Turmoil

Living is far too exhausting when there's nothing worth living for. Well, at least for Nathan, he has a demon to help make every aching moment feel better... or worse. For better or for worse.

Ah, there was that pesky morning sunlight.

Thin, aged curtains gently swung at the light breeze, hanging by its rusted metal rod that was sloppily nailed into the chipping painted wall just above the meek window that illuminated the quaint room.

Crimson eyes only peeked behind messy brown locks into the light directly glaring in his face from the slightest corner of the window frame. Peering at him, urging him to either get out of bed or move position. But instead, he let the sun blaze in his eyes without another movement. Just a passive, sleep face framed his features.

Nathan laid atop the creaky mattress and the stiff sheets for God knows how long. He originally visited his solid “home” just to pick up a few of his belongings and steal a few hours of sleep before marching onwards.

It felt as if he kept to his slumber for a few days rather than a few hours by the achiness of his body and the fuzzy feeling buzzing in his skull. As he lazily slept away some obscene amount of time away, the world outside continued to bustle about, laugh, cry, cheer, play. Everything kept moving as it was supposed to as he just kept to the inky darkness in his bedroom and mind.

The man lolled his head to the side away from the sun and to the wooden floor boards. Messy as always. Dirtied clothes were scattered with a few blood stains as well, his sword thrown off to the side, random leaves of paper thrown about, things of that nature that have been there too long for any other person’s liking and too long for Nathan to be bothered by it any longer. 

In the far corner where the sun could never seem to illuminate was a dangerously large pile of empty bottles (both intact and shattered) that used to contain any and all sorts of drinks. Well, alcohol to be specific. Rum, beer, whiskey… whatever the brunet could get his hands on that dangerous spur of the moment. What a pathetic mess it was.

Nathan kept his statue-like face straight and his gaze to the ceiling. Just looking to the usual crack in the ceiling that cracked through the mix matched painting of two different shades of pale white. No thought needed to be put into it, no careful hands. That was just how it was. With that distant stare in his crimson irises and completely frozen body, one would even assume he was just a life-sized doll, a completely hollowed out doll with nothing inside of him to make a human being.

Too tired to smile. Too tired for anything right now.

There was no warm smells of a mother’s breakfast cooking, or a spring day’s grass, or a bakers freshly baked produce, or a swarm of women bathed in their perfume gossiping in stone clad roads. No… the only smells that penetrated his nose were of alcohol, blood, dirt, and grime. And that was all within the confines of his own home. The world outside of his window didn’t seem to be any more prosperous, at least in this side of the city.

The festive town scene of this country's capital was a mere dream to the poverty stricken street his ratty apartment was located. In the very least, to Nathan, he didn’t have to actually live in this area and he was fortunate enough to be able to move around. The other civilians… it was much different for them.

Prostitution was the common practice for mostly women in town, but men were also included in this. They tended to stay to the outer borders in hopes of a foolish person possessing some money to pay their meager services for the night. Naturally, disease and abuse were abundant like wild flowers.

The children wore clothing that were never washed, all in tatters, no shoes, and they spent their days looking for scraps of bones and trash that were probably already gnawed to the bare center before they found it by another desperate neighbor.

People would fight tooth, nail, and blood for whatever little things of vague worth that appeared. Riots… screams… blood… there was so much of it that it’d make anyone sick to the core of their stomach.

Do people really get used to such gruesome scenes? Or do they just get lost in it and lose their sense of humanity. It was a fine, fine line.

By the brunet’s expectations… he had an extremely fortunate life compared to those around him at that current moment. But what kind of life did Nathan even lead?

Taking his time, the man slowly sat himself off the bed. His long legs curled up to his broad chest as he buried his forehead between his knees. Letting his messy locks curtain himself from any light trying to reach his eyes. Gentle eye lids fell over his red-wine irises once again as he sat on the bed, all by himself, just sitting there miserably.

That infested feeling returned to his chest.

