Orion || RWRB fanfic || Henry's POV

Part 35- Lost

TWs: minor alcohol reference, mention of meds (anti-anxiety), smut

***

The room is silent.

Four walls, pristinely plastered in cream and teal and indigo, the paper slightly textured- velvety- so that it feels like Henry has stuck his head up a peacock's ass and made his home there.

The room is silent, except for the steady ticking of the watch on his wrist- at odds with the erratic pounding of his heart.

10:48.

12 minutes to go.

12 minutes of endless, torturous waiting.

Henry bites back a groan of frustration, tugging at his hair with a frantic energy, as Taylor Swift loops endlessly in his headphones and the wall in his mind begins to buckle and strain with the weight of a thousand suppressed images. 

A bottom lip caught between pearly teeth; hair crowned with sweat; thighs pinning down thighs; skin, smooth and flawless and unbroken.

11 minutes.

Grabbing a bottle from the bedside table, Henry hastily tips out a handful of yellow pills, selects one from the heap, tips the rest back in and swallows it dry. The anxiety swirling in his gut eases just a little immediately- mostly from the routine of it all; the glass glinting up at him, daring him to cave, to acknowledge his weakness and seek help; and Henry, caving every single time.

 Fishing around in a drawer, he grabs a breath mint and sucks on it thoughtfully, then slips out of his jacket and unravels his tie, tossing them both casually on the bed. He won't be needing those tonight. 

Balanced on the shelf beside the pill bottle is a crystal glass of red wine, and Henry seizes it, takes a deep swig until it's drained, then sets it heavily back down again, leaving the alcohol lingering on his lips. 

He's not sure if Alex will be into it, but it looks like he's about to find out.

One last check of the watch- 10:52- before he discards it along with his jacket. 

Even without half of his clothes, the air in here feels too stuffy, too stifling, and beads of sweat trickle down the back of his neck as he carefully rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, making sure the top button is undone, so that it hangs open slightly, revealing a sliver of skin that- he thinks with a private smile- is designed exactly to drive Alex crazy. 

Not that it seems to be an issue- judging from the faint, tender patches of skin around Henry's mouth and jawline, where he can feel lip shaped bruises forming already. 

Swallowing down an embarrassing groan, he pushes back the ensuing thoughts one last time, unlocks the bedroom door and lets himself be drawn down the shadow-filled corridor, following the thread tugging him forwards- from where Alex's hooks have dug in under his ribs, and caught.

It takes him a full minute of aimlessly wandering in circles for Henry to realise that he is utterly, irreversibly lost.

They're going to renovate this place one day and find my rotten corpse collapsed in some forgotten gallery, he thinks bitterly. 

He's regretting not bringing the watch, now- because what if he's late, and what if Alex changes his mind, and what if what if what if? 

Reaching into his trouser pocket, he withdraws a spare pill and tips it from his clenched fist into his mouth, hardening it into a thin line as it slides off his tongue and disappears.

Slumping down against some wall, Henry tilts his head upwards, watching darkness trace constellations across the ceiling, and wonders at the poetic irony of it all.