The Loving Dead
I pretended and prayed it all away,
Searching for a place to hide,
But I don't need afflicting memories to fade,
I just want to feel something real inside.
The whispers hush down. It's silent. No... It's not silent. He can hear shuffling downstairs. Real shuffling, as in footsteps, not the pain-filled spirits dragging dead weight across the wood and tile. He can hear voices float up through the barrier enclosing his room, a hoarse laugh, and something being pulled along the tile. A few pairs of feet trail across the floor, and cease in the room under his. As he peeks out from his under eyelids, petrified of witnessing another poor soul enraged at him, he's surprised that they're all gone. Not a single... thing with Latin words engraved in its flesh casts over him, staring with forever-opened eyes. It's... more than a relief. He can breathe.
"Here, lay down," a faint, motherly voice commands.
"I got it, Mom."
Jonah heaves his hesitant self up to his feet and takes a few cautious steps towards the open door. Glancing back, his eyes catch on the bird painted on the wall, and immediately turns away from the sight. It's really not in his agenda to accidentally draw in more painful memories, much less attract the demons back. Instead, he trails into the hallway and manages to catch a glimpse of an old man walking out of view and into another part of the house. With curiosity edging at his mind, the dead boy hurries down the steps to see what's happened. Jonah only pauses when he feels he'd be invading their area, and stands not far from the door frame.
"Thank you so much, again." That motherly voice.
"Not a problem," He's heard that voice before... Mr. Sinclair, Jonah thinks. The man, bless his heart, cleaned up around the house and made it decent, along with his wife. The last he remembers, Mr. Sinclair had been talking about trying to sell the house, or at least hold it open for rent. Would these people be the new owners of the place?
"I really wish I could repay you..."
"It's alright, I don't mind. Anyway, it's getting pretty late. I should leave you and your boy for the night, yeah?" The old man says this, backing out of the room with a cheeky smile. Another person steps out of the room – a woman, possibly in her early thirties. Clean, blonde hair brushes against her wary face, and dark circles make themselves known under her eyes. She still smiles tiredly, despite the effort written on her face.
"Yeah, alright. Drive home safe." She says, following Mr. Sinclair into the kitchen. Jonah stares as they walk by, and he might've followed, if not for a television startling him.
He stares with expressionless eyes at the doorway, unsure whether to check it out or stay rooted in his spot. He can hear the woman in the kitchen messing with the phone, cursing almost silently to herself and, a second later, sighing in victory. An automobile outside gears up, and soon the engine fades away. After a few seconds, the black-haired boy deems it's safe to move forward, and peers into the room those adults had once been in. It looks normal – nothing really in it, all except for what looks to be a giant mattress on the stone-cold floor, and a... boy?
A teenage boy. Jonah can't make out the details – the boy's on his side with his back to the ghost – but he can feel something wrong. The longer he stares, the stronger the sense screams, "No, no, no, no, not right. Not right. No good. Wrong. Wrong."
The ghost watches with curiosity as the boy stares mindlessly at the television, before deciding to go to bed. He reaches up to fiddle with the knobs, and a second later, a black screen. Jonah can see his own reflection. Breath hitching in surprise, he turns and walks away, noticing in the corner of his eye that the boy had turned to look. The ghost closes his eyes and bites his lip, praying the strange kid will shrug it off and speak of it to no one.
A sense of desperation is washing over him, he realizes. It's... out of the ordinary, as far as that word can be used within these standards. Jonah's sensing himself on the bricks of insanity. He needs these people to stay here. Not only because the watchful demons have backed off, giving him a break, but because he wants to put his time into something other than building a broken wall in his mind. That boy... the least Jonah can do, for the time being, is attempt to figure out what's so insignificant about the kid.
As the woman – the mother, he presumes – heads off to the one bed, the dead boy finds himself puzzled when that kid says nothing of the sighting. They share a few quiet conversations, but before long, as they whisper their good nights to one another, Jonah catches the boy's name.
Matt. His name is Matt.
They drag his unwilling body down the rickety staircase. His fingernails scrap the rotting wood, silent pleas for help escaping his dry lips. With nothing else to hold onto, he bangs his fists against the tile, not exactly sure what he's doing, and instead focusing on anything to keep these spirits at bay. Nothing is working. Darkness shrouds around him, and as his vision locks in on the rectangular light, he realizes too late that the door is closing shut.
