Calling Day: Conversation w/ Finch Ridlington
Orpheus felt his heart race as he cupped Finch’s face in his palm, the beating of a long awaited melody. Notes of anticipation hung in the air, a harmonious blend of desire and vulnerability between the two of them.
Orpheus barely had time to process Finch’s closeness before their lips met, a brief moment charged with relief, comfort, connection, and a profound sense of freedom and belonging that Orpheus had always longed for.
It was as if the opening of the intricate maze of his mind was finally visible, the light breaking through, the exit just within reach. Orpheus felt himself fall into it, his body begging for more, his mind spiraling and willing against him in a terrified rage.
Amidst the overwhelming emotions, a subtle undercurrent of pain began to surface, casting shadows on the clarity of the moment. The initial relief transformed into a mingling of conflicting sentiments—anger flickered like an unexpected spark, challenging the simplicity of the newfound connection.
A blur of images danced across Orpheus’ closed eyes. Suddenly, the light at the end of the maze was gone, the notes fell flat, the beat of his racing heart off tempo and frantic.
Finch pulled away.
Shadow recast itself over Orpheus’ mind, pulling him from the moment and tossing him back into the place he had been before, yet somehow colder, darker.
“No…no…no…” Orpheus backed away, his hands desperately wiping his lips, panicked. “No, I’m not-No…no I swear…I’m not-“ Orpheus stumbled, his weak legs giving as he fell back into his desk causing parchment and ink to tumble down around him. Orpheus slid back against the wall, his hands still slowly wiping his lips, his eyes screwed shut.
“No…please…no…I’m-“ His words were breathy, mumbled.
At Finch’s apology, Orpheus’ eyes opened wide, fixated on him.
“Get out!” Orpheus yelled. “OUT!" He screamed louder, his feral call mixed with fear and panic.
He didn’t want Finch to see.
Jerald quickly entered the room, having heard the banging and Orpheus’ cries, and he quickly escorted Finch out by the arm. Shooting Orpheus a worried glance over his shoulder, Jerald quickly shut the door and led Finch out of the estate promising to send word when Lord Langston felt better.
Orpheus’ eyes shut against the world again, yet shut or open, it did not matter. The flashes of images blurred and blended, taunting him.
His brother’s face. His eyes. Orpheus’ eyes. Those cold, dead, hateful eyes. That feeling. That heat. That longing. The smacking of the hot cane against his skin over and over. The burn of tears down his face. The image of Finch he could not shake. The memory he resented most of all. It melded with his brother’s now. A twisted image of hate and desire blurring in his mind.
“No! No! Please! I’m not! I swear I’m not! Don’t-“ Orpheus pleaded with the air, with his mind, with his ghosts.
Orpheus threw his head against the back of his wall, willing the images and memories to silence. Wiping at his mouth still, tears streaming down his face in a wet, hot blur, only adding to the warped vision of his mind.
Orpheus felt the tightness in his chest, a panic so strong he felt all the air pushed from his lungs. Orpheus tried to inhale, failing over and over in desperate gasps. Scarred and tormented, he felt the world falling away from him, blackened vision he had only known from the pull of alcohol and yet here it was. That same lull. That same pull that threatened to take him back.
Then a knock at the door.
“Lord Langston…” Jerald entered, swiftly moving to Orpheus in a movement so smooth it had to have been practiced hundreds of times before. Jerald removed Orpheus’ coat once more, pulling him onto the bed and shutting the curtains of his room.
“Sh…” Jerald whispered, wiping Orpheus’ eyes with a handkerchief. “He is gone. You are fine. Breathe.” Jerald said, taking long, slow breaths as an example.
Orpheus tried to mimic, but managed only broken cries and gasps. There was a desperation to his fingers that would not relent as they slowly yet steadily continued to wipe his lips until they turned red.
Jerald knew there was little to do until Orpheus calmed down, so he moved to clean the mess from the fallen items of Orpheus’ desk.
Orpheus sat, his eyes still shut, his shaking hands still wiping. The world seemed to move in reverse, his past humming an eerie symphony in his ears as images of every night swirled past him. Every touch. Every bruise.
Orpheus sat silently crying until he could not cry any longer. His hands growing tired and falling to his sides. His eyes simply staring at the wall in front of him.
mentioned:
Finch (@Caticorn)