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Gilmore rubbed his temples; feeling another wave of tiredness as he sat against his office chair, staring at nothing in front of him. He listened to the faint ticks of the clock across the room. His eyes were heavy from the lack of good sleep from these past couple weeks, and his exhausted expression made him look more pissed off than usual. It was mid afternoon; the sun was still beaming through the clouds and shining through an opening in the curtains in his office. The warmth of the sun was at least somewhat comforting to Gilmore, as it shined against the side of his face. He didn’t feel like dealing with any sort of work today, he was too exhausted, he could barely focus.. All he wanted was some rest, but he couldn’t get that. Because of those terrible nightmares that have been keeping Gilmore from getting good sleep, these nightmares that have made Gilmore terrified to sleep now. It was embarrassing really; being so worked up over nightmares that it was starting to affect him in reality. It was making him paranoid and not wanting to be in dark spaces.. He shouldn’t be affected by it to this degree, but he was. These weren’t any normal nightmares, these were recurring ones, of the same thing. These nightmares that a very specific individual was in, someone that Gilmore couldn’t stand to see. He didn’t have these nightmares all the time, but they happened enough to completely mess up Gilmore’s sleep schedule. Right whenever Gilmore thought he fixed it and was sleeping normally again, he’d have a nightmare that would force him awake again. He’d sometimes go days without good sleep until his body would give in from exhaustion.
Gilmore knew these nightmares were the result of what he had done, this was his punishment, but he just wanted some rest, that’s all. He was alone in this office, it was quiet and peaceful there, other than the occasional faint sound of the city outside his window, and the clock. The ticks it made echoed in his brain, again and again.. That’s all he could hear now, the ticking. Time felt slower, he didn’t feel connected to where he was. Gilmore slowly took his tophat off and brushed some hair from his face. His vision was slowly starting to blur as he stared down at his desk, he was so tired. His head began to hang downwards, the weight of his head making it hard for him to sit upright. He couldn’t fight it any longer, his heavy eyes closed as his body gave in to the exhaustion. Within minutes, Gilmore had fallen asleep, taking soft breaths as he rested his sunken and tired eyes. Yet he was too far gone in his precious moments of slumber to hear the faint sounds of footsteps approaching his office door.
Without even knocking first, Gilmore’s office door slammed open, and the loud sound caused Gilmore to jerk awake. He shot his head up, letting out a faint gasp of surprise. The sound scared him half to death, his heart beating rapidly, squeezing his hands together into fists. His nerves were instantly on edge; his paranoia from the nightmares now taking over his thoughts. He feared the worst, but his panicked expression almost instantly faded the second his tired eyes processed who he was looking at, now walking towards him. Custer, Gilmore’s nephew, decided to randomly stop by, approaching Gilmore’s desk with that fanged smile that made Gilmore’s heart ache. He was holding something in his hands, stacks of papers that each had a printed image on them. It took Gilmore a moment to process what he was staring at on the papers, but he recognized it as something that had to do with Custer’s band. It was something he had devoted his time to ever since he moved. Custer had been relentlessly obsessing over it for the past couple months, it was almost all he talked about. Gilmore immediately knew where this was going, and he fought back a grumble. He didn’t bother trying to hide his aggravated and tired expression, already angry from being woken up so suddenly. He was too tired for this.
“Hey Gilmore!!” Custer asked with an upbeat tone, still grinning. His voice was loud and boastful as it echoed a little through the office. He didn’t seem to notice Gilmore’s expression at first, who looked completely drained. Gilmore did not answer his nephew, his eyes locked onto Custer, staring at him intently. He could still hear the faint ticks in the background, it was driving Gilmore mad, his eye twitched ever so slightly as he tried to force an indifferent expression. It was so difficult however, seeing that smile plastered on his nephew's face, it brought a mixture of sadness and rage to the older man. Gilmore should’ve expected that, seeing the son of the man who haunted his dreams for 10 long and languishing years. Custer’s face was just a reminder of what Gilmore had to deal with, whenever he stared into his eyes, Gilmore could see HIM looking right back, his brother.
Whenever Custer smiled; that fanged smile.. Gilmore would get a pit in his stomach, but he’d force a pleasant expression in Custer’s presence. Over time however, he didn’t have the energy to, and he stopped altogether, not even trying anymore. Now, he’d give Custer a look of indifference or seriousness.. Not only Custer, but to everyone else. Custer wouldn’t question it, just assuming it was how Gilmore was; always needing to be serious because of his role. This sudden change.. It was a contrast to how Gilmore used to be. He used to be a lot more silly, often quite unserious at times.. But now, Custer couldn't remember the last time he saw Gilmore in high spirits. To be frank, nobody did.
“Whatcha doin? You’re not busy with anything right now, are ya?” Custer asked, tilting his head slightly as a way to seem playful. Gilmore knew Custer was just asking a simple question, but his tiredness and his nerves still kind of high, made him highly irritable. He didn’t want to snap at Custer though, but he wanted to go back to his nap. Glancing at the papers again, Gilmore sighed softly, rubbing his eyes.
“.. What do you want, Custer?” Gilmore asked dully, and the punk blinked. Gilmore had ignored his question, only deciding to respond with another question. As Custer stood there, he seemed to take in Gilmore’s appearance, noticing how exhausted he looked, not to mention the fact he was ever so slightly shaking. It wasn’t cold here though, it was actually fairly warm. Custer placed one hand on his hip.