Scrambling to his feet, Jonah throws himself against the door. Not again, he thinks, tears stinging his eyes, please, not again. So much for a break. The doorknob jiggles, but to no avail, it doesn't help. His bloodied fingernails curl into fists as he collides them against the delicate wood.
"Let me out!" The single ghost cries. A flesh-torn hand clamps down on his mouth, and more hands reach out to drag him back. His struggles become useless, but he continues to fight, knowing it's better than the memories trying to invade his train of thought.
"Jonah!" Dr. Aickman's voice rings as clear as day in his ears. He squeezes his eyes shut. Go away go away go away go away!
Heavy footsteps pad in the background. Taking a peek, the black-haired boy almost wants to cry with relief. The demons aren't in front of him. No, instead he spots that kid – Matt. Now that he can view better, he notices Matt does look different. A regular kid's skin is flush with some color, rather it be tan or dark. This boy's... his flesh has no color. The bags brimming under his eyes help none with his appearance. He seems... Oh, what's the word... Too thin? Lanky? As if the boy's never tried going out in the sunlight. He looks almost like a...
Like a dead boy.
A demon screeches, throwing itself at the windowed door. The scare causes both boys, coincidentally, to faint. Strange enough, their eyes close at the exact same time.
Coming to is more painful than it sounds. He's never had such a headache like this, not even when the seances threw him into Hell. A bar of sunlight peeks out from the small window down in the basement, and shines rudely into his eyes. Squinting, weakly holding his arm up over his face, Jonah pulls himself up into a sitting position and gazes around. He's outside of the morgue, on the floor by the wall. How he got here, it's beyond him. What had happened last night? He can recall being forced into the separate room, crying out for help. Shifting his gaze down, his eyes widen.
No, he had hoped it was a dream. His bloodied fingernails prove his theory wrong.
Something had happened... He remembers Dr. Aickman's demanding tone... And... And...
Eyes widening, Jonah begins to feel fear eating at him. That boy is going to tell his mother of the nightmare, and the woman will find that this isn't the right house. They're going to leave; They're going to leave him with the demons again, and he'll have to find another spot. He'll have to look for a new place to hide. Maybe he should hide under the staircase, in the hidden room... No, they'll find him. He'll never get out... There's never a way out...
Distant footsteps. Jonah fixes his eyes on the staircase leading to the first floor, and finds himself shocked. Matt descends down the steps, casting his eyes about, oblivious to invisible stare.
"Matt?" The mother shouts, "Matt, did you find a bedroom?"
"Yeah, I did." He answers. Feeling compelled to, the dead boy walks towards the kid. They're the same height, if not for Matt being a slight bit taller. It must be the hair. A small urge whispers to Jonah, whispers to grasp the kid's arm, force himself into the reality where the other can see, and beg them not to stay. The demons won't like this family here. They drove off the last family a long time ago, along with the death of a newborn girl. I... I had tried to save the family... the baby... Trying wasn't enough. It's never enough.
"Down here?" The mother inquires, her voice laced with doubt. Jonah blinks, falling out of his stupor. A bedroom... down here? No, he can't stay down here. The angered spirits... She scans the room, and shakes her head, "No."
"Aw, c'mon, look, it's nice, it's cool, and the best part – its got its own private bathroom; nobody has to hear me..."
Hear you do what? Jonah purses his lips and takes a few steps back, studying both mother and son.
"Honey, you don't have to hide from us."
"The fact that everyone can hear me puking, it just makes me feel worse, okay?" Matt mumbles, turning away from the blonde and facing the door. Jonah winces as the teenager tries the doorknob, pushing his weight against the door. Once the woman joins him in looking through the musty glass, the ghost begins to feel left out, and eventually goes up the stairs.
On the first floor, there's little new items scattered around in the kitchen. He ignores them, though, and finds himself trudging back to his room, his personal Hell, where the baby-blue bird forever chirps in silence, ready to fly away. The background noise of someone knocking on the door doesn't draw any attention away from the door at the end of the hall. A second later, he twists his head a little, gazing over as two children, no older than seven, race towards him and veer off into new rooms.
"Mary! Mary, wait until Aunt Sara and Uncle Peter tell us where our rooms are!" A girl shouts, and a second later she groans. Jonah leans over the railing, watching as a young woman paces herself up the steps. By habit, he's already guessed her age to be close to sixteen or seventeen. With long, luscious black hair and albino skin, he can't help but wonder if she and Matt are siblings. Matt's mother climbs up the steps, and they both smile at each other.
