king of wishful thinking | Connor

[tarquin finley ellis]

After having left Connor's room, Quinn had found more to eat, then crashed in his own bed that night. The winged male wanted space, time; well this would allow Connor to have that. Quinn already had this planned before the first injection had hit him. He knew what damage these things could do to him. He couldn't have a clue how bad it could get, by why take any chances? So he'd planned, got his things together. Left his cellphone on voicemail and left it at that.

With the morning brought the third injection, and then being held for observation. Quinn had done his best to fight the effects of the injection, and once out of holding, he had made his bid for being locked up in the restraint room. He had given good reasons to the right sort of nurses, and soon found himself alone. Which meant that they would give him meals normally, and there wasn't a way for him to get more. Seemed like a legit way to fight the issue.

By the third day after the injection and lack of being able to get at more food when the urge struck -- and it struck hard and often -- Quinn was completely feral. But by then effects had been pushing others over some edges too, and the restraint room had ended up with another very brief resident. It did not take long before the surfaces of the room to be painted red, for charred bones to be the only thing left to the person that had been put in there with Quinn.

More days passed, no one else was put in the room with him. Nearly a week in the restraint room and things were starting, very slightly to get better. The effects were becoming a little more managable. Life, however, was not.

Quinn doesn't know what he had been thinking in those days. It's all very blurry, and he simply refuses to think he was in control over his mind at all. True enough, it was actions rather then thought that drove him in those days. Altered instinct screaming to feed and little else. That endless pounding in his head to seek out food until he was too tired or unable to try anymore. Falling from dizziness, collapsing into sleep whenever and wherever he was at that given moment. Quinn was a mess. There was barely anything human left; just an animal in a shell at that point.

But the feeling was returning as the effects started to fade a little. Oh, it was still there in the background, ending up in a dull scream as it all started to come back to him. Everything since he'd gotten into this room. It was agony. He would never want to explain it, even if he could have. He was suffering, spending the hours sitting or laying there listlessly, eyes dull and tired. It was the hardest time to be alone, and it wasn't even over yet.

Even physically it looked like Quinn had been through the ringer. He was covered from head to foot in dried blood and soot, and his clothes had gone up in flames days ago. There hadn't been any use trying to give him more; he wouldn't have paid any attention to that, and he would have fought for his way out. Just like he had when they'd put the other patient in with him. Though it would have been worse this time. Either way, Quinn might have felt bad about whoever would be cleaning the room after he left it. If he left it, since at this point Quinn wasn't so sure that was much of an option.

Perhaps they would simply put him down like a dog. It had been only a week earlier when Quinn had that special moment of realization that his family had been allowing him to train so that he could be their pitbull. It made a lot of sense now, though that hadn't worked out well for them. What could they really expect though? That breed was known for turning on it's owner. How could they have known it would backfire like it did? Maybe they should have taken into account the extent of his temper and all the ways that could go wrong. Maybe they should have watched more closely.

So much had changed when Quinn had come to Chaspel Heights. Things would have been just fine if he had stayed at Manson. And what of all those plans for a life outside the asylum? The house that would rot away until he decided to simply sell it off. Quinn hadn't given it any thought since coming here. He'd forgotten about it, pushed it to the back of his mind. He would never get out of here. There was no way, and thus no use for that house. The dust of a life that would never be.

One more day would have changed everything. That could never be questioned. Quinn had everything all set, had known exactly what he wanted. So close before it was all ripped away. It was funny and sad what only a few more hours could have done. It was strange what made a turning point in a life, too.

There had been enough of those in Quinn's life that all brought him here, to this point. To being locked up in this place, in this very room were he curled up horrified at all that had occurred. At the memories that were passing before his eyes and hurting him with every moment. How much was there even left to lose? More then ever he wanted the feeling to just go away. The changing days made the injections more and more a dull ache that could flare up at moments. It felt like it would always be a struggle to deal with the presence of food, but he was slowly learning to control it a little better. Or that's what he thought. It wasn't like he could test the theory that much in here.

