umbralla | [for petre]

[for petre]

[The weather's already starting to edge past "cool" toward "cold," but that just means Ghyslain puts on a coat before going outside. Everyone needs fresh air sometimes, and while he's not big on the garden area (fall allergies can be as bad as spring when it comes to flowers), there's lots of rolling grass on which he can sit or stretch out, trees under which he can tuck himself.

He's got a book with him today, along with an Mp3 player and earbuds tucked into his ears, keeping the world at bay for awhile; if he doesn't, he'll listen endlessly for the text chime on his phone, and that's the last thing he needs to be doing. They agreed they needed time. He still needs the time. Being antsy is just ridiculous.

But he is, ridiculous or not, so he's outside bobbing his head to a song and barely skimming over the words of his current assigned reading for English Lit. It may have been a bad choice of course, in retrospect, but one of his advisors said it would give him a more complex understanding of English. Complex is about all that's correct in that statement so far.]

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[The fear is there, and it's completely transparent, drowning out any curiosity. Shadows crawling out from the ground, turning into living things that sway around menacingly until they're grabbing him, making him shake and yelp in a slight panic. He looks like he should try to kick it off, but instead it's as though a darkness overcomes him as well.

One second later, his hand is going for Ghyslain's throat, throwing him down on the grass.]

You don't wanna hurt the boy.

[The voice is the same, accent still present, but the words flow freely in a language that's not his own. He doesn't look pissed, despite the aggressive behavior; instead he looks like a dragon going 'nah-ah' at the hunter who thought he could sneak up on him.]

[His shadows are still out, so be strikes back in shock, hitting and tugging with as many as he can create in an effort to get the boy off him. What just happened? He tries to form words, but instead he's just letting out wheezes that want to be screams but for the hand around his throat.]

I said - [He struggles with the shadows, yes, hissing out through gritted teeth with remarkable strength, the kind that some scrawny sixteen-year old should never have, but the grip on Ghyslain's throat only loosens so he can grab the shirt, lift him up and slam him back down.] Don't hurt the boy. Stop.

[Stars explode in front of his eyes when his head hits the ground again, and he knows he can't fight. That was dangerously close to a knock-out, which would leave him at the mercy of whatever's happened to Petre. So he withdraws his shadows, eyes clearing, and stares up in something close to a panic now.]

What are you? [This isn't a gift. It's separating itself deliberately through its manner of speech. This is something that shouldn't be here.]

I'm Petre. He said that already.

Though I guess you could say I'm the other part.

[because as much as 'it' distinguishes itself from the boy, it considers them to be one and the same. A snake with two heads.]

Apologize.

I - do not understand. How can a person have two parts?

[But okay, he gets it. He doesn't want to be attacked with that superhuman strength again.]

Je m'excuse. I - I am sorry.

There we go. [And Petre's grip loosens just enough so that it's not painful anymore, but it still keeps Ghyslain down.] Good boy.

[The smile on him is so strange. it's the same smile an innocent kid like the real Petre would pull, looking down at Ghyslain like he's seeing something truly beautiful. Not unlike a monster gazing at its own reflection for the first time.]

It really is uncanny. You should be a part of us too.

A part of you? [He can't recoil, not in this position, but the reaction is plain in his expression and voice.] I am myself. The face, it is a coincidence. Please let me go.

No...

[His tone is airy, his hand now moving to stroke Ghyslain's face gently. It's something Petre (the gift) has wondered about every time he looks in the mirror and wishes he could be... more a part of the real Petre. So much that they would be seamless, that there would not be a division between who (what) is in control of this body.

If he could show him somehow... comfort him with words he can hear, with hands he can feel.

Petre leans down, face coming dangerously close to Ghyslain's, like he's just that same reflection and can't move or protest. Then he angles his head and buries it in the crook of his neck.]

No... It's not a coincidence. We were meant to meet.

Please... [The tenderness has only made him more nervous, his body shaking in place as Petre caresses him and then leans into that odd sort of embrace. Hot breath on his neck, which would be pleasant any other time, but now gives him nothing but chills.]

I do not understand. What is it that you want from me?

I don't know yet.

[He still sounds like he's daydreaming - maybe plotting - when he slides off of Ghyslain and keeps his arm around him, like a hug that forces him to stay down and in place.]

I'll have to think about it. But we should be friends.

[Friends. That's a powerful word. This thing, this other gift inside Petre, it scares Ghyslain more than he can remember being scared in a very long time - but friends. The first Petre he met wasn't so bad, really, his only crimes being awkwardness and intensity (and Ghyslain really shares those, if he's honest with himself.)]

I have no friends. [He might, but where he stands with Romain is still very up in the air, so it's true enough for now. And it doesn't sound like an objection, just a reflection on what Petre's said. Maybe he could use some friends.]

Good. We don't have any friends, either.

[Between awkward boy and monster, nobody wants to add you on facebook.]

We'll be each other's first.

[He's silent for a long time, but then:]

D'accord. [A shorter pause.] Okay. I will be your friend.

Would you let go of me now? [Because he still feels held in place, regardless of whether or not he could break out of it, and it's got his skin crawling.]

Good. He'll be happy.

[Anything but at the circumstances of it, though.]

Depends. Are you going to leave us?

Non. Non, I will not leave you.

[Any reassurance to get the arm off of him, but he really won't be leaving now that he knows what Petre can unleash if he's unhappy. He'll stay as long as the other boy wants.]

I'll hold you to do that.

[hauhaeuahueah get it. He does release Ghyslain at last.]

Be nice to him this time. I don't want him to cry again.

Ouais, ouais, I will. I swear it.

[Just bring the other boy back, please, if he has to stay here.]

Good.

[He says nothing when the shift happens. First it's like the smaller Petre just woke up from sleep, but memories are quick to flash back and the awareness that he blacked out only means something horrible must have taken place. He doesn't take in the apparently peaceful image of lying down next to the other boy; he just immediately jumps up with a look of horror in his face.]

No - no, no, he hurts you -

[He sits up as well, alarmed at the sudden change in Petre's demeanour, and holds his hands out placatingly.]

Please. Be calm. [Then he lets his hands drop to his knees, looking down at them.] I was not kind. I can be very unkind.

[He looks like a frazzled little animal, staring back at Ghyslain with the very same shade of ice blue he has until he's give a reason to calm down. The other boy isn't hurt, it seems, just like it seems his gift has come and gone. So the threat has passed - for now.]

He - he speaks?

[Ghyslain is confused for a moment, because his own grasp of the language isn't perfect, so he's not sure if Petre is asking about whether the gift can speak or if he did. In the end, he just answers as best he can.]

He said - we are meant to be friends.

[He... what?]

Why he says that?

You are alone, like me.

[He doesn't mention the unsettling desire to become one with him as well. That would probably just disturb Petre. Best to leave it at the simplest explanation.]

[He turns his gaze away when he hears that. It was... the reason he came here. He's alone, and the boy with his face sounded like the best and only excuse he had to approach anyone.]

You don't must be my friend.

[It's 'have to be', Petre...]

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