A/N: Okay, first off: I am so sorry for us being slow bitches. I'm almost lazier with updating this thing than I am with my other fics, because now it's two people who never have time to write, instead of one. But hey, misery loves company. XD Anyway, if you're still with us, read on!
11: You Made The Bed
Adam doesn't dare to move, dare to let Lawrence know he's awake. He closes his eyes against his chest, squeezes them shut in a way that can't possibly look natural, but rather that than facing up to the situation. How the hell is he supposed to react to this? People don't tell him this stuff, partly because the few people he knows know that he can't give any advice worth a damn, partly because… Well, no one's really loved him the way Lawrence does. Except for that one time.
Whatever he'd say, he'd say the wrong thing. He will feel guilty, try to fix it but only make it worse. Lawrence won't tell him anything again. Only someone who's been through the same thing can talk about this, and Adam's been through some bad stuff, but he's never been hurt in the same both physical and emotional way, never been broken down by that by someone who was supposed to love him, what the hell would he say to this?
So he keeps quiet. Doesn't even shift, even though he knows that he's a fidgeting sleeper so it'd look more natural if he moved a little bit. He feels Lawrence eyes on him. He sees right through him.
He won't be able to sleep at all now, anyway. He's still dizzy from the blood loss, but there are too many questions in his head. Lawrence probably told him this in the hope that Adam would understand him better if he did, but Adam almost feels himself drifting further away from him, despite how tightly he's held against his chest.
How can you hurt someone in the same way you have been hurt? He's always known that people do it (because Johnny did it, didn't he?), but he's never lived as close to it as he does now.
Lawrence has been raped, and reacts on it by raping other people. Adam may be naïve, but he really doesn't get it. Doesn't get why?
Maybe he tries to create equals? Someone who understands him, and if not, suffers like he does? But Adam is not his equal. He probably never will be. He loves Lawrence, but they will never be the same and they will never completely understand each other. And just maybe… That's what makes him different from the others.
No matter what, Adam is suddenly aware that all this, this chaos, this fucked up environment and this darkest, deepest, most rotten part of human mind is his home now. This is his life, and he may have been just a dumb little kid who thought he'd suffered the great consequences of life because he'd been unhappily in love, but he's become aware now. Just how horrible people can be. And how loving.
Adam smiles softly. That was a mistake, and he realizes it two seconds too late.
"Adam, are you awake?"
He doesn't answer. Again, what is he supposed to say?
Adam keeps his eyes closed against Lawrence's chest, but it's no use. Lawrence puts his hand on his forehead and cranes his head back, Adam opens his eyes and mostly out of reflex, he gets the sudden urge to kiss Lawrence when he sees his face just inches away and has to convince his pounding bloodstream that now is not the time.
Lawrence moves his hand down to his cheek, and for a second, his eyes get dark in that cold, merciless way. Adam's brief second of arousal washes away when he sees that Lawrence seems to have forgotten about the fact that he's supposed to have changed now, and could easily consider hitting him. Or worse.
Lawrence's old, dark eyes stare into Adam's. He knows that Lawrence won't say anything before he does, but he really has no idea what that would be. For starters, he's not sure if he's supposed to apologize or not, and second, what do you say, what do you say to ease the pain in the wound that Lawrence just tore open for him to see?
"I'm sorry," is all Adam can think about.
That's probably not what Lawrence wanted to hear, but it still breaks the spell. Lawrence takes his hand away and looks down, exhales slowly.
"Yeah," he says.
Adam keeps looking at him. He's waiting for Lawrence to say something, but his face seems to have closed down, like a window he didn't dare to climb through, and he doesn't meet Adam's gaze. Eventually, Adam gives up and lies back down with his head on Lawrence's chest. It's usually easier to talk that way, he's learned.
"I was so scared," Lawrence says after a few seconds. "I spent so much time being scared."
Pause. Adam looks at the wall in front of him.
It usually takes him forever to think of smart answers, but now, they come to him before he's even managed to register them. Like he's wanted to say them all along.
"If that's the excuse you use for this, it makes sense," he says without looking at the face above him. "You were scared all that time, and it gives you a sense of power and revenge that you can make other people as scared as you were. I get that. It makes sense."
Then he props his head up again and looks directly at Lawrence. Lawrence doesn't look back, but Adam didn't expect him to, and besides, he's going to tell Lawrence this whether he wants to hear it or not.
"But do you really want to be him?" he spits out, and he sees that the words land in the right place. "He ruined your life, and you've spent your whole life hating him. Don't you want to be something better? Are you really going to let him do that to you after all he's already done, and ruin your life even when you're grown up and he's dead?"
Lawrence still doesn't look at him. His eyes are locked on the ceiling, terrified, trying to be hateful but feeling the resent he's hold on to for so long but slipping through his fingers.