He hated being weak. Showing any kind of weakness was a hardship he did not want to endure. An all too fragile ego battled against it happening, raged against the fact that it had more then once. But Quinn had tried so hard, held on as much as he could. He never expected to become this broken. None of it should have ever come to this. All those days where Quinn thought it couldn't get any worse.... and it did. More and more it did, and he was finally having less will to keep hanging on. He had survived so much, and now he was so, so tired.

Quinn had tried, time and time again to be enough. A child doesn't dream of becoming a monster. He certainly hadn't. He'd been a victim of chance, and even so he had done what he could with what he was given. It wasn't like Quinn had truly ever asked for much.

He felt disjointed, distracted when enough days had passed where he had been civil enough and calmly accepting of the trays of food sent through to him instead of attacking it like a wild beast. The need to eat much and often was still clawing at his insides, but Quinn was doing all he could to tame that enough to be once more allowed back into the crowd. Obviously no one was feeling very quick to let him out, and Quinn could understand all of that. The bits and pieces of the days spent in here told him enough of what he had been like, and he hated the thought of it.

Those days where he had control of his mind enough to remember were the worst to get through, but he was managing it. Dealing with it moment by moment, wondering if there was any way to crawl out of the hold he'd made of his life. What they had also made of him. It was a mixture of what they turned him into and what he allowed himself to become. He knew he could not blame them for everything. He had done so much of this to himself.

Finally they had let him out. Quinn went through the motions to appear to be back to normal as much as he could be, and he had gone back to his dormroom for a long shower. It took him awhile to scrub all the blood and soot off, and even when it actually was gone he was still feeling as if it was sticking to his skin, and Quinn had that ever need to be clean. He scrubbed until his skin was flushed red and the water had turned cold with no more hot to be found. Not really an issue for him, but he didn't even notice the change in water to be concerned as it was.

Once that was done, Quinn had paced in his room. He did not want to go anywhere or see anyone. He cleaned out his mini-fridge when the urge to eat was too strong to ignore, and he tried everything he could think of to take his mind off of all that had happened to him. Stretching out and practising his martial arts some to try and focus, to find balance. There was none to be had, and he gave up and slumped against the wall. Everything seemed wrong and hollow. He wanted someone to be there, wanted to be held for once; craving it more then anything in the world right now. He didn't want to be alone right now, but he couldn't force himself to get up and go to anyone. To even pick up his phone and make a call. He just couldn't do it yet.

He didn't realize that he had slipped into sleep, but with food in his stomach, he had gotten drowsy after everything. Quinn woke up feeling sore from the odd way he'd fallen asleep against the wall, and he got up and tried to shake it off. He went for his phone, blinking at all the messages from Makism. It made him feel worse. Quinn couldn't stand this feeling thing. Why had it come back? Why did it have to fuck with him so much? Over everything. Maybe if only he'd been able to stay cold through the effects of the injections, none of it would have gotten to this point. Maybe it wouldn't have ended up worse.

It took him a minute to try and figure out what wasn't how he left it when he'd fallen asleep, and then he noticed the envelope that had been pushed under his door. Eyebrows furrowed as he walked over to it and picked it up, tearing it open to read the contents. At this very moment, the news written down on the letter was the worst thing that could possibly have been thrown into his head. His throat constricted and the tears started to fall. It was all crashing down on him, and he couldn't hold himself together anymore. It was the last straw. He couldn't deal anymore.

Quinn couldn't figure out where all the screaming was coming from, the pain in his head until the moment he realized that the sounds were coming from his throat, and he had been pulling at his own hair until bits were coming out. He was already shaking when he went to his drawer, when he pulled out the drugs. Some of these and some of those; this and that and more shoved into his pockets. He just wanted to be high, to forget it all. He wanted it to just be over. Yet as the minutes ticked by, the drugs were doing the oddest of things to him. Too many conflicting emotions were stirring up in his brain.

He had no idea what possessed him to write all he did into the text he sent to Makism, but it was like a part of his head was clear and a part of it was fuzzy and the line criss-crossed all over. Then he was pulling on clothes in the most absent manner. He needed to be somewhere, needed someone. He couldn't go to Makism. Quinn had done enough that messed with the Russian man, and he simply couldn't bring this mess to him. Not after everything. There was someone else that might somehow understand what he was feeling. Someone who might understand how fragile life was, what it was like to want to give up.

