[ closed ] I think something dark's living down in my heart.

[gramarye]

Who: Wolfgang, Benji, later Benny
What: Wolfgang goes off his meds, has a major psychotic break, and then tries to pretend nothing happened.
Where: Nawiedzonydom, Badside; later, Madrasati
When: Some nebulous point after the Spatters raid/riots?
Warnings: Drug use, body horror, self-injury, mental illness, psychiatric abuse of children.

Wolfgang's behaviour has always been a little erratic, but for the most part he is predictable. He likes to have a routine, as difficult as that is to work around how much he sleeps - sometimes half his day or more - so when he's suddenly awake all the time, it's pretty noticeable. He has these moodswings of manic energy, waking up at 3 in the morning and cleaning or taking things apart, putting them back together, pacing on the roof. He has long conversations with birds and the moon. He addresses people who aren't in the room and flinches every time he passes a mirror; in fact, he's covered up every mirror in his room. He won't look through windows in the dark. Sometimes he says things that make no sense and he'll either give up and withdraw or continue trying, obviously pained with the effort of it. But these are little things and they occur very far apart; in between, he's fine. Normal. He goes to work every day. He certainly looks a lot less sick than he normally does and he even mentions that he feels better than he has in months.

At one point he goes to a party and about midnight frantically calls Benji six times over the period of about a half an hour, begging her to come pick him up, becoming more and more incoherent until he is literally speaking nonsense. The train ride home is a miserable affair for him; he flinches at things out of the corner of his eye, hands over his face like he can block them out that way. He's panicked, pupils dilated, sweating, jaw clenched - obviously on something but he won't (or can't) answer what. What comes out of his mouth is word salad. Disorganised nonsense. It barely sounds like English. The exception is when he starts scratching at his skin, growing increasingly more distressed, get them out, get it out! like there's something under there and he doesn't stop digging into his skin until he's bleeding, crying, seeing something under his skin that just isn't there. He clamps his hands over his ears and whines like he's trying to block something out, but there's nothing there. At one point he mutters something about they won't stop talking, stop talking, shut up, shut up, shut up shut up shut up, over and over. He thinks "they" put "them" inside of him and he keeps trying to get "them" out. A few times, she can see what he sees - fleshy movement under his skin, like there are bugs crawling under there. All the lights in the house keep flickering on and off, phantoms appearing in dark corners and vanishing if looked at too closely, and outside it keeps varying between thunder and snow. It's dark all morning.

He finally passes out around noon and sleeps for half a day. The sun rises.

He vanishes into his room after that for three days - the door is gone, too, just a solid wall where it was, like it was never there - and when he finally emerges he behaves conspicuously normally, aggressively pretending that nothing happened, but slinking around with the air of someone who knows they're guilty of something and are hoping everyone else will just ignore it. Deciding to put some of that guilt to practical use, he's been cleaning the kitchen all day, in jeans and a tank top, scrubbing the floor on his hands and knees with a vigor that borders on manic the longer he's at it.

Comments

[cestrumnocturnum]

Benji is ill-equipped to help.

Help in any real sense, anyway. It's not an unfamiliar feeling for her, let us be honest, there are a lot of things in life that are much bigger than what her efforts can handle for all that she feels weirdly responsible to try and handle, which-- doesn't make it better, when it comes to someone she cares about. It is purely out of respect, and maybe some selfish fear that Wolfgang would withdraw from her all the more if he knew, that Benji does not simply call Dr. Vanessza Bernát without asking, which could be unpracticed and bad instinct. It's a good thing that Wolfgang re-emerges when he does, or she might have anyway, just out of an effort to feel a little less powerless.

She knows if she says anything right away, it will be because she is upset and she is upset because she is worried, and that's not actually a reason why Wolfgang should want to help himself. Instead, Benji goes out, because they need food anyway, and comes back with an eclectic mix of necessities, some baking things like flour and dried fruits, brown sugar and English...-style biscuit. Dark denim practically painted onto skinny legs, and light wool that goes down to her knees, all navy and grey, appears around the corner of the kitchen, and she doesn't say anything at first -- things get set down clumsy on the counter rather than put away as usual.

The scrape of scrubbing brush is at an uncomfortable crescendo, but it feels patronising to physically interfere. She finds a place to lean, watching, maybe hoping for eye contact judging by the tip of her head.

[cestrumnocturnum]

It's pretty early in the day, and if Baedal sports any kind of rush hour, Benji Ryans and Wolfgang Einhorn are fractionally evading it while the air is still very crisp from a cool evening. The walk to Echomire is not long, and if given opportunity, Benji prefers to do so than navigate the train system. The river is a peaceful presence of their left, and Benji freely leads the way, quiet but alert, boot heels clicking on cobblestone and dressed in blue wide-knit and denim, favouring fabrics that both drown and cling to her.

She's talked to Dr. Bernàt a day prior, and scheduled the appointment, spoke in quiet and slightly fretful tones about why she-- it's not for me, a friend of mine-- needs it.

Madrasati, to her, is familiar and welcoming, but it does have a stately, imposing vibe in the dim morning, pavement leading up to its old brick mouth, well-kept garden on either side. Her hand seeks out Wolfgang's without much in the way of thought as they approach.