InsaneJournal

Let go, Let go
Who: Matthew (and Chernobog)
What: Matthew seeks some liquid comfort after this.
Where: Matthew's apartment
When: Backdated, Sept. 20


It was late and Matthew would typically be in bed already. He worked to get his full eight hours of sleep each night, as it’s what he required to be a proper human. Often enough, he typically would avoid drinking his sorrows. He was a beer, wine, and cider type of guy and only with meals or during football. He typically stayed away from hard alcohol, despite having a bottle of vodka in his apartment for special occasions.

But tonight wasn’t typical. None of it was.

After leaving Abel to the torture-like room and exiting down the stairs, he avoided Obed and beelined to his apartment. He had failed to not be seen by anyone and he had done a dastardly deed. His mind, every now and then prone to anxiety, ran off with a number of scenarios of what could be happening to Abel and the scenarios were becoming worse and worse, as was his guilt, until he found solace in the bottle of vodka hidden in the depths of his freezer.

He drank it straight, no chaser, one shot after another until the scenarios became fuzzy and faded. But they still pulsed in his head, still reminded him of what had happened. He considered his options, the possibility of moving back home or getting a reputable job somewhere in the states, but in his now-drunk mentality he found it hard to see as possible. He could always go overseas, maybe to Mexico, they always seemed willing to ignore some of the finer rules to medicine.

But he thought of Abel again, the stench of sweat and old liquor on his breath as he leaned in close, hungry, and bit at Matthew’s skin. Turning with his vodka bottle in hand, Matthew retreated to his bathroom and sat the bottle on the edge of the sink with a loud glass clang. Looking at the mirror, he rubbed at the bite on his cheek. It was angry and a little bloody, the skin having been torn when Matthew jerked back from the bite. He poured the vodka into his hand, splashing it along the sink all the while as his head spun, and rubbed at the wound. Hissing from the sting, Matthew worked to clean it and get rid of the dried blood as he cursed under his breath, his anger at Abel growing.

He had deserved whatever was to come of him, hadn’t he? He deserved it. Despite being closed off and not interacting with many people, Matthew heard the rumors of Abel, knew that he wasn’t the best company to keep, and his meeting with the man had proven all of those rumors to be true. The bastard, who the hell was he to put himself upon people like that? Matthew rubbed at the bite harder, frowning at his reflection in the mirror all the while until fresh blood welled to the mark. Abel had been pushy, assuming he had the allowance to do whatever he wanted, and who the hell was he to assume such things? God forbid he had entered that elevator with a woman inside, it made Matthew see red to consider what he would have done to someone like Isobel or Alice. When he thought of Alex interacting with Abel, he couldn’t help but smile because he could picture Alex fighting back and ensuring the man hurt afterward.

He deserved it all, Matthew said in a hiss but paused, his hand reaching for the vodka bottle as he realized he hadn’t spoke at all. It was a thought, like his own narrative in his head, but it was a different tone than anything Matthew had ever heard. Low, raspy, like something filled with smoke and ash, rough from bitter cold nights, and meant to stir something deep in the soul that was hidden, embarrassingly real, and far too private.

Matthew looked at the bottle of vodka as if it were the culprit but caught movement out of the corner of his eye in the reflection of the mirror and slowly looked up at it. Now, he had been drinking vodka quite steadily for the last handful of minutes (hours?) but surely he wasn’t at the stage of pink elephants or, in this case, seeing wisps of a gathered smoke, curling and stretching and leaning over his shoulder. He jumped, scrambling backwards and brushing at his shoulders quickly as he looked down and around himself, but nothing was there. He was alone in his bathroom except for when he looked to the mirror.

The smoke was there, wisps and curls like fingers climbing over his shoulder as if to grasp hold of him and keep him still, and then a face peeking from behind Matthew. It was the gathered smoke, so thick that he couldn’t see through it to the wall behind, and glowing eyes seemed to squint and judge Matthew’s face. The figure tisked and moved to Matthew’s other shoulder, still studying him for a moment as Matthew stood frozen in place with his eyes wide and locked on the mirror.