Quinn did not bring his phone with him, did not take anything but the clothes he was wearing, the pills in his pocket and the water bottle full of vodka with him as he left the room and made his way to Connor's. Once there he pounded on the door, half leaning into it. Waiting. He didn't even know the tears hadn't actually dried up yet. None of that seemed to matter anymore. There really wasn't much of an ego left to care.

[connor crayze sykes]

When Quinn had disappeared, Connor worried. But soon enough, the drugs from Ace had come. And if Connor wasn't with Perseus --sometimes even while with him-- he was completely stoned out of his mind.
But a night spent locked in the torture chamber had left him on a crash and he had just stumbled in to his dorm, shaking. They hadn't beat him, just locoed him up and left him there.

Connor swallowed, squirming, veins burning, his brain telling him he needed the meth running through them.
He staggered, grabbing at what he had hidden and placing the needle in his teeth so he could melt the shards in a spoon, hands shaking terribly.

The knock on the door made Connor startle, his high had kept him from the effects he shouod have had. Connor filled his needle and place it back in his teeth, smacking his inner arm, thin fingers turning the knob as he pressed the needle into his skin. He froze as he met Quinn's eyes, blinking. Was he seeing things?

[tarquin finley ellis]

Obviously, there hadn't been a lot of thought going on in Quinn's mind for most of those days he'd been in the restraint room. Out of his mind, even if he hadn't been stoned to get that way. He didn't want to think of all that, and yet it all came back to him anyway, and the suffering just continued. Mostly silent now, his throat sore from the screaming. There was panic still bouncing around in his eyes, but they were already bloodshot from the tears and the drugs already working through his system. It had started to do the most strange things to him.

He nearly stumbled and fell when the door was opened, but he caught himself -- not that he honestly knew how he'd done that -- and stared wide-eyed and wild at Connor. A flood of awkward emotion tumbled through him, gaze flicking from the male's face to the needle in Connor's arm. Quinn was shaking a little, clinging to the vodka filled water bottle in his hands. "Can I come in?" His voice was cracked, and he looked terribly lost in these seconds, not knowing if Connor would want him here at all after all the time he'd been gone. Quinn hadn't told anyone where he was going.

[connor crayze sykes]

Connor drew in a slow breath, eyebrows furrowing, and he swallowed. Something was wrong. He could see it all over Quinn's face. He just nodded and stepped away from the door, finishing what had been started, enough to level him out. If he got sick of feeling, he'd be sure to shoot up some more. It was a bad idea, but Connor was already grabbing the supplies for a second dose,tripping over himself. Quinn should have never seen him like this.

He sat down, having forgotten about the cuts on his ankles, up his shins, now bleeding through his jeans. The razor was still in the bathtub, the tub and bathroom floor smudged wth blood.

[tarquin finley ellis]

Had he been in any kind of even state of mind, Quinn might have more apt to pry the needle away from Connor, at least until he wasn't in the room anymore. At this point, though, Quinn wasn't going to bother. That would be far too hypocritical, and he simply didn't have it in him to say anything against it. In fact, he was more prone to offering out his own arm for the stuff. It's something he'd never tried before, but right now he did not care what it would do to him. He didn't care what any of it would do. And Quinn was already plenty high as it was.

When Connor nodded and stepped away from the door, Quinn walked in, though his movements lacked the normal grace today. Emotion and drugs; it was both battling within him. He watched as the winged male shot up more, just holding his vodka filled bottle to his chest, eyes roaming around the room. He was shivering and needy, so close to spilling his guts in a torrent of words and tears. He could see the blood soaking through Connor's jeans, but he didn't have any comment for it. He simply stared at the male. "Calan died...." It was all he could manage in a hoarse tone. He doesn't know if Connor remembers anything Quinn told the male of his younger brother, but he can't elaborate more right now; he's silently falling apart just standing there.

