Sesome And Shisa

Sesome is attempting to live, and a rough looking pit bull is helping. Vague continuation of An Escape, can be read alone though.

Humidity rushes from the bathroom, into the hallway tendrils of hazy white reaching out before disappearing. Mixing the warm air from a hot shower with the chill of the rest of the apartment. Not bothering to flip the light switch to his left, Sesome took a few steps down the hall to his bedroom. Immediately through the door was the bed. The full sized bed took up most of the bedroom, a small closet towards the left of it. Closed tightly. The sound of the daytime traffic is like a normal lullaby, the sunlight pushes through the thin blinds small streams of lights through the tiny lines. Thirty-seven spaces to be exact, that is how many let in the small amount of light.

A horn of the train sounds of just as he slides under the gray comforter, settling onto the pillow, not minding the water that pools on his pillow from his hair. Slowing his breathing to fall asleep right before the train would disappear. It passes every day, around four p.m., different spaces of time though. Most likely different trains Sesome rationalizes, he's never seen the trains only heard them. A strange flutter rises from his chest as the sound suddenly becomes too faint, much sooner than the dark haired male was used to.

Swallowing hard he turns onto his stomach gripping the pillow, still trying to keep his breathing slow. He had to sleep, he had worked at ten p.m. and had not slept the last four days. Now that he had a job, he couldn't let frivolous things like a trains duration, his wrapped left hand, and constant sting reminded him that sleep was a must. Being a cook in dinner from the night to the morning rush was demanding, he needed to sleep.

The pills were supposed to help, but the racing of his heart rarely let up, he could not be so dependant, he had to do work. Work hard to live, work hard to live. And so he drifted off as he forced his breathing to be slow, fighting down the pounding in his ears, the utter wrenching in his gut. He forced himself to be still, lay on the bed and sleep.

Or at least not allowing himself to even flex his fingers until this was achieved. Eventually, he must have drifted off. Awoken by a loud sound, pain, and very confused. By now night had fallen, yet not ten p.m. Tasting blood, Sesome clenched his hands, not bothered by the sharp alert of the wound on his hand. If anything it grounded him, but only a soft wine drew him to open his green eyes. Burning with tears the first thing he saw were a set of yellow eyes staring back at him. Technically they were brown, but to Sesome they always seemed yellow, glowing yet translucent. Another low wine and a large tongue lapped at him. Only then realizing he was on the ground, more specifically the closet.

Letting out a weak sob, he clung to the yellow-eyed being. The yellow-eyed being was a large pit bull. Scars marring its' dark fur with white, scared up and left to die in the cold streets Sesome had found the dog.

It growled and snarled, blood covering the snow that night. He looked terrifying, but Sesome had only been more drawn to the dog. If he had a car, he would have put the dog into the back and sped to a shelter. Sadly, it would not have been that easy. Instead, he left to a corner store, drawing out a few crumpled tens to buy ham and rope. He had never run so fast for something, lungs burning sharply in his chest. Not bothering to pull his hood up over his face when he had rushed to the counter to buy the materials. Not caring the strange look, not having time to be conscious of the shop owner looking at him strangely. Not caring to explain that it had happened in a car accident- not bothering to lie.

Sesome could not remember bolting out of the door, or the lights as he ran back to the dog. Rushing forward with the rope, not caring how the dog snapped and snarled if the dog had wanted he could have ripped his throat out. Instead, it had bit his right arm. But not in the deadly way that he could have, not ripping into him. Just scared and hurt. Sesome understood that, he understood that the dog would also die. So using ham and rope, he began to urge the dog to walk. Sesome had been too small to carry the heavy dog even in its' skeletal state. 

Somehow, they had managed to make it to his apartment. Somehow Sesome managed to save the dog. The dog bite had not even left a scar to add to the many Sesome bore.

Now Shisa, with large yellow eyes stares had him. Not caring that he sleeps during the day because he can't walk outside in the sunlight. Not caring that he counts every break in the linoleum, the shades, anything he can see for hours at a time because he couldn't keep it together.