"I've never wanted to be something I like," he finally gets out.
His words are pitiful. Adam doesn't count them as a legitimate excuse. He just scoffs and puts his head back down.
"You're going to be," he says firmly. "Tomorrow, I'm going to get into your office and get the keys to all the cells, and if you have a problem with that, you're just going to have to kill me."
Adam smiles thinly. Closes his eyes again.
When he hears Lawrence's faint sobs through the drowsiness washing over him, he doesn't try to comfort him. In fact, he takes it as a good sign. And this is Lawrence's demons, anyway, Adam wouldn't be able to help him with them if he tried.
But he finds comfort in knowing what those sobs teach him, the shameful display of vulnerability that they won't talk about and won't acknowledge at all, but both know is there, and is significant.
They're both going to let go of the hate now.
Adam wakes up.
The first thing he notices is Lawrence's back against him, they've drifted apart in their sleep. No comforting arms around him and his blanket is too thin for the raw cold in his cell. So why is he so hot? Why does it feel like every organ in his body is swelling, warm, inflamed, crawling through his system?
And more importantly, why does he, despite of how hot he is, feel so cold that he's shaking, his teeth chattering on their own accord because he himself doesn't have anything near the strength to do it himself?
Adam feels a dull panic rising in that side of him that knows that this is serious, even though the other side of him just wants to sleep, and fuck if he doesn't wake up again, he's tired, and he wants to sleep. But either way, the dry sob that scratches over his throat is enough to wake Lawrence up, roll over and put his arms around the shivering body when he feels him crawl closer. He knows something is wrong. That doesn't mean he's going to acknowledge it.
A cold, sweaty chest is pressed against his warm, naked one and he hears teeth chattering. Lawrence tries to ignore the panic rising in him, too, his heart that starts beating in the same fluttering tic-tic-rate as the one that beats with his. But it's hard.
"Adam, is something wrong?"
No answer. But that's not because he's sick.
"Adam, what's wrong? Why are you shaking like that and…"
Voice cracking. That's not because he's crying.
Adam coughs, his whole body convulses. Then he licks his parched lips and tries to speak.
That's all. More terrifying than any actual words he could ever say. Lawrence stops breathing for a second without even noticing and pulls Adam closer as he tries to ignore that the raspy, cracked voice he's just heard didn't belong to the one he loves at all.
"Adam, are you sick?"
Adam would rather die than admitting that out loud, he knows that.
That's why it's even more terrifying when he feels Adam nodding against his chest.
It's like saying that he's already dead.
Lawrence swallows. Everything seems to happen very quickly. Everything except for his own movements and thoughts, that seems to be swimming through syrup to get anywhere at all. But Adam clutches desperately to Lawrence and Lawrence feels his own slow motion-arms closing around him and his heavy hands stroking his back. Trying to calm him down.
Trying to calm himself. He puts his hand on Adam's forehead, cranes his head back. Like yesterday, but in the meantime, nothing at all like then.
Pale, sweaty… And even in the dim, yellow light from the barred window, he can see that Adam's face is almost grey. Okay. Okay. Old information. The file cabinets in his head spinning around, old folders dusting off. Letters blurry.
Just like always when he has to become a doctor again. Like always when one of his guys (they're prisoners, Lawrence, they were always prisoners) gets sick, malnourished, infected wounds, all those things, fine, but never this bad, what's happening, what the fuck is happening, what the FUCK is happening…
Lawrence puts a hand over his mouth, trapping the helpless whining inside. This is not the time. Doctor again, doctors don't cry. He's the doctor, and Adam is his patient, not his lover. He isn't him. This isn't for real.
The sweat is slippery on someone else's skin. The heat is radiating from someone else's cheeks.
And when he thinks like that, it's easier to think back. Lawrence puts both hands over his eyes and goes in his mind through what Adam could've done, anything that could've set this off, something he ate, something that could've gotten him…
That thought stops everything. It's like that moment when the ball stops in the Russian roulette. Lawrence sits up and looks down at Adam.
The knife Lawrence put in Adam's throat. The office Lawrence carried him into. The needle Lawrence used to close the wound.
Neither of those things had been sterilized. They hadn't even been remotely clean, and he'd probably used them on a lot of people before him.
That's when it lands. A cold bullet in Lawrence's chest, expanded, exploding.
Septic. Adam is septic. And if it's not a full-blown infection yet, he's definitely in the middle stages of becoming septic.
The filth of Lawrence's anger is flowing through his veins, in his blood, eating him inside out. It's in his blood. It's in him. And Lawrence put it there. He put a knife in his throat, and that knife is killing him even when the wound is shut.
The disease is in his blood. And it was Lawrence who put it there.
…God, Lawrence can be an idiot sometimes. XD Well, I guess that's what keeps the story up. I hope you'll review!