Underneath the Jacket
Posted: Fri Feb 14, 2025 12:07 am
12 Ashan, 725
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Something had been irking Tous. There had been something phantom strapped to her back, weighing down her shoulders. And it all had to do with her lover, Alistair. She knew his job was difficult and emotionally weighted, but there was something else going on. There had been clues that led her to believe he was acting difficult than normal and it wasn’t just because he had been coming home late. He was also leaving early in the mornings. And once he came home late at night, he shouldered her questions about how his trial went and strode right into the bathroom where he would spend practically breaks until coming out with an ashen and expressionless face. Tous worried about him and wondered why he was doing what he was doing. After every trial when he would come home quiet, she would ask him how his trial went, but he would say nothing other than the words, “it went well,” before pardoning him through the hall and into the bathroom where he would stay for breaks until eventually emerging with a strange smile on his face.
Tous tried to dig deeper, though without being invasive of her lover’s privacy. When her lover had returned home from what she assumed to be a hard trial of work, she offered a pre-cooked meal, though she was a terrible and sloppy cook. Alistair always treated her as nothing more than a decoration on the wall.
So she tried something different. After the sun had set and the moon had popped its head above the horizon, Tous had filled two glasses full of red wine- his favourite- and had sat on the couch to await his arrival. And as he came in through the front doors she would address him with an outstretched hand and a smiling face only to get a solemn look in return before he quickly went into the bathroom to do whatever it was he did.
Tous’s next action was to play a little harder. She had undressed herself, top to bottom, and even added a little consummation in the form of whipped cream for Alistair to indulge in. Only when he opened the door, he showed no such interest in her nonverbal proposition. He had looked at her with a sad smile before taking off into the bathroom to do whatever he did before bedtime.
After countless trials and countless nights of doubt and confusion, Tous had finally had enough. She no longer cared about Alistair’s reason for running off in the bathroom. She cared, and desperately wanted to know the reason for his swift and undeclared absence, but she was over not knowing why she refused to share with her why he came home everyday with a sour expression.
So, during a random trial in Ashan, Tous stayed up. She stayed up far later than she could have imagined herself staying up. It was breaks and breaks past her bedtime and she needed to go to work the following morning, but her concern of her lover trumped any design that needed tattooing on some random person’s arm. So she resisted the effects of fatigue by keeping her mind active. She drew, she wrote, she watched Daisyn play with the toys she had purchased for him seemingly eons ago until the lock of the front door clicked and invited in the one person she had desperately been waiting up for.
Alistair stumbled inside and closed the front door with a raucous that had Tous wondering why she had slept through the previous times he had come home.
“I’m not dressed in anything pleasing,” she said, mild sarcasm poisoning her lips.
“I can see that,” Alistair replied in monotone.
“You going to the bathroom like always?”
Alistair paused to not only doff his coat and hat but to think about the meaning behind Tous’s words. Did they mean something? Did they mean anything? Was she aware of what he was doing every time he ventured into the bathroom to spend who knows how long doing what he did?
“Maybe,” he finally muttered after some time before making his way across the living room where Tous had positioned herself against the couch and into the hallway leading towards the bathroom.
Tous assessed her lover every step he took until he was no longer visible behind the corner wall where living room met hallway. And even then she narrowed her eyes, impervious to the healthy facade he had tried to project. He had been walking with an unsteady gait. He had been guarding some area of himself, though she wasn’t sure what. And she had given Alistair more than enough privacy to do his thing until she had had enough of the lies. So she followed him as silently as her footsteps allowed. She clung to the hallway wall and moved as slowly as a possum that didn’t want anyone to know it was dying. Until, at least, she had come up to the closed bathroom door. Finally, instead of knocking like she always did (a treaty both her and her lover had made upon their initial relation status), she threw open the door only to gasp.
There, on the bathroom floor sat Alistair with a shaving razor in his hand, his shirt lifted up to reveal his chest where several bloody lines marked where he had intentionally cut himself.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Alistair shouted, his eyes filled with rage and his mouth opened into a void of utter disbelief.
Tous didn’t know what to say; she couldn’t say anything. She could only fall backwards until her shoulders hit the far wall of the hallway and dropped her to her knees. She shut her eyes as tears filled them, but she didn’t move. She wouldn’t move. She wouldn’t leave Alistair as he was. And she felt guilty for closing her eyes so she opened them as quickly as possible before looking to the ceiling to keep the rest of her tears from falling.
