St Sebastian (arrowplagued) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2010-05-23 19:14:00 |
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Entry tags: | george, sebastian |
Who: Saints Sebastian & George
What: Discussions, withdrawal and remembering.
When: Late Sunday evening
Where: George's cabin in the woods.
Warning: TBD.
When he'd woken up Saturday morning, all he felt was a splitting headache and the feeling that he had just been through a very, very bad dream. But no sooner did he open his eyes than he'd realized this was no dream at all. This wasn't his bed, his bedroom, his home at Oscar's. This was some other place and there were people he didn't know gathered around him. Two of the faces were familiar - the crazy man from the shop a couple of weeks ago and the woman with the asthma. There was a second man as well, a face he didn't know.
They kept calling him by a name that wasn't his, insisting that he was a friend of theirs, that Oscar had brainwashed him and held captive and all these horrible things that weren't true at all. He felt like he was suffocating, panic sitting heavy on his chest. And then they told him they were saints and he knew they were all truly insane. He wouldn't hear any of it, refused to let any of them get anywhere near him, pacing and running his hands furiously through his hair, turning to the crumpled pack of cigarettes in his pocket before they took those away from him as well.
The night was rough. He couldn't get the feeling of panic to subside and time after time asked them if, when they realized he wasn't who they thought he was, they would take him back him. Finally their insistence that he was gave way to an agreement that they would take him back if he wasn't. It didn't give him much hope because insane people weren't the most reliable sort, but it would have to do.
Then it was just a matter of waiting.
By Sunday morning he'd resigned himself. It wasn't that he gave up that easily, but that he'd tried to escape and bargained, tried everything he could do to plead and beg with them to let him go. He was desperate, on the verge of tears and fighting with everything he had on Saturday. Sunday found him exhausted. His body ached and his head throbbed, every noise set him further on edge. He just wanted to curl up somewhere and sleep until this was all over. The nicer they were to him, the more frustrated he got because they really did believe that he was this person he knew he wasn't.
It was a small blessing when two of them left late in the afternoon and it was just him and the man who seemed the ringleader of the operation. Maybe he would get some real answers without the others around? It was doubtful, but he could hope.
He sat curled up on a chair in the corner of the room, arms wrapped tight around his knees and his head resting on the arm of the chair. He felt like hell, every muscle in his body aching time seeming to speed and slow at random. Too quick of a movement left him feeling sick, so he simply didn't move at all. He sat there, staring blankly ahead, waiting for them to realize that the longer the kept him here the sicker he got and he wasn't going to remember what they wanted him to. He just wanted to go home.