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by
Oh dear God, what have I done?
He's huddled over in the corner, his head bowed and his long hair hiding his beautiful face from me. He won't meet my eyes. Who can blame him? After what I did? After the things I...
Oh dear God, what have I done?
I ruined it. I ruined his happiness just when he'd found it, and I crushed every little dream he's ever had of being okay again. He was finally becoming happy, being happy, with himself and his life, and then I ruined it! I ruined everything! I broke him... Dear, God, I broke him...
I can see it in the way he's sitting pressed against the walls, trying to get as far into the corner as possible, the way he's closed in on himself, the way he keeps shivering and whispering incoherent words and sentences, the way he flinches like a caged and beaten animal, afraid I'll move towards him, do something to him, talk to him, touch him...
Sweet Jesus, Blair...
I want to touch him, to reach out and pull him close, hug him to my chest and cry. I wonder if the heavens would cry with me? I desperately want to tell him I'm sorry, that I'm gonna make this right again, but I can't. No matter how many times I say I'm sorry, it won't be enough, and nothing I could ever do could make this right again.
He came home smelling of someone else.
It wasn't the first time it has happened - he has come home with that very same smell clinging to his body several evenings every week for almost three months now. But it was nothing like tonight. The smell assaulted my nostrils - semen and sweat and male love. And he was different. He was sort of... glowing. He was smiling, and his entire body was radiating happiness.
Then he told me he'd met someone. I already knew that, but still I allowed him to speak. I don't know why. I didn't want to hear what I knew he was going to tell me. I didn't want to hear the truth from his own lips. I didn't want to face the reality and lose all hope - and yet I allowed him to continue to speak.
He had met someone. And he was in love. And he was loved back in return.
My Blair was going to move out of apartment #307, 852 Prospect, within the next month to live with the other man. The man that was not me.
Something inside me snapped.
Dear God, what have I done?
I wish I could blame this all on my Sentinel abilities, telling him my senses went on overload, but I can't. Because it isn't true. It wasn't the Sentinel in me. It was me. I would have done exactly the same thing if I was just Jim Ellison, regular guy and Joe-blow-nobody.
Hearing Blair tell me he was in love with someone who wasn't me... Dear God, I lost it completely. I raped him, beat him, screamed at him and hurt him...
And afterwards he scrambled away from me, over to the corner where he's sitting now, like a beaten puppy. He's scared of the world, he's scared of me... I can see his entire body tremble violently, and his skin is a ghostly shade of pale. A tiny, tiny strip of blood is on the floor close by him, and bruises are starting to appear on his wrists, legs, shoulders...
And sweet Jesus, his face...
I should have stopped, I shouldn't have started, I should have done something, anything, except that! And his eyes... So haunted and empty...
"Blair..."
He flinches at his name, but doesn't move otherwise. My voice sounds empty and way too loud in the silence, although it was hoarse and barely above a whisper.
I reach out to touch him, but the same instant I move, he presses further into the corner and I catch a glimpse of those blue eyes as they dart briefly up to my face, filled with fear. A startled, half-choked gasp forces its way out of his throat, and more tears come to my eyes.
Oh God, I really have broken him.
Then he slowly loosens the grip on his knees, before he suddenly leans forward and throws up all over the floor.
"Blair..."
He flinches again, then rolls over to his side. He is lying in his own vomit, he's bleeding and bruised, raped and hurt, but he doesn't even seem to notice his physical pain. Instead, he raises his gaze, trembling and insecure, to me and his eyes lock with mine for a moment.
Then he shudders violently for another second, before his eyes roll into his skull and he passes out.
I remain sitting there for a long time. I don't know what to do. I think I zone out on the naked body before me, lying on the floor in a puddle of vomit and small smears of blood. Then, I gather myself enough to get up, walk over to my partner's body and lift it up. Cradling him carefully in my arms, I carry Blair into the bathroom and fill the tub with water.
Lowering both Blair and myself into the tub, I start to clean him, gently washing away all traces of blood and vomit and spit and semen and other liquids I don't even want to try to identify.
Tears run down my cheeks again - they have been for quite a while - and I close my eyes, stopping my washing of Blair's body to hug him tightly to me.
Oh dear God, what have I done?
What have I done?
Then everything blurs and become a mass of swirling thoughts and horrifying visions and memories and dreams of naked Blairs lying in giant pools of blood, vomit, rapists and killers, and I just know I will burn and rot in hell. I'm not sure how I ended up here, but suddenly I'm sitting on the edge of Blair's bed, fully dressed, watching him as he slowly comes back to consciousness.
The second his eyes open fully, he bolts up and lean over the edge of the bed, ready to hurl again. I'd been expecting it, so I brought a bucket in here, and he empties his stomach into it.
Finally, he sinks back against the pillows again, and he looks at me with round, frightened eyes. I want to speak, to tell him how sorry I am, to tell him something, anything, to gather him in my arms and hold him and hug him forever. But I cannot speak first.
"Why?" he finally asks, and a sob makes its way to the surface, gurgling up his throat. Or is it my throat? Is it him or me who's crying? Both? I'm not sure.
"I..." I don't know what to say. "I can't explain it," I finally croak out. "I can't... I..."
"You were jealous," he says, his voice quiet and hoarse, making him sound like a five-year old who's just had a nightmare and asks for mommy.
"Yes," I finally say.
He becomes quiet again, before he slowly turns so he's facing away from me, and by his slow movements, I can see he's in a lot of pain. I long to touch him, to hold him, to hug him... But I can't. I've lost every right in the world to even be near him. I don't know how long we sat there in silence, before he finally speaks again. And my heart is torn from my chest.
"I'll be packing up my stuff tomorrow morning." A beat and a deep breath. "I don't think I will be seeing you any more, Jim." Another beat and another deep breath. "I think our project is officially over. Please leave my room, now."
I open my mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. So instead of saying anything else, I leave the room, closing the door behind me and thereby saying my final good bye to Blair Sandburg.
I slowly walk up to my own room, my steps heavy on the stairs. Once there, I crawl under the covers of my bed and reach out with my Sentinel hearing, easily picking up the sound of crying from downstairs. I allow Blair's pained sobs to lull me to a sleep filled with nightmares, and my last thought before I drift off is that I wasn't lying to myself or to anyone.
I've really broken him. And nothing I can ever say or do will make things right again. Blair Sandburg is out of my life. Forever.
God, how that hurts...
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