Harry Lockhart, 1/2
Harry kept losing track of things. He always had been a bit scatter-brained but here, it was harder. Time seemed to repeat and overlap. He kept on telling himself it wasn't real, that this was Hell, this was the cage, just trying to fuck with him, and that he just had to hang on and wait for the others to come. Because they would come, they wouldn't leave them in here. It became his mantra; it was the one thing that couldn't be taken from him because it was his own thought.
It wasn't real when his dad, who'd died six or seven years ago, appeared, ranting about the company he kept these days, or his mother, eyes wide and fearful, told him she was afraid for his soul. All these unnatural people, vampires and witches, the power he'd wished for, this was against God's will and he was burning for it. He should have been better, sought better company, avoided all this other and the inherent sin associated with them.
It wasn't real when he'd relive moments of his teenage years, sitting with Harmony as she poured out all her fears on his shoulder, tears streaming down her face. Talking about Jenna and her father and how he hurt her and Harmony didn't know what to do to stop him. All the while with Harry trying to ignore his raging boner, trying not to feel hurt or offended that she slept with every other guy at their school, but only ever saw him as a brother. It was sick, and he knew that, and he hated himself for it. He cared about her, loved her and always had, and he'd rather die than hurt her, but he couldn't help wanting her even when the last thing she needed was another guy trying to get into her pants.
It wasn't real when he found himself in a market of some kind, surrounded by beautiful things, rare things, valuable things, and he could feel his palms itching, wanting to see if he could pocket something without getting caught, wanting that thrill of adrenaline, but the moment he touched something it burned into ashes, leaving him twitchy and ill-at-ease. Or he'd see something of his: his favorite leather jacket, his photo albums with pictures of his family, the used car he'd and been so proud of for buying it himself without any help or any thievery to afford it. His flat at the complex, and the one at Piffy's place. And it would all burn down around him.