lalalive23 | In Absentia (One-Shot)

Title: In Absentia
Author: lalalive23
Pairing: Belldom
Rating: R
Warning: Sexual references, eternal sadness
Summary: AU. In a future similar to 1984, Dom is arrested for falling in love. The punishment for his crime is to have every moment of his time with his lover erased. Completely.
Feedback: Tastes like a chocolate rainbow.
Disclaimer: I don't own Muse. This never happened (well, not yet). I don't make money off this. My whole life is a waste lol.
Note: This fic was inspired by The Mars Volta song "In Absentia." Though it is inspired by a song, it is by no means a song fic. There generally is no narrative the song follows, and it was mostly the atmosphere of the song that moved me. When I was listening to it, this is what I saw. I am aware that this fic is unconventional and also relatively different from anything I've written. Please, be gentle with me. Also....you might want to some tissues. That said, I need to give endless thanks to my beta readers, cheerleaders, and darling friends ashamedbliss, millionstar, and sunshine_173. Also, a few beautiful ladies who do not have LJ accounts. They know who they are. Without them or their kind words of encouragement, this never would have been completed. Enjoy, my darlings <3

I wish I could just.....stop. I wish my heart would let me. If someone else could be in this room with me, I'm sure they'd look at me - sagging eyes and leather skin holding hollow bones - and call me insane. Maybe, if someone were here, I would listen. Perhaps, I could even be persuaded to believe them. But I am alone, in this five by five cell.

Desperately alone.

Sometimes I wish I would die. I get pushed to that limit when the agony becomes too much to bear, when they hold me in that moment when you feel your life slipping from your fingers. You're strong enough to hold on, but doing so means the pain of actually being alive becomes an all encompassing suffering for an indeterminable amount of time. It feels like it could go on forever. And that's when I want to let go.

But I won't.

I will never let myself slip away. It feels so easy and simple, and the knowledge that everything would end nearly drives me to finally giving in. But to die means I would forget and that I would be forgotten.

I don't ever want to forget.

In truth, that's what they are doing. When they drag me from this cell, down the hall, and into the sterile white room; when they strap me into the chair; when they place the neurocipher onto my head, all they really want to do is take my memories. They don't realize that doing this forces my heart into cardiac arrest and traps my brain in a stasis of constant stroke - or maybe they do and they just don't care. Probably the latter.

It's like they're hungry for them, ravenous beasts of the police force who cannot, and will not, ever know or feel the love I have (present tense). They took me and arrested me because I fell in love. Because I admitted to being in love and having love returned. The city mocked me, called me an imbecile and a traitor, because I knew it was the highest offense. Love. The vicious affliction. Turns strong men into broken shells of their former selves, and leaves ruins of countless empires in its wake. Love is a disease that can not be cured and so, the great country of Great Aeritum set out to exterminate the symptoms.

And this was how they did it. Sucking the memory and the feeling out of the body, the soul, until nothing was left. Slowly, they have been feeding on every memory I have of him. They take the event from me, and there are countless moments I can't recall, but leave the sensation until that too comes undone. Without something tangible for my brain to hold or caress my emotion dissolves into a fog, until it dissipates completely.

At this moment, there are few memories left that I cling to. It's been six weeks and I can sense that a year of joy has been ripped from me. I feel the void in my chest where each of our shared seconds used to reside, and with the calloused threads of my mind I can almost touch the hole as it tries to form a scab. To keep him as close to me as possible, I have etched our story into the concrete walls of my cell. I broke a small stone beneath my bed, sharpened it to a point, and each night since my first session I have taken to carving our story into my surroundings. I'm running out of space as quickly as I'm running out of time, and soon my words will bleed onto the floor.

