Falling Through the Cracks
by Aimme,
with touches by My Note Book
Summary: His mask was flawless. His walls were perfectly structured. Protection and cautionary containment at its finest. Even a perfect pretend held fractures, though, and no matter how strong his glue, under the right circumstances, glue cracked and had to be gutted and filled in again.
Author's Notes: Please see the first chapter for all thorough disclaimers, warnings, and notations made by the author(s).
BlackKeys96, thank you! Your reviews always make me smile. And I like how you put it, about Cody's thoughts and how they kept coming back to "what is most important right now, which is his twin." And about how Cody is "unwilling to use the other [story]" is certainly true. He seems to keep continuing to shoot it down, instead of exploring that option. And it might end up costing him. It might already have, though, you know? I suppose, to some degree, it depends on how you look at it—or don't, as is the case with Cody. :P Yes, how much he fought with the nurse, his desperation—it was tangible, was it not? Poignant and touching, it seemed to me. Once again, thank you!
Furthermore, as you will see, this chapter begins at the beginning of chapter 6, so please bear with it. I think you will really like it. I wanted to get back inside Zack's head, and My Note Book agreed with me that it would be great to tell what Zack was thinking during last chapter. There are more details about this at the end of the chapter...
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Chapter Seven - Then Let Them Fall
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I feel the familiar come on again,
Panic and terror begin setting in,
And my company is commonplace
I brace the effort to save my face
"Why didn't you say so in the first place?" Cody demanded of me, the snide note cutting and to the point. I cocked a brow at his voice -strained and striving, but for what I wasn't sure- and tried to assemble my own scattered thoughts. Tear tracks were still visible, caressing the contours of his face in a cold, cruel grasp—a grasp I despised. I tried to think past that, but the wheels of my mind would not turn past the rut jamming up my brain function, freezing my thoughts in their tracks.
"Bleeding untended to can leave someone dying, Zack." His eyes flashed briefly, as if there were more to the thought than he had conveyed to me, but knowing what I did, I did not find the given thought very impressive.
"Yeah, thanks, captain science," I snapped derisively, rolling my eyes. I did not appreciate a long haul over the coals, and I especially didn't since I was not so empty-headed that I didn't know that—and especially since I had known exactly what I was doing. There was no chance that I could have killed myself; I knew what to do. "And I was on my way to clean up—I said that already, Cody," I let my tone drip with exasperation, because I certainly felt some of it beneath everything else.
Ugh…I felt so tired. And I didn't normally feel this weary after cutting, but I had cut deeper than I had in a long while. I had never been caught, either, and had to return my mask to order before the repair to the cracks in my wall had been sealed completely. I felt numb and drained, torpid even, and the emotional energy it took to withstand this encounter with my brother was more than my enervation could handle.
This situation was draining, like the way all the driving need for release trickled out on warm, sticky crimson. I'd watched my blood drain away many times, knowing it meant life and just like the one I lived, it was slipping away from me. Knowing that just as it should have been inside of me, fitting in my skin, I was just as at odds with how I should be and that I most definitely didn't fit in my skin, either.
I wanted to be protected; I wanted to be free. I had to be mean to Cody to hide all my secrets, all my reasons—and definitely the fact that he was the reason my blood stained skin and towel and mind, being prominent and shed and there in the first place. The strain, however, was beginning to tear.
Well, he was most of the reason; the pressure had been building for awhile now, and had coalesced under the straw which spread the cracks—his words breaking my mask into fractures, my wall into useless pieces.
"Zack, this is serious!" My brother's voice snapped me from my thoughts as I registered the tug which had pulled me around the final bend in the walk to the dreaded infirmary and then up short to face my twin. His voice had choked and the grip on my arm was mercilessly tight, and as I stared at him, his eyes full of aggravation and glistening in the light, I wondered why his distress had to always hit me so deeply.
"Zack…" this word bravely fought and overcame any strangle attempting to overbear it. "Bleeding is not to be taken lightly," he reprimanded, stern in light of trying to win against the emotions I could see -though not name completely- trembling beneath the surface in his gaze, "and it's not a joke—not when it's as deep and dark as this. This isn't a mere scratch!"
