Henry Westphal (hwestphal) wrote in light_of_may, @ 2014-04-24 05:23:00 |
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Entry tags: | #solo, 2009-10-05, henry |
Late Entry, Monday, October 5
Who: Henry Westphal, NPC Joe Westphal
Where: Their parents' home
When: Monday evening, October 5
Status: Complete
Warnings: Possibly triggery conversation
It was moonrise; Henry knew it without even looking out the window. He felt it in his bones, in the very center of himself, a quick tug that seemed to be a lunar, hey, I'm here, come out, come out sort of greeting. It wasn't compelling, as had been the full moon--that had been wild and strong and irresistible, had seemed to jerk every bone into breaking and reforming--but still, he noticed.
If his family at the dinner table noticed his momentary distraction, they said nothing. Their conversation was lively, if a bit strained, their faces cheerful unless they thought he wasn't looking, and their scents were something else entirely. Henry found scents most distracting, particularly when they didn't quite match what the face expressed. He'd learned in his time at a new wolf at the hospital, short though it had been, how to recognize scents. Sorrow was distinctive, heavy and salty. Fear was sharp and made his mouth water, made him hungry, made things shift within him that he had to squash down very hard. Anger was bright and red, metallic like blood. Joy smelled like snow on leaves--though he had to work at that last one, since it had been cut by all the others. Relief smelled oddly like warm bed sheets. It was so weird, to have emotions defined by scents. Just something else new to learn and adapt himself to.
After dinner and helping with the dishes--that was oddly comforting, to do something so mundane--Henry excused himself from the card game they wanted to get going and drifted outside to the deck. He and Joe had helped their dad build the deck, years ago, when they were still teens, and it had been the site of many barbeques and summer parties during their lives. Henry went to the far end and swung himself up onto the encircling rail, settling into a comfortable place, long legs dangling over the last hurrah of golden garden mums below.
The moon rode above the treeline, no longer full, and whispered, look at me, look, look and so, finally alone, Henry could. He tipped his face up to its cool light, feeling it spread over his skin, like water. There was an urge rising in him, a noise, and he bit his tongue to keep it inside him. It was the urge to call to others to see if he were alone, because he felt so very alone. It wasn't the same sort of feeling he had about his family--that was different, and fulfilled--but the need to find others like him, to feel their sameness. Henry's fingers tightened on the railing bannister and he heard wood creak and give, splintering.
Henry looked down and saw his fingers digging into solid redwood, and made himself loosen his grip. Oh yeah. He was stronger, a lot stronger, and he had to adapt to that still. He'd broken glasses and bent silverware in the hospital, before he'd gotten accustomed to handling things with a far lighter touch. It was getting easier, though he still had to think about it. Soon, curbing his strength would become second nature, normal.
Everything was amped. Without trying he could hear his family within, could distinguish each familiar voice. He knew what they said, though he didn't pay much attention to the words; he'd heard them all when he'd been in the hospital. He'd heard every word of family and staff when he'd been in a coma. Fear, he could understand, because god, he wasn't Henry anymore, but a container for this...thing...within him. Pity, he hated. Pity smelled bitter, like the rind of a grapefruit, and he was determined to give them no reason to feel that, if only for his own very selfish reasons.
Henry rubbed at his nose, then turned his head as he heard steps in the kitchen behind him. Too heavy to be his mom or one of his sisters--either his brother or father. The knob turned, the door creaked, and his brother Joe stepped out onto the deck.
"Did you draw the short straw to come talk to me?" Henry asked as Joe made his way across the deck to him, long-legged and lanky, as were all the Westphal men.
Joe zipped up his hoodie. "Not fair, Henry," he said, then leaned against the rail where Henry sat. "There wasn't any straw-drawing done."
"I know," Henry replied. "I can hear everyone talk as if they're out here with me. Sorry."
Joe made a humming noise of acknowledgement, then said, "Aren't you cold?"
Henry looked down at himself, in the clothes he'd left the hospital in, tee shirt and sweat pants and his socked feet. His bare arms looked pale. "Normally I bitch about the cold, but now? I don't feel it as much. I'm good for the moment. I think it would have to be a lot colder before I really felt it."
Joe hitched a hip up onto the rail, his knee brushing Henry's thigh. He nodded toward the moon. "What does it feel like?"
"Now, or when it was full?" Henry turned his face back toward the moon, though he caught Joe's shrug from the corner of his eye.
"Now, it seems like it calls me, but I could go back inside, ignore it, do regular things and be okay, though I'd still know exactly where it was in the sky. Sorta like it's a magnet and I'm a pin. When it was full, though--" Henry's lips felt suddenly dry and he licked them then shivered, though it wasn't from cold. "I could feel me--myself--getting smaller and further away as it rose. Like drowning, sinking under the water. When the Change came, it hurt so much, like being turned inside out. Bones breaking, muscles ripping, skin tearing. And then I was gone." He looked over to Joe, who watched him, full mouth set into a straight line. Dismay, but no pity. Henry felt something inside him relax just a little.
"I'm grateful for being locked up during my...Change. Really, truly grateful. I wasn't me. I wasn't anywhere around. I guess that's why I can't really feel angry at the person who did this to me." He frowned. "To us. He or she wasn't there." He drew a deep breath. "Madison's family hates me, though."