Soon, they will all be just words.

~~~~~~~

He would never admit it, but Dominic was positively aching for Matt to take his hand. All polite smiles and boyish blushes, Matthew was the picture of a gentleman. But even still, regardless of personality, Matthew would never openly reach for him, fearing the EDA would find and arrest the pair of them. Instead, Dominic settled for walking side by side, their fingers brushing in a nondescript pattern.

They walked to Dominic's home, neither saying a word, both aware that speech was not needed. Dominic bowed his head, smiling to himself as the sound of his grey worker fatigues became the soundtrack of their final minutes together. It had, for intents and purposes, been an utterly exquisite first date. Unable to follow the conventions of the classic romantic stories they were taught in school, unable to remain apart, Matthew had taken him to the game center where they played a virtual reality martial arts game until the city's curfew descended upon them. And while in their own world, neither could reveal their feelings, Matthew had displayed all that was necessary when he allowed his character to sacrifice himself for Dom - four times.

When they approached Dominic's door, Matthew cast his eyes to the pale wood and gazed longingly at the entrance, a small sigh escaping his chest. Biting his lip, Dominic choked an offer for Matthew to come inside back down his throat and forced it to die a silent death in the bowels of his lungs. With the CCTV's now inside each room of a citizen's house, there truly was no privacy and it would not be long before they would be discovered. Instead, Matthew nodded a quick goodnight and shook Dominic's hand.

As Matthew walked briskly in the direction of his own home, Dominic clenched his hand together to revel in the sensation of Matthew's warm skin. It was then he became aware that Matthew had slipped a note into his palm. Unable to contain his excitement, Dominic turned toward his door and discretely unfolded the paper.

I wish you knew how badly I want to touch you; I wish it could be more than this.

~~~~~~~~~

I've come to loathe the morning, the slamming of the steel door against the wall shattering my brief moments of peace. They drag me by my ankle, crude and barbaric, out of bed and onto the floor. The most efficient alarm system I have ever come across. During my early days here, I would fight their hands only to injure myself in the process. Eventually, I stopped the struggle and started to anticipate the pain of the fall. No matter how weightless I become, it always hurts.

It's the anticipation that causes the most pain. Waiting for the door to open; waiting for the greedy hand upon my skin; the fall; the tug of my flesh along the floor; the leather straps around my wrist. The fear never seems to lessen.

When I'm strapped to the chair, they always say the same thing.

"Prisoner 100101. Howard, Dominic."

Same arbitrary numbers. As though my identity is binary code that happens to translate to alpha-symbols.

"Guilty of: Romantic relations. Infected with: Emotional Deterioration."

A disease to cause the guilt. I wish they saw that the only thing that had deteriorated was my nationalism.

I pick concrete out of my nails as they slip the helmet over my head again. The contraption has become a ceremonial headdress that lays bare my moments for my captors to feast. A deranged emotional buffet.

Sometimes, in the moment before their great feed, I imagine my memories are glass and they are broken into pieces by the electricity of voracious envy. These shattered pieces are the crumbs my captors crave.

They flick the switch and I am left bereft.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Matthew, it's two in the morning! What are you doing?"

"I'm taking you to the Veldapark!"

"Someone will see! Are you insane?"

Hushed voices and whispers were the limits to their volume. Anything too loud, and the world would hear the truth.

"Not at this time of night, trust me."

Fond suspicion and a warm smile masked by the dark. "Why do I get the feeling that you've done this before?"

"Because I have. And this is the only time of night we'll get to see them."

"Matty, I'm more worried that someone will see us - wait, who is them?"

"You'll see."

A park made of cement, no greenery left anywhere in the city. It tried to remain beautiful, a place where children would feel the soft hands of freedom as long as they were innocent. A jungle-gym, a slide, sculptures of ancient landmarks big enough to jump through. History frozen in time.

"I still don't know if this is a good idea."

"We have 30 minutes before the CCTV turns it's attention back to us."

He tossed a blanket onto the ground, placing them in the very center of the Veldapark.

"Come. Lay with me."

There was no room for hesitation.

"I still want to know how you know so much about this."

"Shh. Just trust me."

Fingers laced with fingers, and they were silent again.

Understanding, as gradual as one might assume it is, is a sensation that demands immediate attention. Dominic, waiting patiently in the darkness, abruptly understood what Matthew had meant when he said "them," and his only natural response was to stifle his amazement and channel it to his fingers in increased pressure.

