Luther Hargreeves (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
number1_himbo) wrote2023-01-10 05:53 pm
number1_himbo) wrote2023-01-10 05:53 pm
(no subject)
Luther holds on for a little over a week before he hits his limit.
It's longer than a week and a handful of days, of course. It's been months since the Hotel Oblivion got crammed into his head, a whole tangle of realizations and plot twists and feelings he's only barely attempted to put in order.
Any attempt to work this knot of fucked up Hargreeves shit leads to Dad, not Dad ripping him open and bleeding him out, which is a shitty thing to remember, to burst back into the waking world with phantom pains. And should any attempt get any further into the tangle, enough that he sets his death aside, he's left with the very worst thing, the thing he can't touch at all.
I heard a rumor you stay.
The knot won't stay tied like it used to, tight enough to keep everything about Allison on the inside. And there's no reason it should be coming undone now. No fucking reason.
I heard a rumor you want me.
It almost tears out of him at the breakfast table, and no amount of exercise burns off the excess feeling. He takes it instead to a local junk yard where the owner doesn't mind him busting shit up.
That, at least, feels good. Appliances crunching into blocks of concrete, rebar spearing massive rolls of carpet, a totaled out care thrown overhead at another.
Luther loses time, hands scraping up, muscles aching, bits of glass clinging to his arms, and none of it erases the feeling of Allison's struggling body against the pool table.
He starts to tear apart blown-out tires, aware of the sun starting to sink in the sky-- too easy. Back to the blocks of concrete then, huge broken chunks that Luther throws and hammers into one another, his ears filled with his own breathing and heartbeat.
Not gone enough to miss he's not alone in the clearing of wrecked shit he's made. "What," he says, almost dully, fully expecting to be told he needs to leave.
It's longer than a week and a handful of days, of course. It's been months since the Hotel Oblivion got crammed into his head, a whole tangle of realizations and plot twists and feelings he's only barely attempted to put in order.
Any attempt to work this knot of fucked up Hargreeves shit leads to Dad, not Dad ripping him open and bleeding him out, which is a shitty thing to remember, to burst back into the waking world with phantom pains. And should any attempt get any further into the tangle, enough that he sets his death aside, he's left with the very worst thing, the thing he can't touch at all.
I heard a rumor you stay.
The knot won't stay tied like it used to, tight enough to keep everything about Allison on the inside. And there's no reason it should be coming undone now. No fucking reason.
I heard a rumor you want me.
It almost tears out of him at the breakfast table, and no amount of exercise burns off the excess feeling. He takes it instead to a local junk yard where the owner doesn't mind him busting shit up.
That, at least, feels good. Appliances crunching into blocks of concrete, rebar spearing massive rolls of carpet, a totaled out care thrown overhead at another.
Luther loses time, hands scraping up, muscles aching, bits of glass clinging to his arms, and none of it erases the feeling of Allison's struggling body against the pool table.
He starts to tear apart blown-out tires, aware of the sun starting to sink in the sky-- too easy. Back to the blocks of concrete then, huge broken chunks that Luther throws and hammers into one another, his ears filled with his own breathing and heartbeat.
Not gone enough to miss he's not alone in the clearing of wrecked shit he's made. "What," he says, almost dully, fully expecting to be told he needs to leave.
no subject
The truth sits heavy in his mouth. It may be the heaviest thing he's ever lifted, to get it out.
"She was hurting, and I went to comfort her. She tried to kiss me, and I was going to leave and see Sloane." His voice drops, low and quiet, ashamed. "She wanted a distraction. Rumored me to stay with her. Rumored me to want her. She panicked when I got too forceful and managed to call it off."
No going back now.
no subject
Does he touch Luther? He doesn't know. He wants to, but it seems like it may not be the right moment, after admitting (maybe for the first time) he'd been violated.
"I'm so sorry," Viktor says. He wishes he could say more, but he can't imagine.
At least when Allison rumored Viktor, she didn't understand what she was doing.
no subject
He slides down to the ground, pulling his long legs up to his chest. Mostly.
"If she hadn't been able to stop it," Luther says raggedly, haunted, "I would have been a passenger as I raped her. She would have made me live with that too, let alone doing that do me, and--"
He reaches out blindly with one hand for Viktor.
no subject
What he does, what he'll always do, is hug his brother. He sits up on his knees next to Luther and hugs his face to his small chest. When it occurs to him he doesn't want to suffocate the poor man, he loosens the loop of his arms to let his hands fall on his brother's far shoulder.
"It didn't happen," Viktor says after a few moments. The worst of it didn't come to pass. Luther didn't rape Allison. Viktor won't give Allison the benefit of the doubt or give her credit. He's reminding Luther what's real.
And, most importantly, "she's not here."