“.. Well I was going to ask your opinion on these pamphlets I made, with Jeff’s help of course-” Custer grinned, a slight blush on his face as he recalled working on the pamphlets with his boyfriend. It made Custer happy knowing he had someone that enjoys spending time with him like that.
“But.. No offense, you look like shit..” Custer added, his grin dropping a little bit. Gilmore scoffed in response, even though he wouldn’t deny that he did indeed look terrible. He brushed some hair out of his face, and stared at Custer, looking unamused. Custer felt slightly unnerved by Gilmore’s stare, perhaps he came in at a bad time, but he still wanted his opinion on these pamphlets. Or else he would have come here for nothing. He really valued Gilmore’s thoughts on things, looking up to the man severely, even if he didn’t say it. He knew that Gilmore didn’t care all that much about this kind of stuff, but he still appreciated the fact he’d give his opinion. Despite his slight unease, Custer kept his smile.
“Lovely observation, what do you want?” Gilmore asked again, more sternly this time, his patience running thin, which he barely had any to begin with. Custer laughed nervously.
“Look, I promise I’ll be quick. Could you tell me if these look great? Do you think we’ll get a shit ton of attraction from these?” Custer asked hopefully, taking one pamphlet from the many copies in his hand, and handing it to Gilmore. The older man stared at it, not bothering to take the paper. He could barely read it, so exhausted that it was hard for his vision to focus. He could only make out a few sentences, something about punk culture and stuff to do with the band in general. It also mentioned band rehearsals and meetups at Custer’s address. Gilmore blinked slowly, looking up at Custer again, who stared back at him with hopeful eyes.
“They look fine.” Gilmore responded in that same dull tone, before averting his gaze away from the paper. He fought back a yawn, rubbing his eyes again. He silently begged Custer to be satisfied, and leave.. But the punk just stood there looking confused with Gilmore’s response. He expected more of a reaction, or any other kinds of affirming words.
“.. That’s all? Aren’t you gonna read it?” Custer asked, kind of perplexed at Gilmore’s lack of interest and clearly bland response.
“I don’t need to, I’m sure you have everything you need for.. Whatever you plan on doing.” Gilmore mumbled, but Custer scoffed, seeing that Gilmore was not interested in the pamphlet at all. Custer felt almost insulted by Gilmore’s lack of interest and refusal to even read the piece of paper, dropping his hand a little that still held it in his grasp.
“Come on, I worked really hard on them, you could at least just read it.. Promise it won’t take long, it’s just one paragraph! I tried asking for Khonjin’s opinion, but he didn’t seem interested at all, so I decided to ask you.” Custer explained, his displeased expression dropping to a more sad one, starting to feel like Gilmore didn’t care at all, and just wanted him out of his hair. Gilmore glanced at the punk, who’s eyes still faintly gleamed with hope that he’ll read the pamphlet.
“Please?” Custer asked nicely, weakly smiling again. After a few seconds of silence, Gilmore let out a heavy sigh, and took the paper from Custer’s hand. The faster he got this over with, the faster Custer would leave, and Gilmore could have his peace and quiet back. Gilmore’s eyes scanned through the words that were laid out across the page, mentioning things he expected to see on it. Information about the band, requirements for an instrument, etc. Custer really seemed to take this seriously, it was surely a strange thing to want to commit to.. But if it made him happy, then who was Gilmore to judge? The last thing he wanted was for Custer to think he didn’t value his presence and respected his interests. Even if Gilmore didn’t fully get this stuff, he was pleased to see that Custer was improving in his own way and not continuing those bad habits that nearly took him away entirely. Gilmore can’t afford to lose anyone else, he’s already lost enough.
“That design at the top, that’s our band logo! Ruther helped design it, you should really see some of the other ones she came up with before we settled on that one, she’s really talented you know!” Custer exclaimed, his fanged smile widening more. He was super proud of all the work that he, Ruther and Jeffrey had made on creating this band. There may only be three members, but Custer was happy and grateful.
“Hm.” Gilmore responded in a faint mumble in order for Custer to know that he was still listening, even though his eyes were starting to get heavy again from the reading. After he finished scanning the words in the paragraph, his eyes lifted up to the top of the page, where the logo was. Gilmore analyzed it, trying to make sense of what it was supposed to represent. It was a cartoon skull with what seemed to be wings sprouting at each side. It was a gold color, and it seemed to be on fire.
“We don’t have a name yet, ahah.. But we’re working on it!” Custer added, laughing sheepishly as he scratched the back of his head. Deciding on a logo before a name.. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?
“I want my band to be known world-wide, so I had to make sure these pamphlets would catch everyone’s attention! The logo will make the paper stand out, so people will have to look at it and read it! Oh, you know what I could do? I could maybe rent those really big billboards and have one showing my band name to the world!” Custer exclaimed in excitement, many more ideas popping into his head as he thought about the future success of his band. His dream was going to become a reality, he just knew it.
Gilmore remained silent, now staring at Custer again, as if analyzing his face and every detail. Custer’s voice became muffled and incoherent as Gilmore’s vision began to change. Perhaps it was the exhaustion causing this, the ever so faint ringing in Gilmore’s ears that were slowly starting to get loudly as Custer continued to ramble. Gilmore felt his chest tighten, along with his beating heart in his throat. Custer was so transfixed on talking about his band that he didn’t notice his uncle’s unfocused expression that had turned into one of fear. It wasn’t Custer that was making Gilmore feel so unnerved, it was what his face was morphing into. Gilmore suddenly felt cold, like a cold breeze suddenly entered his office and hit him in the face. His heart started to race, and his shaking had intensified. Gilmore’s grip on the paper tightened, and a lump formed in his throat, preventing him from saying anything.. If there was anything to say at all. There, standing above him, was the face of his dead brother.
