"Hi, Jon, how are you–"
"I'm really sorry about this, Helen."
"Wha-AAH–" my screaming tears in my throat, my eyes burning, but that's not even the worst of it. I can't see. I can't fucking see. My vision is red and dark, nothing to be made out. The cold tears through my fingers. No! I can't let this happen. What the fuck! It hurts so bad.
I claw at the floor, and my fingers catch and sting. A loose board or nail of some kind. Is this the rational thing to do? Probably not, but I can't let the loneliness seep in while I can't see. I'll never get out. To have my connection I worked so hard to forge with the Beholding torn from me by the archivist no less is a betrayal of insane proportions. If I can't see, then will he abandon me? I cut through my arm, clawing what likeness I can of an eye into it.
"What is this? What do you think you're doing? Is this some kind of a tantrum, Jon? Assaulting your coworkers now are you?"
"It's just chlorine, she'll be fine eventually."
"Just chlorine. Jon, you–"
I can't see, I can't see, I can't fucking see. Fuck. I jam the nail into my skin, a pair of warm hands fold around mine, stopping me. "Helen, stop. It's okay. You'll be okay."
"I can't," I sob out. If I can't see, then I can't be seen. I can't go back. Was I a fool to think I could ever escape my past? Please, I can still be useful. Elias, please let me stay.
"I see you, Helen." His words of reassurance hit the wall of overwhelming fear cascading over me as I lay bleeding and unseeing.
"See, everything's fine," Jon's voice echoes in my mind, a mocking reminder of the nightmare that haunts me even now. But everything is far from fine.
"I would not call this fine," Elias interjects, his voice cutting as his tongue sharpens itself against his teeth.
"You should probably take her home or something so she can sleep it off," Jon suggests, his tone dismissive and callous. But Elias pays him no mind. I can sense his hands hovering over me. He pauses, thinking as he always is, but I think perhaps there is a racing feeling about him in this moment.
His arm sweeps beneath my legs again, soft hushes leave his lips as he carries me away. I've been here before, only last time I was passed out! His murmurs send a spinning dizzy sensation through me, or maybe that would be the pain and fear.
"Mmph, 'Lias," I mumble over the roaring of my blood.
"Shh, I'm here. I'm going to take you to my home, okay? Is that alright?" His voice is a melody to hear, and I cling to his words.
"Eyes-my–" I struggle to keep myself together, to articulate my fears, to be stronger than them, but the words only catch in my throat.
"It's okay," he whispers, "I'll take care of you." Gentle. This must be a dream. I had a dream like this the other night.
The tightness in my shoulders falls away, and I lean into his chest. My vision shrouded in darkness, I cling to Elias as if he's the only anchor keeping me tethered to reality. My eyes hurt. This sucks so bad. As he cradles me in his arms, I struggle to find words amidst my anguish. But his understanding, his unwavering support, soothes the raw edges of my despair. In his embrace, I find a refuge from the pain, a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, I can endure this ordeal. This really sucks.
"I know."
"I'm really sorry," I choke out between sobs, the weight of my guilt crushing my chest.
"Stop!" he snaps, but pauses and takes a deep breath, "You do not have to be sorry for anything ever."
What a ridiculous sentiment!
As Elias carries me to his car, a wave of shock washes over me. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that Elias Bouchard would be the one to come to my rescue, especially after reading the letter from Barnabas. It's a stark departure from his usual aloof demeanor, leaving me bewildered and uncertain.
Yet, as he settles me into the passenger seat with gentle care, his actions speak volumes. The softness in his touch and the quiet that drifts between us. And despite my initial disbelief, I find myself inexplicably grateful for his presence. This blindness terrifies me. Jon said it won't last, but I would rather not go back to the Lonely. This might force me into old habits, and I really would hate that.
The drive to his home is a blur, busied by my own anxious spirals of self-deprecation and disbelief. I might be fooled just now into thinking Elias truly does care for me.
As we arrive at his doorstep, Elias guides me inside with a steadying hand. The warmth of his home envelops me, a stark contrast to the chill that had settled into my bones. He leads me to the bathroom, his movements efficient yet gentle as he helps me clean up.
The shock of being looked after by Elias begins to wear off, replaced by a newfound sense of vulnerability. It's unnerving to be so exposed, to rely on someone else for support. And yet, amidst the uncertainty, there's a strange comfort in knowing that Elias is here, watching over me with a care I never thought possible.
As I sit on the edge of his bathtub, I am desperate to steal glances of Elias. There's a tenderness in his gaze that I can't help but imagine as he wraps the injury I scraped into my arm.
For Elias, this level of involvement is uncharacteristic. He's always been the distant observer, the puppet master pulling the strings from afar. But, I served some use, until now at least. Is this the end of me? The end of this. That would be something worth grieving indeed. But as he tends to me with such care and attention, I can't help but wonder if there's more to him than meets the eye.
As the night wears on and Elias tends to my needs with a quiet determination, I find myself drifting into a restless sleep. And in the darkness, amidst the whispers of the night, I can't shake the feeling that something fundamental has shifted between us. Perhaps, in his own enigmatic way, Elias has found something worth holding onto in me. And as I slip into sleep's embrace, I can't help but wonder what the dawn will bring.
I wake up trembling and shivering, sparks flicker through my veins, and I am gasping for air. My lungs feel dry and tight as if they have been stuffed with cobwebs. And everything is blurry and wrong. Right. I can't see.
What light enters my vision goes dark. "I'm here," the floor creaks as he settles down near me. His hand finds mine, rubbing circles over the back of it. "It's alright."
My voice cracks, and my throat is dry. I feel like I swallowed hot sand, and the dryness chokes me. He doesn't even give me a chance to say it. Well, it's not that he doesn't give me a chance, but he reacts to my needs before I can voice them, announcing he will be back with some water for me in a short moment.
The water is cool to my throat, but I am still so sore. I feel worse than when I got here. beneath the surface, a sense of unease lingers, gnawing at the edges of my consciousness like a persistent ache. "I know," Elias sighs, "I'll try to do what I can, but things are probably going to get worse for a bit."
What's wrong with me?
"Nothing, dear. You just can't quite work like this. Not easily at least." The realization that my abilities have been compromised fills me with a sense of helplessness, a nagging fear that I may never be the same again.
"Would it help if I vanished someone?"
He pauses, "It might make you stronger, but it won't be enough for..." Right. I've involved myself a bit more in the Ceaseless Watcher now, and I have to feed it. Vanishing someone would only be a temporary situation that still leaves me weak. I don't want to die like this, weakened and vulnerable, a mere shadow of my former self. The thought sends a chill down my spine, a stark reminder of the dangers that lurk in the shadows. What an awful way to go.
As if in response to my fears of my own mortality, he is moved to words, "I would really rather you didn't, but if things get bad then…"
"Okay," I reply. I have decided that I do trust his judgment. "I'm tired. Will you stay?" Given the circumstances, he's surprised me quite a bit recently. I do think that he will look after me.
The answer comes without hesitation, a simple yet profound affirmation of his unwavering support. "Yes," he says, his voice gentle and reassuring.