Memory
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It’s been days since he left his room.
Alois was prone to these sorts of prolonged periods of depression. Emotional troughs which were only broken up by the prolonged periods of overwhelming joy. These emotions could last for days at a time, months even, as his fragmented mind struggled to find more stable ground in reality. He just lay in bed, only getting up to use the bathroom. He didn’t eat the food that was given to him, not unless Claude did all the work of forcing it into his mouth, much to his distaste... Worse of all, he did no work whatsoever like this. He only changed his clothes when the demon forced him to, and even then it was obvious that the butler couldn’t possibly force him to do anything else in that state of mind-- nothing would get accomplished.
He lay there, standing at the ceiling, ignoring the numbness in his legs and lower back. Alois didn’t care that his limbs were falling asleep, he didn’t care that the sunlight that was pouring in through the curtains hurt his eyes, all he cared about was staring off into space it seemed. His mind was elsewhere. What little crime that he committed was his brain musing over now. He wouldn’t be thinking of the bigger atrocities he’s done, he knows they are wrong and committed them with that in mind, but other ones... Ones that he didn’t mean to do... they stayed at the forefront. Taunting him. Such as how he fell on his ass while dancing with Ciel, or how he tripped over a maintenance man in London and got big scrapes on his knees, even how he was practicing horseback riding only to go the wrong way on the course and accomplish the whole mock course essentially backwards!
It was those tiny embarrassments that wriggled deep into his brain like parasites. He loathed himself for it. His heart was poisoned by his hatred. Not hatred for anyone else but himself. Playing his mistakes like a movie in his brain as he lay there, staring up at the ceiling. Phantom touches made his skin twitch, for a second he could have sworn he felt hands grab onto every part of his body, as though reaching out of the bed underneath him. He could have sworn he felt that breath on his neck, a whisper. ‘Your eyes are disgusting, the color of rust on the pipes.’ A gasp as he jolted into alertness, his entire body tensing up. There was no light in the window, only darkness. Night had since fallen-- strange how all time was lost when relieving terrible memories.
He rolled over to his left side, facing the door, to see Hannah... She had come in to do... something. He didn’t know what, didn’t care enough to know what, but she dragged him out of his terrible memories. Alois sat up, feeling the cold sweat all the more prominently now. “What are you doing in here?” He asked, his tone sharp, and yet there was a certain tremble there. The blond was terrified. Mortified even. He wanted to get out of bed, to get as far away as those phantom hands as possible, but he just didn’t have the energy.