Gilmore could only assume he was hallucinating, otherwise there would be no way his own brother’s face should be staring down at him right now from where he sat. Every detail of his brother’s facial features were the same. He had purple hair, along with the identical mustache that Gilmore had, but he wore black instead of gray. Instead of a tophat that Gilmore wore, his brother wore a black fedora. He had his suit buttoned, meanwhile Gilmore left his suit open. If it wasn’t for their different choices in how they presented themselves, they’d be almost completely identical, they were twins after all. What stood out to Gilmore however, was the gaping wound on his brother’s neck, it had dried blood seeping down from the opening. It was so deep, and it contrasted harshly from his golden yellow skin. His eyes were dark and empty, completely soulless. There was nothing behind them, yet there was still a seep of rage that Gilmore could feel radiating off of his brother’s body. Was this some kind of ghost or demon that wore his brother’s face? He couldn’t be sure, he normally only saw his brother in his dreams.
Gilmore could feel himself becoming overwhelmed with fear and guilt, his brother’s glare only making it hurt even more, but Gilmore couldn’t look away. His body refused to move, he wanted to speak, but no words could come to mind; thoughts wouldn’t solidify. The longer Gilmore stared into his brother’s eyes, the more grotesque his face became. The ringing in Gilmore’s ears began to get worse, and he could feel pressure in his head, like someone was squeezing his temples. Gilmore opened his mouth, attempting to say anything to the face that had been haunting him all this time, even though he knew he’d get no response. Nothing came out though, just silence. What was the point of saying anything? What could he ever say to possibly justify what he had done? The look of absolute disgust, rage and hatred his brother had been giving him in his nightmares told Gilmore enough.. There was nothing that could be said. Silence was all that was needed for Gilmore to know what he did could never be forgiven-
“Hey, Earth to Gilmore! You there?”
Gilmore suddenly blinked as he was met with Custer’s face again, staring at him with confusion and slight concern. He snapped his fingers in front of Gilmore’s face to fully snap his uncle out of his trance state. Gilmore stared at Custer with an almost confused look on his face, before shaking his head as he glanced around his office. For a second, Gilmore forgot where he was, and he had to take a moment to collect his thoughts again and come to terms that what he saw was just a hallucination. He took a deep breath and swallowed, trying to compose himself in front of his nephew, who looked confused. Gilmore’s legs were shaking, he had to literally grip them with his hands to keep them still, but that didn’t stop the rest of his body from shaking slightly.
“.. Gilmore, are you okay?” Custer asked, voice filled with concern, he’s never seen that expression on Gilmore before, it caught him off guard. There was a look in Gilmore’s eyes he couldn’t describe, but he could see fear somewhere in there.
“I’m fine.” Gilmore responded instantly, trying to steady the panic in his voice, but his frantic heartbeat made it harder to do so.
“Are you sure? You were breathing really hard and-”
“I said I’m fine.” Gilmore snapped back, he didn’t yell, but his voice was sharper and colder. He eyed Custer, unblinking, and the punk stared back. Custer said nothing, Gilmore’s expression making him uncomfortable, realizing it probably was best to not say anything else. Gilmore had a wild look in his eyes, and Custer ended up looking away from how uncomfortable it made him feel. After some silence, Gilmore took another deep and slow breath, as he opened his mouth to speak, his voice a bit calmer this time.
“I just haven’t been getting good sleep lately, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about me, focus on your own things.” Gilmore brushed it off, trying to put on a more sincere expression, but it was obviously forced by the look in his eyes. Custer could still see the blatant nervousness and uneasiness shining in his uncle’s pupils. Custer wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what. He didn’t like seeing those he cared about hurting, but Gilmore was not a person that likes talking about his emotions, let alone showing any signs of vulnerability. Custer rarely ever saw intense emotions from Gilmore, especially sadness or even fear. The last time he ever saw Gilmore in a state of despair was a long time ago.
“.. ‘Kay then.. If you say so, I’m just saying..” Custer mumbled, as he slowly took the paper from Gilmore’s desk. Gilmore didn’t respond, staring off into space. The air in the room was suddenly very tense, and Custer didn’t know what else to say. There was a heaviness in the air that Custer couldn’t describe, it felt off.. It felt wrong. The punk swallowed as he shifted towards the door to leave, feeling like he’s spent his time.
“Well, I’ll leave you be then.. Uhm, get some rest or something.. Sorry for bothering you.” Custer mumbled slightly under his breath, not knowing what else to say at this point. He gripped the door handle, glancing behind his shoulder one more time, before opening the door and leaving, closing the door behind him. As soon as Gilmore heard the door close, he let out a heavy sigh again, leaning his head back and staring at the ceiling. Get some rest.. Easier said than done, he couldn’t get more than 3 hours before he’d be jerked awake out of panic because of those god damn nightmares. Sleeping during the day wasn’t better either, he barely had any time to himself, the most he’d get was around an hour before being interrupted by something. Attempting to go back to sleep was out of the picture now, Gilmore’s nerves were too shot up from what he saw to relax. He was seeing things, he knew he was.. But it still freaked him out. Even now, he was still shaking, he held his arms together as he sat there, eyes heavy and desperate for rest that he could not have. All Gilmore could do was attempt to distract himself from those thoughts, and that face that still replayed in his mind.
