Chapter Text
The silence was deafening. It made you hold your breath, made you want to stop the beating of your heart so it wouldn't cause the blood to rush through your ears in such a noisy manner that made you fear tinnitus. Even the soft sound of fabric rubbing together had you flinch only to later realise your own movement caused it. Everything was so much louder, though at the same time there were less sounds. There were no steps but your own, no distant shuffling, no soft knocks, no breathing in the walls. The house was dead and you felt as though you might as well be. It hadn't even been two hours since your outbreak but Brahms still hadn't communicated back. The first hour you had told yourself that it was good. That you needed some space and he needed to be punished. But the longer time dragged along, the more it felt like the punishment was actually for you. You weren't in control of this silence. He was. He held the power to end it whenever he so desired. You had no say, no power. Earlier you had felt strong and righteous to call him out, but now you just felt like an abandoned child, left to wait for a sliver of attention or affection. Like bread and water for a starving person. It was pathetic how often you looked at the walls or over your shoulder. You were even embarrassed of yourself for being so needy. You had felt this fear once before when you couldn't sense his eyes on you. But that was a brief moment. Now though you didn't know when it would end. You didn't know who would break first. He, causing him to return, or you. If you broke first it would be because of loneliness. You'd go insane. You were already spiralling.
The first hour you had waited, doing meaningless tasks, but you had waited for him. After that you found yourself clinging to the familiar routine again. As much for your own comfort as in hopes that perhaps caring for the doll would drive him out of hiding. You had talked to it as sweet as honey. Had treated it like a real boy, had shown it affection and care. With no one to watch you, to give the doll a soul, the actions had felt even worse than before when you simply found it unnecessary. But Brahms had been there, that's why it felt unnecessary. Now though, you were clinging to it despite the hollow feeling. The doll was lifeless after all, its soul had left the moment you realised that Brahms wasn't bound to it. The sweetness had left your movements and your words had left altogether. You were silently following the schedule. Handling the doll with just enough care not to damage it. The routine kept you from spiralling completely. You could string yourself along the hours slowly step by step. But it all felt so much more empty than it ever had before. No matter how often you glanced around the room you were currently in, or down the hallway, the doll never more than 2 meters from you, there was no sign of him. No sounds. No moved objects, nothing disappeared or appeared. He had really decided to withdraw from you. As much as you wanted him back watching over you, it was too soon to ask. Based on the severity of his tantrum, he might need longer to calm down.
And technically you were still mad at him too. You know that you had to be, even though when you searched yourself that anger had turned into fear. Fear of being left alone, fear of being abandoned, fear that you had upset Brahms in a way that you wouldn't be able to mend. You longed for him to return, even banging the doors and scaring you would be preferred to this silence. But you couldn't give in just yet either. If he was punishing you, you also had a right to punish him. He had behaved erratically and made the situation worse after all. Your mind was like a light switch, changing between guilt and fear to righteousness. Every second you changed your mind. It was insanity. Even more so than when you pondered the existence of ghosts because of Brahms actions. There was no clear path laid out before you on how to proceed. No rules that would tell you which would be the right decision. It scared you. You were hanging in the air. A feeling that you hadn't had to deal with for a while now and apparently your mind had forgotten how to. You had grown too accustomed to the schedule, to everything having a certain form and shape that you could anticipate. But this situation didn't give you any of those comforts. You were left to guess and decide by yourself. No one could help, not the soulless doll and certainly no one else in your life. You wouldn't be able to explain the situation to them properly. It was too private, too close to your innards that no one else was allowed to see. Your guts were ugly and lonely. No one outside this manor should realise the state of the rot you carried.
Perhaps Brahms had seen them, perhaps he had been able to see through you. If so, was it before the gifts? Or was it just now and it caused him to hide from you. Your words toward him had been fuelled by emotion and ugly. Sticking to your gums and teeth as they fell out like sludge, running down your chin and spreading on the floor around you. It was the ugliness from your organs that came up as a thick soup and now was leeching on the manor. Maybe you didn’t deserve any of the gifts, didn't deserve anyone watching over you. You weren't a good person. Lonely and forever hungry. A coward and a glutton.