Neither is the pain in my heart; this is a thorn, digging deep and forcefully, and it won't go away. Perhaps it's a permanent fixture there.
I only pleaded for one hope: that he would not realise how close to the mark his words hit, that he would not be able to even begin to guess how true his words rang. This isn't a mere scratch; and it certainly will not heal as easily as one—not the way a childhood scrape can magically be made better with a kiss, a hug, and a band-aid. This will not be dismissed so effortlessly; it cannot be healed that way.
He was so close to the truth, too close, and his eyes brimmed with so many afflicted emotions, so much misery clear and sharp. Too much torment, sorrow. I looked away.
"Enough blood loss can easily lead to nearly dying…" his voice washed over me, its soft tone agonizing. I could hear the choke in his words and my heart twisted over on itself several times, my insides turning. "Or fatally worse," he spoke so quietly, the implication of that low level wrenched the smouldering wreckage in my chest. "Why?"
Oh sweet life, did he have to ask it like that? My gut twisted so painfully, so fast, I felt my stomach heave and I stifled the urge to wretch.
"I'm sorry," my own vocal chords refused much beyond a murmur, a searing heat slicing through my throat briefly. I swallowed. What did he want me to say? I hesitantly returned my gaze to his own, cautious about being caught and revealed and undone, trying to read him for an answer to that. What was I supposed to say? I would be the puppet and recite my lines dutifully if I knew what I was required to express and voice so that I could take it all away like I was expected to do. I could not meet that expectation, though, because I did not know the script he required of me.
Cody's gaze briefly swept over my face, but what he was taking in, I did not know. It wasn't anything I was letting him take, though, but only what was offered without. I swallowed the burn of bile at the back of my throat, hoping saliva could douse the fire burning within. Weariness complicated weakness, a dangerous combination for me, yet I fought it.
"Come on," was a sigh as my brother pivoted around to continue his hustling of us to an office I did not want to get any nearer, and this with good reason.
"What are you two doing here?"
See? She is always on duty whenever I happen to come here. It's my ambsace. People with needles are bad enough—Nurse Moustache with a needle is a death-warrant. I wish I had a notarized will; I'm going to need it before long.
Arms akimbo, scowl firmly in place, left eyebrow cocked, she didn't exactly make a patient feel at ease—in fact, she gave one the impression of ill-will. I thought a patient was supposed to be made comfortable and helped to relax. She put me on pins and needles…and that analogy here is a double whammy. I wanted to run very, very far away…again.
"Um…" Cody said brilliantly, and his discomfort was obvious.
'Bravo, captain science. What an excellent articulation.' I didn't have anything to add.
"Zack had an accident," he supplied, rushing his words after Nurse Moustache's eyebrow twitched ominously.
'Oh, thanks.' Then again, that is all I had been telling him had happened, so of course it would be his explanation when asked to give one. I guess I can figure that Cody bought my story.
"Not surprising," her tone dripped sarcasm and I could feel my own gaze narrow at her. What a…a…smellfungus! "What happened?" she snarled and the look on her face was not flattering to her already nasty complexion in the least.
I could see Cody hesitate, and I frowned at him, more prominently inwardly than out. Nurse Moustache had turned away, though, before he could formulate whatever was aligning inside that book-smart head of his. While the menace had turned her malignant attentions elsewhere, I let my gaze wander the room.
I was ill at ease and I rubbed a hand against the back of my head. It was a nervous habit, but not one as present as others that I had. As I dropped my hand back to my side, I tried to settle my disquiet inside, but it wasn't working. My roving gaze sought some place to rest to provide what my mind did not have, to offset the restlessness building in me. I clenched my free hand, the tingling from earlier posting a reminder in my brain, but I couldn't give into the panic attack attempting to make itself at home in my chest.
I hated being here. It was too cramped, too ominous. Too many dangerous instruments—and the sterile environment churned my stomach, and there were one too many cruel nurses for this space.