Tomorrow is another day.
_____ _____ ______
Gilmore sat there on his armchair, staring at the television in front of him. He was holding an almost empty bottle of whiskey, but yet he felt no buzz from it. The noise from the TV was dulled out and faded, Gilmore couldn’t focus on whatever was playing. There was static playing in his brain, and his hearing was muffled. He couldn’t remember how long he’s been sitting there, watching the channels switch. The show he was originally watching had ended hours ago, and now it was just playing anything that was still airing at that time of night. Gilmore’s eyes were heavy, his breaths were shallow, and his head kind of hung awkwardly to the side. Gilmore’s body was fighting sleep, every time his eyes would close from the overwhelming tiredness, his eyes would shoot back open. He let out a heavy breath, his chest hurting a little from the intensity of it.
He lifted up the bottle and stared at it, feeling both a mixture of disgust, sadness and numbness. He brought the bottle to his mouth and proceeded to chug down the rest of its continents before dropping it to the floor. Gilmore laid his head back, looking up at the ceiling, the taste of whiskey in the back of his throat. His throat burned a little as he tried to keep the drink down, he had nothing else in his stomach besides alcohol. Gilmore didn’t have any desire or will to eat anything, he didn’t feel connected to himself. He sat there, feeling like the cushions underneath him were going to swallow him whole. He had completely toned out the sound of the TV, losing focus as he spaced out. He started to hear ringing in his ears, his scrambled thoughts making it damn near impossible for him to see clearly or even hear. Or maybe it was the tears that were starting to form in his eyes.
No matter how much he drank, these thoughts that plagued his mind would never truly leave. They’d hide in the back of his mind and show themselves whenever Gilmore was vulnerable. He didn’t want to think about them, they hurt too much. He didn’t want to be reminded of what he had done, how he had to live with this guilt and shame for the rest of his life. It’s been years, and yet it’s never gotten any better. This wasn’t something he could ever open up about, this was a secret he needed to keep till his death. Gilmore took a deep breath, shivering slightly. He sniffled as tears began to fall down his cheeks, but he wiped them away as he tried to compose himself. He was still kind of sober, but his mind was in a different place. Gilmore wasn’t fully there, he didn’t even feel connected to where he was. He slowly lifted his head back up, and looked down at his hand. He didn’t recognize it as his own hand, and he stared at it with intensity. He glanced down at his arm, he could see the burn marks and scars, since his sleeves were rolled up.
Gilmore’s hand was shaking, or was it actually? He couldn’t tell from his blurred vision and everything else around him starting to warp. It was happening again; his reality twisting and changing; things that Gilmore usually didn’t pay any mind to that now looked abnormal. He was hearing things, but it couldn’t be the TV anymore. He heard the sounds of voices, people speaking amongst each other. Were they talking about him? Surely, he was the talk of everything. They had to be, he saw the way they all looked at him. Pity, concern, disturbance. Those were the looks he’d catch in their eyes, seeing his physical appearance and eye that same damn look that Gilmore despised. Of course, they never would mention anything, they wouldn’t speak of it to his face. They would never bring up how Gilmore was slowly losing himself; becoming less and less of who he used to be with each passing day. Gilmore laughed to himself, partially because he knew it was true; the things they were saying. It was loud, so very loud.
Gilmore didn’t want to focus on that anymore, he looked in a random direction, trying to identify something new. The far wall across from him becomes his focus, and he tries to only pay attention to that. It doesn’t work, all the sounds and stray vowels that drift through the air find his ears. Gilmore almost blinks, to him it feels like a small movement, but it was far quicker, he knew that. He wanted to cover his ears, but what good would that do? He would always hear it, the sounds of the voices that reminded him of just how much of a terrible person he was. They judged him heavily, they pointed down at him and called him a coward, a pitiful disgrace of a man who was supposed to be a god. They called him numerous things, but one word always stood out the most.
Guilty. That was all Gilmore was, guilty. That word replayed in his mind, it clouded him and never left him. He grew tired of it, he hated it so much, and he didn’t want to hear it anymore. He needed more whiskey, he couldn’t deal with this. Gilmore attempted to stand up, but he wobbled a little, nearly falling over. He had to grip the armchair to support himself as he took a deep breath. His vision was narrow and blurry, and many things around him seemed off and fuzzy. As he walked in the direction towards his kitchen, he touched the wall, but he didn’t feel the wall, it was like it wasn’t actually there. He looked in the direction of where his hand was, and his eyes made contact with something that hung on the wall. If it wasn’t for his fuzzy mind, he would’ve known what it was already. He tried to focus, and as he did, he realized it was a picture frame.. A picture frame of him and.. And..