That he can't sleep in a bed, no matter how many times he tries he finds himself hiding in the closet just to sleep. Just to curl inside a tiny space too small for Shisa to fit with him. Clinging tightly to the thick neck, hot tears soaked into the dark gray fur. Body aching from having stumbled into the closed closet in a fit of somewhere between being awake and still caught within his nightmare. Closing his lips tightly, biting the inside of his cheek, noting he must have busted his lip thus the blood. Not letting himself gasp and hyperventilate, biting harder and harder feeling the panic wanting to bust out, but he would keep it at bay. He would win this time, the pain of needing to breathing took over his chest pushing away the panic as he buried his face inside of Shisa's dark fur slowly allowing himself small breaths.

Not able to stop trembling, exhausted Sesome leaned back until his head hit the back of the closet, the cloth of his shirts tickling the top of his cheek. "It's ok, Shisa," he murmured, green eyes meeting yellow, the heavy head soon resting in his lap, bandaged left-hand began slowly pet the dog. Eyes stinging when he closed his eyes, reminder of the tears that had blotched his skin. The next time his eyes opened, startled by the sound of his alarm going off from his small flip phone on his nightstand. Blinking sleepily, instead of gasping for breath as he would normally. Nightmares lurking right behind his eyelids had gone away for a few sweet, wonderful hours.

"Shisa, up" instantly, the large head disappeared only to hear the groan of the bed from the heavy animal taking up the end of it. Getting up, needles moving under his skin as he forced himself to move. Turning off the blaring alarm, getting ready for work. Uncapping the numerous prescription bottles that he was told to take, magic pills that were supposed to help him function like a normal human being. How could they expect to make a human out of him?

They all saw him as some beacon of human ability to survive. Surviving isn't that hard. Living is.

The psychologist was so sure he would get better if he was allowed to live on his own, been given a chance. Well Sesome did prefer this, to not be watched. To not have people touching, or looking at him helplessly when he had these fits. Or worse, the disappointment and apologetic ones. He'd prefer disgust. Disgust and Lust. Those he were used to, those he could handle. Most of his life was a hazy mess of pain and fear. Structured by being enslaved, not by chains or even locks.

Now enslaved by echos of his past, being brought out of his haze, and being told he is some how some hero for surviving. Heros help people, he has never helped anyone in his whole life.

Except Shisa, he had saved Shisa. And Shisa saved him on a daily basis. Shisa got him to be able to walk outside sometimes, at sunset. Got him to go outside more because he had to. Shisa relied on Sesome, and somehow that made it easier. Made living easier. All the doctors and people told him he needed to help himself, that he deserved to have a good life. And they would help but he had to help himself. Sesome was not used to being someone. He was little more than an object to a group of cruel people. And a strange, weird person to everyone else.

People took a step back if they looked at a face and Sesome didn't blame them. Normal people don't have scars all over their faces. Normal men did not wear their hair down their back, and wear layers of clothing in sweltering heat. Normal people went to school past sixth grade, normal people don't sleep in closets, or go into panic attacks if someone bumps into them from behind. Normal people can eat and don't throw plates against the wall because they only feel anger when they don't get a recipe right.

Shisa didn't ever seem to care if Sesome was normal. He didn't care if Sesome was hauled up in the closet for hours. Shisa also made Sesome unable to say no. Shisa had to be taken for walks, vet visits. Sesome could avoid going to the grocery store, literally too pitiful that he would go hungry for days because walking into the brightly lit store made him break down.

That couldn't happen, he would not let Shisa starve because of him. He had to live, if the doctors thought he was not getting better, that citizen life was too stressful he would have to go back. Originally the only reason he didn't like that idea was all the people seeing his countless failures, but now there was something worse. Shisa wouldn't be able to come.

More so, Shisa had been through a hard life. Sesome quickly learned about dog fighting through research. And after the first initial bite in the alley way, Shisa had never bit him again.

Not even a growl, Sesome treated the dog's wounds and almost instantly the morning after that night the yellow eyed dog showed no aggression. Even though he was obviously in pain he just laid there and allow Sesome to treat him. It took a few more months for Shisa to warm up to him, but that was enough for the twenty year old. It took his focus off of himself, gave him more of a purpose to bring the dog back to health. At some point, Sesome started to call him Shisa and at some point, Shisa started to love Sesome at another.

At some point, Sesome hoped he will be able to take Shisa on walks in the day light. To be able to sleep on the bed rather than in the closet with those yellow eyes looking at him. But for now, Seso and Shisa are living.

Author's Note

This is a vague continuation of my story An Escape, Sesome is experiencing a troubled time of conforming to what is every day life to the average American after a lifetime of abuse.