My, you’re weak, the voice said with a disappointed sigh as he seemed to lean forward to look directly at Matthew’s face--at least the mirror showed this, but nothing blocked Matthew’s view of the mirror. Pathetic human, just like the rest. It’s awful that we need mortals to exist and yet we hold such power over you. And you, of all the mortals, that I must be trapped in. You’re weak, pathetic, and ignorant of your own strength.

A wisp of a finger lifted and trailed down Matthew’s cheek in the mirror’s reflection and Matthew felt the coldness of that touch on his skin. He sucked in a breath, his hand gripping the neck of the vodka bottle all the tighter. I could help you, you know. These threats that are made toward you, to ruin you, to do as some faceless figure decrees. It worries you, I see that, and I suppose I could understand why it would. But I could help you, help you not to worry, help you to be in control.

Matthew tried to speak but only croaked, his head swam and his eyes couldn’t quite focus on the mirror as the creature’s hand slid down Matthew’s arm, making goosebumps rise and his arm hair stand on end. The creature gripped Matthew’s hand and forced him to lift the bottle of vodka. A perfect choice for drink, I say, the creature continued as Matthew’s hand lifted beyond his control and brought the bottle to his lips. Matthew took another sip and felt the vodka burn down his throat. He thought of Abel and what he had done, his guilt heavy on him despite the numbing effect of the vodka, and wondered if all he had done had led to this hallucination.

It did, I won’t lie, the creature said with a sigh. You finally let your guard down, I finally arrived, and I’m here now to shake some sense into you. I’m powerful, Matthew, so long as you allow me to be. I can be cruel and I can be understanding. I just need your sympathy, your heart, your understanding of my gifts.

The shadow twisted in the mirror, stepping in front of Matthew to face him but then seeming to sink into him. Matthew was lost to the mirror image, he was now this black creature of smoke and brimstone. He blinked his eyes and the glowing eyes blinked back; he looked down at his hands and they were his hands, but the mirrored image were that of the creature. And the creature smiled and Matthew felt his own mouth turn up. He deserved it, the voice said, but it was also Matthew’s voice, knit into the rough sound of the creature. He was darkness as much as you are, as much as you can be, and you can’t have that competition. It’s good to be rid of him, you did yourself and the people around you a favor. And you enjoyed it, didn’t you? You felt that rush, that power of control, you felt it all coursing through your arms and hands and the rapid beating of your heart. You had that power, you did that, you took out the darkness of this apartment with one simple stab of a needle.

Matthew found himself laughing at that and a surge of emotion going through him, something like pleasure and pride as the anxiety from what he had done slipped away. You can be so much more Matthew Buchanan if only you allow yourself to be… the voice groaned with a sigh, the dark figure in the mirror shook its head before fading from view. So much more…

Matthew was left blinking on his bathroom floor, the bottle of vodka tipped over on its side, a slick of vodka pooled on the floor among vomit he had obviously expelled at some point during the night. Morning light spilled through the windows of his apartment as he sat up with the pounding of his head making him groan and his stomach twist again. He was himself, through and through, but the feeling of his dream still hung on his face and shoulders, the laughter still in his throat. Even as the dream began to fade he still found the emotions there, the feeling of pride and justice over what he did, the lack of anxiety, the pleasure of having helped others out. Matthew didn’t understand how he had ended up on the floor of his bathroom; perhaps he had drank too much, as was evident from the vomit and headache. Pouring the rest of the vodka into the toilet and flushing its contents, Matthew put the empty bottle into the trash can and got to his feet as he inspected the mess he had made. The dream was gone now and all memories with it, but was left behind kept Matthew from crumbling with any guilt. It was good Abel was gone, he had helped others by removing that annoyance from the apartment, he had the power to do what others had not been able to and it felt good.