Gilmore stood there, processing what he was looking at, as if the image itself caused his body to freeze up. Despite his warped vision, he recognized it immediately, and his mind went blank. He tried to avoid this face as much as he could, he didn’t want to look at him.. His face. Not his own face, but the face beside his in that frame. His brother’s face, who’s name was Matthias, looked calm but serious. A firm grimace in his eyes that still cut into Gilmore’s heart every time he saw this frame. Gilmore had a smile in his portrait, a genuine smile.. So blissfully unaware. He couldn’t remember the last time he smiled like that, the light that was in his eyes in that photo had died a long time ago. He looked so vastly different in that photo, it made Gilmore feel slightly nauseous. Matthias' face, as much as it hurt to look at, he couldn’t look away. The look of resentment, the glare he gave, the pain in his eyes, if only Gilmore noticed it. He didn’t though, because he was an oblivious idiot who didn’t notice this brother slowly deteriorating until it was too late. That was his best friend since he was a child, his other half, the man he told all his secrets to, the man he trusted more than anyone else, the man that he used to laugh with and joke with in his youth. He knew Matthias so well, and yet he couldn’t notice that he was hurting. He couldn’t be there for his wife, and he couldn’t even be there for his brother. Pathetic, absolutely pathetic.. Gilmore deserved to feel ashamed and so much more.
Gilmore’s breaths wavered, and he looked down to the floor, feeling a tightening sensation in his heart. The longer he stared at his brother’s face, the more nauseous he felt. It was like he could feel the rage radiating from him in that picture. It haunted him, every single day, he could never truly escape it. The guilt, the shame.. No amount of alcohol could make him forget, no matter how hard he tried. It was a shadow, he could try to avoid it, but it would always follow behind him. He could feel the tightening sensation intensify, and he forced himself to back away from the portrait. The feeling in his chest was so intense, like his heart was breaking all over again, relieving those memories that brought more pain than peace. The longer he stared at his brother’s face, the more it began to distort again, morphing into that same gruesome sight. The gaping wound in his neck, his eyes enlarging, growing more angry and vicious. Why wouldn’t that image leave his mind? It was horrible, he hated it so much, he sometimes would get sick from the image of it. His brain would envision it to be as grotesque and vile as possible, perhaps as some twisted way to worsen how he felt, which clearly worked.
Not being able to take much more of this, Gilmore forced himself to turn away, trying to find the kitchen. He didn’t even care about getting another drink anymore, he just needed to get away from that picture frame. He could still see that image of Matthias in his mind, and the sounds that still slightly echoed as a muffle in the back of his head began to clear up. He swore he heard his voice, his brother’s voice this time. Matthias was calling him guilty, pathetic, weak.. It caused something to flip inside Gilmore’s brain, and he heaved as he gripped his stomach. Perhaps it was due to him being so overwhelmed, or maybe it was the whiskey, but Gilmore felt ill. The images wouldn’t stop playing in his mind, and his brother’s voice only made the feeling in his stomach worsen. Gilmore stumbled to the kitchen and gripped the sink, dry heaving, because he knew what was about to happen. He ended up vomiting the contents in his stomach, which was mostly just the whiskey he had chugged earlier since he barely ate in the past 3 days. He ended up vomiting two more times before finally stopping, some saliva dripping from his mouth, along with mucus dripping from his nostrils. There were slight tears in his eyes from the intense vomiting, and he just stood there, completely motionless, not wanting to make any sudden movements that would cause him to get sick again. Gilmore’s throat burned, and he could taste the bile and whiskey mixed in his mouth, it was disgusting. He was sweating a little, he hated vomiting, it was painful and just overall not a good experience. He shakily lifted his hand and turned on the faucet to wash out the vomit down the drain.
Gilmore coughed, his throat dry and raspy. He let out a very quiet whimper due to how both physically and mentally exhausted he was, he couldn’t even support himself properly. His legs were shaking due to how weak they had gotten, and he ended up collapsing onto the kitchen floor. He felt lightheaded, his body was so tired and weak. What time was it? When was the last time he ate? His brain was now completely scrambled, he couldn’t distinguish what was reality and what wasn’t. The ringing and voices in his ears subsided, but only because everything had become almost completely muffled. He couldn’t even feel the tears that were falling down his cheeks due to how numb he was. Why was he doing this to himself, drinking himself to death all because he was so cowardly of what he had to deal with that he didn’t want to think about it? So pathetic, on the floor like this, crying over a silent war he’s been fighting for years. It seems the whiskey only made Gilmore’s pent up emotions decide to come out this time.
Gilmore hated crying, it made him feel weak, but the tears kept coming. They flowed freely down his cheeks, soaking his mustache a little. Gilmore was too weak to get up, he didn’t really want to move anyway. What was the point of doing anything? He coughed as he sat there on the tile floor, his mind and emotions a complete mess. It looked like he wasn’t going to get up anytime soon, maybe sitting here for a while sounds like a good idea.. Gilmore didn’t care anymore. He closed his eyes and hung his head down. He ended up curling up on the floor after a while, falling asleep to the comfort of the cold floor.
Tomorrow is another day.
_____ _____ ______
The alarm beeped loudly in Gilmore’s ears, causing his eyes to slowly open, being met with the ceiling of his bedroom. Immediately, Gilmore was upset, because of the fact that he woke up again. It was days later, but Gilmore couldn’t tell sometimes due to how blurred each day was. He didn’t want to wake up, he often wished he’d just die in his sleep, which would be easier for him. It was certainly better than this hell that was his life, this endless loop. Of course, he couldn’t go back to sleep now, he had things to do. He needed to distract himself, it was the only thing that was keeping Gilmore from completely losing his mind after all. He slowly got up from bed and shut off his alarm, the beeping starting to annoy him. He turned and stared at the dresser that was across from his bed, it had a large mirror that reflected the bedroom. Gilmore saw his reflection, his hair was a mess and his eyes were heavy. He hated his reflection, he grew to despise it over the years after everything. He hated himself in general, what was there to like? He was a pathetic man who couldn’t even take care of himself properly, how dare he call himself a mafia leader?
