Chains // self para
The plan was simple, really. Chandler would graduate high school with the highest marks and jump the next flight out of the city. Every major destination he pointed to on a map tucked away in his suitcase were all places he'd visit, the itinerary for each day meticulously formulated with the teenager's enjoyment in mind. No more boring meetings, no more lessons, nothing but new experiences and careless flings. Another part of the master plan involved taking Morrigan with him. It proved challenging, to say the least. The times they were spending together had grown closer to nonexistent and most often than not did Douglas sparingly allow the siblings in each other's presence for weeks at a time. Visits were mere minutes.
This has been a continuing trend since what Chandler dubbed 'the incident'. Four days of physical and psychological abuse endured by the Urie children who sworn themselves to secrecy over one single name. One boy perished brutally, another was saved, and he wondered if it was worth the price. Julian's avoidance at school leading up to their senior year proved the lies worked well enough despite Chandler's secret desperation to fix what he helped shatter. Nothing could fix this, though. An innocent teenager still died and Douglas still claimed his victories. Desmond was gone, sent away to the opposite end of the earth for his part in the scheming, and their father insured pure isolation for the two children who remained. It seemed he and Morri greeted loneliness as an old friend.
But even loneliness overstayed its welcome. Chandler didn't remember how it happened or when, a sneaking suspicion told him a combination of Morri's absence and spending every meal alone in his room instead of at the table touched the fever pitch, but the very thought of spending another minute in the mansion caused him to snap. All meticulous planning was tossed through the window from that point. Chandler would require improvising as soon as he ran for the hills. A plane ticket he hadn't even purchased yet swapped for the bus, after the bus ride, enough leeway booking a flight. There isn't any sneaking off on the private jet, no, he would find his own way.
Chandler hauled the suitcase from its place in the closet across the bedroom floor and almost too aggressively slammed it on his mattress with determination before flipping the lid open. He continued moving around the room, checking off the mental list in his mind of anything needed on his travels. Pillows, fashion magazines, socks, the framed photograph of his siblings, all stowed away. He approached the open closet again and began haphazardly yanking every outfit he owned from their hangers, stuffing them in the bag without bothering to fold anything properly.
"And where do you think you're going, boy?" Chandler immediately halted mid-pack and froze at the sound of Douglas' demanding tone, fingers still clutching the periwinkle dress shirt that had always complimented his dark locks. Their interactions were sparse like his time with Morrigan, a personal choice of avoidance, not including the fact any Douglas appearance instantly caused flashbacks of the video feed. The whip sounds filled his ears, the screams haunted him no matter how he tried blocking out everything.
"Anywhere that you aren't." Chandy resumed packing, knowing keeping his back to his father would only further agitate. Let him get pissed. "School's finished, your lessons ended the moment you sent your precious heir away, and I cannot stand living every single day of my existence under lock and key." His hands plucked a scarf from the mixed pile of his clothes, wrapping and unwrapping it around his wrists as a distraction from what will inevitably transpire the longer he spent in the man's presence. Curious, how satisfying it would be tying the fabric around Douglas' throat and watch him slowly lose oxygen. A demented thought. "There's nothing left for me here."
"What has given you the impression your freedom was still an option?" The inflection of the word freedom sang a sarcastic note Chandler wished he could scrub from his skin with bleach. "How easily you've forgotten your role in this family already." Chandler flinched as his father all but slammed the door closed to invoke their privacy, despising the way Douglas forced him into a corner like a trapped animal. "Believe me, boy, the second I find it suitable for your brother's return, the both of you will spend your waking hours training until the day comes when Desmond takes his place as leader. Your actions, Chandler," Douglas sneered, taking a step forward, "Your life belongs to me. The man you used to call father detested the sight of you, your own family abandoned you. I gave you purpose."
"You gave me absolutely nothing." Chandler threw down the scarf still in his hands and whipped around impatiently, "All you do is preach and proclaim how it's a duty serving at the great Douglas Urie's feet when he thinks gratitude is an automatic given. I am nothing more to you than a back carrying the weight of that pedestal you've placed Dezzie on." He knew Desmond might disagree on the contrary, but the dig wasn't clearly directed at him. "You pretend to treat me like the son you never had, but the only reason I'm here's because you found an opportunistic advantage ready to mold to your liking."
"Such insolence." The man growled, maintaining a calm composure despite his temper sparking at the first indication of back-talking. "I thought it would have been an easy solution handing over everything you craved on a silver platter. I provided a sibling you idolized, the mansion, an enticing inheritance hefty enough to maintain your endless hunger for materialism, yet, nothing satisfied you. You still held resentment and thanklessness. You rebelled." Chandler released a scoff over the idea rebellion and turned back around to resume packing his suitcase, hiding the eye roll. Douglas continued his point regardless. "You've spat in the face of my generosities, so I knew taking away all I've given was the only path I could travel making you listen for once. The price you pay for conspiring against me behind my back."
And there it was, the confirmation Chandler guessed rang true from the beginning. Douglas stood on his high horse, building up the teenager and handing over a position of power just to tear him to pieces when he wasn't a viable piece of clay that could be shaped. Chandler's persona wouldn't allow a snake whisper in his ear and create an obedient soldier. The heart inside his chest cannot cease beating with emotion's absence, no matter what Douglas wanted. "I did what I had to do for her."
"And look where it has left you." The statement hung over Chandler's head like a sharp sword seconds from dropping. An executioner's guillotine. He could take his bags and storm away without giving his adopted father one last backward glance, shove aside the ways he's had everything taken from him, and start someplace where nobody passed judgement on his preferences. Chandler was stronger than this, better than this, but Douglas wouldn't let his son forget he will forever be at his mercy. Strength can only last for so long. "Living in complete solitude. Your friends have forsaken you, my boy, and your brother wasn't here to save the day. Not even the little slut would comfort you."