Greetings are exchanged, and Jonah learns the young girl's name to be Wendy.
"Got a room for Billy," Matt's mother says, pointing to the first door in the corridor. They cross down the hallway, with the ghost following with a curious expression, "And Mary... And this..." Pausing inside his room, both girls look around, smiles tugging at their lips, "I thought was the perfect room for you."
The dead boy narrows his eyes, stepping in the middle of the room. One of the faults Dr. Aickman had found in Jonah was the fact that he wasn't very keen on sharing. Only shared with close relatives, friends; never with outsiders. He knows now he can scare Wendy out of the room, but, of course, another fault is shown. Jonah simply doesn't like hurting people. Dead or not, he can't stand the idea of seeing an innocent bystander hurt, mentally or physically. Especially if it's his doing.
Something catches in the corner of his eye. Eyes widening, the invisible ghost steps off to the side, catching himself in the mirror. The last thing he wants is to be caught.. again.
He wouldn't call it following. That's not the right term. Neither is stalking. Stalking makes him sound creepy, and following makes him sound clingy. He's not doing either. No, he's only... walking alongside the boy – Matt. Jonah still hasn't figured out what's so different with the kid. He acts as normal as everyone else in the house, but... Matt coughs sometimes. Not the normal coughs, the ones people make when something's tickling their throats. Matt coughs violently, as if to hack something up. He doesn't run around as much as the younger brother – Billy, was it? – and doesn't participate in conversations as much as Wendy. He saw the father send a sympathetic look towards Matt, and was surprised to see the teenager avert eyes and look even worse.
It's driving Jonah insane. It's almost as if they know he's listening in, and want to make sure he never figures it out. Yes, Matt is sick. Ill. He's got that much. But with what?
Trailing behind the teenager, both head into the basement, where the mother is mopping the tile floor. He remembers hearing Matt's father call for her – Sara, he thinks. Her name is Sara. Which makes Wendy... his cousin?
"Hey... Still don't know why you want to stay down here." Sara remarks, glancing up at her son. Matt only smiles faintly and turns to look through the dirty glass. Jonah frowns. Why does he keep looking through there? He wants to believe there's nothing interesting in there, save for few empty boxes that would serve as great hiding spots. The hiding spots I used before. The ghost squeezes his eyes shut, tears threatening to spill. Another memory... A horrible recall... He had to hide from Dr. Aickman. At least, for the time being. And that body... toppling over. His father had forgotten to clear the blood... the blood spread everywhere... He didn't mean to bump into the table... He didn't mean to make such a mess...
Safe. He's safe. The dreadful memory attempting to overtake him is gone, but as he opens his eyes, he finds himself puzzled. Matt is staring at his mother and the floor with horrified trying to be hidden on his features. Jonah blinks and looks down at the floor as well. Water sloshes along with the mop, and while Sara asks if he's alright, Matt hesitates.
"Yeah, uh... Thanks for cleaning my room." He replies weakly. The ghost frowns. A blind man would see through the lie.
"No problem," His mother sends a loving smile and resumes her job.
The demons are beginning to come out of their shells once more, ready to have some "fun". Playing cruel jokes, moving plates, whispering bitter nothings... Jonah frowns, staring down as Sara and Matt both crouch over the broken dishes. No matter what he does, it still comes back to bite him. A raging dead being had held the plates and would've very well hit the mother on the head. It would've, if not for the dead boy to interfere. And yet, he still gets Matt into trouble.
"How'd they get on the floor?"
"I don't know. I-I just- I saw them up there, and I just—"
"You know what Dr. Brooks said..."
"I know what Dr. Brooks said, okay? He said that if I'm seeing things, then he'll drop me from the trial."
Trial? Jonah, with his interest peaking, leans a little closer to Matt, watching his expressions carefully.
"But if you-"
"I'm not... seeing things... I'm tired, and I remember I put the dishes too close to the edge, so..."
The ghost's lips straighten into a tight line. This "trial" thing is important to both of them, and he's positive it won't be the last either will experience with the angered demons. Sighing, Jonah closes his eyes. He won't let another thing cause Matt to question his sanity. His and his family's. He failed last time... But this time he won't. It's a promise.
I will never let you fall,
I'll stand up with you forever,
I'll be there for you through it all,
Even if saving you sends me to Heaven.
