Chapter 1
“LET ME OUT! MOTHER FUCKERS LET ME OUT!”
It was difficult to describe what had come over him. This wasn’t an entirely new sensation, by any means. Out of everyone trapped inside Marc’s twisted mind, he undoubtably had the most experience when it came to staying inside. While Steven had managed to reach out and grab more and more of that precious time in the light, Lockley hardly bothered. Struggling seemed pointless when he knew there wasn’t a reason to front. Unlike the brit, he knew his place. He knew when, and when not to take control.
However, this was different. He wasn’t asleep, or held tightly by the uncomfortable embrace simply observing gave. No, he had room. It wasn’t a lot; hell, it wasn’t even enough for him to sit down in. It was as if he was in a literal box, left with nothing but the few inches to move his fingers and toes in. It was room though, much more than backing gave. Was he in control? What had Marc gotten themselves into?
“I SAID, LET ME OUT OR I SWEAR TO GOD- I WILL RIP YOUR MOTHER FUCKING-”
Any sight he had was limited to a single crack of light in the side of the box, though it was too thin to truly see out of. All it gave was vague insight on himself. For example, he was wearing a weird wash of gray. Long sleeve, lazy sweat pants, stuff he’d never picture Marc nor Steven wearing. He could also make out a strange lack of bruises on his arm. He hadn’t really felt any either, possibly for his first time ever. No bruises, no aches, no gashes, just an uncomfortable sense of being in control, and the eerie feeling that he was, for once, alone. It seemed impossible, Marc and Steven were always there, even if the same didn’t apply to him. And yet, he found himself completely and utterly solitary, with not nothing to do other than stand in this wretched- thing.
“PLEASE, SOMEONE, LET ME OUT. PLEASE. I CAN’T DO THIS, LET ME-”
The sound of footsteps silenced his screaming in an instant. It shouldn’t have, if anything he should have started shouting louder, and yet Jake found himself oddly still. As if the slightest shuffle would cover up the faint voices from the outside.
“Where are we? Shouldn’t we be dead?”
“I don’t know, but whatever it is, its fucking with us. Some guy in a mustache-”
“A mustache?”
“Yes, the Ammit worshipper, only this time he had a mustache-”
“Well, a weird time for a new do if you ask me.”
“Fuck, listen to me Steven!”
Steven, Marc. They were here. He wasn’t entirely sure how, but they were here. Without second thought Jake began to thrash once more, this time with his entire body back and forth. The whole box jostled and clanged around him, a sight they wouldn’t be able to ignore.
“Marc! Steven! Please, help me! I’m trapped! Marc, Marc, for fuck’s sakes PLEASE!”
The thrashing persisted for several minutes, but the longer he moved, the more apparent it became. His arms grew tired, and his voice became hoarse. Legs that were once strong seemed weak under the pressure of his own upright body. Why weren’t they here? He’d screamed, they had to of heard. If he could hear their voice, then there was no way they couldn’t hear him.
It's because you’re unwanted.
Jake’s eyes burned. He should have known this was going to happen, it was stupid to even try to get their attention. Still, there was no denying the pain that welled in his chest the longer he found himself standing. When minutes must have turned into hours, he no longer could bring himself to have hope. He was stuck, finally done for. It was only a matter of time he supposed, before-
The floor rocked bellow is feet. There’d been small drifts back and forth for pretty much the entire duration of his time there, but to his complete and utter shock, he found himself collapsing to the ground. The rock was hard enough to throw the lid clear across the room, and his body right out. Lockley shouted, only to be muffled by the loud creaking around him. His eyes snapped open, mind instantly on hyper alert.
He was in a hospital room, it seemed. The sanitizing white walls were something he’d grown very accustomed to over his years of existence, though he barely spent a second on it. His attention was too wrapped around pulling himself off the ground, and dragging himself out into the burning bright hallway. His eyes squinted, legs breaking into an instant sprint.
“Marc? Steven? You guys here?”
His screams filled the hall, before suddenly evaporating when the doors at the end whooshed open. His sprint turned into a full dash, just in time for his body to go flying with another intense rock. He hit a wooden wall with a loud shout. “Fuckin’ hell-”
“Coming through!”
Jake’s head whipped around, only to find himself face to face with- a hippo. A tall, sentient, hippo. One who seemed to have no idea he was even there. It- or apparently, she, shouted in excitement. “Osiris, you old softie!”
Another harsh fling, hard enough to leave him holding the side of the boat for dear life. His legs flailed over a desert, hands just barely managing to keep hold. His heart thrashed in his ribcage.
“Now run!!”
Run? With one hefty tug, Jake yanked himself back over the right side of the boat. It was just in time for his eyes to catch sight of two figures running in the far distance. One black, one white. And though, he had no way of making them out, he knew right then and there who they were.
“Marc, Steven…”
“Wait, who the heck are you!”
Jake turned back around, only to find the once delighted creature now staring at him in complete and utter disbelief. Disbelief, or disgust, he couldn’t quite decipher.
“A third, but the scales were balanced. How did you-”
Before Jake could hear another word, the world around him once again turned black, and he found himself just as he was before.
