Chapter Text
Thump Thump, Thump Thump, Thump Thump.
He could feel the rush of blood rolling against the insides of his veins. Drenched in sweat, his brown hair stuck to the corners of exposed skin against the profile of his face on each side. His arms and legs felt like they weighed a metric ton. His brain was on fire. He felt the bed beneath him, the cotton sheets were soaked.
Did I piss the bed?
He let his hand reach his nostrils - curiosity and embarrassment getting the better of him, and the putrid smell of sweat enveloped the inside of his nostrils. He’d sweat so profusely in his sleep, that the sheets absorbed most of the moisture.
He could feel his heartbeat thrumming through his body as he sat upright in bed. His eyes blinking the sleep-coated haze away. He could feel his body trying to rewire itself to acclimate to the waking world around him.
The room was still cloaked in darkness as his eyes adjusted. A bluish white tint shrouded the area around him. He paused to scan each item in the room.
Black computer chair. Black jacket.
Wooden dresser. Wooden coat rack.
Mirrored Closet. Open on one side.
Henry: Well well. About time you woke up, I was beginning to think you weren't going to wake up at all.
No. Not again. Not him.
“This isn't funny. You can't just show up in the middle of the night and expect me not to be freaked out.” Shane scowled. Speaking angrily as he pulled up the covers.
Henry: Really? What, are you six? Scared of the Boogeyman hiding in your closet?
“No. I'm afraid of a man, hiding in my closet at…-” Shane glanced at the clock and sighed.
“...3:36am. I have to be up in three hours for school.” Shane continued.
Henry: You're scared? I am sorry. That wasn’t my intention. I just wanted your attention. Isn't that what you want? Attention.
“Yeah, but not from you.”
Shane’s body found itself back in its regular state, as he groaned, pulling up the covers and grabbed his phone, heading into the living room, careful to not wake his mother and father who were sleeping in the room down the hall.
Henry: You can't keep hiding from me. You know I'm always here, right?
“Fuck you. I'm tired of seeing your face. You need to leave me alone.” Shane’s voice was disgruntled, ambushed.
Shane swallowed his words as he let another sigh pass through his lips. He passed the living room and walked toward the kitchen, where the back door was. He winced the moment his feet touched the cold linoleum floor. The kitchen was at the back of the house, and was the coldest room. He always complained to his mother that they should get heated floors for the kitchen, but his parents would always shrug it off and tell him he needed to just get house shoes.
He intended to, but his allowance always went towards - other things.
Shane reached for the golden knob of the door handle, and twisted, pulling open the door with the too-loud hinges. With a heavy squeak the door opened, and he glanced around the kitchen, making sure it wasn't loud enough to wake up his parents, before slipping out the back door.
Henry: How nice of you to join me on this cold evening. Ready to talk yet?
No. Shane would never be ready to talk. It was one thing to talk to his parents, he learned how to articulate his feelings with his parents, but this was an entirely different situation. He didn't have the effort, want, or need to explain himself. He wasn't going to force himself to talk if he didn't want to.
Henry: That's okay. I don't want you to talk anyway. Just - listen.
“Fuck you, I'm not listening to what you have to say either. It's not like you're going to say anything intelligent.”
Henry: Ouch. Shane. That hurt. Didn't your mother tell you that words are just as painful as actions?
She did, but that didn't stop him from feeling angry, and upset. Right now, the only thing Shane wanted to do was sit in the cold to regulate himself. Feel the burn of the frigid air against his unclothed torso and his feet. He needed sensory overload.
Henry: You can't keep running from me, you know. You're gonna have to face the facts eventually. You're always so tense. What happened to learning how to live in the moment? Isn't that what Elis taught you?
Elis. His therapist. How dare he bring up his therapy sessions. It was one thing to talk about his life, his family, his non-existent social life, but Elis, his therapist. That was something completely different. He always hid that part from everyone. He hated it. He hated talking, hated crying. Hated having someone listen to the stress and worry of his life, when Elis could be listening to someone with “real problems”. Shane never saw his anxiety or stress as a problem, only as a slight inconvenience. Elis however, saw his anxiety as an issue they needed to talk through. Elis gave him medication to quiet the thrumming noise of static in his head; tinnitus he called it. It lessened when he took the pills, but he never could sit still with them. He was always so - jumpy. Then they upped his dosage, and made him numb.
He hated that feeling. And Henry fed off of it.
Henry: Oh, don't be bashful now, Shaney-poo. Where’s that fire in your eyes? I missed angry Shane. He was so much fun. We got along great. We always were a match made in hell, together.
“Fuck you. I took the meds, they weren't working. They just made me feel - fake.” Shane grumbled under his breath as he reached for the small wooden stick that sat on the table turning it between his fingers.
Dexterity exercise.
He was taught to use a stick, a pen, a pencil, anything long with a good fulcrum. To twist and contort it between his fingers. The sensory, the concentration, it helped to quiet his mind. Elis taught him, because Elis taught him a lot of things. Things that he never would have guessed to do, in the heat of an anxiety attack.
