Pawn to E4
I dream about a lot of things. Sometimes when I dream at night I see mountains and pyramids, I fight in battles and write with shakespeare. But sometimes I dream during the day. I dream of having enough money for next month's rent, I dream of not running out of gas on my way to work. I dream of having a functional family.
I get lost in my dreams, sometimes I don't know when I'm really living or if I'm just in my mind too deep to leave. But right now as I gaze at the blood dripping down my hands staining the concrete red I can't help but wonder if I'm awake.
My brain has a funny way of playing tricks on me, and I've never felt like I could trust my own mind. How could I know what is true or not true? Some people believe you can tell things are real because you can see them. But for me I'm not convinced that my brain doesnt make up half of what I see and hear.
Descartes famously said “Cogito, ergo sum” (I think and therefore I am). I find something lacking in that statement, I can think, I actually think quite a bit maybe even too much. But how do I know I'm real?
Am I real because I can feel the cool wind from the first change from summer to fall, blowing my hair back and drying the blood on my hands? His blood? Am I real because I can hear the police sirens wailing from down the street? Am I real because I can see him lying there looking at the sky with glazed eyes illuminated by the flickering street light as blood pools underneath him with seemingly no end?
I lift my hands under the light and try to study them to find something familiar in a very unfamiliar situation. It's a grounding technique I was taught in therapy. I was also taught to find someone to talk to when you're having trouble, but considering the only other person around me is what I presume to be a dead body, that I may or may not have killed, I try to make the first one work.
After what feels like an eternity, I come up empty and even seem to be lacking the ring I always wear on my left pointer finger, the one I stole from my father the last time I saw him. Its absence makes my chest feel heavy and the beginnings of a panic attack start to form along with a list of questions a mile long.
I find myself drawn to these types of questions often, as my brain doesn't ever seem to shut off and I need something to distract myself with other than the thoughts that are trying to creep to the front of my mind, no matter how hard I keep pushing back.
But as the sirens become louder and my panic begins to grow I can’t help but wonder, where am I? How did I get here? And finally, why are my hands covered in blood?
The police are close enough that I can see their flashing lights illuminating the almost darkened street, they're almost up the hill. A type of fear I’ve only ever felt two other times before takes over. The same fear I had the day Sirius left, and the day I left.
I find it funny that the thing I had been wanting to do my entire life scared me so much, maybe it wasn't actually leaving that scared me but the after, the unknown of what I would do with my life now that I had the freedom to make the choices I never got to make for myself before. It was just as intoxicating as it was overwhelming.
I force myself to push everything back and I push myself off the ground, without my usual grace I make it to my feet and feel the blood rush to my head almost immediately. On unsteady feet I turn to find something to hide behind knowing I dont have the energy or strength to out run anyone.
A bit down the street I see what looks to be an abandoned building surrounded by overgrown grass that looks like it's never been mowed. I can't be sure that no one will see me or if the building even is abandoned, and not just poorly taken care of. If so, I definitely don't want to run into the people that let their house get like that. The thought of having to run through that grass is bad enough, who knows what could be in there.
With a shutter as another cool breeze goes by I think of the pros and cons. Pro hopefully don't go to jail, con possibly get murdered by the same person that most likely killed the dead body currently lying less that a foot away from me.
I decide that the murder house is my safest option and I duck down trying to make myself small as the aforementioned cops pull up the hill and finally turn off their sirens. They’re nearing the end of the street where I’ve ducked behind a tree, and I see the window with my last chance to get out of this mess closing.
Just as I'm working up the courage to run I see a glint on the body reflected from the cops flashing lights, as curiosity begins to get the better of me I can't help but think about a saying that mother used to drill into me when I was a kid. Curiosity killed the cat.
I glance up at the sky, It's obvious that I am the cat in this situation, I always have been. Sirius was always the more outspoken one, but I was the one that wanted knowledge. I wanted to know why things happened and how they worked.
I have always been quiet about my curiosity because unlike him I didn't have anyone to fall back on, I didn't have anyone to run to when things got bad. So I stayed quiet and let my questions eat me from the inside out, just waiting until the day they would all bubble up to the surface.
With another look at the object I push back what my mother used to say and lunge forward toward the body. I’m lucky that it is close enough and slightly hidden from view so Im’m not too worried about a cop seeing us at the moment.
My eyes are pulled to his hands where the source of the glint took place, and now that I am closer I can see what it is and I am shocked to my core. I have a feeling that I wouldn't be able to speak even if I wanted to.
