Backstory

"Up. Come on, sleepy head. If you sleep any longer, we'll be late for the first flight."

The only reply from under the bundle of blankets was an incoherent whine of protest.

"No sass. We've got a long day ahead of us!"

The blankets finally slid down, a sandy-haired boy peeking out from under them. "I don't feel too hot, mom."

"Still? It's been a week... maybe we should call this off, and get you to the clinic."

Chris shook his head, though the action made him dizzy. "No, it's okay. I'm sure it'll get better. I just.... don't think I can handle flying right now. You guys should go."

"Are you sure? I don't like leaving you here alone."

"I'll ask Derek's brother for a ride to the hospital if it gets any worse, I promise. I'll be alright. You go have fun."

-o-O-o-

Convincing his parents to continue with their trip hadn't been too difficult, but more and more, it seemed like a mistake. Christen was miserable; his head hurt, the world was spinning, and he couldn't manage to keep anything down. Most of the next two days were spent curled up in his bed, aching all over, waiting for whatever this was to run its course. Still, he didn't want to go to the hospital; off all of the bravery he boasted, it was the sterile smell and rushed environment of a hospital that terrified him beyond compare.

Time seemed to pass too slowly, the grogginess of his head seeming to affect the clock as well. The two week vacation overseas could not end fast enough. Would he feel miserable until then?

As if the ache in his body was not torture enough, when the fourth morning broke, Chris found he had a new problem. When he opened his eyes against the light, they hurt. Not just the bitterness of facing the light after a night of restlessness, but a pain he couldn't explain. No matter how hard he tried, the pain refused to stop.

Finally, faced with no other choice, he pulled himself from the bed and stumbled to his parent's bathroom. They had to have some kind of painkillers. Anything would be better than this.

His eyes blurred as he sorted through the meds left over from the various injuries the three of them had managed to give themselves in the recent past.

Hmmm. Vicodin. That'd work, right?

-o-O-o-

 Sweet sleep. Agony. 

The two mixed continually, warring in his mind. The painkillers kept the pain at bay long enough to let him rest for a while, but eventually the pain became overwhelming, waking him from his uneasy slumber. 

Something was wrong.

So terribly, terribly wrong.

Christen cried out as his mind came back to life. His eyes! They hurt, fuck, so bad!

He fell out of bed, dragging himself to his phone. He had to call someone. Anyone! 

As he pulled his phone from his dresser, though, he found his vision too clouded to see the numbers on his screen. Without his eyesight, he couldn't see how to dial. Dammit!

The kitchen phone. One of those stupid old-fashioned phones, with raised buttons! He just had to get to it.... down the stairs, through the living room, stumbling into walls and begging under his breath for relief.

Finding the phone, dialing 911... he couldn't concentrate, but he managed it, somehow.

"Please!" He screamed into the phone as soon as he heard a voice on the other end. "Please, it hurts! It hurts so bad! PLEASE!"

"Sir, I need you to give me your name and address."

"PLEASE! IT HURTS! MAKE IT STOP!" Chris cried out. Every second compounded on his agony. "Three... three fifteen.... Walker street.... Please, it hurts! It hurts!"

"I have an ambulance on the way. Can you tell me what's wrong?"

An unearthly scream left his throat as he dropped the phone and fell to his knees. "IT HURTS, IT HURTS, IT HURTS! PLEASE! I JUST WANT TO DIE! LET ME DIE, PLEASE!"

Fingernails tore at his eyes, desperately clawing. He had to make it stop! Every tear and drop of blood that slid down his cheeks burned with an agony his body could not endure.

"KILL ME PLEASE! GET THEM OUT! MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP, MAKE IT STOP!" He screamed again, bloodied hands running across the counters blindly. He could cut them out. He just needed a knife, or something! Anything to make the pain stop! Anything would be better than this! 

He didn't hear the door open, or the voices calling out to him. All he could do was chant his pleas, begging for his suffering to end.

"STOP IT! I CAN'T- I CAN'T- I CAN'T!!! STOP IT! MAKE IT STOP! I CAN'T!"

Sturdy hands gripped his as he searched frantically, pulling him away. He fought against them, pain driving him insane, clouding his mind. He couldn't do this. It wouldn't stop. 

All he wanted was to die.

-o-O-o-

"Hold still.... there we go."

Christen sat still, as instructed, ignoring the remnants of pain that flared up as the bandage was unwound from around his head. He stayed quiet, wordless, as he had every day since then.

"Alright, you know the drill. Open your eyes the best you can for me, and tilt your head back."

The nurse was nice enough. Everyone was. But he could hear it in their voices; the pity. The sadness, when they looked at him. He heard them whispering outside his room at night, when they thought he was sleeping. 'Such a young life, lost', they said, as if he were dead instead of mutilated. 

But what was the difference? When he opened his eyes to let the nurse use those accursed eye drops on him, it was as if he had kept them shut. There was no world. No light. No movement, no life. Dead eyes, staring at a dead darkness.

"Scar tissue's still keeping you from opening them fully, huh?"

No reply. No nod of his head. What did it matter? Who cared if he could open his eyes fully? What point was there in it? He would never regain his sight. He'd never go on another trip with his parents. No more diving, no more rock climbing, no more snowboarding. Everything he loved doing was gone, forever. 

They were right. His life was effectively over. 

-o-O-o-

Those memories still haunted him, from time to time. The years spent in his room, disconnected from the world. Insisting his parents homeschooled him. It had been his nightmare come true. It had taken something drastic to break him out of his depression; his father had died. His mother was distraught, and unable to give him guidance and assistance in his day to day life any longer. Chris felt as though expecting her to continue to care for him, as well as to support him financially, was too much, too selfish. After the shock and sadness had finally worn away, he had enrolled himself in college, and moved into a campus dorm alongside his best friend. 

He'd thought it would be easier. A step towards living a normal life. He'd been so very wrong.

Christen still had to rely on his friend to help him; cooking meals, picking outfits, guiding him from class to class across the rather large college. All of his tests, he had to take separate from others, being read the questions and having to answer them verbally. He couldn't even get a job to support himself, having to rely on financial aid instead. It was humiliating. 

But.... it was a step. A small one, but a sure one. His life could be better, he knew. He just had to make it that way.