Declan Lynch (
dauntless_son) wrote in
maskormenace2020-03-27 08:59 pm
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Entry tags:
vr/video: memory share
cw: violence
I.
You're so tired. Your head starts to nod forward and you startle awake again, nearly falling out of the chair next to the bed. Bleary-eyed, you look at your brother, who is fast asleep and very near to sucking his thumb. He's just a couple years younger than you. Young as you are, you know that he is your father's favorite, and that he is more like your father than you can ever be. They share a secret; you just keep secrets.
For three nights you've been watching him, waiting for one of the secrets to manifest. Whenever Ronan whimpers in his sleep or moves too much, you throw a soft ball or dart in to push him until he stops. One night you got mean and you ripped the covers off your brother completely, forcing him to wake up all the way and yell for your mother.
On the night of the solstice, you fall asleep early after getting a present so perfect it made you cry. You lay in bed, curled in a ball, resolved not to go start your watch. Whatever happens, even if it's dangerous, Ronan deserves it. He doesn't care that you've spent nights awake trying to make sure that he doesn't wake up with a flaming sword or a whole army of birds or a flooded room. You fall asleep again with your pillow over your head.
But sometime in the night you wake up to a sound like screaming. You fly out of bed and dart into Ronan's room, but he's just laying there, neither awake nor asleep. You look around, but you can't find whatever it is Ronan brought back with him. But then you hear the noise again and wander out into the hall where you find your mother holding a baby: as golden as her, with curls like yours. You rub your head.
"Ronan...?"
"Smile, little Declan." She touches your hair and you stare at the baby. "Don't tell anyone about this secret."
II.
You can't see out of your left eye and you knows it's swelling shut. Your body is screaming and every lesson Niall ever taught you about boxing is written on your bruised knuckles. The man on top of you - the one that has beaten the shit out of you and the one who has your gun pressed against your stomach - is asking about the fucking Greywaren.
"I don't know what that is."
He threatens your family: your mother, your brothers. That rings in your head so loudly that you miss it when he threatens your girlfriend.
"I don't know where it is. Just that it is."
You're still lying, but you're a good liar. You taste blood in your mouth and you're trying to do the math to determine how close you might be to passing out. Your head's been knocked around and had a gun smashed against it. Your attacker tells you to find the Greywaren and bring it to him.
After he leaves, you lay there, just breathing. Your shoulder is dislocated. Your fingers are throbbing. You manage to get your phone and you try calling Matthew first. The ringtone, some annoying song, blares from Matthew's bed just across the room. You end the call and try another number. You don't expect an answer but you're praying for one all the same. It goes to voicemail. You slump back and close your eyes.
"Ronan, where are you?"
III.
"Hello? Are you listening?"
"What? Sorry." You look at the blonde girl next to you and give her the kind of smile you know will make her forgive you.
"I was saying our six month anniversary is coming up."
Has it been six months? Shit. If she's talking about anniversaries, it's time to break up and move on. There's a reason that all your girlfriends are named Ashley and a reason why you don't really stay in relationships long enough to celebrate milestones. Honestly, you think anything under a year isn't really worth noting.
You're running out of Ashleys, though. And Ashleighs. Maybe a Kaylee or Katie? Those are--not quite close but same gist. Popular names. Ones that enough girls have that the chance of someone finding your Ashley (or whoever) is relatively low. Going through them like this achieves the same end. And you're charming enough that every break up has been fine. You wriggle your way out of the relationships without much trouble and they like you enough in the end that there's no drama. Your cabal of friends, such as they are, don't seem to notice the changing girlfriends. Or, if they do, it's the butt of a joke. Declan's new Ashley. Ronan notices. The number of times he's insinuated that you're a slut or just called you that are too many to count now.
Whatever. You do it for him. You don't have lasting relationships, you have become the absolutely forgettable and interchangeable prep school boy that Ronan will never be. You blend in because he can't or won't. Just like your father.
"Declan."
"Sorry," you say again. You don't mean it but you sound convincing.
"I was saying we should plan a trip or something. It'll be spring break, let's go to Jamaica or something."
Jesus. You aren't opposed to a getaway, but you can't just leave. You're not sure you can trust Ronan to stay alive and look after Matthew while you're gone. You sigh quietly and look down at your hands.
