invisibilitea | IC CONTACT

[There is a part of her that is bitterly disappointed, a part of her that just wants to disappear.

But she doesn't. She closes her eyes for a moment, and then looks at him]

Should I tie you up?

[Maybe this was all a terrible idea.]

No.

[But as soon as he's said it, he breathes out, harshly, from between his teeth, his hands clenched tightly around whatever grip he can get on her jumper--and it feels like something is moving under his skin, like something is struggling to tear its way out of him, and he slumps forward, his forehead pressed to her shoulder--]

Yes. Yes, for now, please--just for now, I'll-- I'm sorry, Annie, I'm so sorry--

[She smiles, or at least, it's like a smile, small and tiny, and struggling, but at least she's trying, as best she can.]

No, it's all right, here-

[She gets off him, and moves fast enough, to tie him back up.]

It's all right.

[It's not altogether all right.]

[His breath comes harsh from between his teeth--he probably doesn't need to breathe at all, but the cessation of such normal and simple functions just seems unnecessary, even after everything else.

But he doesn't move, even when she does. He drops his head, staring fixedly at nothing, as she replaces the ropes. It's not all right, but he can't even think beyond the pounding need in him to frame that thought, to speak those words. Christ, he could tear down the walls right now, and the hunger settles over every bit of him, twisting deep in his chest.

It's nearly twenty minutes before it passes, before Mitchell leans back, with a gasp, like he's just surfaced from the water. He stares up at the ceiling; he does not look at Annie.]

You should leave.

[She doesn't talk while he's breathing, she just sits and watches him. This suddenly feels so big, too big maybe, but Annie has never let anything-

No, she has. She has fallen into depression and she recognizes the danger right now. It's utterly possible that she might just-

She watches him.

And then when he speaks, she sits up.]

Is that what you want?

[Or what you think would be best for her?]

No.

[He wants to lie. He wants so badly to lie. If she leaves, it will be better for her. If he dies, it will be better for everyone. But he can't say those words. His cowardice lingers in him. He will never say the words.]

No. I love you. But I can't-- I can't kill you. And this will kill you, Annie, it will kill you all over again. I can't.

Mitchell-

[She touches his face, gently, her thumbs against his cheeks, and she presses her forehead against his.]

Please-

[She doesn't even know what she's asking for.]

[He shuts his eyes a moment, his teeth set together, hard--as if he can work through this, as if this moment, too, will pass. But there's something in her voice that digs in to him, under his skin, somewhere deep. What has he done to them?]

I never wanted it to be this way. Annie, I never-- I didn't want this. But I can't stop myself. It has to end. I keep waiting, for it to end, and it never does, and I think I've got it done, and sorted--I did it, for so long. I was better than any of them.

I'm sorry, Annie. I'm sorry to you, and to George.

Oh, Mitchell-

Mitchell-

[She presses her hands in his hair, and runs them through]

You are better, please, please, you are better.

[He nods, wordlessly, his breath hissing from between his teeth, his fingers grasped on nothing and his arms straining in his bonds--but he tries to hold still, he tries to keep steady, to let her grip and her belief both be enough.

Jesus.]

I want to be. [He swallows; he struggles to form the words, to make them make sense--] I want to be better, I do.

But if I can't.

I'll still support you, you know that, right? I'll always support you.

[She says that with a level of dedication almost rarely ever seen in people, even in Annie. She'll stay with him. His addiction, it's not Mitchell, it's the beast inside of Mitchell, and she'll stay, of course she'll stay.]

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