And the needles. I imagine they were everywhere, catching the light and reflecting them off their shiny, dangerous surfaces. Small and cold and cruel, they made my skin crawl. Why did I have to be here? I hate needles.
'Cody…' He'd better not leave. Leave me alone. I wouldn't be able to handle it. He dragged me here; he'd better not even think of leaving me alone here—I cannot handle it inside, definitely not now, not in my current inward state. Too many needles, too many fears.
'Cody, don't leave me alone in here, buddy. Please don't.' I could hear my voice echo words that would never pass my frozen lips, never leave a heart which smouldered in pain and hid in the shadows of swirling ash inside of my tightening chest. The only time those words might be spoken would be if I was dying and I had but moments left on my deathbed. I would not want to spend them in a hospital room, growing colder and more alone, among all the shadows waiting to devour me.
Too many demons whispering from the shadows, the corners, the glaring needles and dangerous instruments. Too many fears waiting to overcome me and take me down, drowning me among a dearth of reason and sound mind and rationality. Waiting to suffocate me with cold, cruel hands eager to mete out my demise. My befitting demise.
My breathing sped up, becoming shallow, quick, and irregular.
The bang which resounded suddenly throughout the room made me jump, my nerves already shot. My head snapped over to Nurse Moustache, who scowled darkly at the file folder she had withdrawn from the abused cabinet, and I tried to get my heart rate under six thousand, trying to settle myself again—or at least to the level of settled, such as it was, that I was before. My heart was pounding way too fast, the startle still racing through every heightened nerve in my body.
My hands began to tingle, a rush of cold sweat making my palms clammy. I tried to still the trembles trickling throughout my body.
Her dark gaze swept across the information in the slim file she held in wicked-looking hands, and then she raised her glare back to us, her scowl intensely zeroing in on me for a moment.
What did that file contain?
Her gaze then glanced to Cody. "You," she pointed one gnarly, ominous index at my brother. "First, how bad is he injured? Life-threatening?"
"No," the single syllable shot out from both our mouths simultaneously.
"Fine."
What? Seriously? What is wrong with this lady?
Panic coiled tighter, fierce, in my chest and I felt as though I could not breath. My gaze darted around, but I was not sure what I expected to find. I knew, though, that I could already feel the prick of needles everywhere on my skin, the clamp of harsh, unforgiving fingers digging into my flesh, the unfriendly aura threatening to suffocate me…
"You," she ground out, reiterating her addressing of my brother as she dug a clipboard, with a form, out from somewhere among that unpromising desk. "I assume you will be able to fill this out," she snapped shortly, jabbing the clipboard, along with a pen, at Cody, causing him to let go of my arm finally in a startled attempt to grab a hold of the items she had thrown at him.
The towel slipped off, dried blood pulling loose and fresh sluggishly oozing out from the puckered flesh, the wound broken open again. The cut was deep, the edges curling in, and my cold skin reheated beneath the warmth of the vital fluid as it pooled again, lazy drops trickling down my arm—priceless garnets leaving a trail of gemstone dust behind, glistening and glinting in the light.
I observed the listless race of vitality dispassionately for a moment before my gaze flickered to the discarded towel, which had dropped to the floor like some cliché picture of a rag-doll tossed aside, abandoned. Red, dark and drying, greeted the world—stark, lifeblood rust on a white flag. Surrender. Life-force drenching the flag which hailed the laying down of arms. My admission of defeat.
A rush of lightheadedness infused my brain, and I felt dizzy, nauseous; darkness curled in at the edge of my mind as I stared down at the mess that had become of my life. I felt myself lean and I mentally shook myself, trying to surface from the dimness which pulled me down, but it was closing in and I couldn't find the way out.
Cody leaned forward to pick up the bloody damage, the travesty of my life unveiled, and my heart rate skyrocketed, the blood still inside of me roared in my ears, leaving me awash with vertigo; it rushed so quickly into my mind I was barrelled over by it; darkness hedged my vision and swiftly swallowed it.
I don't remember the last thing I remembered.