Stars have always caught his mind. After seances, he'd often look out his window, losing himself in his calm thoughts. Before the failed escape with Mr. Aickman, he'd be able to sit on the steps outside, experiencing the night without having a glass shutting him off. If he could have had his way, he wouldn't have been a stupid medium. No reason to be channeling the dead, sending one-sided conversations to the customer. If he had his way back then, he would have gone to study astrology. The stars was what he loved. The stars are still what he loves.
Jonah listens as the children run in the backyard, giggling and laughing, while the father chases after them. He smiles a little.
"Peter!" Sara calls, and the father pauses in his steps, looking toward the porch door. So that's what he goes by. Peter. The aged man hops up on the patio and Jonah hears their conversation. He hears their voices, but he processes very little, only catch a few key words, such as pills, money, and dinner. Not bothering to try and listen to anymore, Jonah raises his eyes back up to the glittering night sky. A sigh falls off his lips. Is this what it feels like to be content? He hasn't caught a break in such a long time... He almost forgot how peaceful the outside world is.
The cheerful air envelopes him as Peter resumes playing fetch with the children, the plastic disc gliding through the air without much urgency. A yawn forces its way past the ghost's lips, and instinctively he rubs his wary eyes. The dead hasn't a reason to sleep, considering there is no need to, but the blackhead rests his eyes every now and then. Not every night – the nightmares he has still shake him to the bone – but usually. It makes him feel more... dare he think... human. Less like a monster, more like a regular, normal boy. It definitely helps him forget about the trapped souls he's been a witness through with his father.
Jonah starts, his eyes turning over to his side. When had Matt arrived? The boy is sitting there, blatantly oblivious to be sitting so close to a dead being. His eyes are upwards as well, a distant look taking shape in those awfully bright brown eyes. A thoughtful look overtakes his features. I wonder what he's thinking... The ghost muses, leaning closer without any shame of how close the distant is, Does he like the stars?
"...I remember when we used to go camping, when you were young." Peter says, trying to portray a light, random conversation. His tone gives him away, and he sounds more deep, "You and I would fall asleep, counting the stars." Raising his eyes to look at his son for a second, the father turns his attention back to the burning patties, "We'd never finish. Used to drive me nuts." A small chortle is offered in the silence, but it comes off more forced than he probably intended.
"Yeah, well most of the stars we see are already dead." Matt grumbles. Jonah's lips twitch downward – what a horrible way to think of it.
Peter nods, feeling the awkwardness trying to invade, "They look pretty alive to me." A sacrificed smile.
"That's 'cause they haven't gotten the news yet." Pulling himself up to his feet, Matt turns away from his father and the night sky, and carries himself back inside. After a moment of hesitation, noting Peter's forlorn features, Jonah follows suit. He catches up with Matt with no effort, and they both travel down the stairs and into the basement. Something's off, though. Not quite right... The teenager in front of him is slowing his footsteps, an arm securely hunched around his stomach. As if trying to hold something heavy. Gradually ceasing movement-
And out of the blue, he's dashing the rest of the way down, kicking the bathroom door open and slamming it shut. Jonah hurries after him, confusion ever etched on his face.
Before the dead boy can take foot into the restroom, he can hear a terrible retching sound echoing from the tile walls. Eyebrows furrowed, he pushes the door ajar with reluctant force, peering inside. Oh... Oh my... Matt's stomach isn't in the best mood. Jonah averts his eyes, knowing he himself wouldn't like to watched while he's vomiting, and heads back to the single cold bed. It doesn't make sense. The teenager seemed fine not five minutes ago, expressing his dislike of the conversation and moving so smoothly – not to mention quickly – into the kitchen. And out of nowhere, he's rushing down the stairs to puke his guts out. A trial... that sickly pale skin... Yes, Matt's sick, but with what? He's going to go insane before he has the chance to figure it out.
A few minutes later, a toilet flushes and the sound of running water cuts like a blade through the remaining silence. Jonah stares at the bathroom door, waiting patiently for the boy to come and crawl into bed, and hopefully sleep dreamless and content. That kid needs his rest, and... and Jonah swears on his undead life, he'll protect Matt from the evils lurking for the night. For the night, he thinks, I can't do it every night. Especially not with so many others in the entire-
"Wh-Who are you? What are you doing here?"
Eyes raising up, Jonah blinks at Matt with a puzzled expression. He twists back to see if one of the children had sneaked into the basement, or maybe Wendy and her friends had been hiding behind the bed. No one is behind him, though. Looking back, Jonah's eye is caught by Matt, and both stare at each other. The news begins to dawn on the ghost.