Gilmore shot his eyes away from the mirror as he dragged himself out of bed and grabbed some towels, preparing to shower and go on with his day. His movements were robotic and his vision was unfocused, he’s done this countless times, it was always the same every day. He walked into his bathroom and started the shower, he made sure to avoid the mirror in the bathroom as he undressed himself, then stepped into the shower. His hearing was muffled as he robotically washed himself, he scrubbed his face and dug his fingers into his scalp. He could feel the soap and cold water run down his face. He always preferred washing in cold water, it woke him up faster. It also was better because the hot water would make Gilmore’s wounds sting, the wounds he ended up inflicting on himself on random occasions. He could never remember half of where they came from, they always appeared on his arms or even on his upper arms, so Gilmore could only assume they were self-inflicted.
Due to him being a god, wounds healed differently on him than on a normal human being. A cut or slash would heal relatively quickly, depending on how deep it was. If it was a bullet wound or a really deep stab, it would take longer. These weren’t cuts or bullet wounds though, these were burns. These burns would heal within 24 hours or a little longer, and he’d repeat the process. He did it to feel something, since he often felt nothing, just numb and empty. He needed to remind himself that could still feel things, since he seemed disconnected from his body and reality most days. He probably ended up doing it to himself when he was having one of his “moments”, his memory would be very hazy and there’d be a lot of things he wouldn’t remember doing, but he knew they had to have happened. Khonjin, Spag, Gino and even Custer would mention events and stuff that Gilmore had said or done, and he’d stand there confused, because he couldn’t remember those things, and burning himself was one of them.
Gilmore felt ashamed of these scars, the fact he had to harm himself due to what he felt about himself, it was pathetic. He wouldn’t call it an addiction though, it was merely.. Morbid curiosity. He would burn himself with his cigar until he could finally feel some kind of pain again, he’d smell his skin burning and hear the sound of the sizzle, but would only stop when it began to hurt. He wanted it to hurt. He didn’t like it of course, but he felt obligated to for some reason. He ran his fingers along the burn scars as he stood in the shower, letting the conditioner do its work on his hair and mustache. He started to feel numb again, the water no longer even feeling cold anymore. His mind drifted off elsewhere, but he snapped himself out of it, realizing he’s been standing there motionless for a couple minutes now. He finished washing himself and turned the shower off. Grabbing the towel, he dried himself and rubbed another towel into his face and hair. He knew he’d have to look in the mirror to tidy himself up more, he really didn’t want to, but he had to. He wrapped the towel around himself as he stepped out of the bathroom. Heading back to the bedroom, he grabbed his suit and pants he hung up outside of his closet, then turned to his dresser to grab the other clothing he needed.
His movements were still robotic and slow, he had to practically force himself to move his arms, he didn’t want to do anything, but he had to. He couldn’t rot in bed all day, even if he wanted to. He buttoned his shirt and searched one of his drawers for a new tie, all different shades of purple and lavender. He needed to look presentable, so he grabbed his comb and looked up at his reflection as he combed his hair and mustache. Midway through the comb however, he ended up looking up at his reflection and saw something that made his stomach churn. His eyes looked what he could only describe as manic. Were they always like this? How did he not notice that? The way his eyes looked honestly freaked him out, but he couldn’t look away. There was something wrong with him, he knew that. He could see it clearly in his eyes how fucked up he was, and that filled him with dread. Gilmore let out a sigh as he looked back down at the comb in his hand, feeling conflicted and ashamed. He didn’t know how long he was going to keep up with this, he was tired all the time and didn’t see a point in doing anything. He felt like a husk of his former self, he couldn’t even remember what his former self was like, how he acted and what he felt. It was a blur to Gilmore, and at this point, he couldn’t be bothered to care. The person he was before this all happened died, he died that day and it left someone else in its place.
Letting out a groan, he put the comb down and looked to the side where his tophat was. It hung on the coat hanger where also his jacket was. He approached it and grabbed them, putting them on tiredly. He adjusted his hat and let out an exhale, and as he turned to the door to leave, he heard something. It was subtle, a faint echo in his bedroom. It sounded like a knock, and the room was so quiet he could hear it clearly. He stopped, listening intently, and then he heard it again, a quiet knock or tap. Gilmore turned his head, trying to find the source of where the sound was coming from. He would’ve thought he was imagining things, there were moments where he'd hear or see things that weren’t there, he thought this was one of those times. There was silence for a bit, and Gilmore genuinely started to believe he was imagining things, but as he turned his head again.. He heard another knock. It was louder this time, and Gilmore realized it was coming from his dresser mirror.
He felt a pit in his stomach, and his face dropped. He didn’t dare turn around, he was too afraid to, because he feared what he’d see. Gilmore’s heart began to accelerate, and his legs felt weak. He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t face him again. Gilmore felt his heart ache, along with a tightening sensation in his throat, like it was hard to breathe. It was almost like he could feel the pressure around his windpipe, squeezing tighter and tighter. The knocking was muffled, and Gilmore’s ears began to ring again. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth, feeling his breaths start to quicken. He was starting to hyperventilate, he could feel the fingers gripping his throat, the weight against his back. It was too much, Gilmore was too terrified to move. He couldn’t even speak even if he tried, the pressure in his head making his eyes water. Even if he was absolutely terrified of who he’d face, Gilmore turned his head around quickly to see..
