They were all separated into different cages, into different areas so no one would know.
There would be no way to tell how well someone was doing or if they were hurting or if it was their screams you heard or someone else’s. They all became familiar with the sounds of them, the screams. For the most part, he could pick them apart. They all probably could.
When it wasn’t them being tortured in some way, it was someone they loved. In that way, it was almost better when it was them so they knew or hoped the others would be left alone as long as they were there. He didn’t hear screams.
He didn’t hear or see anything after it happened when he woke up in the blood and vomited blood and curled up in the blood and sobbed and screamed. Even if she had been closer, her screams might not have reached him there, because it was the moment that he was puking her blood out on to the pavement under him that he knew without doubt what he had done.
Ethan knew and what flashes returned from him didn’t do anything but confirm that belief.
She was screaming. His claw sunk into her arm. She was saying. Ethan, don’t.
The flashes that returned to him in the middle of the screaming and the sobbing and the tearing at himself as if he could destroy himself right then and there. It didn’t matter that it was too late. He shouldn’t exist. A monster like that shouldn’t exist. It doesn’t matter the cost.
And then it was all gone. It turned off in his head, in his mind.
There was nothing, and it was merciful.
Ethan has not been himself, has not been anyone. There’s nothing there or so it seems. It’s all locked up so tightly in his head. He can stand and sit if he’s made to, but then he doesn’t move, wouldn’t breathe if that was a choice but it’s not a choice. Breathing happens automatically.
The heart beats automatically, shoving the blood through his veins even when he wouldn’t choose for it to do so.
He doesn’t know where he is, hasn’t thought about what happened. It’s a wonder he even recognizes his brothers but he does. He recognizes them, and they’re here. Connor and Logan brought him in, and they’re trying to get through to him, trying to talk to him, trying to see him react.
There’s just nothing.
He doesn’t even hear what they’re saying. It doesn’t reach him so the words don’t even make a difference. They could be telling him that Elena would be coming soon. They could be yelling and pleading, and he wouldn’t- hewouldn’t- he wouldn’t know.
Logan sees that devastated look in her eyes, and he knows that she knows. It’s something, everything maybe. Without someone that has any idea, what do they have? How do they know what to do? And he doesn’t want it all to be for nothing, he refuses to lose one of his brothers when they’re right there, when they are alive. There has to be hope.
Ethan doesn’t look up when she enters the room. He doesn’t look up at the screaming of his name, because he doesn’t hear it at all.
He’s still staring at that spot away from her when her hands rest against his face, and he- he doesn’t feel it, can’t feel it, it’s not real. It’s not real. None of it is real. He looks at her when she shakes his head, but it’s not really clear if he’s seeing and the first movement he makes that is his own, his own choice, his own movement is to close his eyes when she says it.
it’s Elena.
I’m not dead.
He closes his eyes and breathes in and then out and in and then out, slowly.
“This is a trick,” he says, manages to say, in the quietest voice like saying it any louder would be wrong.
This isn’t real. He doesn’t know what’s real and what’s not real anymore, but this isn’t real.
she's dead.
i killed her. i vomited up her blood myself.
that was in my stomach, her blood. i made her scream.
no subject
They were all separated into different cages, into different areas so no one would know.
There would be no way to tell how well someone was doing or if they were hurting or if it was their screams you heard or someone else’s. They all became familiar with the sounds of them, the screams. For the most part, he could pick them apart. They all probably could.
When it wasn’t them being tortured in some way, it was someone they loved. In that way, it was almost better when it was them so they knew or hoped the others would be left alone as long as they were there. He didn’t hear screams.
He didn’t hear or see anything after it happened when he woke up in the blood and vomited blood and curled up in the blood and sobbed and screamed. Even if she had been closer, her screams might not have reached him there, because it was the moment that he was puking her blood out on to the pavement under him that he knew without doubt what he had done.
Ethan knew and what flashes returned from him didn’t do anything but confirm that belief.
She was screaming. His claw sunk into her arm. She was saying. Ethan, don’t.
The flashes that returned to him in the middle of the screaming and the sobbing and the tearing at himself as if he could destroy himself right then and there. It didn’t matter that it was too late. He shouldn’t exist. A monster like that shouldn’t exist. It doesn’t matter the cost.
And then it was all gone. It turned off in his head, in his mind.
There was nothing, and it was merciful.
Ethan has not been himself, has not been anyone. There’s nothing there or so it seems. It’s all locked up so tightly in his head. He can stand and sit if he’s made to, but then he doesn’t move, wouldn’t breathe if that was a choice but it’s not a choice. Breathing happens automatically.
The heart beats automatically, shoving the blood through his veins even when he wouldn’t choose for it to do so.
He doesn’t know where he is, hasn’t thought about what happened. It’s a wonder he even recognizes his brothers but he does. He recognizes them, and they’re here. Connor and Logan brought him in, and they’re trying to get through to him, trying to talk to him, trying to see him react.
There’s just nothing.
He doesn’t even hear what they’re saying. It doesn’t reach him so the words don’t even make a difference. They could be telling him that Elena would be coming soon. They could be yelling and pleading, and he wouldn’t- hewouldn’t- he wouldn’t know.
Logan sees that devastated look in her eyes, and he knows that she knows. It’s something, everything maybe. Without someone that has any idea, what do they have? How do they know what to do? And he doesn’t want it all to be for nothing, he refuses to lose one of his brothers when they’re right there, when they are alive. There has to be hope.
Ethan doesn’t look up when she enters the room. He doesn’t look up at the screaming of his name, because he doesn’t hear it at all.
He’s still staring at that spot away from her when her hands rest against his face, and he- he doesn’t feel it, can’t feel it, it’s not real. It’s not real. None of it is real. He looks at her when she shakes his head, but it’s not really clear if he’s seeing and the first movement he makes that is his own, his own choice, his own movement is to close his eyes when she says it.
it’s Elena.
I’m not dead.
He closes his eyes and breathes in and then out and in and then out, slowly.
“This is a trick,” he says, manages to say, in the quietest voice like saying it any louder would be wrong.
This isn’t real. He doesn’t know what’s real and what’s not real anymore, but this isn’t real.
she's dead.
i killed her. i vomited up her blood myself.
that was in my stomach, her blood. i made her scream.
A hollow pain slides across his chest.