“Shane?” Yuna called out the kitchen door, fully dressed in her robe.
“Mom!”
Henry: You're useless at hiding your anxiety, kid. Go tell her you just couldn't sleep. She'll believe you.
“Shane? What are you doing out here. It's freezing!” Yuna spoke, as she beckoned for him to come back inside.
“I was getting some fresh air. I - I couldn't sleep.” Shane lied with a half-hearted lilt.
“Shane. Don't lie to me. I know when you're lying.” Yuna scolded.
“I'm not lying mom. I needed to get air. I'm fine. I promise.” Shane reassured, glancing around the space where he sat.
“You need to get to school. It's almost five-thirty in the morning.” Yuna spoke.
“Okay mom.”
Shane huffed and stood behind his chair, pushing it in, before sitting the stick down on the table, trudging back into the house, and walking back to his bedroom, with Yuna trailing behind him.
As Shane flicked the light on in his bedroom, he noticed that his closet door was shut, the double mirror sat in front of him, mocking him with a disturbing silence that ebbed in his brain, scratched at the walls of his skull.
He turned away from his reflection in the mirror and saw Henry sitting on the bed, twirling a pencil - deliberately imitating him with a smirk plastered against his face.
Henry: Told you she’d believe you. Thought I was just being an asshole didn't you?
“You are an asshole. Fuck off. I need to get ready for school.” Shane spat as he made his way to his dresser, pulling out a pair of his highschool sweatpants and a black hoodie, practically the same outfit he wore every day. It was predictable. They fit him perfectly. He didn't need to fuss with trying to match anything. He could just throw it on, and call himself “fashion-forward” as a sports fan.
“You can't keep just showing up like this, you have to leave some time.” Shane grunted as he pulled the hoodie over himself.
Henry: I don't think you really want me to leave, do you? Always so demanding and bossy. I thought you wanted friends, Shane. I can be your friend. In fact. I'm your only friend.
“Leave me alone.” Shane shook his head, and grabbed his book bag, heading out the bedroom door, and walking to the front of the house, in the living room.
He sat alone, as he turned on the TV. Finding the newest hockey highlights channel, looking enamored at the way the players fought on the ice. He played hockey, but it was never that violent. His parents thought it was a good idea for him to get out of the house and join a club, so he joined the high school hockey club - and the chess club.
He was good at Chess, but he never really found his stride. He would always best his opponents and it was never a challenge. He was always three steps ahead of everyone else. He hated his logical sensibility because of that. Hockey was fun, and he was great at it. So great at it; in fact, his coach thought about signing him up for junior league, for Montreal. They emailed the head coach for the Montreal Metros and asked for a chance to meet.
Shane was elated.
Something he could do in his spare time, to keep him away.
That's when he saw him. Ilya Grigorevich Rozanov. Rookie player for Russia. He was fast on the ice, and a menace of a human being. Ruthless, and daunting. He was tall for only being a few months older than Shane. Sixteen years old and was already almost six feet, two inches. Shane did an embarrassing amount of research on him, the day after he first saw him.
In his communication class, he stayed on the computer for a lot longer than he intended to, after his project was finished. Of course, he was the first one finished with his work and had time to jump around different wiki sites, learning anything he could learn about Ilya. It was almost an obsession.
Months passed by, seemingly out of nowhere. Not a trace of Henry, as he kept his mind busy. He was taking his medication but they upped the dosage again, but by this time, his mind was focused on other things.
Hockey, and Ilya Rozanov. He couldn't get the man out of his mind.
“...and I told him he needed to be careful when he tried out for the Metro's but he insisted that he was ready.”
Yuna was talking to David and a few other parents who had kids in the hockey club, but Shane was zoned out. He kept trying his best to listen, but they were boring him with their conversation.
“Shane?” Yuna spoke.
Was he going to be able to play in the same bracket with Ilya Rozanov?
“Shane.” Yuna enunciated a little louder, with a bit of annoyance slipping through her voice, drawing Shane’s attention to her, finally.
“S-Sorry, What? I… I was thinking about something.” Shane stuttered.
“It better have been about hockey. This is serious. You have two days until you sign with the Metro's as a rookie player. You can't be day dreaming like this. You have to be ready. Aren't you excited?” Yuna responded.
Excited? Maybe. Terrified? Possibly. Being able to see Ilya Rozanov in person, eventually? That's a likely scenario.
“Sorry. I- Im very excited. It's going to be wonderful to play for the Metros. I've always loved watching them.” Shane responded, nervously.
Shane began counting down the days, he was anxious, but excited to play for the Metros, hockey seemed to be the only thing that kept his mind at bay anymore. It was his sole focus now. He researched hockey until his eyes were sore with fatigue, he learned gym routines, food schedules, caloric intake, speed stats. He wanted to become the greatest at hockey. Maybe then, that will show Henry he didn't need him anymore.