As long as he lived, he would never forget the magnificence that can be found in a meteor shower.

~~~~~~~~

When I return to my cell after each session, I feel like I'm suspended in water. I have never felt so vacant, yet I'm filled with the detached remnants of longing. What I know is that I'm missing a piece of my life, what I don't know is how much is gone. I could recall all my remembrances but nothing ever seems amiss.

That's when I crawl to the borders of my cell. Before me are a thousand tales that seem to belong to someone else, but as long as I remember him, as long as I remember us, I can smile in the knowledge that these forgotten encounters happened. I like to run my fingers over the words and imagine I'm touching our timeline, or that he can feel the tips of my fingers tracing the line of his arms.

There's an innate sadness that comes with these diary entries. When I read of how he touched me, how he kissed me or loved me until I couldn't say no, I ache for the day they happened. In an almost existential way, reading of my past self gives me distance enough to feel as though these were never my moments to remember - they happened to someone else, and therefore are not mine. Not anymore. How can I be possessive over something I don't remember? I no longer have attachment, merely a misguided nostalgia.

Most days, after my therapy sessions, that's when I see him - rather, don't see him at all. I see his hands. They slip through the slat in my door with a food tray, always warmed in secret so I can have at least one hot meal a day. I rush to the door to take it from him and I'm never shy about letting my fingers hold his, if only for one second. I can always tell if they're his hands or not. Always.

I should hate him. I wish that I could. He let me go, let me take the fall for something of which he was equally guilty. His cowardice made itself known in my time of need. But the agony of punishment would have been worse for him by at least a hundred fold. When an employee of the government breaches the laws they have sworn to uphold, why should they be shown any mercy?

And besides, there's something oddly comforting about knowing he's my warden. My darling Matthew. Standing guard outside my door without ever allowing himself to cross the threshold.

After I slip the empty dinner try back out the door, that's when I take my makeshift chisel and start to carve the remaining pieces of our lives.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I want your mouth on my neck," he gasped, fisting strands of dark hair between his fingers.

A groan escaped Matthew's throat, his lips diving onto flesh only to pause their kisses. "I can't do this. Not again."

Dominic ignored the pang of jealousy in his stomach, choosing not to think of the other person Matthew did this with. He was his now, this was his turn. "You can. I'm telling you, we can do this. I want you to." If permission was what he needed, Dominic would give it endlessly.

Their bodies came together, two immovable states united in their faction of love. Skin and flesh riding tidal waves of exalted desire. It was unlike anything Dominic had experienced, and he found clarity in that moment to focus on the feel of Matthew's fingers on his spine. It became a sensation he would venerate until the day he died.

"It was always you." The whispered words tumbled from Matthew's lips, and Dominic could sense the fear and the reverence with which they dripped. It would always and only ever be him. Would always be them. In a brief moment of naiveté, he was sure nothing could stop them. They alone would change the world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I can't seem to find enough air in this cell. Not anymore. I can feel the quaking of my skin of my lips as I inhale and exhale shaking breaths.

I've only got one memory left. Just one.

I'm frantic to find an escape. I would claw my way out of this room and leave my written words behind to live with our last day. The most important, the most dear to my heart.

In six hours, they will rip it from me and leave me in ruins. Without it, without him, I will be half of who I am. Without the memory of this torture I will not be the man I've grown into, and I will revert to the man I have come to despise. I am everything, if nothing, but a man comprised of the scars of my experiences.

The only window is covered by a glass screen. I have grazed my knuckles to bleeding with the number of times I've tried to break it. The door has only one external lock. I am trapped in this room with the only thing I hold dear, and the only thing I have left to lose. In its absence, I will wither.

I'm not sure when I drifted to sleep, but I am woken, as usual, by the slam of the door.

I become a small, petulant child, screaming my pleas and twisting my ribs so I can take one last look at my live-in diary. This is the last time these words will matter.

I have nothing to hold on to as I am pulled from the room, my fingers digging and sliding for purchase. Tears begin to sting my eyes, and I am briefly detached from my body as I hear the sound of my own gasping sobs echo off the high ceilings. A strong hand thrusts itself into my chest and I am winded, quickly silencing my vocal chords.

Before I have time to process what's happened, I find myself thrown into the chair. With what little oxygen I can get into my lungs, I force myself to find energy and thrust myself out to run away. Immediately I'm caught and returned, strapped in tightly while powerful hands on my shoulders force me to remain seated.

The only thing I can do is postpone the loss. I will give them anything.

Memories of my time in nursery school.

The day I failed a history exam.

My triumph when I beat James Dellary in the game station.

These things are meaningless. I don't need them.

Take them all. Take everything. Leave me alone with the only moment that matters. The only thing I will ever need.

The only thing I can never have.

