Tw: sickness
(Idk if it counts as a Tw but just in case)
Hands trembling, he tugged the tips of his glove, and pulled it off completely.
No going back now.
He repeated the motion on his other hand, stacking both gloves on his desk in an orderly fashioned way. Now that his hands were exposed to the cool air, he felt more vulnerable then he had in years. It's going to be worth it, he assured himself. A month ago he would've been fine with his "disability". A month ago he would've told anyone who probed around to shut the fuck up and mind their own business. But that wasn't an option anymore. Not since the Crows entered his life. His Crows.
Time from time he would see Jesper and Wylan going around with their arms on the other's shoulder, or Nina pulling Inej into a bone crushing hug, or Matthias and Nina cuddling on the couch, having the time of their lives, while he sulked in the shadows. He knew he would never be able to be apart of those memories, because of his touch aversion.
He knew, and he loathed himself for it.
His self-hatred landed himself behind a locked door, ready to test his limits. He closed his eyes. One by one, he pressed his shaking fingers onto his cheek. The water threatened to rise, but he didn't back down, not this time he wouldn't. The waves calmed a little, and he saw it as a pass to lay his entire hand on his cheek. The water rose to his ankles, and a flicker of doubt materialised in his head.
For Inej, he reminded himself, laying his other hand on his other cheek against his better instincts. This time the water violently surged up, almost reaching his knees. His mouth tasted salty. Not real, he reminded himself, none of this is real.
Despite his logical analysis, he couldn't bring himself to continue on with his little experiment by dragging his hands across his face. He could hear his pulse accelerating, and for a moment he contemplated the possibility of his heart exploding. Of course not, you fucking coward, stop making excuses and be a man. When he didn't move a muscle, the voice that sounded a tiny bit like his brother spoke up once again. C'mon Rietveld, you've got a family reputation to uphold. Imagine how disappointed your friends will be when they find out you can't even try fighting your own demons. Don't me me force you in a matter as simple as dragging your hands across your fa-
Little by little, he moved his fingers around his face, testing his durability, carful not to cross the line. One of his hands slithered down to his neck, and the water rose to his waist. Knowing he would've collapsed at this stage, he thanked his past self for grabbing a chair, just in case. He'd hoped his choice would've stayed a precaution, but alas, it didn't.
Once again he dragged his hands around on his skin, exploring the rough skin he'd worn on his face his entire life for the first time.
Goosebumps appeared on his arm. It wasn't long before the water rose to his chin, his nose, and despite his struggles, his head.
He was back on the Reaper's Barge again, floating in the middle of nowhere, in the body of a ten-year-old. His lungs were on fire. No matter how hard he tried, it just wasn't possible to inhale oxygen. Fresh oxygen. He wasn't dead, no, not yet. But sooner than later he'd die from lack of oxygen. Or starvation. Both were slow, painful deaths, and one thing was for sure: he wasn't ready to disappear from the surface of earth this easily; it would take more than that to kill a Rietveld.
Using his will to live as motivation, he struggled against the mass of bodies pushed against his own. But it was a futile attempt. There was no escaping the sea of the decayed.
"Jordie?" He gasped. The only response he got was his own ragged breathing and the laughter of the wind. He was alone. Just like he always has been, and always will be. A wave of nausea rolled through his stomach. He was barely able to push it back down his throat.
He had to get out.
He reached upwards, at least, where he thought upwards was. Yes, there was a brief flash of relief when he felt the cool breeze on his hand. Slowly but surely, he clawed his way up to the surface with what little strength he could summon.
One step at a time. He got his head above the bodies first, savouring the feeling of oxygen in his lungs. He stayed in that position for a while, giving the oxygen time to reach his brain once again, making the blood flow quicker. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and continued pushing himself up from the mass of bodies. One step at a time.
First, he tugged his other arm above the surface. Then, with both his arms, he managed to haul the entirety of his upper body up. It was only now that he took the time to scan the faces of the bodies around him. Maybe Jordie was still alive and breathing, maybe his lack of response was due to him being unconscious, maybe-
In that one moment, it seemed that time had ceased its endless ticking. He could no longer hear the soft rocking of the ship, nor the crash of the waves colliding against one another. Not even the feeling of skin against skin broke his trance. It was just him and his brother.
Lying a short distance away, the corpse of his brother may motionless. His— no, its— bloated skin was spotted with tiny holes. Some had bugs peering out of them. If you squinted, you would've seen its skull peeking out from under the rotten flesh and matted hair. Its eyes were open, but unfocused. It seemed to be staring at him, questioning his rights to live, suffering but living nonetheless, while it had been killed by the merciless plague.
This time, he didn't try stopping the bile.
So in case someone actually reads this, I just wanna say, i didn't write Kaz's name down for- i don't really know for what, but it was on purpose.
