Pretty Boy: Paul Lahote Love Story

Downward Spiral

Edited 6/25/22.

A/N: WARNING: This chapter contains mild swearing, vomiting, blood, two detailed panic attacks, mentioned dissociation, and a depressive episode. Viewer discretion is advised.

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Marshall's favorite song is playing on a speaker beside him. It's a bit muffled as a running faucet is louder than the actual music. His hands are slippery. One is holding onto a soapy sponge, while the other is swirling a glass filled with hot water. Steam rises into the air. It makes his face feel warm.

Marshall's attention is kept on his task as he does his best to keep his mind from wandering.

Everyone else is lazing around the room. Sam left earlier to go check on Emily, and Seth went home to grab some more supplies for the group not-sleepover. Leah's playing a game on her phone. Jared is sitting on the floor with his back against a wall. Paul is lying down with a cooling gel patch on his forehead.

His temperature's gone down some, so he doesn't need as many methods of keeping him cool. Still, he's out of it. He keeps staring off into space. He isn't eating much either. With how much he's been vomiting though, perhaps that's for the best.

Fortunately, Paul's lucidity is returning to normal—albeit a slow endeavor. He blanks out every now and again, yes, but he's more aware of his surroundings than he was last night. Although he isn't eating substantial amounts of food, he's holding down water and broth a little better as well.

It's baby steps but still counts as proof that Paul's healing.

Marshall places the sponge down in its holder. He turns off the faucet. Light shakes clear the glass in his hand of water. He aims to put it on the dish rack. Unfortunately, he misses his mark by not lifting his hand enough. Glass meets the edge of the sink, and the cup cracks. A long gash runs up its side near Marshall's palm.

He freezes.

He stops breathing. He stops blinking. He stops moving altogether.

A pronounced crevice against his skin makes unfocused eyes widen.

Over and over again, the sound of cracking flesh runs through his head. He can smell leaking venom. He can feel phantom arms going completely limp around his body.

Marshall stiffens so violently, he squeezes the glass in his hand with enough ferocity to shatter it. Pointy shards fall toward the bottom of the sink. And it brings him back to the present.

He sucks in a breath. He realizes that his eyes are watering.

Trying to get a grip, the vampire takes hold of a drying rag. He cleans his hands before burying his face in them. An attempt is made to take slow, even breaths.

"Marsh, honey," Paul's voice is quiet, "you're shaking."

Blackened eyes come out of hiding. A single hand lets go of a damp rag. It's observed how the appendage in question is, in fact, trembling. The spastic movements travel all the way up Marshall's arm. It's only then that he notices it's not just his hand that's shaking, but his entire body.

Somehow, that makes everything worse.

"Oh God..."

His breath gets caught in his throat. A deep ache in his chest is exacerbated so heavily, he feels like he's broken all of his ribs. He falls to his knees, leaning his head against a cupboard. Quaking hands partially hide his face while also pulling his hair. He sniffles.

And everything just breaks.

Harsh sobs wrack his body. Tears stream down his face. Marshall's frenzied emotions force him to feel an excruciating stinging in his throat. The hands in his hair tighten by a substantial margin. He ends up covering his ears in an attempt to stop the phantom cracking noises resonating throughout his skull.