"You can... You can see me?" The spirit questions, his eyes widening at the thought.
"Uh, yeah. Who let you down here?" Matt snaps, his voice and tone harsh; irritated. He sounds exhausted.
"I... I don't know." Smooth. Jonah frowns, trying again, "I mean, I... cannot say." Shifting his nervous gaze, he catches sight of his own skin. His arm. The flesh isn't burnt to a crisp. It's unharmed. Flushed with color. I look like myself to him. The spirit finds himself thankful for that – it would be hard to explain the burnt, black body, much less keep the kid from saying anything about it.
"What do you-"
"Matthew... You're ill," Jonah cuts the other off, his voice turning light and feathery, "With what, may I ask?"
He's positive, in the dead silent air, that Matt is over-thinking. He eyes are still narrowed, but he's biting his lip, a mix of puzzlement and anger battling for dominance over his features. As Matt crosses his arms, the dead boy only then realizes the type of attire the teenager is wearing. No wonder he had been startled – the boy's stripped down to his boxers. Barely even considered wearing anything. And even with this in his mind, Jonah can't help but to check him out – not in lust, or curiosity, but in absolute shock. Matt is merely skin and bone. He could be mistaken for an anorexic.
"What's it to you?" The teenager finally snarls, scowling. His tone might have succeeded in being threatening, if not for the coughing fit right after the sentence. The dead boy stays silent, afraid to anger the teen in front of him any more. He stands and turns to go.
"I apologize... Matthew... for trespassing an-"
Jonah pauses mid-way in his apology, looking at Matt with no expression. The kid isn't looking at him, instead his eyes are fixed on the ghost's leather shoes. Had he heard correctly? Frowning, Jonah tries to catch the other's eye, hoping to tell him everything with a single look. His plan fails when moments pass and the teenager doesn't dare look up.
My thoughts are with you, the dead boy thinks, walking out of Matt's line of view and fading altogether.
His heart hammers against his chest.
Latin words. All of those Latin lettering.
On the body.
His breath hastens, watching his own father do the job.
Something urges him up.
Brown, alarmed eyes.
Who's eyes do those belong to?
Why do they look familiar?
Soft muttering from the man next to him.
Mumbling strange nothings.
Disgust begins to write itself out on his features.
The scalpel slices through the flesh like butter.
Again, brown eyes.
Why do they bother him so much?
No, look away.
Holding up the eyelid, Dr. Aickman takes the scissors and snips right through them.
Jonah lies on the empty bed, closing his eyes in frustration. His thoughts are elsewhere, and he's respondent to nothing, not even when the staircase above groans from the attack of footsteps. Not even when he can hear someone in the kitchen using that strange mechanical box, something he overheard being called a microwave. It cooks food, apparently. His thoughts aren't even wavered when the car engine roars down the street and next to the house. That means Matt and his mother are back from God-knows-where, but the ghost can't find himself to gather the motivation he needs to get up and silently "greet" Matt.
His mind remains on one thing, replaying over and over again. The nightmare. Shivers rush down his spine, thinking about it. It wasn't just a nightmare. A memory from the past. All of those wrong doings... Shaking his head, he gets onto the point. It's been bothering him all day – this quirky little thought – and will provide no relief until it's been processed fully. Last night, during the horrid memory, Jonah remembers seeing... something that wasn't there before. He recalls brown eyes.
The only person with brown eyes, the only person he knows, is Matthew. And that's impossible. How could a memory from the past show something present?
The thought from earlier clamors its idea, but the ghost shuts it up without a second thought. It's impossible. Completely out of the question.
There is no way Matt can be there with Jonah during the nightmares.
It's not possible.
Theoretically, Jonah reminds himself, it doesn't mean it's true.
That quirky little thought had gotten its way earlier. In some other dimension, it could be possible. If it's true that Matt can watch the episodes with Jonah like a movie, then it's possible that the ghost can... well, possess him. It's a long-shot – there's no way to determine the outcome. Nothing could happen, or... something terrible could morph, whether it be inside or outside the victim's body. Especially with the cancer, Jonah has to be careful. One small mistake; one wrong move, and the next time the teenager wakes up, it'll be in Eternity.
With that in mind, it honestly does none to help the situation.