.. Nothing. There was nothing, and Gilmore could feel nothing. It was like everything he felt, the sensation of him being slowly choked from behind was just an allusion. It felt so real though, he swore he could feel breathing down his neck, and that freaked him out. Even though nobody was there, Gilmore remained still, listening intently, or even waiting for something to move. The ringing in his ears waned, and he tried to control his breathing, along with his erratic heartbeat. Then he heard it again. The knocking, it was faint, and Gilmore slowly turned his head to the side. His expression shifted in fear and despair as he stared at his reflection, and what was behind his reflection.
Gilmore couldn’t fully process what he was looking at for a second, it didn’t even make sense, but did any of the things he saw made sense? He couldn’t think of any reason as to why, in this moment, in the reflection of the mirror.. Matthias was standing there. He knocked on that glass, in the same way the ticks of the clock did, in that same manner. Slow and loud, echoing in Gilmore’s brain, driving him mad. His eye twitched a bit as he processed his brother’s appearance. It was the same as he always looked, exactly like he did that day.. The frantic eyes, the gaping wound in his neck, the blood that stained his once gold yellow skin. Gilmore didn’t notice everything starting to dissolve, the light that once filled his bedroom had dimmed out, it was dark, the air was thick. The only thing he could hear was the sound of his dead brother’s reflection tapping on that mirror, and Gilmore swallowed as sweat dripped down his neck. He didn’t know why, but he slowly approached the mirror, his steps shaky and uneven. Matthias was directly behind Gilmore from the reflection, and even though Gilmore knew Matthias was not actually behind him.. He could’ve worn he could feel the warmth, or, coldness of his brother’s body.
Once Gilmore got close enough, his eyes still directly locked onto his brother, Matthias dropped his hand, his eyes enlarging at an unnatural size. Gilmore could’ve sworn he saw Matthias smile from behind his mustache, and that sent shivers up his spine. Although Gilmore knew there was no point in doing this, he needed to know. He tried to ignore and avoid this whenever it happened, but this was too much. These.. Hallucinations, or what he hoped were hallucinations, were getting so bad and far more frequent. This had to be a message, or Matthias just wanted to fuck with him, the ladder seemed more likely. He barely tried to engage or even speak to these visions of Matthias, mostly because he knew it was futile, and also because he was just afraid.. But he had to say something. Gilmore took a deep, shaky breath, not even trying to hide the fear in his voice as he opened his mouth to speak.
“.. Why? Why are you doing this?” Gilmore’s voice was quiet, almost a whimper, he could feel his throat starting to clog up again. Matthias was silent, as usual, he never spoke. The silence made it worse for Gilmore, he didn’t even have to speak for Gilmore to know how angry and bitter he was. Despite knowing that, Gilmore continued to talk, more out of desperation than fear.
“What do you get out of this? Why do you torment me like this? Is this some fucking game to you?” Gilmore asked, his voice cracked a bit as the weight on his chest got stronger. Matthias’ face did not change, he just stared at him, like he didn’t care in the slightest of Gilmore’s pain.
Gilmore felt his eye twitch, probably out of frustration. He didn’t know why he was getting angry, maybe it was the silence that he was met with, he just needed an answer. It has been years, over a decade, and yet that wasn’t enough apparently. Why did it suddenly have to get worse this past year? Gilmore didn’t want to believe it had anything to do with Custer coming back into his life, but why else would Matthias’ face show up this often? The hallucinations, the nightmares.. It was getting worse and worse. Perhaps it was just a reminder to Gilmore that seeing the son of his dead brother would be as painful as possible. It was his punishment, he knew that. It was so selfish to ask Matthias to stop, but it was becoming too much.
“I know you hate me, you can hate me all you want, I deserve it! Just please stop.. I’m losing sleep, I can’t focus, your face is all I see sometimes. Even in my dreams you’re there, I keep seeing you and what.. What I did to you.. I can’t keep looking at it, it makes me sick.” Gilmore stammered, trying to compose himself. He could feel himself getting emotional, his body shaking with all the pent up emotions inside him. Gilmore glared at Matthias, waiting for any sign of emotion in his face, but nothing. Gilmore hung his head down, closing his eyes tightly to try and stop the tears from coming, as he bit his lower lip. Matthias’ reflection did not move as Gilmore kneeled over onto the dresser.
“I- I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.. It haunts me every fucking day and night.. I can still feel your blood on my hands sometimes. You always remind me of it, how unforgivable I am, how.. Pathetic and weak I am. I’m guilty, I know, just please.. What more do you want from me? How many times do I have to apologize..?!”
Gilmore’s voice got louder as he began to recall that god awful memory, the memory that never left his brain no matter how hard he tried to forget it. His breaths began to quicken again as he tried so desperately to get that image out of his head, his brother’s face and the blood.. He didn’t want to throw up again. Still, only silence was what Gilmore was met with, and that seemed to fuel him with more rage and pain. Matthias couldn’t even be bothered to give him any kind of explanation, or even say anything period. Gilmore looked back up to face his brother’s reflection, to see if there was any kind of change on his face, but no. He just had that same look on his face, looking down at Gilmore, not even with a slight sense of pity or remorse. The fact he didn’t even look angry this time made Gilmore feel even more pain. He felt so small, weak and pathetic. But as he stared, unblinking at his brother’s face, a rage slowly started to seep in. A rage from the lack of good sleep, the emotional turmoil, his mental health declining. Did this mean nothing to the man that was causing all of this to happen to Gilmore? That thought made something snap inside of Gilmore, and his expression shifted from fear and despair to anger.