My ring
My ring
With shaking hands I reach forward and grab it off his finger, it's placed on his pinky as it seems it's the only one of his fingers that It would fit on. It feels heavy in my hand. The metal is cold but it still gives me a sense of warmth to have it again. Too many questions fill my head but they all stop when I catch a look at the man.
It's a shame he's dead, because he is the most beautiful person I have ever seen. Dark tan skin with messy hair and broken glasses askew on his perfect face. I can't understand why anyone would want to kill him, and I can hope even more now that it wasn't me who did it.
I take one last deep breath while cursing myself for not taking my anxiety medication this morning, and with one last look at the body I run toward the abandoned house and hopefully out of this day and toward my freedom.
-
Regulus wakes up with a jolt, his body sitting up automatically. He runs a hand through his hair and tries to make sense of what is going on. He brings his hands up to his face and sees the dried blood still there telling him that last night was not in fact just a bad dream.
He did it again
He blacked out
No no. The word goes on repeat in his mind the two letters running together over and over until it's all that is left and any other thought is replaced by the single syllable. He feels like he's being suffocated as the weight of last night is dumped on him. He forces himself to go over the facts.
Someone’s dead, he was there, and most importantly he blacked out again. It’s not a lot to go on but he never remembers much of what happens during an episode as he's come to call them. He was delirious last night and thought what was happening might have been a fucked up dream, or that his mind playing tricks on him.
Even now when he woke up he half expected to breathe a sigh of relief and call Pandora to tell her all about it and compare it to her equally as insane dream. But that's not going to happen and he needs to figure out what the hell happened last night, but first he needs to get out of bed.
With a lead heavy body Regulus drags himself out of bed but stops when his feet hit the floor and he see his shoes are still on and his legs are covered in mud up to his knees along with his jeans sporting a few new rips and some fresh blood that appears to be his judging from the dull ache in his right knee.
At the moment everything feels like too much and with the beginnings of a headache forming regulus can't seem to think straight, there’s a millinon things to do to figure out but right now he can't seem to make himself care about anything but finding some advil, his valium, and a long shower to wash away all the remnants of last night.
On shaky legs that threaten to give out at any moment he makes his way to the bathroom, and one look at his reflection is all it takes for him to finally break down. Anyone that knew Regulus, knew that he always cared for his appearance, he wanted to look nice whether that be spending an hour trying on a multitude of outfits before usually settling on the first one he tried on, or testing out what seemed like a neverending combination of skincare products that his friends insisted he didn't need because he was already beautiful.
Beautiful. Regulus Black was truly beautiful.
With high cheekbones, pale skin, and piercing gray eyes anyone that looked at him. Male, female, and anyone in between fell in love for a split second before (they caught what his friends call his resting bitch face) turned away.
But right now he was none of that, he seems frozen looking at himself for the person in the mirror is not one he recognizes.
His gray, puffy almost black under eyes from running mascara. Red tear stained cheeks, and a rats nest of hair that has completely abandoned the bun he doesn't remember putting it in. Looking at it now reminds him that he's due for a cut as he looks too much like his brother to bear. The bun is only holding on by a thread much like how he feels inside.
But despite all of that, what makes him not recognize the person in the mirror is his eyes themselves. They look as dead as he feels. In the last few hours he has gone through a myriad of emotions and yet at this moment looking at himself in the mirror he just feels numb.
Regulus closes his eyes in hopes of getting that image of himself out of his mind, he places his hands on the cold porcelain of the sink and relishes in the feeling. The sink is still damp from the last time it was used and small pools of water fill the counter mixing the dried blood on his hands making it drip into the sink, he opens his eyes and sees the red blood against the stark white porcelain.
With an oddly slightly calmer mind he reaches out to grab the door of the medicine cabinet leaving bloody fingerprints as he does, and looks through all of the bottles before finding the one he’s looking for. He pours out two and with a relieved smile he notices their extra strength.
With one last look in the medicine cabinet he finds the valium and without a second thought puts two into his hand with the valium and downs the four pills dry, they scratch his throat on the way down but its a welcome sensation to help bring him back to reality.
He shuts the medicine cabinet without looking back and peels off his mud and blood soaked clothes and shoes, he hits his scraped up knee while trying to get his pants off but he barely notices.
With more struggling than necessary he gets his clothes off and lets them drop to a pile on the floor and not caring at the moment if it gets on anything.
Regulus doesn’t spare them another look as he gets into the shower, and turns the water on as hot as it goes in hope to burn the remnants and the memories of last night away.