You barely ate any of the dinner you had prepared. It was simple pasta and ready made tomato sauce. You had attempted a more elaborate meal first, but the Band-Aid around your finger was proof that the start of that was already cursed. After the small accident, which usually would not have been a problem, you changed your plans and decided on the easiest warm meal you could think of. Too easily irritated by the smallest mishaps today. The mood in the last hours had changed too rapidly, leaving you to pick at your nails erratically as your eyes constantly scanned your surroundings. Your ears on high alert as you occasionally gave the doll a glance as well, if only for good measure. Even in this silence you were certain that the doll had nothing to do with the situation anymore. But you carried it along for the schedule's sake. If – no, when Brahms would decide to come out of hiding, you didn't want to upset him right away again by disrespecting the rules. Though to you, the doll was simply an uncanny reminder of your current loneliness. You didn't even finish dinner, instead opting out to freeze an especially big portion away. Perhaps he'd return if he saw that. Maybe hunger would bring him back to you. Though you didn't count on it.
With the doll you moved back to the study. There was still time until you'd need to put the doll to bed and strangely you felt like writing a letter to your friends. You could mail them or call them of course, but to actually write and send something seemed more personal right now. That and you weren't in the mindset to deal with a reply right this moment. Except if it came from Brahms of course. Maybe you should write him a letter too but what would you even say, that you hadn't already told him earlier. As much as you wanted him to be your invisible guardian again, you also knew that you were right. In a way. So an apology letter also seemed unfitting. Perhaps tomorrow. You felt dread fill you at the thought that the following day would be equally as silent and quickly grabbed the old expensive letter kit that once belonged to Mr. Heelshire to write letters to your friends. It was a luxurious thing. A golden fountain pen with an ink jar for refilling. Paper that was thick enough not to let the ink bleed through with a satin-like touch, neatly stacked on top of one another, with matching envelopes of similar quality. A golden letter opener shaped like a red crowned crane lying in its own little destined place in the wooden box that held the items. You had always been more than a little envious of the people who owned such a set, even if you hadn't written many letters past childhood.
As luck would have it, some stamps could also be found in a drawer, even international ones. Unsurprising really, judging by the family's status. Living by a small town seemed much more like a choice than a necessity. You'd just have to find a way to send the letters in the near future. Perhaps Malcolm could take them sometime once you were on better terms with him again. The postal service didn't come here regularly after all. Only that one time to deliver the Heelshires letter.
You busied yourself with writing, the doll on a chair next to you as the sun slowly went down. Multiple times you had to start over due to too much information slipping out of your fingers and onto the paper. More detail than you originally wanted to share. But perhaps you were a bit too emotional still. Guilt poked your heart every time you wasted one of the high quality papers. And yet that didn't stop you from trying until the sun had completely gone down and there was nothing but darkness outside.
The moon was hidden behind thick clouds that did not break yet as you finished the letters and gently folded them to place them in individual envelopes. Once the addresses and stamps were on, you arranged the letters on the desk before looking at the doll again. Your jaw clenched as you let out a resigned sigh.
“Still sulking, hm?”, you asked in a hushed voice but of course you didn't expect an answer. You were still alone. You could feel it in your bones. The slight thrill that had continuously flowed through you while staying here wasn't there. The once uncomfortable sensation had changed into a nice blanket that almost always enveloped you. Without it you felt cold and unsafe. You couldn't hide under it anymore. Before it had felt like you had hidden under the blanket with the monster under your bed from the outside world. Just now the monster had turned into a companion. You had both been hiding under the blanket, but now it was just you again. You alone, without a blanket. If anything were to decide to intrude now, there was no buffer to protect you first. It was uncomfortable. But you had to accept it for now.