~★✡★~
Out of everything Marc had done for money throughout his life, Bartending was oddly one of the hardest.
It shouldn’t be, but it was. His social skills were far more inept than he’d thought, and as a result all the charm he was supposed to have came off as something the guests had apparently described as “off putting and aggressive”. It shouldn’t matter, he was fully capable when it came to the actual mixology. He’d had plenty of experience throughout his life mixing drinks, so the transition from doing so in his storage room to doing so in a professional setting wasn’t that tricky. Especially given how well he multitasked under the pressure of multiple people all asking for cocktails at once. In that regard, he’d argue he was the best out of all his co-workers. That hardly seemed to matter though, when according to the manager, he was too unlikeable to leave the guests happy and satisfied.
“Oh, come on, it isn’t that bad. You look like you just watched a puppy get shot.”
Marc glanced at his reflection in the bus window. Steven’s concerned gaze met him, and thankfully, the public transit was fairly empty this time of night. The only other guy on the bus was a druggie he was pretty certain wouldn’t care if he began a quiet conversation with himself. “Easy for you to say, Prince Charming.” He muttered under his breath.
“Please, we both know I’m not nearly as good at actually making the stuff. There’s too many combinations, and I can’t handle more than two drinks at a time.”
He wasn’t entirely wrong. When Steven worked a shift, everything tended to go by a bit slower. More mistakes were usually made, and on more than one occasion he’d be forced to take over when the stress grew to be too much. It was because of this the brit usually worked the week days, and he took the hectic weekends. None of that changed the fact Steven was factually a better person, both to work with and to the guests. For the past month Marc had watched time and time again as his co-worker’s faces brightened up whenever they realized Steven was working for the evening. It was subtle at first, but by now it was undeniable. The same applied to the customers, who seemed at ease any time his softer side decided to strike up a conversation. He’d be able to lean on the counter and talk for hours, while Marc on the other hand, struggled to think of something other than the weather.
He subtly trailed his fingers over his knuckles. “Mhm, I know Stevie. I know.” Marc mumbled, rubbing his eyes. Steven fell silent after that, at least until they managed to make it back to their flat. The air conditioning had yet to be fixed, and once again he found himself met with a rush of hot air the moment he opened the door. His hands instinctively reached to begin stripping his uniform, meanwhile his reflection in one of the many mirrors around the room flickered.
“Want me to take over for the night? Well, I suppose 3 AM is hardly night, so I suppose morning. I feel like I can fall asleep though if you think you’re going to have some trouble with that.”
Marc shook his head. “No, I’ll be okay. I think I can fall asleep on my own. Thanks though.”
It should have just ended there, with him finishing his stripping and laying down for the night. After a few seconds though Steven’s silent stares once again caught his attention. He rolled his eyes, tossing everything but his boxers into one sloppy pile on the ground. “What do you want Steven?”
His reflection fidgeted, like a child unsure of how to talk to its parent. While he waited for an explanation, his eyes flickered down to his hand, his right specifically. It wasn’t uncommon to wake up with various bruises on him. Neither he nor Steven ever acknowledged it, but at the same time they were never big enough to address. A few days ago, however, he’d been lucky enough to wake up to a nasty one all along his knuckles. The whole hand suffered from a slight purple-ish tint because of it, which only grew deeper in color the closer it got to the bone. It must have been bleeding at some point, if the scabbing meant anything.
A full minute seemed to go by, before Steven finally spoke up. “That woman, at the end, she kind of looked like Layla, right? I’m not the only one who thought that?”
Marc stopped just as he was about to take his seat down on the poorly made bed. So, Steven had been present to see that.
He’d been nearing the end of his shift when she’d walked. It wasn’t her; the nose was wrong as well as her eyes. There was something about her voice though that managed to bring his mixing to a halt. That soft, yet confident voice that managed to cut through the crowd unlike any other.
“Hey there sir, can I have a…”
The girl stared at the menu for several moments. Her tongue ever so slightly stuck out between her teeth, and for a few seconds, he considered swallowing his own.
“I think I’ll take simple Martini. I always feel so classy when I drink those, like I’m some seductress in a James Bond movie. That is what they drink, right?”
Marc gulped, “Yup, she did.”
Steven hummed, and all of a sudden he felt a compulsion to stand. “I think I’m actually going to shower first. So sweaty, you know.” Steven’s eyes widened. “Oh, okay. Erm, enjoy that then-”
Marc left the room before Steven could even finish his sentence. His entire body seemed so sticky, so gross. It was if the sweat had managed to seep inside his skin, making just existing in his own body feel uncomfortable. His knuckles throbbed with the simple move to turn the shower nob.
It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.
It would be, ultimately. This day would soon become yesterday, and then the next day Steven would take over. Steven’s days tended to be much easier than his own, and he’d be able to sit back and detach from everything going on. At the moment though the thought of this ending seemed impossible. He took a deep breath in, eyes fluttering closed.
It takes time. This is normal. You just have to breath.
Right, breath. Breath in, and pretend he wasn’t completely insane.
Marc stepped into the cold shower, only to suddenly find himself tumbling back against the wall. His eyes widened, body trembling at the sight.
A large, bloody dent in his wall.