[connor crayze sykes]

Connor blinked as the words came, needle falling to the floor, and he limped towards Quinn, hesitant. "I-.." He was straight enough in the head that he remembered who it was. He reached out, pulling Quinn to his chest and holding him there. "Sh-sh...I-..I'm sorry..." He knew what it was like, losing a sibling so close to you. Connor sat down on the bed, pulling the other into his lap. No matter how he had tried to stop caring, he could still be there for somebody in need, right? Quinn had done the same for him.

"I-it's okay to cr-r-ry... I know..." He didn't have long to be as caring as he was, once those numbing effects hit.

[tarquin finley ellis]

He was wobbling, swaying a little as Connor came closer. When the male reached out to pull him closer, he let the bottle in his hands drop and roll across the floor, wrapping his arms around Connor and shuddering. He had no will to pull away when the male sat down and pulled him into his lap. It was odd, and he shifted a bit, not wanting to crush Connor; knowing enough that the winged male was still fragile in those moments where so much else was blinded in his mind. Quinn doesn't know how to let it out on his own, not really.

It's why he is so very quiet, but unable to let go of the winged creature. He's already cried more tears today then he has in so long, and he isn't sure what is left to do. He just knows that he needs Connor here right now, needs someone to care. Even if it was all pretend, at this point it doesn't even matter to Quinn. It can all be fake and that's good enough for him. He knows he can't ask for anything more then that, so he doesn't. He can hold onto the illusion for a little while. It's suddenly all he wants. "Can you pretend to love me? Just for a little while... please, Connor?" Everything's hurting. "I won't try to get into your pants or bother you again after today... I just... please?" Quinn was begging and he didn't care. "I need you...." A broken whisper.

[connor crayze sykes]

"I-I'm right here.." Connor curled on the bed, feeling his jeans clinging to bloody legs but he didn't move, hooking his arm around Quinn and pulling the blankets up. "I'm right h-here..." His nerves were settling with the drugs, his shaking lessening. Thin fingers ran through Quinn's hair slowly, unsure what to say.
Blue eyes closed and he just held him tight, not daring let go for any reason.
He understood, and he wouldn't tell Quinn no. Not today.

[tarquin finley ellis]

He sighed deeply at the words, just curling close as he could to the winged male. He heard the repeated words, clinging to the need to believe that was a yes. He could feel the fingers through his hair, using that to try and calm himself. It felt just grand with the drugs in his system making things much more sensitive. He was starting to tingle all over, and it was pleasent, even if it did clash with his warring emotions. There was still so much pain and emptiness spinning around within him. There were things still set in his mind, and he still felt that urge to get as high as possible.

Yet he clung to Connor for now, unwilling to untangle to take more of the drugs or grab for the vodka filled water bottle. Eventually he would have to get it; he would need it once the high started to fade away. There was no way he was going to let the feeling go. It was the only thing that made it in any way barable. His breathing was a little more quick, and he could feel little pains starting, but it didn't matter. Connor was holding him right now, and he could start to relax.

[connor crayze sykes]

Connor didn't loosen his grip, his other hand running over Quinn's back. When the male began to relax a little, he did too. At least until the nosebleed that decided to interupt. Connor cursed, sitting up slowly before standing and limping towards his dresser for a rag to hold inplace. The sheets were smudged with blood from his legs and he frowned before slinking to an equally bloodied bathroom, tossing the rag in the tub. It had to be scrubbed anyway, Connor's shower had turned into a bloodbath. He left the bathroom, shutting the door. Itwas the last thing Quinn needed to see. As was his sliced up lower legs, hips. He studied the other male, then stooped and picked up the bottle, setting it in the fridge before climbing back under the covers with Quinn.

[tarquin finley ellis]

His eyes closed at the touch of the hand running over his back, finally relaxed enough to feel the strange internal physical reactions to the drugs much more clearly. There was so much going on that it was odd to just feel it as if he had no control over any of it. In a way he didn't, but in some he did. He knew his courses of actions that could be taken, knew he could make it much more intense with just a few more pills and the alcohol in that bottle on the floor. He's still debating it, even if he doesn't want to move. It's the last thing he wants to do just now.

