fic: Control
Mar. 23rd, 2007 03:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
silver_sunTitle: Control
Rating: Probably about an R – it’s very angsty
Notes: Written 1st person perspective, person in question being Ianto.
Spoilers: Episode 4 mainly.
So here I am again sat at the table in the broom cupboard of room that they jokingly call a kitchen.
Newspaper spread on the table, I don’t want to make a mess, after all I’ll be the one who will have to clean it up. I always am.
One of Owens scalpels lies in front of me. I know he hasn’t missed it, he’s far too untidy to ever notice and for once I am glad, it is easier and safer with the proper tools.
Always prepared. I should have been a boy scout. I have to laugh, the sheer surealness of my thoughts surprise me sometimes, although lately it has tended towards gallows humour. But boyscouts don't nearly get all their friends killed though do they? At least they used to be my friends, now I don’t know, I’d like to believe that they still give a damn about me but in all honesty they didn’t seem to care before, so why the hell should they now?
It doesn't matter that did it out of love and that I only ever had the best of intentions, because the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and some days that’s exactly where I feel I am.
Picking up the blade I draw it lightly across my skin, there is a bite of pain and a thin red line trails in its wake and I allow myself a small sigh of relief. I can breathe again, the pressure, everything that has been building up inside me is let out in a rush.
This helps. It has always helped, for as long as I can remember this has been a part of me and helped when nothing else could. Not even Lisa when she was alive and whole and I loved her so very much, even she couldn’t give me what this does.
This will always be here for me, this relief and it puts me get back in control of my life.
Lately though I have started wonder to what it would be like just to cut a little deeper, to push the blade with just that bit more force, to let not just the pain and the anger bleed away, but my life as well.
That is as far as it’s got though, the thought of it. I can’t do it. I will not do it. Because however much it hurts to be alive right now, and some days I think that I shall go mad from it, don’t want to die.
The blood trickles slowly from the cut to pool on the newspaper making a shapeless red blotch across yesterday’s sports results.
I don’t think any of them would understand why I do this. Why I need this. I don’t think they could ever understand. It’s not about seeking attention or looking for pity and it’s not a cry for help; it’s just how I cope. Some people will turn to drugs or drink, and I don’t see how what I’m doing is any more harmful than that, and it’s certainly safer for those around me.
Maybe that’s not entirely true, Jack would probably understand, I see the same hollowness about him that I feel inside everyday. Once I used to care, but not anymore, he’s lost that right, .
A couple of minutes more and the blood has stopped and I clean away the mess with an antiseptic wipe, putting a plaster over it before rolling down my shirt sleeve. After all there is no sense in inviting infection or ruining a perfectly good shirt.
Suit jacket back on and tie straighted I'm ready to face the world again, ready to deal with whatever today might bring.
I’m putting the bloodied paper into the bin when I hear the sound of rest of the team arriving for another day in the Torchwood mad house, their voices loud and joyful, sharing jokes I’m never party to.
Starting the coffee I put on a smile and go out to greet them. This is the Ianto they expect to see, and I won’t disappoint them.