Like a parasite, this pain returned to his slowly beating heart and he didn’t even feel like he was living any more. His body yes, was still in the horrible reality he had to call his life, but it all felt empty. Each inch of skin felt hyper sensitive to the touch of the fabric on his skin, the light breeze against his hair, each little thing that touched his body felt intensified. Nathan felt so heavy, and yet there nothing inside him. Just an unbearable numbness that overtook the inside of his body as his body felt pressured by everything around him.

How pathetic.

Uncurling one of his legs straight once more, his forehead remained rested atop his rounded knee that was still bent upward toward his chest. Nathan cupped a side his face in one of his large hands, ribbons of hair between nimble fingers while he seethed his teeth in utter silence.

From a distance, someone would assume he was crying at that moment. But no tears could seem to fall along his cheeks. And that’s what terrified the man to no end.

In his mind, Nathan begged for anyone or anything to listen to his pleading prays and just let him cry, just once. Give him anything. Let him feel a heart-twisting sadness, a searing pain, an unbearable guilt, anything at all.

Nathan could only feel himself loosing himself, his humanity, a bit more every day.

Please... just let me feel something real. Let me feel anything. I want to be human. I want proof that I’m still a human,  just a pathetic human like everyone else in this God forsaken world. Please, someone…

Help me.

What was left of Nathan’s life? What really, was there to live for? Not a beating soul on this Earth would blink if he disappeared completely. What has he really done with his life? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Before, it was incredibly unlikely that his life would amount to any sort of value. He’d done nothing with his life to any significance. And now that his fate was sealed with the sinner’s brand on his body… what was the point?

As always, the calls were kept unheard by anyone’s ears, save for one. Only Haddock knew. Only his monstrous demon knew just the anguish his heart was being pressed on. And the demented force within him could only smile silently as it observed the other man.

“I suppose it’s my turn, then.” The demon delightfully chimed.

A wicked smile seething his teeth stretched on Nathan’s lips. Bright irises turned into a much darker shade of red, like dried blood. Lifting Nathan’s head in a quick movement, it would look as if his head was too heavy for his shoulders as it tilted completely to one side.

Nathan’s body slowly got off the bed and taking each step on the floor with great delicacy, each step moved like a puppet on its invisible strings. Each movement of his joints was sudden, jagged, it didn’t move naturally.

Nathan was the puppet, and now, Haddock was the puppet master who took advantage of the other’s down point, his moment of exposed weakness. A vital mistake.

Turning toward the large chest at the foot of the bed, Haddock forced his contractor to rummage through the layers of objects before reaching a single bottle of rum rested at the very bottom of the trunk.

Nathan, the real one, couldn’t even put up a struggle. This has happened too many times and his ebony seal was too far advanced on his chest for him to fight back at this point. He could only passively accept his Chain’s orders at thin fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle and another hand unscrewed the top before forcefully throwing it to the wall of the room to roll along the floor to its own devices.

A widened smirk was forcibly tugged onto Nathan’s lips. “Cheers.”

As the strong alcohol moved down the brunette’s throat, leaving a burning feel as it moved down into his stomach, Haddock would only allow a few moments of air before consuming more rum.

“Don’t worry, Nathan. Don’t worry. This’ll help you. You’re in pain, right? This’ll get rid of the pain. It’ll help you forget.”

After a few minutes, the bottle was empty and the brunet’s head rolled down. His head ached from the painful pounding in his skull, his face was flushed, he couldn’t think straight, and it was taking all of his will from not vomiting onto the floor.

Haddock, still in control, threw the bottle toward the desolate stack in the corner. And with a loud crash, the glass container shattered into an uncountable amount of glass shards.

The entire room continued to spin in an endless circle around him. His knees grew weak and wobbly before they finally buckled and his numb body collapsed to the ground in a mess of tired limbs.

 “Close your eyes, Nathan. Just sleep your days away.”

What’s the point anymore? He was too tired to fight. It wasn’t worth the effort to try anymore. No use. No use at all.