~~~~~~~~~~

"I love you."

Matthew whispered the words slowly, in time with his thrusts into Dominic, eyes shining with affection.

A shiver rippled through Dominic, and he held on tightly to the skin of Matt's back. Burying his face in his lover's neck, he felt his eyes water as his heart brimmed with love and need.

"I love you," he whispered back.

They both fell quiet, and Dominic clenched his eyes shut as he listened to Matthew's gasped breath so close to his ear. He was unsure how long he could hold back, his hips thrusting up to meet Matt's in an uneven pace. He was craving speed.

It took several moments for Matthew to growl and pull them into a sitting position, Dom's legs wrapped gingerly around Matt's lower spine.

"Look at me," Matt breathed. "I want your eyes on me as you come."

Dominic obeyed, and soon his world was falling off its axis. The strength and power of his orgasm nearly crippling his senses. He felt he was drowning in an unearthly blue.

And then, a door was shut.

Everything shattered.

~~~~~~~~

Today is the day I can go home. I have never felt such relief in my life.

No one has told me what my crime was, but they assure me that I have been a most excellent prisoner. My good behavior has offered me a full cure and I have been promised I will never be here again.

Sitting up on my bed, I stretch the tension out of my shoulders. I can't remember the last time I slept in my own bed, and I'm eager to return home. Though I have to admit, I have grown quite accustomed to the sterile white walls of my cell.

I gather my civilian clothes and change quickly out of my prison fatigues. The rough fabric of the blue uniform will not be missed.

In what feels like no time, I am being collected from my cell and handed a glass board that displays a release form. I run the stylus over the glass and sign my name. Everything should be processed before I even step out of the prison.

In a moment of nostalgia, I glance back one last time at the cell that has been my home for six weeks. It's only then that I notice something is wrong, but I can't place it. I furrow my brow, trying to quell the sensation that is flooding my veins. It's akin to the fear that one has left the faucet running. But I know this cell. There is no change. As long as I can recall, it has always been white. Perhaps I'm just too attached.

I'm led out the door by a grim looking man, thin lips and a receding hairline. He flanks me to my right and I wonder momentarily if he has ever smiled. He takes me to a man behind a desk and hands him my prison card. Within seconds, the few possessions I entered with are returned to me and the weight of my house key in my hand has never felt more welcome.

With downcast eyes, I turn to exit the door, ready to return to my old life. It's then that I bump into someone dressed in a warden uniform.

"I'm sorry, sir!" I exclaim raising my eyes to meet his. "I wasn't looking, I -"

I'm drowning in compassionate blue. Warm and….home. My heart seems to stop for a second, and the gravity in my stomach disappears, leaving me in a moment of sheer weightlessness.

I have never seen anyone so beautiful or so familiar. I have never felt like someone belonged to me.

In a flash, the sensation is gone. And I blink.

"It's fine," the stranger says. "I see you're going home! Good for you. It's about time."

"Yes," I nod slowly. "Six weeks is a long time."

"Perhaps I'll see you on the outside?"

There is a wave of hope in this man's voice, and I want to affirm his wishes.

"Yes. Perhaps."

He takes my hand, and it feels like it belongs there. "My name is Matthew." He smiles brightly and I'm blinded.

"Dominic." He nods as if he knows.

Of course he does. He works here. I assure myself I'm being silly.

I turn to leave and, for some reason, I feel his eyes burning a hole into my back.

I'm positive I'll see those eyes again.

Current Music: In Absentia - The Mars Volta

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From:

ashamedbliss.livejournal.com

the tag :')

basically ilu and omfg basically okay i can't with my feelings. STILL.

i blame redemption, obviously.

you are incredible <333333333333

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Finding beauty in the dissonance

In Absentia (One-Shot)

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