second, his arms wrapped around her. He squeezed tightly, trembling. She could feel him silently crying. So, she rubbed his back and let him cry, even though she could feel her knees wanting to give out. His shirt pulled back a little from his neck. Natalie caught a glance of two puncture wounds on the back of his neck, where a shirt would always be sure to hide them. They were still fresh and bruised, she'd guess they were only a day or two old.
"Abel," she asked, fingering them gently, "how'd you get these?"
He tensed up and froze, and she let him go. To give relief to her knees, she moved and sat next to him on the couch. He watched her with terrified eyes, quickly wiping the tears off his face.
"They told me they'd make me wish I were dead if I told," he sobbed fearfully. "I can't tell you."
"That's okay, that's okay," she soother him. "Suffice to say you weren't willing?"
He shook his head, agreeing with her. "They come and get me after work." He shook on the couch, shudders running down his body, staring at the floor.
"Abel, honey, did they try to make you forget?" She touched his shoulder. He flinched away, so she dropped her hand.
He nodded miserably. "Then they told me if I told… they're going to hurt me even worse, now," he sobbed.
"No, they won't sweetie, I promise." Natalie prayed that Nick would help her keep that promise. "They won't touch you again unless you want them to." He nodded, not believing her. She was slowly falling asleep, sitting here. "Get some sleep," she told him, standing up with his glass in hand.
When she came back, he was lying down with a blanket loosely over him. Tears glinted down his face, which he furtively brushed off. Once more, Natalie crouched by the couch.
"You okay?" she asked sympathetically. "Do you want to talk for a little bit longer?"
He shrugged, which Natalie interpreted as a yes. She sat down on the floor, leaning against the front of the couch. She sat quietly, waiting for Abel to speak, or for something to enter her brain.
Abel was glad she stayed with him. He wasn't sure which he was more afraid of - other people, or being alone. Since he was glad she was there, it could only be the latter. Hot tears rolled down his face. Throughout his life, tears had only caused him pain. So why couldn't he stop them?
Natalie turned her head in time to see him wiping the fresh batch of tears off his face. "Why are you crying?" she asked, not expecting an answer.
Abel flinched as she spoke and fought not to curl up to protect himself. She wasn't going to hurt him, she assured him of that. But how many people had said the same? Her actions had matched her words, though… She hadn't gotten mad when he spilled his water; she hadn't tried to hurt him when she hugged him. But hadn't his mother had her good days, too?
He bit the bullet, answering her question as more salty tears rolled down his face and dripped onto the couch. "I don't want to leave," he whispered.
"Who said you had to?" Natalie immediately asked.
Abel weighed his choices fearfully. Don't answer at all, lie, or answer and get in trouble for assuming. Which would be worse? Which would get him hurt less if she stopped acting nice? "You're going to kick me out soon, aren't you?" he asked tearfully, shivering under his blankets.
"Of course not," she quickly assured him. "You can stay here for as long as you like. Neither of us will make you leave, not ever." She knew she was making a promise that, if Nick decided it, she couldn't keep. But did she have any choice?
He looked at her with teary eyes, eyes filled with disbelief. His ice blue eyes glimmered with wetness. Sure, that was what she said now, but what about later? Things would change. This good lick would not last. Why was she being so nice to him? What was up her sleeve?
Natalie watched the slow tears trickling down his face. "I don't know what to say to make you believe me, sweetie," she told him. She wanted to run her hand through his hair, stroke his head. That's what her mother used to do for her when she was crying, and it had always made her feel better.
Abel miserably watched her, not meeting her eyes. He must have been feeling suicidal because his mouth opened and he said, "I've got butterfingers. One day I'm going to drop something or spill something or break something and you're going to kick me out or," he sobbed something unintelligible, but Natalie could guess what it was.
"We won't do either, sweetie, I promise. And the reason you're such a 'butterfingers' is because you're so nervous all of the time." She unthinkingly reached out a hand to smooth back his short hair. He flinched, and her hands stopped, hovering in the air. Abel froze and regarded it with large, fearful eyes until it dropped back to her side. The instant she had raised her hand, he stopped crying. It only took Natalie a moment to figure out what it looked like to him.
"Sorry," she apologized. "Force of habit. My mother used to run her hand through my hair when I was crying, and it always soothed me." She shrugged, seeing the 'cornered rabbit' look fade slightly from his eyes.