But then Connor is moving and Quinn whimpers, eyes snapping open to watch the male limping around. Again Quinn's eyes find the blood soaked into Connor's jeans, eyebrows furrowing again as he swallows a little. His eyes followed the winged male's movements, and once Connor was back in bed and under the covers, there was no way for Quinn to stop himself from finding out how bad it all was. His fingers worked quickly to remove the jeans from the male, and there was a terribly sad noise in his throat at seeing the slices all over. "Connor..." Just seeing the cuts and blood horrified him. Quinn now felt an overwhelming urge to drink that vodka the male had just put away. He got up shakily and went for it, bringing it back to the bed and uncapping it to take a drink.

[connor crayze sykes]

"Quinn-" Too late. Quinn had peeled the jeans away faster than Connor could stop him. He winced at the rub on the raw cuts lacinghis shins, jagged over his ankles. His boxers were damp with blood along the bones of his hips and pelvis, and he pulled his shirt down.
"Y-you didn't needto see that..." He whispered brokely, watching the male retrieve the alcohol and take a swallow.
It was a habit just as bad as his drug addiction, the cutting. It was almost unimaginable. While the scars on a lot of his body were from his father's beatings, the other half were self inflicted. He felt exposed, humiliated. The drugs were keeping the pride at bay and he just stared at his own legs as well, numb.

[tarquin finley ellis]

A gulp of the vodka and another... third, fourth. Rapid swallows that left him panting for breath after a moment before he could look back at Connor, just hearing the words and looking pained. "Did you not think I would? Eventually?" He looked agonized, his eyes dark but not mean. Just... twisted with all the crazy emotions running through him. His own from before seeing this were bad enough. Worse then he could even let Connor see through. But this was just more added to it, and it was sickening when Quinn realized he was starting to get aroused anyway.

He squeezed his eyes shut at the realization and rubbed his temple. This was all so horrible. To see what Connor had been doing to himself... Quinn hadn't been there to stop it, and he knew there wasn't anything he could do now. He wouldn't be able to keep it from happening again, either. Finally he simply let all the feelings wash over him; even the want stirring within him for the male. "There are so many things wrong with me... You're all cut up and I still want to be inside you, and..." He huffed a little, pulling out the bag from his pocket and swallowing down one of the multiple pills. He didn't want to think anymore.

[connor crayze sykes]

Connor let out a slow breath. None of it was right. They were both fucked up in their own ways. But Connor couldn't give himself to Quinn, couldn't let him see the cuts over his pelvis, at least not if her could help it. Quinn was stronger than him if he really demanded anything.
Connor wanted to tell him to stop with the drinking, the pills in that moment. But he couldn't be a hypocrite, right? He couldn't tell him wrong, not in his own position. The worst time to cut was on a high, numb and thoughts in a jumble, the bite of that razor delicious. But these were fresh, right from the torture chamber to here. These were cuts made the moment he was in his shower, no drugs in his system, on a crash. It had been straight up pin, self punishment, loss and confusion. Quinn was hurting now, but Connor was too, his little sister currently locked up in some cell somewhere in the hospital. He didn't say a thing about it. He was supoosed to be helping Quinn.. His own problems didn't matter.
Even Quinn's comment about wantingbhim, even after the promise... Connor wanted to give himself away to the hurting male. But he didn't want him to see another cut in his body.

[tarquin finley ellis]

After today. That had been the promise from his lips, right? His need was growing as each moment passed, and he didn't want to fight it. He was so tired of fighting. Not something Quinn ever thought he'd even think. But it was true regardless. Would it be so wrong to try for a last time now? To let the drugs blind him to all the cuts littering Connor's body for that last chance to get lost in him? Another pill, another gulp of vodka to his overwhelmed system. The lines were starting to fade in his mind, and he wanted to cross them.

Quinn didn't want to hold himself back. He really didn't. He was becoming numb to the sight of the cuts, the blood. His eyes found Connor's; asking silently because he didn't know if he could do it vocally. He reached out, fingers shaking, carefully settling on the male's thigh. It wasn't new, having blood on his hands. "I'll be gone in under an hour... I'll keep my promise..." He's trembling, and his heart is beating at a more rapid pace. But he doesn't try to force it. He waits.