Lucas should have been able to sleep longer, tired as he had been, but he’d been plagued with nightmarish memories of what had happened to him, and woke up around ten in the morning, with Brandon and Jett both holding him. Carefully, he moved their arms and climbed out of the bed. He needed to move, to be up and about, and not feel trapped, love them though he did.
He walked through the house, grateful for the sun shining in through the windows of the rest of the house. He moved through rooms until he found a home gym kind of setup, and took pause. Memories of his ordeal came flooding forth, and in anger he hit the punching bag. It was anger at being a victim, anger at having not been able to protect himself or do anything about his captivity.
He hit the bag again, and set it swinging. After a moment he steadied it, and began hitting with both fists. alternating the hits. He had no skill with what he was doing or how he was doing it – all he was doing was trying to work out his frustration. So focused on his anger at the ones that had hurt him, he turned and lashed out with his claws at someone who came up behind him, only to find out that instead of an enemy, he’d clawed Jett’s chest.
“Shit. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” he repeated, over and over, sinking down to the floor until he was sitting.
Jett felt the wounds and hissed slightly as they stung. “It’s ok. It’ll heal. I’m more worried about you. What are you doing here?”
“Trying to work out some frustrations.” he said, wiping at his eyes.
“Lost in the moment?”
“Yea.”
“That explains why you attacked me. I startled you, it’s ok. Like I said, it’ll heal. I’ll be fine.” He crouched down to Lucas’ level and carefully reached out a hand to caress the side of the other man’s face. Lucas flinched at the touch. Jett growled inwardly, but there was nothing he could do to those that had given him reason to flinch – they were already dead.
“They can’t do anything to you anymore.” he said quietly. “They’re all dead – every last one of the pack who took you, and threats were made to others.”
“I know.” he said, and brushed Jett’s hand away. “I know that. But how do I deal with the aftermath? I can’t exactly see a therapist.” he said, a touch bitterly.
“Believe it or not, I have some understanding of what it’s like to suffer and have no way to seek revenge, or seek therapy. I’ve been through a lot – most of it you don’t know, though you do know a little. Suffice to say that I saw war as a way to escape.”
Lucas shook his head. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do. But you aren’t me. You were probably made of sterner stuff than I when you were my age. What am I saying? You were – you were fighting your first war by then; had a family by then.”
“Lucas…”
“Don’t…just..don’t. Okay? At least not right now.”
“If that’s what you want.”
“It is. I’ll come find you when I want to leave.”
“Alright.” Jett lingered a little longer, to see if there was anything else that Lucas wanted to say. When the silence persisted, he left, giving Lucas the privacy he sought.
For his part, Lucas wiped his eyes with the back of his hand again and stared at the blood that stained it. He hated himself right now, mostly for being weak. Maybe his father had been right all along, at least in that respect. With a growl, he got up and started hitting the bag again. He kept at it until the bag broke and he was shaking – though whether from hurt or anger he wasn’t able to tell.
Fighting wasn’t working. He needed to express himself in another way. After a moment of thinking, he called out Emilio’s name.
“Sí?”
“Could I ask for your help in obtaining some things.”
“Sí señor. What do you require?”
“Canvas, easel, paints, brushes and a palette.” Lucas gave specifics, and Emilio nodded.
“I’ll procure them for you in short order. Please feel free to head to a different part of the house. I will find you.” and with that he slipped back into the shadows.
Lucas was weirded out by Emilio’s sudden arrivals and disappearances still, but he tried not to question it. Instead, he roamed the house, looking for a good place to paint – somewhere with plenty of natural light. After perhaps twenty minutes, Emilio returned with everything Lucas had asked for. With careful determination, he set the large canvas up on the easel, and added various colors of paint to the palette.
He stared at the canvas for a while, letting his mind go to that empty place where emotion took over and his muse spoke. It’s where his most profound and secret works came from – things he’d never shared with anyone, not even family – they just sat quietly in his portfolio.
The first color he went for was black, for despair, and he used it to cover the whole of the canvas. Splashed across the black at varying points were purple, for fear; and across that was red, for the pain he’d suffered. Yet, the piece wasn’t finished. Here and there were dabs of white, signifying hope. When he’d completed, he came out of his psuedo-trance and blinked, looking at what he’d created.
Yes, it was satisfactory – it covered well enough what he’d gone through, and he felt a bit better. He set the supplies down, and wiped his hands, though not all the paint had come off. He supposed he could take a shower. He found himself nodding at the thought – a shower would feel great.
He called for Emilio again – this time to thank him for getting the supplies, and to ask for a change of clothes. He was, after all, still wearing the jeans they’d found him in. Emilio promised that a change of clothes would be waiting for him once he’d completed his shower, and with that settled, Lucas went upstairs to one of the bathrooms to take a long, hot shower, to not only wash away the grime, but to wash away the sore and the stiff, and take the rest of the feelings away – at least for now.
True to his word, Emilio had left clothes for him, and he slipped into the jeans and shirt – new, and a little stiff from the newness, but not uncomfortably so. With a contented sigh he slipped out of the bathroom and into Brandon’s room, leaving him with a kiss before going to hunt up Jett and head home. The canvas he was leaving for Brandon to discover. Lucas didn’t want it as a reminder just yet, if at all, but it wasn’t a bad piece of art, if he did say so himself.