|Lewis Carroll | Charles Lutwidge Dodgson (twas__brillig) wrote in nevermore_logs,|
@ 2014-01-03 06:52:00
|Entry tags:||lewis carroll, piper addison|
WHO: Lewis Carroll and Piper Addison
WHAT: Phobetor inspired nightmares and the aftermath
WHEN: Early Friday morning
WHERE: Their place, Charles' bedroom
WARNINGS: Nightmares involving sexual assault and injuries
It was different than his normal nightmares. Those are re-hashings of the dark days at Rugby School. He has resigned himself to reliving his past at night while he slumbers. It's horrible, but at least when he wakes up he can tell himself he's safe now and that was all in the past. What he didn't count on was Phobetor preying on his worst fears.
He is no mere boy in the dream, suffering at the hands of an authority figure who took advantage of the fact that he kept to himself. No, the man he fears most comes for him in his shop where he believed himself to be safe. He didn't even have time to run. The Man sneaks up behind him while he re-prices some medical artefacts. The rag with the chloroform is over his mouth before he can scream.
Charles awakened in a dark room, his head foggy and his mouth feeling like it was full of cotton wool. His eyes squinted as he struggled to see in the dim light, but all he could make out were the walls of the small room, and an empty door opposite him.
Beyond the door was a black void and looking at it caused a shiver to crawl up Charles' spine. While he had no idea what exactly was out there, he knew it was nothing good.
Pulling himself off the floor, Charles rubbed at his eyes as he stumbled towards one of the walls. His fingertips brushed over the rough stone and when he pulled them away, dust clung to his fingers. There were no windows and no other ways to get out of the room. He could stay and wait for someone to find him, or he could venture into the inky blackness.
Dread curled in Charles' belly as he edged his way towards the door. He didn't want to just wait for something terrible to happen to him. He had spent years like that, sticking to himself and avoiding connecting with people. He had been so afraid and it had cost him his happiness.
One hand reached outside the door to the wall beyond. Finally, he stepped into the void and darkness consumed him. All he could hear was his own frantic breathing as he flattened his back against the wall and inched away from the blank room. He moved on at a snail's pace for what seemed like ages, terror growing stronger and stronger inside.
He felt it then. A fist curled into his hair, tugging at his scalp. The grip was etched into his memories and fear punched him in the stomach as whomever was behind him spun him around. The darkness faded away and there he was. The man of Charles' darkest days.
A scream died in Charles throat and then, desperately, he raised his hands and tried to fight the Man's grip. "Stop!" Charles cried out, but it was pointless. Charles was small and weak, and the Man had always been stronger. "What are you doing?"
"You think you were the only person brought back, Charlie? You might have burned your diary, but enough people know about me. You're mine now."
Charles felt himself pressed up against a wall, pinned there by the weight of the Man's body. He was so heavy and Charles was delicate. He couldn't move. His limbs had stopped obeying. "No," he managed to grit out then. "I'm not a child any more. You can't make me-"
And then he heard her voice. Cassandra. She was crying out for help, her pleas echoing off the stone. "Cassandra!" Charles yelled back, and then he turned to look into the Man's face to behold his smug look.
"I can make you do whatever I want," the Man said. "Or I'll kill the little Greek."
Charles closed his eyes, knowing he was beaten. He struggled no more as the Man's hands began to explore his body. He could feel every touch and hear every grunt and moan right next to his ear. The Man's breath was hot on his neck and lips and then he could feel himself being forced to the ground-
He awoke roughly, screaming so loud it felt like his throat was being torn open. It didn't help that when he opened his eyes, all he saw was the blackness of his bedroom. It felt like he was still there, and he was certain the Man was about to grab him by the hair again.
Frantically, he inched backwards, crumpling to the floor in a heap. One of the sheets wound around his ankle and when he stood to run, it tripped him up. Charles pitched forward, his head connecting with the mirror that hung on his closet door so hard it shattered the glass. Shards rained to the floor with a loud crash, scattering themselves across the wooden floorboards and Charles shuddering body.
And still, Charles didn't stop. It was still too dark. The Man could still find him. He rose to his hands and knees and started crawling for the corner of his room, dragging himself through the glass as he did so. When he reached the corner, he curled into a ball and sobbed loudly, sure that his dream was real and this was the end of everything.
There was no way out.