Abel watched her closely as she yawned, trying to see if she had been telling the truth. He had been sure that she was going to slap him to stop his childish crying. Was she telling the truth? Why had she stopped, either way? Could he trust her? Or would she turn out to be just like everyone else in his life? Could he trust Nick, one of the fanged ones? His eyelids were growing heavy. He wished he could stay awake longer, but it wasn't working. Was this heralding the end of this pleasant new life?
Natalie glanced at the clock on the wall as she yawned again. "Honey, I've been down here for almost an hour, and I'm falling asleep as I sit here." She stood up, stretching. He was still shivering slightly so, although she doubted it was from the cold, she pulled up his blanket slightly, tucking him in. Of course, he flinched. "Sweet dreams," she said before going back up the stairs. She could feel his eyes following her movements up the stairs until she shut the bedroom door behind her.
Nick was, of course, wide-awake and waiting for her return. "What would you do if I died?" she joked, immediately regretting it at the look that came over his face. "I'm sorry Nick, that was unthinking of me." She slid into bed and curled up against him. His arms quickly pulled her close, staying firmly fixed around her stomach, holding her against him.
"You handled that very well, downstairs," he murmured into her ear.
"How long were you awake?" she asked, able to guess the answer.
"Since you left the room, of course," he replied.
"Good. Do you have any objections to anything I promised? I'm sorry I didn't talk to you first, but…"
"I understand, love, and it's all the same things I would have guaranteed," he assured her. Abel had quickly ceased to be that bastard's brother, but had become a lost child to be taken care of. "Those bastards," he muttered. To think that a group of vampires had been using the young man as some sick sipping glass…
"What are you going to do?" Natalie asked quietly, knowing what he was talking about.
"Talk to Lacroix and see if he knows anything, send out a community-wide warning that Abel's not to be touched, and perhaps post a guard for a while."
"Lacroix doesn't seem too happy with you at the moment," she mused, recalling his visit to the loft.
Nick snorted, which tickled the back of her neck. "He's never too happy with me - I'm a constant disappointment to him. But he still tends to help, if he feels it will somehow 'bring me back to the fold'. Don't even suggest it."
"I'm a big girl, Nick," she retorted. "I can take care of myself."
"You're mortal," he stated.
Natalie wasn't going to get into a fight with him tonight, so she let it go. "Nick…"
He waited for a moment for her to continue, but she didn't. "Yeah?" he prompted her.
"I think…" This was hard to admit, hard to say. She always pretended to be strong, pretended that nothing affected her. And now, she had to admit that she had been lying to herself and everyone else about that.
"You think what, love?" Nick questioned her after a moment, concerned because he had to drag it out of her.
"I think… I need to talk to someone," she said quietly. "Someone who's not you." She worried that he was going to take offense to that. And, she felt ashamed for needing help from someone, from a… therapist.
He could tell from the set of her body what she was thinking. "That's nothing to be ashamed of," he told her, nuzzling her neck.
Natalie sighed and rolled over in his arms, so her forehead was against his chest. "Yeah, I guess," she said. After talking to Abel… dealing with him… she realized that she did need help, even though… Even though it put her in danger of losing the place on the pedestal Nick had her on. But she could feel herself drawing away from people out of paranoia, which she wanted to halt, now that she knew she was doing it.
"I love you, Nat," Nick murmured, kissing the top of her head.
"Love you, too," she murmured. Christ, was she exhausted. She was already falling asleep. "Make me go, Nick, don't let me chicken out."
"I promise," he murmured, not sure if she heard him. She was already fast asleep.
He, on the other hand, could not fall asleep so easily, even with her securely in his arms. His mind raced with worry for Natalie. Finally, she had admitted that she *wasn't* okay. The question was, how not okay was she?
Her comment when she came back stung him, driving her unintended point home. He had almost lost her, because of her mortality. She could have died at the hands of that bastard. Was that comment a subtle way of asking him to bring her across? What if it wasn't? What if she had changed her mind? She was growing older. If she wanted to be brought across, wouldn't she want it when she was still relatively young?
What if by someone 'who's not you', she meant that she wanted to end what they had together? She could be sick of having to put up with him and his baggage. She had always been so patient with him, having a seemingly endless reservoir of it. Had it finally reached rock bottom? Oh, God, she couldn't want to leave him. Was he too protective? Not protective enough? Did she blame him for not being there for her when she needed his protection? Lord knows, he blamed himself enough for six or seven people.
Nick growled softly, hugging Natalie closer to him. He was thinking too much, being too paranoid. Natalie murmured in her sleep, her hands tightening on the front of his shirt. He had to go to sleep. If he was going to talk to Lacroix tomorrow, he needed to be well rested and well fed.