You grabbed the doll and set out for your bedroom, as usual. It was late enough to follow the typical night routine. Tuck the doll in and kiss it good night. The porcelain against your lips felt even colder than normal but you tried not to dwell on it. It was placebo most likely. “Good night.”, you whispered with a hollow tone as you gave the lifeless eyes another studying stare. Of course there was no answer and you turned to leave for the bathroom to get ready for bed yourself.
You avoided looking at yourself in the mirror as best as you could. You wouldn't like what you would see right now. Somewhere you had lost your sense of self. It hadn't been as apparent with Brahms around but now you could feel it. A piece was missing. It had vanished slowly, cracked away bit by bit without you even noticing. And now you couldn't even remember what you were missing. What had been chipped away from you. All you felt was an empty space in your soul that desperately needed to be filled with something. Something that you couldn't give yourself anymore. You stared down at the tiles as you tried to remember how you had been before coming here. What you had lost, what had faded away. You thought of friends, of family, of hobbies and interests you weren't pursuing right now. You could pick everything up again, you'd have the time, and yet that wasn't it. Even if you picked up one of your old hobbies again until your fingers bled, the hole wouldn't go away. You didn't need to try to know that the issue ran deeper than that. Something had fundamentally changed. Your innards had rearranged to leave space. Space that previously was inhabited by Brahms. But with his absence there was nothing but an empty mold. You could pour anything in it to fill it, but it wouldn't be right. You'd only feel complete if the right thing slipped into the vacancy.
Something that would make you feel whole and warm again.
Without a resolution you return to your bedroom. Hoping that the doll had been moved, that something had been taken. You'd even accepted your room being a mess. Just anything that wasn't done by yourself. It was humiliating how much you longed for the tiniest scraps. You even made sure to pay extra attention where everything was lying right now, in case it was moved during the night. The sweater that you had been wearing still held onto the woody, musky scent that you knew to be Brahms’. You didn't hang it over the chair, nor put it to the dirty laundry. Instead you held onto it as you climbed into your bed. You tried to hug it close to yourself as you curled up as small as possible, every extremity tucked in and the blanket pulled up to your ears with your nose buried in the sweater. But even then you felt naked and exposed, with no watchful eye over you. You tried to sleep for a long while. Tossing and turning and occasionally staring at the dark ceiling. Nothing felt right. Everytime you thought you had found a pose you could sleep in, something turned out to be wrong. The blanket was too tight or too loose. The side you were lying on suddenly got uncomfortable. The pillow was too warm. There was always something that forced you to move again.
It was 3:34 am when you sat up tired and frustrated. The sweater still in your hands, your fingers curled tightly around the fabric. In that moment you gave into an idea that had formed a while ago, but you had thought you were stronger. Clenching your jaw in embarrassment you grabbed the doll and exchanged the neat suit jacket for your sweater. It was much too large but it gave the doll the slightest sliver of soul with its scent. And in turn made you feel less alone. That was all you needed at this moment. You slung your arms around the doll and hugged it tight as you tried to find sleep once more. With some difficulty, you finally succeeded.
The morning had been just as silent as the evening before. Brahms still hadn't communicated. Everything was in its rightful space as well. Nothing moved or taken. Breakfast wasn't made either, so you had to do it yourself. Outside of the manor it was surprisingly foggy. If it had rained at night, it must have been between 4 and 6 am. Anything else you would have heard. The doll was still wearing the sweater as you sat with it for breakfast. Taking it off seemed like a bad decision right now. Until Brahms would return, you needed the slight feeling of life with you. Otherwise you felt as though you'd wither and rot completely. Too used to the constant attention and company. Even an hour of privacy had you antsy but right now it had been almost a day. You were holding onto a sliver of sanity, grip strengthened by following the well known routine. You had spoken to the doll once during the early morning hours. While the sweater helped somewhat, talking to the doll still didn't feel right anymore, so you stopped. Instead you silently followed the routine and tried out some of your old hobbies in between the schedule so you wouldn't have to sit with your thoughts. Any hobby that the manor would allow anyway. Writing, drawing, reading, basic origami and the like. You picked up different language dictionaries that the Heelshires had. Anything to fill the time and void.