“.. You can’t even be bothered to say anything? You really have nothing to say to me? Are you serious? Do you feel nothing? Are you just cold and heartless? Do you get a kick out of hurting me like this? I’m fucking suffering because of you! Some days I just want to fucking die, and that doesn’t matter to you?!”
Gilmore’s breaths began to sharpen, and tears welled in his eyes, but not of sadness, but anger. Despite his yelling, Matthias’ face remained the same, he just stared at Gilmore with that disfigured expression, which only seemed to anger him more.
“Fucking say something! Stop torturing me like this! AND STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!” Gilmore screamed, starting to lose his self control.
Still, Matthias’ face didn’t change, not even a slight shift in his eyes. He just stared into Gilmore’s soul with that empty look in his eyes, breaking Gilmore’s psyche more and more. The longer Gilmore stared at him, the more he could feel his sanity depleting, and that same tightening sensation in his chest. He felt like his ribs were squeezing his lungs, making it hard for him to breathe. That weight against the back of his neck, tightening against his throat that was already choked up from the tears. In a final fit of frustration and pain, Gilmore let out a scream and punched the mirror as hard as he could. He couldn’t bring himself to hit Matthias’ reflection, he only slammed his fist into his own. The mirror shattered upon impact, the glass getting all over the dresser and the floor, as Gilmore fell to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably. The impact of him hitting the glass caused Gilmore’s hand to be cut open, blood oozing out from his knuckles and fingers, getting all over the floor. Gilmore was too overwhelmed by emotional turmoil to notice or even care about that. He gripped his head with his hands as he tried to get the image of his brother’s face out of his brain, but to no avail.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! It was an accident, I didn’t mean to! I tried to save you! I didn’t.. I didn’t.. Just please leave me alone.. Please! It.. It hurts.” Gilmore whimpered as he looked down at the glass shards on the floor around him. He saw bits of himself in the glass, and in others, he saw Matthias. Gilmore let out a whimper as he grabbed those glass shards and held them in his palms. His blood stained the glass and made it hard for him to see his reflection. His own tears fell and stained the glass as he cried even harder. He couldn’t be angry at Matthias, no matter how hard he tried to be. Gilmore had no one to be angry at but himself, this was no one else’s fault but his own. Gilmore’s grip on the glass weakened, and he dropped them to the floor as more tears streamed down his face. He stared down at the mess he created, countless shards forcing him to look at the pathetic sight that was his face, so he looked at his hand instead.
The blood.. It stained his yellow skin and his jacket, and the realization began to settle in. Even though Gilmore could see the cuts slowly starting to heal, the blood still remained. The blood will always remain, the blood that stained his hands from where he watched his brother die. He could still remember how he held Matthias’ in his arms and watched the blood spew from his throat and mouth, how he laid there, confusion and pain in his eyes. Even if their relationship was falling apart, even if Matthias was so very angry at Gilmore, he still held him close to try and fix what he had done. The words he said echoed in his mind, further exacerbating his pain. Gilmore just continued to scream out how he was sorry, how he didn’t mean to, that he’ll fix it.. How he’ll be better. Gilmore clutched his head in his hands as he ended up curled up on the floor again, sobbing as his brain forced him to relive that memory. It was an accident, he didn’t mean to do it, he was just trying to defend himself..
Yet he often had a thought. Should he have just let Matthias kill him like he intended? Was he right? Was he justified? No, Matthias was confused.. He was angry and upset, he felt betrayed and unappreciated.. So the only option he had left in his brain was to kill Gilmore, because he had fully convinced himself that Gilmore was at fault. He needed a friend, someone to talk to and express his pain towards, and Gilmore couldn’t give that to him. He failed as a brother, as a friend.. His best friend was suffering and he didn’t notice, because he was terrible. Gilmore’s actions caused him to lose everyone he cared about. He could have maybe saved Matthias if he tried hard enough, if he caught onto the signs earlier, made sure Matthias didn’t feel like a failure. Matthias hated failure, he always tried to be perfect.. And he was slowly deteriorating. How stupid and blind was Gilmore that he couldn’t see his brother, his best friend, suffering like that? He really was pathetic, that and so much more.. And because of his obliviousness, his stupidity, he lost the most important person to him, and he’ll never get him back. He’s the reason Matthias is dead, and he had to live with that for the rest of his life.
Gilmore’s cries echoed in his bedroom as he laid there, accepting this reality. His tears stained the floor, along with his blood. He wasn’t going to go anywhere today, probably never leave his room. He was too weak and tired, he couldn’t face the world today, he shouldn’t dare show his face knowing how much of a terrible individual he was. Gilmore lost so much because of the stuff he’s done, he has no one to turn to in this. He was supposed to visit Khonjin today, but now he knew that wasn’t going to happen. He’d fall apart the second he’d walk through the door. Letting out a shaky breath, closing his eyes to hide away from the scene that surrounded him, the scene he created in his fit of rage and pain towards himself. This will never end, he will never be understood, he will never be free from this undying guilt.
Tomorrow is another day.