Phobias

Lady Luce

Clustrophobia: Fear of Enclosed Spaces

It was dark. That was the thing you noticed about this place the most, after all how could you not notice it? It was a gaping chasm with no up or down, everything drained from it into nothingness and yet it pressed in on him from all sides, seeping into every pore starving his lungs of air. Every way he turned was black until he began to wonder about his own existence. Was he a being anymore or merely a mentality lost inside a vacuum? It was a bizarre out of body sensation until he had to pinch the tender skin of his arm to remind himself that he could feel, until only his dreams told him of a tangible world beyond this prison.

And every night, or day, or whenever he slept now he was woken gasping back into this darkness shaking from the receding claws of a nightmare. He stretched out a hand and was met with solid resistance, cool steel beneath his finger-tips. Vergil had to check every so often just to make sure it was still there in case his cage was gone now and he only had the door between him and daylight. Every time he hoped, prayed and once again felt the darkness close in around him as the truth washed over him like freezing water.

He was forgetting everything beyond his world now and the hollow in his chest was slowly being filled with a burning hatred; hatred for the people who had put him here, who had destroyed his pride, starved him, chained him, beaten him and then finally shut him away in the darkness. To be honest he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had food, not that he could count the days; time had been rendered meaningless in this place.

At first he’d screamed and cried blue-murder into the darkness punched at the walls until his knuckles bled and finally detached himself from everything and become resigned to his hell. He should have known it was coming. His life had deteriorated the day his mother died; he’d escaped from the demons that captured him and run only to be wandering foreign streets until he was bundled into care. Maybe it was his own fault, he hadn’t spoken or told them who he was, maybe if he’d cooperated more they would have helped him, or at least that’s what he told himself in hours of self-loathing.

Now he knew better though, his time shut away with only his thoughts let him think things through with a little more coherence. They knew he wasn’t human, if the platinum hair and unnaturally bright blue eyes hadn’t been a dead give away then his super-human strength and reflexes were. Breaking point had been when a gash on his cheek, which had been inflicted mere seconds ago, healed right in front of their eyes. Maybe some people would have embraced his ‘gift’ or taken him to the doctor – something along those lines, but of course life was never quite so kind.

The Jameson family was devoutly catholic, something which had annoyed Vergil from the start seeing as he was forced to go to church and attend Sunday school. He had put up with it though because he was sensible enough to keep his mouth shut. He only had to live with these people for another eight years, seven if he was lucky. The thought had made him feel sick. The trouble had started when they had wanted to get him christened. Vergil didn’t honestly know what he believed in, but he was not about to let them brand him like that. He’d wondered at the irony of it, speculated on it late into the night. Maybe the holy water would simply burst into flame before it touched his brow, maybe the earth would open up and swallow him to remind him where he truly belonged. Either way he was not having it and he had told them that.

It was the first time Mr. Jameson had hit him; hard. Right across the face so that his cheek cut into his teeth and there was blood in his mouth. Vergil hadn’t retaliated that time, simply wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and glowered until his blue eyes flared sapphire. His mother had always told him that there’d be people in the world who would hate him for what he was. That there were bad people out there who wanted to hurt him, he’d just been fortunate enough not to meet any humans who wanted him dead. At least until now… as the days got closer and closer to the date of his christening arguments became increasingly often.

On that fateful day Vergil had finally snapped, refused to get in the car and when Mr. Jameson had tried to drag him he had shown him his full strength. A brutal twist of his wrist and the man’s arm had been broken in three places. Now as he lay with his cheek pressed against the cool metal floor he knew he should have run, but the blinding rage which had engulfed him left little room for logical thought. Maybe he would have kept his cool if they hadn’t insulted his parents, but he should have expected such a low blow from the man.

They were ashamed of him that much was clear; why they hadn’t simply killed him he hadn’t a clue. Two days he had been locked in his room chained to the bed – he would have been able to escape had they left him alone. Those two days were spent with a shot-gun levelled at his forehead.

And then… darkness; the same darkness which still haunted him, the same stale air. Twice he had been brought food; those two brief periods of light had given him enough time to see the air holes in the top of the steel crate. The distance between his last meal had been greater than any time before and he was beginning to think that he’d simply been left here to die.

That was until what could have been hours or days later when a sliver of light blinded him. It was so bright it burnt his retinas, made him suddenly blind, but it was different to the darkness. The light absorbed space whereas darkness created it, the rays washed over him waking his numbed mind to sudden life and he sought it blindly.

“Vergil,” it was a girl’s voice – small and quiet; scared.“Are you alive?”

Vergil couldn’t get his vocal chords to work, he couldn’t find the coherence to remember how and his mind was focused on remembering the voice. It came to him slowly, dream-like. The Jameson’s had a kid, a little girl…

“I’m opening the crate. Mom and Dad are asleep,” she explained softly the light increasing as she pulled the door back. “If you hurry you can escape.”

As soon as a hand clenched around the edge of his steel prison she drew back and with a defiant shove it flew open. In the half-light of the room the only thing she could make out was his eyes in the pit of the crate. They scared her so much she stumbled back and tripped. They were in-human, reflecting the light like a cat’s would car headlights.

Before she could scream a hand had clamped around her throat the bony fingers biting into her skin. She could feel the rage coming off him in waves; see it in his fiery eyes though she dared not look. He was a creature from her nightmares, when she’d heard the screams in the night and shoved her head under the pillow to block them out. There was blood on his hands on his forehead, arms – his blood – where he’d clawed at his skin and scratched at the walls.

She tugged at the hand sealed about her throat with both of hers but it was no use; she was going to die.

“I saved you,” it was a choked whisper and Vergil only half heard it. He squeezed tighter fingers burning into her flesh, feeling the racing pulse beneath his finger-tips, the fragile bones just waiting to snap. He couldn’t answer her, he half wanted to. Compared to her parents this girl wasn’t going to feel a thing.

Seconds ticked by, she kicked out, squirmed frantically, blind with panic though she knew she was dead. Vergil watched her callously. The girl he had called sister for half a year was watching her life trickle away like sand in an hour glass and maybe only just understanding what her family had done. They’d created a monster.

A/N: Err this is... weird. I was wondering why Vergil turned out so different you know? I mean yeah, there's always the theory that Eva paid more attention to Dante, and parents normally treat the elder twin differently, but really does that explain someone turning into a psychopath? Maybe I guess, but I'm always one to err explore possibilties... and this is the product. I was origionally gonna make it longer, decided to leave it there because I liked it. There might be another chapter to this which is a bit more light hearted, but it seemed weird to stick a light-hearted bit right after I'd written psycho Vergil... Yep.

Next chapter of Tocophobia is coming, I just wrote myself into a corner...

-Lady Luce