Before she gave her lover a chance to excuse himself, Tous sputtered out, “I’m over here telling you my troubles… like, because I trust you… I tell you what’s hurting me… and I trust you… and I hope you can trust me too… and then there’s this… but I can’t judge… I want to help… but why don’t you trust me to share….? I want to help you… when I tell you what’s wrong with me… I just can’t believe… I’m hurt, let me just say… but I know you can’t… still…”
Tous’s words faded out as the control of her muscles returned. She brought herself up until she was standing on two legs but she couldn’t resist looking at the marks Alistair had made on his chest with the razor, nor the blood that dripped from his wounds.
“Alistair,” she started, but was quickly overcome with sobs. She brought her hand to her nose to stifle the nasal drip that came from her nose. “I wish you could have told me why,” she said finally before turning away and heading for the bedroom.
She threw herself onto the bed and began to cry into the pillows. She felt betrayed, but not only that. She felt used. Whilst Alistair had been there for her during her times of mental and emotional crisis, where had he been when he was going through the very same thing?
As it occurred to her, the extend of trauma formed from her lover’s problem, Tous swiftly emerged from her spot hiding amidst the blankets of the bedroom to assess her lover’s injuries. Alistair was still sitting there, in the center of the bathroom with a thin, cotton piece of fabric held against his midsection.
Tous asked no questions, she didn’t even look Alistair in his eye as she demonstrated proper medical procedure to the best of her ability. She removed the cotton towel from her lovers midsection before flushing the injury with the water that came from the sink. She then assessed the damage made to the skin by looking at its depth, length, and width. After finding that the injury wasn’t worthy of stitches or sutures, the young Yludih started on using plasters to tape the edges of the cut together until what formed was nothing more than a line.
After she had administered sutures, courtesy of both common sense and learned experience, Tous began to analyse the surrounding tissue.
“What did you use to hurt yourself?” she asked. She refused to use the term ‘cut’ as it might invoke triggering messages,
Alistair kept quiet for longer than she would have liked, but he eventually gave in to say, “a piece of broken glass. The bathroom mirror is broken, but you should know that.”
Tous, in fact, did know that, she just didn’t think her lover would use it to hurt himself.
It was there when Tous’s medical understanding ceased. All she was able to do next was wrap her arms around Alistair and tell him that everything was going to be okay.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered into his ear as he continued to sit on the floor of the bathroom. “I’m so sorry.”
Time passed slowly.
“Please tell me next time when you think about wanting to hurt yourself,” Tous stated as tears fell down her cheeks. “I don’t want to lose you and I don’t want to see you hurt.” She looked into Alistair’s eyes before adding, “even if it is to yourself.”
Upon seeing such a fragile state of someone so dear to him, Alistair paused to think. His emotions were still all over the place and they would never stop, not until he could share with his lover the reason why he hurt himself, but for now, all he could do was remain sober and away from the sharpest of objects.
“Okay,” she said as he closed his eyes to sleep. Tous turned away just as his mouth turned itself into a frown. “Okay.”
Tous tried to dig deeper, though without being invasive of her lover’s privacy. When her lover had returned home from what she assumed to be a hard trial of work, she offered a pre-cooked meal, though she was a terrible and sloppy cook. Alistair always treated her as nothing more than a decoration on the wall.
So she tried something different. After the sun had set and the moon had popped its head above the horizon, Tous had filled two glasses full of red wine- his favourite- and had sat on the couch to await his arrival. And as he came in through the front doors she would address him with an outstretched hand and a smiling face only to get a solemn look in return before he quickly went into the bathroom to do whatever it was he did.
Tous’s next action was to play a little harder. She had undressed herself, top to bottom, and even added a little consummation in the form of whipped cream for Alistair to indulge in. Only when he opened the door, he showed no such interest in her nonverbal proposition. He had looked at her with a sad smile before taking off into the bathroom to do whatever he did before bedtime.
After countless trials and countless nights of doubt and confusion, Tous had finally had enough. She no longer cared about Alistair’s reason for running off in the bathroom. She cared, and desperately wanted to know the reason for his swift and undeclared absence, but she was over not knowing why she refused to share with her why he came home everyday with a sour expression.
So, during a random trial in Ashan, Tous stayed up. She stayed up far later than she could have imagined herself staying up. It was breaks and breaks past her bedtime and she needed to go to work the following morning, but her concern of her lover trumped any design that needed tattooing on some random person’s arm. So she resisted the effects of fatigue by keeping her mind active. She drew, she wrote, she watched Daisyn play with the toys she had purchased for him seemingly eons ago until the lock of the front door clicked and invited in the one person she had desperately been waiting up for.
Alistair stumbled inside and closed the front door with a raucous that had Tous wondering why she had slept through the previous times he had come home.
“I’m not dressed in anything pleasing,” she said, mild sarcasm poisoning her lips.
“I can see that,” Alistair replied in monotone.
“You going to the bathroom like always?”