Matt is asleep. This seemed like the perfect time. The boy would have his heart calmed, and no one would interrupt. It's the safest route, taking into thought of the consequences again. Calming his nerves, the dead boy places either of his hands on the teenager's shoulders. Closing his eyes, focusing his whole self into the cancerous body under him, Jonah begins to feel a slight pain. Only slight... But it begins to grow. The pain travels from his palms, starting from his fingertips and spreads further, to his arms and chest. An anguished whimper escapes his lips, the searing pain rushing down to his legs, his feet, and somehow reaching up to his head. It's making him dizzy; making him weak. He's never felt this way, except maybe... When the fire had licked his skin...
Everything vanishes. All of the hurt, all of the negative thoughts; everything. He's completely numbed.
For a second, his heart stops beating. His breath halts; nothing works.
And Matt opens his eyes. Everything is fine again, all except for the fact that the spirit inside of Matt's body is not Matthew at all. Jonah can see through the eyes of the teenager. Not just see. Sitting up, the dead boy is astounded. It worked. He actually succeeded into possessing a live person. He can control this body like it's his own. And... the emotions dwelling in this certain body are terrorizing him. His slight happiness is fading. Sadness and despair begin flooding him. All of a sudden, rage and loneliness huff into his mind as well. Thoughts that aren't his are clamoring, and all the while, the door to the tiny morgue in front of him squeals open.
A sense of exhaustion is beginning to beat him down. Jonah rubs "his" eye and heaves himself up to his feet. Taking small, heavy steps, he carries his self to the door, and walks into the room.
Get out of me! How are you doing this?
Not yet, Matthew. I... I have to show you something.
Show me what?
In due time... Calm yourself, please. It's going to hurt the both of us if you don't cooperate-
"Matt?" Light, feeble footsteps walk down the staircase, "Matt, where are you?" It's the teenager's brother. What was that name again? Billy? Jonah twists his neck to the side, spotting the small boy. He's looking all around with curious eyes, seeming to be more interested in snooping over his brother's bedroom rather than find said person. Leaning against one of the tall trays, the ghost leans all of his weight onto one leg, trying to control the angered spirit fighting in one body.
"I'm in here." He calls. His voice, the ghost thinks to himself, sounds too forced and angry.
I don't want to cooperate! Get out of my body!
Please, Matthew. Relax.
"What is this place?" Already inside and wandering around, Billy steps up to the rusted sink and picks up a silver, metal object. He isn't sure what it is, but it looks... cool. Spreading the sides of it, the boy watches a thin, sharp needle move slowly across the hole, and snaps shut. Maybe it could cut off a finger, or a toe. Getting a better look, Billy presses it against his eye, watching the line of silver raise up.
A creak causes him to put it back down before his eyelashes get chopped off.
The pain is becoming more and more obvious as the two souls fight over control. Matt's head raises at his little brother, but Jonah is the one who manages to choke out the words, "Hop on... I'll take you for a ride."
What are you doing? What do you think you're doing?
I'm going to show you.
Once Billy is lying on his back on the freezing table, Jonah takes a deep breath and moves unfamiliar hands around the surface, spinning it with a quick speed almost instantly.
"Slow down..." The boy whimpers after a moment, holding onto the sides of the surface, trying to focus his gaze on his older brother. Something's not right. In the fast, blurry image of Matt, something sticks out. Is it his determined expression? Or perhaps is it the strange way his hair seems to be more black, more long for a second, and back to its normal state?
Slow down. Stop doing this!
Amidst the younger brother's small shouts to stop, and the circling surface, Matt's eyes catch onto something in front of him. A little further from the table, as it swings sideways, a wooden coffin comes into view. The ghost continues to spin the boy, both seeming to be unaware anymore of Billy's now-desperate yells.
A wooden coffin.
Two people bend down, carrying a body out of its restful slumber.
One of them looks like that boy...
That boy from yesterday night.
Jonah steps back, painfully separating himself from the teenager. He groans, rubbing his head, squeezing his eyes shut. An extreme headache is coming into view. He has to wonder if Matt is feeling the same thing. In his ears, the examination table is still rotating, faster and faster.
And suddenly it halts.
A/N: ; A ; Don't eat me, please. I don't know what this is. And please, if you don't approve of Matt/Jonah slash, this story is not for you. Anyway, I already wrote almost all of the other half, but the story is becoming mega-long, and I'd rather upload this in parts.
SONGS - The Stone (ASHES dIVIDE); Your Guardian Angel (THE RED JUMPSUIT APPARATUS).
Reviews save the poor souls entrapped in my mind. ; U ;