If pieces fall, then let them fall where they will
And if they scatter and never return, what does it matter?
The die will hit down, all the cards reveal their fill
And I will see again that my worth doesn't really matter
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Author's Note: Oh, whoops. Did we not cover any new material with this chapter? My Note Book, I knew we forgot something! -coughs- Ahem, well, actually, I would like to note that, in all technicality, it was new material, we just did not write anything past a happening we already knew happened—Zack passing out, that is.
(Also, continued from top): You see, the last chapter had been written with the plan for it to be the first part of a two-part chapter. The plan had originally been to have this chapter be one with the last, but as we finished up with what would have been noted as "Cody's POV" in what is now chapter 6, we came to two trains of thought: (1) the chapter was a decent enough length considering how long our chapters had been ranging around, and (2) splitting the two parts up into two chapters prolonged the suspense. Doesn't it? Anyway, there were things Cody noted about Zack in certain parts that seeing what was going through Zack's head at those places was too irresistible—and, to a degree, it was written that way on purpose. However, there were times I would write something, and I was then so grateful I planned on getting in his head, because I wanted to know -wanted to show- what it meant. Like the part where he "dropped his gaze away" or the part where he seemed hesitant about his "I'm sorry." I wanted to share what was in his head at those parts. Plus, a chance to walk with Zack through his fear of needles and such, hearing his thoughts right up until he passed out? Yeah, too much of an awesome-thing right there. In my opinion.
In chapter 3, Cody notes that Zack has some kind of aversion to needles. I had written that and planned on eventually mentioning it again, but, while Zack struck me as the kind of person that would or might have an aversion to needles, that was simply a concept in my mind at the time. Later, I re-watched an old episode from the first series (Boston Tea Party)...he says himself he hates needles. I was so ecstatic. I can say I have some kind of canon-backing to my claim, now.
So, now, do I finally get back to asking questions like I have been doing at the end of chapters? I suppose last chapter's questions still stand [So, what do you think is wrong with Zack? First, he's cutting, then he's dying, now he's fainting...what next? Becoming a martyr? Oh, wait... Alright, well, what do you like most about this chapter? Anything pop out at you?], but maybe I need to say something else. Uh... What do you suppose might be coming next? What might you hoping might happen? You know I love hearing those thoughts! It makes my day and gets me excited all over again about writing about Zack and Cody.
I liked this bit from the beginning, "Tear tracks were still visible, caressing the contours of his face in a cold, cruel grasp—a grasp I despised. I tried to think past that, but the wheels of my mind would not turn past the rut jamming up my brain function, freezing my thoughts in their tracks." I really liked the "I'm sorry" part (My Note Book really liked the puppet-line, and I have to agree), the silent plea with his brother to not leave him (ah...and we know what happened then...that confounded Nurse Moustache!), his mini panic attack he was going through between Cody's explanation and Nurse Hatchet's retrieval of "the file." Ah, who am I kidding? This chapter is a favourite of mine and My Note Book (beginning to notice a trend there with our favourites?). Also, I am intrigued by Zack's vocabulary. He knows some random words you do not see very often, for all that he cannot seem to get a good grade in school and everyone thinks he's an idiot. What do you suppose this shows? I mean, I know...or I, at least, have my own view of it, if you will.
Vocabulary:
torpid - (1) sluggish: lacking physical or mental energy
enervation - (n.) from the verb enervate—enervate - weaken: to weaken somebody's physical, mental, or moral vitality
ambsace - (2) bad luck: bad luck or worthlessness
akimbo - (1) with hands on hips: with the hands on the hips and the elbows turned outward
smellfungus - ill-tempered person: an excessively fault-finding person [archaic]
travesty - (1) false representation: a distorted or debased version of something
Once more, I have said this every time, but it is still still just as meant it as the first time and every other time I have said it—we welcome any thoughts you feel worth sharing or you feel like taking the time to, but by no means feel like they won't be appreciated!
Thank you all for reading and we continue to look forward to this journey taken with all of you! We hope to see you all again next week (updates are on Wednesday evenings)!