Alistair paused to not only doff his coat and hat but to think about the meaning behind Tous’s words. Did they mean something? Did they mean anything? Was she aware of what he was doing every time he ventured into the bathroom to spend who knows how long doing what he did?
“Maybe,” he finally muttered after some time before making his way across the living room where Tous had positioned herself against the couch and into the hallway leading towards the bathroom.
Tous assessed her lover every step he took until he was no longer visible behind the corner wall where living room met hallway. And even then she narrowed her eyes, impervious to the healthy facade he had tried to project. He had been walking with an unsteady gait. He had been guarding some area of himself, though she wasn’t sure what. And she had given Alistair more than enough privacy to do his thing until she had had enough of the lies. So she followed him as silently as her footsteps allowed. She clung to the hallway wall and moved as slowly as a possum that didn’t want anyone to know it was dying. Until, at least, she had come up to the closed bathroom door. Finally, instead of knocking like she always did (a treaty both her and her lover had made upon their initial relation status), she threw open the door only to gasp.
There, on the bathroom floor sat Alistair with a shaving razor in his hand, his shirt lifted up to reveal his chest where several bloody lines marked where he had intentionally cut himself.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Alistair shouted, his eyes filled with rage and his mouth opened into a void of utter disbelief.
Tous didn’t know what to say; she couldn’t say anything. She could only fall backwards until her shoulders hit the far wall of the hallway and dropped her to her knees. She shut her eyes as tears filled them, but she didn’t move. She wouldn’t move. She wouldn’t leave Alistair as he was. And she felt guilty for closing her eyes so she opened them as quickly as possible before looking to the ceiling to keep the rest of her tears from falling.
Before she gave her lover a chance to excuse himself, Tous sputtered out, “I’m over here telling you my troubles… like, because I trust you… I tell you what’s hurting me… and I trust you… and I hope you can trust me too… and then there’s this… but I can’t judge… I want to help… but why don’t you trust me to share….? I want to help you… when I tell you what’s wrong with me… I just can’t believe… I’m hurt, let me just say… but I know you can’t… still…”
Tous’s words faded out as the control of her muscles returned. She brought herself up until she was standing on two legs but she couldn’t resist looking at the marks Alistair had made on his chest with the razor, nor the blood that dripped from his wounds.
“Alistair,” she started, but was quickly overcome with sobs. She brought her hand to her nose to stifle the nasal drip that came from her nose. “I wish you could have told me why,” she said finally before turning away and heading for the bedroom.
She threw herself onto the bed and began to cry into the pillows. She felt betrayed, but not only that. She felt used. Whilst Alistair had been there for her during her times of mental and emotional crisis, where had he been when he was going through the very same thing?
As it occurred to her, the extend of trauma formed from her lover’s problem, Tous swiftly emerged from her spot hiding amidst the blankets of the bedroom to assess her lover’s injuries. Alistair was still sitting there, in the center of the bathroom with a thin, cotton piece of fabric held against his midsection.
Tous asked no questions, she didn’t even look Alistair in his eye as she demonstrated proper medical procedure to the best of her ability. She removed the cotton towel from her lovers midsection before flushing the injury with the water that came from the sink. She then assessed the damage made to the skin by looking at its depth, length, and width. After finding that the injury wasn’t worthy of stitches or sutures, the young Yludih started on using plasters to tape the edges of the cut together until what formed was nothing more than a line.
After she had administered sutures, courtesy of both common sense and learned experience, Tous began to analyse the surrounding tissue.
“What did you use to hurt yourself?” she asked. She refused to use the term ‘cut’ as it might invoke triggering messages,
Alistair kept quiet for longer than she would have liked, but he eventually gave in to say, “a piece of broken glass. The bathroom mirror is broken, but you should know that.”
Tous, in fact, did know that, she just didn’t think her lover would use it to hurt himself.
It was there when Tous’s medical understanding ceased. All she was able to do next was wrap her arms around Alistair and tell him that everything was going to be okay.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered into his ear as he continued to sit on the floor of the bathroom. “I’m so sorry.”
Time passed slowly.
“Please tell me next time when you think about wanting to hurt yourself,” Tous stated as tears fell down her cheeks. “I don’t want to lose you and I don’t want to see you hurt.” She looked into Alistair’s eyes before adding, “even if it is to yourself.”
Upon seeing such a fragile state of someone so dear to him, Alistair paused to think. His emotions were still all over the place and they would never stop, not until he could share with his lover the reason why he hurt himself, but for now, all he could do was remain sober and away from the sharpest of objects.
“Okay,” she said as he closed his eyes to sleep. Tous turned away just as his mouth turned itself into a frown. “Okay.”