Chapter xv
Regulus had thought that, as he had been avoiding every text and call, every visit, every thing, from anyone, people would get a clue and stay away from him.
Apparently fucking not.
He had known Pandora wouldn’t leave him alone, but she wouldn’t bother him, either. He had known Evan and Barty would sometimes stop by and try to comfort or annoy him, respectively, into his normal attitude.
He had known James would text him endlessly, and he wasn’t surprised that Marlene joined him in that.
But they didn’t stop.
Everyone always stopped at some point.
They left.
They ignored him.
They didn’t reach out.
But this time, they didn’t fucking stop. Or at least they didn’t do so quickly enough.
Regulus didn’t leave his dorm anymore. His professors posted their lectures anyway. He could use the suite bathroom. Pandora made him eat sometimes, when he was too tired to fight back.
He knew that time was passing. Maybe a few days, maybe a few weeks, maybe a few months. He didn’t suppose it particularly mattered. It had no reason to matter.
He knew that Pandora, Evan, and Barty were fine, as he saw them sometimes, when his eyes would let him. He didn’t suppose he had much else to worry about.
He hated every second of his existence, but at least he understood it. He knew what to expect. On the days that he got up, he would go to his desk and focus completely on his notes, not letting any other thought in. He took every online quiz and always got 100%. Then, if Pandora was there, he would stare ahead and nod while she talked to him. He would use the bathroom if he needed to, and then he would lay back down.
He wouldn’t sleep.
Whenever he accidentally caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror, he looked the most like who he thought he was that he ever had. His eyes were dull and underlined by large, sagging purple ovals. His skin was pale, almost yellow, and looked waxy, like it would melt right off of his face if he cared to light it.
He had wanted to on multiple occasions, but he couldn’t find any matches.
The unmeltable wax hung wrinkled on his skull as if it were a size too big. His mother would be happy to see that his cheekbones stood out starkly, looking as if they were going to cut through the wax of his face. He wished they would.
But he didn’t see that picture often. He avoided it at almost all costs, because it proved something unpleasant; it proved that he existed. He hated the reminder.
And so Regulus went about his time, expecting and hating every second of it. He knew, in the logical corner of his brain, that he must have been sleeping at least a little bit, or he’d have been dead from a stroke or something similar. But he wasn’t. So he did.
But the sleep he knew must have existed bled into the monotony of his life. If he dreamed, it was just how he lived. It was nothing.
Until the pattern changed. His mind, starved for stimulation, introduced a new character; that is, an old character whom he knew nothing about, whom his mind could shape into whatever it pleased.
Even in his dream, Regulus couldn’t concentrate on what she was saying. He laid there staring at her. Her bright red hair seemed to mock him, standing in direct contrast to the dull nothingness of everything else. She talked a lot and her voice reached Regulus’s ears, but his brain refused to comprehend anything that she said. She showed up often, until Regulus was sure he was spending more time asleep than awake. She never got too close to Regulus, and so he started to accept her. Maybe she was a dream, maybe she was real. He didn’t suppose it mattered either way.
Until she showed up with someone else. Someone older, a woman with too much skin and frizzy grey hair.
The woman had a look on her face that Regulus knew well. She was trying to analyze him, trying to find out what was wrong with him. She was a professor, wearing a name badge that read ‘Professor Pomfrey, MS, DP, PhD.’
Regulus didn’t like her.
He instinctively knew that she was dangerous. She had authority of some type and seemed determined to use it. Regulus forced himself to pay attention when she started speaking. Or maybe he paid attention naturally, spurred by his fight or flight instinct. Maybe his mind wanted to know what he had to do. He didn’t suppose it mattered.
She had a voice that belonged in a hospital, soft and gentle but undeniably strict.
“Regulus, Lily brought me here to help. She and your other friends are worried about you.”
Regulus didn’t know he had any friends named ‘Lily,’
Professor Pomfrey seemed to wait for a reaction for a little while. She didn’t get one.
“It’s okay to need help, Regulus. You’re clearly not doing well.”
And for a second, Regulus was broken out of his block of ice. Not again. Not again. He let his eyes flicker for the first time in however long he’d been there, though he already knew the best - and only - escape. It was blocked by the professor.
“Your friend told me about your family, I won’t make you go back there. But you can’t stay like this.”
Who was she to tell him what he could do? She was nobody. She didn’t know him. She had no right to make him change. She couldn’t. She couldn’t. She couldn’t.
Of course, that had never stopped anyone before.
She looked at him calmly, seeming to see right into his brain. It was unfair, it was violating.
Regulus really didn’t like her.
“Regulus, you’re an adult, so I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to as long as you aren’t hurting anyone else. But your friends and your brother are extremely worried about you, and you obviously aren’t happy. Give it some thought.”
His brother.
His brother did this.
His brother who thought he was a girl and just like his mother.
His brother who thought that it was funny that he couldn’t eat without wanting to die.
His brother who didn’t trust him.
His brother sent the redhead and the professor.
His brother.
His brother.
His brother.
It was his brother.
It had always been his brother.
When Regulus had nobody to block his mother’s attention and she commented on everything he ate.
When he grew up twice as harshly because one child was already gone.
When he got hurt.
When he hurt himself.
When he-
When.
When,
when,
when,
when,
when.
When his brother didn’t come back from the train stop.
When he gave a fake eulogy at his brother’s funeral.
When his brother died.
Because his brother was dead.
His brother died when he was young.
The professor said his brother was worried.
That made no sense.
He didn’t have a brother anymore.
And he told them so. He didn’t remember deciding to tell the professor and the redhead anything, but his mouth opened and a choked-sounding voice came out. He assumed it was saying what he was thinking.
And it wouldn’t stop. Every time he tried to quiet it, the voice got louder. Louder. Louder.
He assumed it was screaming. He couldn’t stop it. He didn’t care if it stopped. He was beyond it. It couldn’t reach him. They couldn’t reach him.
She couldn’t reach him.
Not there. He wouldn’t go back. His brother was dead. He wouldn’t go back. She couldn’t reach him. He wouldn’t go back.
Not back.
Not back.
Not
back.
N
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