When the doorbell rang you almost froze. Having completely forgotten about the promise you had made just yesterday. Malcolm must be by the door, it was eight in the evening right now after all. While wallowing in self pity you hadn't thought of what you'd do when he'd come to pick you up. It was already dark outside too, so he might even see that you had some lights on. Luckily you only turned on some smaller lamps in the study you were on and the light of the hallway; none of which were in direct view of the front door. Though he might see the residual light of the hallway flooding into the rooms that were facing the front of the manor. What would you do? You certainly couldn't leave the manor. Not right now. Not with the current state of things. Even yesterday you were sure you wouldn't go, but the feeling in your gut that had formed the second you had heard the doorbell only solidified your decision. You couldn't leave. You couldn't leave Brahms alone and you couldn't go face the world either. You weren't ready. A piece of you was still missing after all. Your shoulders tensed again as the doorbell was pressed again. You didn't move, barely even breathed, as if Malcolm would be able to hear you from such a distance with multiple walls between you. The guilt tried to claw its way back into your heart but you shook it away. When he would come by for deliveries in a few days, you'd tell him you accidentally had fallen asleep. And afterwards the phone line was down again. Something along those lines. You didn't want to hurt his feelings, but he wouldn't understand why you couldn't go. He’d keep pressing or would just drag you out. As if he knew what was best for you.
There was a resounding knock from the front door. It sounded so different from Brahms’ knocks, it made you a bit sad again. But you still didn't move. Frozen on the chair you were sitting on while staring out the window on the opposite side of the manor. You just wanted him to leave you alone. As horrible as it felt, it'd be even worse with Malcolm around. He wasn't part of the daily routine. He was part of the weekly routine instead. And he should stick to that like you and Brahms were sticking to the daily schedule.
You could faintly hear Malcolm call your name from outside, it almost made you flinch. You didn't want him to use your name. It felt wrong. Like he was trying to squeeze himself in that empty place inside you. But he didn't fit it at all. You felt as though he tried to invade your soul and wear it like a suit. You hated it. You couldn't and wouldn't leave. Eventually Brahms would come out again as well and everything would be good once more.
You waited a few minutes before you dared to move. Clutching the doll tightly as you carefully stepped out into the hallway, some floorboards creaked gently under your feet as you made your way to the front door. There was no knock or ringing anymore. Though you still felt a bit uneasy. You snuck into one of the rooms next to the entrance area. Staying close to the walls as you slowly moved through the semi dark. When you reached the window you carefully peeked out. You couldn't see Malcolm's car in its usual spot and there was no one on the porch. He must have left. You allowed yourself to let out a sigh and relaxed your shoulders slightly. You'd find a way to explain it to him in a way he'd understand when he brought the groceries. Though he might try to call before that. You were about to look for a way to disable the phone when you realised that that would probably also get him to check up on you tomorrow. Better not to mess with it and simply ignore the calls or take them and lie to him then. But today you wouldn't answer any, even if he did call. That way it'd be more convincing if you told him that you had fallen asleep at least.
After the brief shock of this situation, you cleaned up the study briefly to busy yourself some more before starting the nightly routine again. As you stood in the hallway with the doll in hand, you briefly knocked against the wall. It was gentle and brief. A small attempt to reach out to Brahms. But there was no answer whatsoever. Just cold lonely silence that dug its teeth into your heart. But you were too stubborn to knock louder or call for him too. You couldn't allow yourself to fold just yet. And maybe he needed space, as much as it pained you. The doubt that berating him had been wrong grew in the evenings especially. After sleeping you were sure of your actions but once the sun set and the day neared its end, doubt made a nest in your brain. It could only be controlled by attempting sleep and waiting until the sun rose again.
You were alone on a roller coaster that you weren't in control of.
A roller coaster with two seats that you were not allowed to leave. Buckled in for an unknown amount of time.