In due time, Chrys’ wolfish howls and mauling were reduced to no more than whimpers and trembles. He stopped clawing at Niegel’s leg, instead clutching it for desperate comfort. A part of him recognized that Niegel was truthfully trying to help him, and that there wasn’t any malice behind the action. But the driving force behind his subdued reaction was his body dying on him. His body was at its limit. The adrenaline in him burned the remnants of whatever energy he still had. Not to mention how his screaming had only served to deprive his lungs of the air it craved.<br/><br/>Chrys didn’t retaliate when the man pulled him into his lap. What he did do was shy away from Niegel’s touch when he reached towards him. He was more than afraid. Terrified for his life. Chrys had never seen so much blood coming out of himself. He had made a hasty, foolhardy gambit and it had recoiled on him. It was a miracle that he hadn’t pissed himself. Somehow, his bladder remained stable enough throughout the turmoil to not release itself everywhere.<br/><br/>His vision went dark. His eyelids were too hefty to stay open with his will alone. He couldn’t even lift his hand if he tried. Yet he was kept at the edge of consciousness, all of his suffering not quite enough to drag him under. Chrys could vaguely comprehend the sensation of him being stripped out of his protective cloth cocoon, and being rubbed by a hot cloth. He shook his head when the cloth drifted near his manhood, where it was unwelcome and unwanted.<br/><br/>He was placed in a bed of warmth, a blanket pulled over his nudity. The fatigue in his body glazed over any sort of resistance he wanted to offer. With one final soft exhale, Chrys shut down.<br/><br/>----<br/><i><br/>
Chrys almost jumped out of his bed, hyperventilating. He ran his hands over his body, under his shirt and over his stomach. Nothing. There was no blood, no stitches, no bruises or any other wounds. His hand settled over his heart, where he could feel his heart beating erratically beneath his skin.<br/>
<br/>
It had just been a nightmare.<br/>
<br/>
He was in his bedroom. Not the guest bedroom at the Takahitas, but his bedroom at home. Everything was as he remembered. His hamper was full of laundry. His desk was covered in an assortment of stationery and notepads, full of notes from classes. It was as if he had never left for the Takahitas at all. <br/>
<br/>
Maybe that had been a dream too. Leaving for the Takahitas.<br/>
<br/>
In the air was the smell of fresh scrambled eggs being made, the signal for him to get up and eat breakfast. As soon as he had calmed himself down, Chrys rose from his bed in a hoodie and jeans. It was unusual, because he never wore them to bed. The hoodie made it too hot to sleep and the jeans were uncomfortable.<br/>
<br/>
As he descended the stairs and turned the corner to the kitchen, Chrys let out of a sigh. A gigantic shiver ran through his body, freezing him in spot. Something told him that he didn’t want to see what was in the kitchen. There was a monster waiting for him there. Something that wanted to kill him. <br/>
<br/>
Chrys backed away. But before he could go any further, Niegel appeared from around the corner. In his hand he had a handful of hair gripped. The man was dragging something with him. His eyes traced a path, from Niegel’s fingers to the hair, and to the head that the hair was rooted in. It was his mother, eyes bulging from her sockets, face frozen in an eternal cry. There were dark bruises on her throat. She was dead.<br/>
<br/>
Blood erupted from his mouth and his stomach. He couldn’t help but try and use his hands to stem the flow of it. Niegel dropped his mother’s head, and when her head hit the floor it disintegrated into pile of ground flesh. The man reached over, touching a hand to his hip.<br/>
<br/>
----</i><br/><br/>Chrys jerked awake, inhaling sharply. Over him loomed Niegel with a plate of eggs in hand. He was sitting in something hot and wet. It only took a few seconds for him to put two and two together; he was sitting in a puddle of his own piss.<br/><br/>He couldn’t help but stare at Niegel with wide eyes. The man was frowning at him in the same way his mother did if he did something she didn’t approve of. It made him shake. Chrys focused on breathing slowly; he was hyperventilating. There was a searing pain on his stomach where he had been cut by the glass, no longer dulled by adrenaline, that made him want to curl into a ball. It was all too much for him to process.<br/><br/>“Okay,” Chrys said tensely when the man spoke. He shifted in position, moving off of the growing wet spot. The blanket was starting to soak up his urine, but he used a dry portion of it to cover his crotch. “I… uh… pissed the bed.”