A/N: The inner monologue still continues but in the next chapter there is interaction.

Warning: Angst alert! And nakedness. Disturbing content.

Leonhartless

Chapter 2

By leannan

The shadows unleashed from their hole cavorted in the darkness of the room before they’d be sealed back into their tomb. Patterning along the bleak walls looming over a shivering entity in bed, creating a realm of ominous dreams. The laughed as he dreamt, leaping over his shivering body as he was plagued by images of their doing. The room was a frigid pit, numbing his mind as he restlessly fought with the turmoil inside.  His amber chocolate hair tousled on his face and over the pillow. A few damp strands plastered to his forehead from the sweat. His naked skin wan in color a tinge of gray in his cold flesh, he looked dead. He felt dead even with his ragged breath coming out in shallow gasps.

Trepidation dripping from his face as his wispy frame curled up in a fetal ball. He was deep again. The same haunting images passing through his eyes as every night. Surrounded by the profound barrier of a painless dream, yet it killed him. Buried in its confines willingly because at least here whatever fatal whim or vision he was showered with, whatever he sorrow he felt or saw while girdled by these adamant barriers… he knew it was fake. A nightmare and nothing more, but it didn’t ease the sickening feeling any.

On days where the agony devoured him, where he was completely lost, he surrendered to the feeling. He allowed it to control him, taunt him, and in a demented way, he enjoyed it craved it. It felt good to surrender, to give in, where he could be dominated by something else. But he knew that if he gave in anymore he’d lose all sanity.  Which wasn’t far away for him.

One audacious phantom hovered over the little lion’s face casting a black shadow across his timid features. It reached its long lanky fingers out to trace a line over his scar lightly. Squall recoiled and shuddered, as the nightmare grew more intense and gruesomely vivid, but he refused to give up his private void. On the other side of those closed lids a sinful day awaited. Fighting with his body he remained captured in his personal hell, just for the sake of holding off day a little longer. He knew it was just a matter of time.

And then the clock chimes struck.

Drifting into consciousness thick black lashes peeled open slowly calmly, like nothing had happened. Sitting up the thin sheets plastered around his sticky waist. Beads of moisture dripped from the wet strands of his hair down his heaving chest and taut stomach. His skin shimmered from the sheen of sweat coating his body and straining muscles. Like after every day he awoke with no memory of his dream. It was another blank page in his book of life.

His face collapsed in his trembling hands feeling his gasps warm against his palms. The phantoms whirled around him whispering ‘death, death, death’ in his ears. He cringed still tasting death on the tip of his tongue, smelling it’s awful stench thick in the air. 

Dearth was his pathway to paradise. He hadn’t taken it because he was too cowardly to end his life. He couldn’t take his life with his own hands…This was his prison until some miracle was placed on his petty soul.

“ Fuck.” He hissed before throwing the sheets off his body violently.

He stood the cold piercing his skin like icicles but he remained unfazed. It was always cold it never seemed to stray far from him ever. His legs were wobbly and undependable still…but wasn’t everything. Anticipating the dread that crept up on him, the cold chills spiraling down his back, the resentful remorse that lingered with every breath. It was overwhelming.

Grinding his teeth together to restrain the seething demon clawing at him, demanding release he wouldn’t allow. Sleep beckoned him with a promise of restoration, freedom from reality. But sleep couldn’t claim him because life had already left its markings on him.

Growling he ambled toward the bathroom his intentions itching at his skin yearning with anticipation for what was to come. But before he could turn the corner his eyes latched with the mirror screaming out his name His body on impulse stopped, muscles cramming together refusing to move. Frozen in time he forced himself to muster the courage to look at the reflection in the mirror.

Staring back was a man identical to him. Held in a trance by those steel gray eyes mimicking his own. The dark lucid waves thrashing about with the impending storm of emotions brewing inside. His syrup brown hair veiling across his dilated eyes, which were direly familiar. His eyes became windows to his soul. The torment twisted and swam freely in the dark hue of his eye, while the misery snagged his last strand of hope, and tugged it tantalizingly, threatening to snap it in half. He didn’t recognize himself. He would swear that in the mirror that reflection was of someone else, but there was no denying the truth in front of him. Those same surreal eyes glaring at him through his window with that look of betrayal, illustrating what was strangling his soul inside. There was no feigning that.

Clenching his fists so tight his nails dug into his clammy skin leaving small imprints. That face wrinkled in a grim sneer. Spitefully glaring at his pitiful reflection once again. Scrutinizing himself as others perceived him with his once hopeful eyes to a self-esteem-diminishing stare. Now he understood why he didn’t deserve happiness.

He was a monster… 

This is what had become of him.

It was then the demon clawed free. He heard his last tension strand snap as he lost his self-control. With his pent-up anger he plunged his fist into the crystal cold glass. Shards of the sharp mirror slicing into his knuckles, sprawling all over the carpet. The corners of his mouth twitched up imitating a smile. No more reflection, no more pain. One of the pieces flew up and gashed the side of his pale face. The warm crimson blood poured from the cut down his cheek dripping one drop at a time onto the white carpet, blotching onto the glass fragments.

He examined his hand, his fingers curled in a ball still. Tiny glimmering particles of the mirror buried deep in his flesh, meshed with his bone. Turning his fist around and opening it he saw the bleeding imprints from his nails and the long thin pieces he’d grabbed from the mirror penetrating his soft skin. Thick droplets seeped from each wound trailing a line down the protruding vein in his arm.

He didn’t do as much as flinch, until he looked down at the mess by his feet. All the sections strewn over the ground distorted his reflection. But he caught sight of his eye in a long thin piece. He wished he hadn’t. The bliss in his eyes was in shambles just like the mirror in front of him.

Dropping the fragments in his hand letting it fall limp by his thigh, smearing the warm liquid across his creamy flesh like a design.

“ Fucking life!” He hissed through clenched teeth before ambling toward his destination with a newfound malice arising.

Slamming the door making the hinges rattle to the bathroom he slumped against the wall in sour defeat. He held his hands up in front of his face. Watching the harlot red mix with the pure white of the tile. The blood was on his hands again. He didn’t think he was ever purified from it but now…it stained. With that realization his whole body raked with quivers. Memories came flooding back.

Hastily his hands fumbled with the sink cabinets slipping on the handle once streaking it with gore. Forcing them open he snaked his arm under rummaging for something. Knocking everything else over in the process heedlessly.

The itched scaled his swelling flesh as he found what he was looking for so eagerly. He almost dropped it he was shaking so hard. Twisting the cap open he poured the remaining contents in his palm. Only four left.

“ Shit!” He cursed out loud.

He made a mental note to go pick some more up before the day ended or else he couldn’t guarantee he’d make it through. In one swift gulp he swallowed all four of them. They lodged in his dry throat but he forced them down.

He needed this, needed it now. The bottle and cap slipped from his grasp with a satisfying clunk landed on the tiled floor and rolled. His hand fell limp in his lap. The world through his eyes was all a blur of black. Shutting his lids he saw those inner demons soaring out attacking him with claws and fangs. He saw his once alive dreams, wishes, bliss shredded into morsels stuck in their fangs like flesh from a prey. This is why so many hadn’t made it through. Slowly the pain was fading. But not the memory.

Numbing his senses, his body, and his mind. He needed something to hold onto just in case he cracked. Although poisoning his body barely helped…he was desperate. He had no choice.

It was this…or be locked up in some asylum. And here he was, the ice prince, the Leonhartless by association drugged up…just to survive.

He really was pitiful.

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