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His footsteps clicked loudly as he walked down the empty hallway, being nearly the only sound. No one was around, as was usual these days. It was intentional. He had to be alone. The fog had to cling to him, the static had to follow him.
And, well, he’d be lying if he didn’t admit he somewhat liked the solitude. It was quiet. It was calm. If anything, maybe a little underwhelming.
God, this was why Peter Lukas had chosen him, wasn’t it?
Martin paused in his steps, although he didn’t know quite why. It made sense, it wasn’t a surprise. And yet, the thought gnawed at him, as if everything in his life was bound to lead up to this moment.
No, no that didn’t make sense. He wasn’t going along with Peter’s plan. He was undermining it, he was feigning interest when in reality, he was just doing what had to be done. To play along with Peter for as long as he had to, to protect the others. If Peter thought that Martin believed him, if he thought that Martin was his loyal servant that would help him with anything, then everything was going to plan. He wouldn’t expect for Martin to see through his bullshit, for Martin to turn on him when the time was right.
That’s what he was doing. It’d throw Peter Lukas for a loop, it’d fuck him over and all his plans that he refuses to tell Martin about. It’d keep him from getting the others involved, keep them safe.
It’d keep Peter dependent on him.
That’s what he was doing. Peter didn’t have any control over him. The.. the loneliness was just a necessary part of the equation. The isolation was necessary. All the factors were necessary, he needed to stick with the script.
And if that ended with him gone but the others safe, then so be it. He’d be taken by the fog anyday if it meant that Melanie, that Basira, that Jon didn’t have to be harmed. God, Jon. Against all odds, he survived. He survived, and came back to the Archives. And he’d been trying to get Martin’s attention, to talk to him.
He didn’t understand though. He couldn’t- he couldn’t risk it, couldn’t risk tearing the strands of this delicate web he’s made. If part of it was torn, then who knew what’d happen to the rest of it? To the desired end result? No. No, he couldn’t. He had to do all of this. He had to follow through.
In the end, he was the best option for Peter to pick. Not for his own goals, but for the sake of everyone else. He was an easy enough target for The Lonely to cling to, but not consume. At least, not enough for him to lose sight of his goal. He’d have to be lying if he said his feelings hadn’t been.. Numbed since he’s started this path. Not gone, just.. They didn’t matter as much, they were more of a simple pang rather than all encompassing. The only thing that stayed strong was his resolve to do this all, to not back down.
And.. well.. He’s danced with this feeling before. Of things feeling more.. Far away, in a way. When he was younger. When it became too much—his mom being particularly grating, his senses overwhelming him and telling him that everything was wrong —he’d retreat. He’d act as if he wasn’t truly there, as if everything he was experiencing wasn’t really him. He wasn’t seeing these sights, he wasn’t performing these actions. No, it was more like a T.V. show, but from a first person perspective. It wasn’t real.
And it got easier and easier to slip into. He wouldn’t even have to think about it, his mind would convert to the mind state the moment anything could harm him. It was as if he was on autopilot, he was existing through the day without actually experiencing any of it. And sometimes, it’d take a hold of him even when he wasn’t in harm’s way. He’d just be living, and after a while, he’d realize that the entire day had been spent doing his familiar routine—Wake up, make breakfast—so that mom wouldn’t have to worry about it—go to school, get home, check on mom and make sure she’s eaten lunch, make mom tea, dote over her some more until she shoos him off, do his homework, make dinner, get mom to bed, maybe write some poetry, and go to bed—without even actually being there at all.
It got dangerously easy, actually. Sometimes, he’d be there, forcing himself to stay present. To worry about the small details, the complexities. To focus, to truly practice his social script and think of it all rather than simply falling back on his normal responses without a second thought. Luckily enough, any changes that differed from the norm would bring him right back, if only in surprisement. Yet, he failed sometimes, to keep himself from drifting. Of course he did.
He’d never forget coming back to his new apartment, with barely enough money to even afford it, breaking down because he realized he went through an entire job interview—nodding, saying exactly what they’d want to hear—as if he was simply going through the motions. As if it was some mundane task he didn’t have to pay too much attention to, a chore that wasn’t particularly taxing.
He’d gotten better at preventing it, however, when he joined the archives. Because of course he did. Everything positive about his life in recent years could be attributed to this damn institute, despite all the horrors it put him through. Except, that didn’t even matter now, did it? It was easy to slip into the predictability of working an isolating, office job underneath Peter, and even easier to distance himself from life itself while doing so.
There was no one to drag him out of it, after all, besides maybe Peter with his visits. And that’s how it always was. He never had someone to bring him back, not when he needed it. He was always left alone, to let it all seep in as he tried to keep his grasp on reality, on life, on people . Even though those same people were never around to ground him, to help him, at least not purposely.
No. No, he needed to keep on track. He needed to get back to his desk. He didn’t like being this aware, he didn’t like contemplating himself and his existence. He didn’t like thinking about this stuff. Just focus on your feet. Put one forward, then the next, and keep like that until you reach your office. Don’t think of anything else. Let everything disappear. Let the fog and static lull you into security.
No one’s been on your side your entire life. Why would they now? It’s always been you, advocating for others, it’s always been you, craving the connection and yet separating yourself and making it impossible. You were always bound to fall to this. Give in to the feeling. You don’t have to be there for them, you can just. be. alone. Truly alone, not clinging onto any hope that someone will notice you, that someone will love you. You don’t need to be there for your mom, she’s dead now after all. You don’t need to be there for your coworkers, they’ll do just fine without you. You don’t need to be there for Jon, he’ll-
…He’ll..
Martin froze. Why did he freeze? It was a thought just like any other. Any other that kept him in line. And it was true. It was the plain simple truth.
He’ll be glad for your sacrifice. He’ll live his life, maybe missing the presence of tea on his desk, but nothing else.
His face became cold. Cold, but only in certain streaks on his face from liquid running down- oh. He was crying. That’s what it was, the liquid was tears. The crying was why his cheeks felt cold. God, his eyes stung. How long had the tears been falling? When did they form? Had he just not noticed them before?
He.. He couldn’t be here. He needed to get back to his office. He was safe there. He could do mundane tasks on his computer and not have to worry about anything else. He could let himself drift, he could return to the numbness. True numbness. Not this weird in between state where his thoughts still got the better of him despite not wanting to think a single thing.
Just step forward. You’re almost there. One foot in front, then the other, then repeat. Repeat and repeat. You’re almost there. Just keep going.
The door handle never fit better in his hand. It twisted. He was in. The door shut behind him, as his body was brought to the chair. The computer screen buzzed to life, burning his eyes in a calming way. It brought his mind with it. Nothing else mattered as fingers typing filled the room. And with that, he was gone once more. He’d be back of course, he still had things to do, his plan with Peter to fulfill.
But, for now, the nothingness enveloped him. It was his blanket of security.