"Ashley, we need to talk."
I.
You're so tired. Your head starts to nod forward and you startle awake again, nearly falling out of the chair next to the bed. Bleary-eyed, you look at your brother, who is fast asleep and very near to sucking his thumb. He's just a couple years younger than you. Young as you are, you know that he is your father's favorite, and that he is more like your father than you can ever be. They share a secret; you just keep secrets.
For three nights you've been watching him, waiting for one of the secrets to manifest. Whenever Ronan whimpers in his sleep or moves too much, you throw a soft ball or dart in to push him until he stops. One night you got mean and you ripped the covers off your brother completely, forcing him to wake up all the way and yell for your mother.
On the night of the solstice, you fall asleep early after getting a present so perfect it made you cry. You lay in bed, curled in a ball, resolved not to go start your watch. Whatever happens, even if it's dangerous, Ronan deserves it. He doesn't care that you've spent nights awake trying to make sure that he doesn't wake up with a flaming sword or a whole army of birds or a flooded room. You fall asleep again with your pillow over your head.
But sometime in the night you wake up to a sound like screaming. You fly out of bed and dart into Ronan's room, but he's just laying there, neither awake nor asleep. You look around, but you can't find whatever it is Ronan brought back with him. But then you hear the noise again and wander out into the hall where you find your mother holding a baby: as golden as her, with curls like yours. You rub your head.
"Ronan...?"
"Smile, little Declan." She touches your hair and you stare at the baby. "Don't tell anyone about this secret."
II.
You can't see out of your left eye and you knows it's swelling shut. Your body is screaming and every lesson Niall ever taught you about boxing is written on your bruised knuckles. The man on top of you - the one that has beaten the shit out of you and the one who has your gun pressed against your stomach - is asking about the fucking Greywaren.
"I don't know what that is."
He threatens your family: your mother, your brothers. That rings in your head so loudly that you miss it when he threatens your girlfriend.
"I don't know where it is. Just that it is."
You're still lying, but you're a good liar. You taste blood in your mouth and you're trying to do the math to determine how close you might be to passing out. Your head's been knocked around and had a gun smashed against it. Your attacker tells you to find the Greywaren and bring it to him.
After he leaves, you lay there, just breathing. Your shoulder is dislocated. Your fingers are throbbing. You manage to get your phone and you try calling Matthew first. The ringtone, some annoying song, blares from Matthew's bed just across the room. You end the call and try another number. You don't expect an answer but you're praying for one all the same. It goes to voicemail. You slump back and close your eyes.
"Ronan, where are you?"
III.
"Hello? Are you listening?"
"What? Sorry." You look at the blonde girl next to you and give her the kind of smile you know will make her forgive you.
"I was saying our six month anniversary is coming up."
Has it been six months? Shit. If she's talking about anniversaries, it's time to break up and move on. There's a reason that all your girlfriends are named Ashley and a reason why you don't really stay in relationships long enough to celebrate milestones. Honestly, you think anything under a year isn't really worth noting.
You're running out of Ashleys, though. And Ashleighs. Maybe a Kaylee or Katie? Those are--not quite close but same gist. Popular names. Ones that enough girls have that the chance of someone finding your Ashley (or whoever) is relatively low. Going through them like this achieves the same end. And you're charming enough that every break up has been fine. You wriggle your way out of the relationships without much trouble and they like you enough in the end that there's no drama. Your cabal of friends, such as they are, don't seem to notice the changing girlfriends. Or, if they do, it's the butt of a joke. Declan's new Ashley. Ronan notices. The number of times he's insinuated that you're a slut or just called you that are too many to count now.
Whatever. You do it for him. You don't have lasting relationships, you have become the absolutely forgettable and interchangeable prep school boy that Ronan will never be. You blend in because he can't or won't. Just like your father.
"Declan."
"Sorry," you say again. You don't mean it but you sound convincing.
"I was saying we should plan a trip or something. It'll be spring break, let's go to Jamaica or something."
Jesus. You aren't opposed to a getaway, but you can't just leave. You're not sure you can trust Ronan to stay alive and look after Matthew while you're gone. You sigh quietly and look down at your hands.
"Ashley, we need to talk."