"Yeah, well, we had to have security ban them after that last screaming visit," Joe said. "It wasn't your fault. The moon was still a few days away from full. You thought you were safe, and you should've been."
"They don't have anyone else to blame," Henry replied. "There was a monster, but it's gone now. I'm convenient. And now I'm a monster just like it is." Henry rubbed the back of his neck. "Was there anything left? Of the camp, I mean?"
Joe drew in a deep breath and let it out. "The forestry service brought back what was left," Joe said. "We threw away most everything. Had to--it was ripped to pieces. We gave Madison's family her things."
Henry could remember the shriek of canvas ripping as the hybrid clawed through it, and booted that memory to the back of his mind. He had nightmares about the whole thing, waking up in a panicked sweat, his blankets shredded. He wondered how long those would go on. Not that he'd have to worry about anyone else witnessing them--he wouldn't be sharing his bed anytime soon. He sighed, then hated that he did.
"Would you mind taking Ood for a while?" Henry rubbed at his hand, where his terrified cat had raked deep, bloody furrows when he'd returned to his apartment earlier to pick up some things. The marks were gone now, healed in moments, but the hurt at being rejected by a beloved pet had faded into resignation. "Maybe I can take him back in a few days, after he's sorta gotten used to the new me. If he doesn't, I'll find a new home for him."
"I don't mind," Joe replied. "He gets along okay with Katrina." Katrina was his dog, dumb as a box of rocks, but loveable. Joe tucked his hands into his hoodie's pockets. "Work letting you come back?"
"They're giving me the rest of the week off," Henry said. "I'll go back next Monday and talk to the charge. She'll want to make sure I'm not going to eat anyone while on the job."
Joe snorted out a laugh, then ducked his head. In spite of everything, Henry flashed him a grin. "No snacking at work," Joe said, and muffled a laugh.
"Exactly," Henry said, and gave Joe a little push--careful, careful--off the rail, sending him staggering back, laughing. It made Henry laugh, just a little, as well. Joe's laugh made him feel normal--it wasn't forced or faked, but honest, and the teasing made him feel normal again.
"How long you going to be staying with mom and dad?"
"Just a couple of days," Henry replied. "Until mom's convinced I'm really alive. Then I'll move back to my place."
Joe pulled up his hood, shivering. "Understandable. She was just getting ready to leave the ICU when they called her. She saw you in the ER before they cleaned you up. Freaked out, yeah. It's no wonder she's a little clingy."
"I get it." He remembered lying in the dirt and leaves, feeling his intestines lying thick and wet outside his body while men talked about killing him then to save themselves the bother of doing it later. He was very glad now they hadn't, and he hadn't said anything to the police about it.
"I know you haven't had a chance to try yet, but can you change into a wolf? Or will it always be that other form?" Henry appreciated the tact, but he knew what he was.
"They say I can become a wolf now that I've been through a full moon," he replied. "I haven't tried. I'm leery because of how much the other change hurt. Cowardly, I guess."
"Nah. Not if it hurt like you said. Would you keep being...you? Would you still be Henry but with fur and four legs?"
"And big nasty teeth," Henry said with a little smile. "They say yes, that I'll have full control of myself. I'd sorta like to try it, but not...not right now. Things still feel...weird. Like I'm a just-healing wound and too much activity will make it break open."
Joe made a face. "Thanks for that analogy," he said. "You and mom, with the nurse stories."
"It's what we know. The rest of you should be toughened up by now."
Henry swung his legs over the rail and slid down onto the deck, facing Joe. He swallowed hard. "Joe. If I lose control of myself, I'll turn into the thing that killed Madison. If you're around and I say I don't feel myself, get everyone away. I won't be able to stop it, and if I change, I'll kill everything around me. If I do change? Let them kill me."
"Henry." Joe's face was shocked, his voice cracked. "No, Henry."
"Yes. If I kill someone like that...when I come back to myself, I won't be able to take it, knowing what I've done. I'd rather not come back at all. If the hybrid is killed, I won't know it. It's like being asleep. It would be like dying in my sleep."
"Stop it. It won't happen. I know you, Henry. You'll keep yourself under control. This whole conversation is pointless." Joe's scent, despair and anger, swirled around him like a fog.
Henry looked down at his feet, at one orange sock and one green. Even after he'd had a chance to change them, he hadn't, and had let the rest of the family tease him for the prank Norah had pulled.
"It isn't pointless. It could happen. It's hanging over my head every moment of the day and will, for the rest of my life." He scrubbed his hands over his face, suddenly so tired.
"Henry." Joe's voice was very quiet, very careful. "If...if something like that did happen, and you came back to yourself, would. Would you?" He couldn't seem to make himself ask the question, but Henry knew what it was.
"It's a mortal sin, but yes, I would." He wasn't sure how he would be able to do it--he was resilient as hell now--but he'd find a way.
Joe stepped up and wrapped long arms around him, drawing him into a hug. Henry resisted at first but was unable to deny the need for comfort. He pulled Joe close, resting his face in the crook of Joe's neck, hands fisting in the back of Joe's hoodie and let the scent of Joe, of family, surround him.
"We'll make it work," Joe said. "We nearly lost you once--we won't let it happen again. Promise me you'll try, Henry. Promise."
"I promise," Henry said, his voice muffled. "I swear I will."