Chandler gripped the sides of his suitcase, gaze flickering to the bed comforter as flashbacks materialized the echo of his huddled form. Shivering in the freezing cold, fingers and toes nearly turning to ice, and the intercom playing a screaming symphony. "Did you really think I wouldn't break you, Chandler?" Douglas took advantage of the boy's silence. "Your resilience was something to be commended, though, proven challenging. I could have dealt with you the same as I handle those who defy me. Beat you into submission if I knew raising a hand would hold effectiveness, but you'd simply take the hit and continue revolting."
The memories were trickling back for Chandy the longer he stood there, eyes squeezed tightly closed and the temptation of plugging his ears with his hands increasing, anything to block out the noise. He could feel the phantom sensation of fingers gripping his arms, feet dragging along the wooden flooring with resistance, the surveillance footage searing the images of bruises and lash marks inside his brain. "A mind is a fragile thing, my boy." Nausea rose at the back of Chandler's throat, threatening an appearance if he didn't swallow it down quickly. "If I wanted a worthwhile punishment fitting for the crime, I needed to strike where your heart lies. Sending your imagination running rampant with spoken description doesn't hold a candle to seeing it live, does it?"
Chandler suddenly caught a glint of metal at the bag's bottom, partially covered by the sleeve of a sweater and beckoning him. The conversation dragged the fact he had packed it out of his thoughts, covertly purchased from a discreet dealer in Newford. It wasn't easy orchestrating back alley deals with another faction when eyes were on him, but his fight-or-flight response had kicked in. "It had to be her." Douglas was testing him, goading him, the jabs were making his heart race and ears ring. He couldn't take this any longer. "You needed to hear the cracks of the whip for yourself to realize every bruise, every slash along her flesh, her screams, were of your doing as much as they were mine. Reminding you that you have only your actions to blame for the whore's suffering. Her blood's on your hands, boy."
Chandler could feel his hand involuntarily wrap around the handle of the gun before he spun angrily on his heel, wasting no time pointing the weapon at his adopted father. He watched Douglas's face convey surprised confusion and finally coming to settle on boiling fury. That he, a privileged son, would possess the sheer audacity to draw a handgun on a faction leader. "Enough!" The teenager bellowed. He never spoke toward Douglas in this manner and, fuck, did he feel powerful. "I'm so sick and tired," He ground out through clenched teeth, "of watching you pretend as if you can call yourself a father. What kind of parent beats their own child into a coma? What kind forces his son to clean up the aftermath or mentally torments his other? You're no father of mine." Chandler saw a change in the man's expression, something unreadable, like Douglas knew some secret he didn't. He hated it. "You fucked with the temperature of my room. You made me watch Morrigan's suffering, knowing I couldn't do a damn thing about it." Chandler's grip around the gun's handle began wavering, anger and anxiety causing his hands to slightly shake. "Here's what's about to happen, you are going to let me leave and I'm taking Morrigan with me. And if you have us followed," His confidence was already slipping, "I'll pull this trigger."
"Will you?" Douglas hissed with venomous intent, bravely stepping closer until the gun's barrel pointed a foot from his chest. He knew the consequences staring down a weapon, the threat of his life was forever imminent as a faction leader, and it's justifiable believing he could die at anyone's hands. Paranoia isn't a foolproof form of protection. "See, here is what I think is about to happen. I will allow you to leave on your little vacation without the slut under the condition I will have you dragged back here when I see fit. You take a step near her bedroom and she'll spend the rest of her days chained in the basement until she's married off to a husband who can beat her every single day." The older male tipped his head back authoritatively, "You are weak, Chandler."
Chandler slowly lowered the gun and settled his hard gaze on the man's cold eyes, a stare-down between father and his disappointment of a son. Maybe the brief pause was a mistake on his part or the perfect opportunity while his guard was down, but he never saw it coming. Douglas didn't hesitate raising his hand and slapping the boy across the face, the force sending Chandler to the ground with a loud groan and knocking the weapon from his hands. "I made the mistake giving you freedoms in the past, but this punishment of yours isn't over." Chandler heard his father speak as he pushed himself into a sitting position, a palm cupping his already reddening cheek. "When you finally make your return back home, you will never see her again." Douglas shook his head dismissively and made his way to the bedroom door, "That's a promise."
He didn't bother watching the other leave. Instead, Chandler brushed away the shock with dignity and finally rose to his feet in complete defeat. For the time it took packing his suitcase with what was left, the decision was already made for him. His traveling was temporary, his punishment for keeping his sister and the Reese boy safe permanent, and the journey around the globe was going to be done alone. The ride to the airport wasn't short enough, especially with the flesh of his cheek still stinging a stark reminder of Douglas' promise.
Chandler removed his cell phone once he was settled in his seat on the flight and dialed Morrigan's number before placing the receiver to his ear with hesitation. He knew the chances of Morri still having her phone were slim to none, but he owed his sister this. "Hi, Morri," Chandler forgone his usual nickname for her, feeling he didn't deserve the honor anymore. Not after what he just did. "I don't even know if you'll get this message or if you're aware I'm gone, but, um," The recording picked up his brief sniff, "I had to go. I'm sorry. If I had to keep living at that house listening to this screaming in my head, I couldn't, I couldn't take it. I can't keep fighting anymore." He cleared his throat, tears lingering at the surface, and evident when he nearly choked on them. "You're free to hate me, call me a coward, and it's warranted. I ran and I wasn't able to bring you along. I'd give you a million explanations and you'd still hold resentment." He released a steady sigh and nodded once, "Just know that no matter what happens, you will always and forever will be my sister. I love you, Morrigan."
The beep at the end of the voicemail message ended, cementing Chandler's destiny.
