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Title: Spread your wings
Author: Thalia
Fandom: Breath

Genre: Angst
Pairing: Jon
Rating: R for gore


Spread your wings

by Thalia


Jonathan was sitting in his empty, cold room, trying to concentrate on an essay for his English class. The subject was Shakespeare’s sonnets, and the teacher had given him the 18th to analyse. Like he didn’t have enough of strange feelings already… What did really happen in the showers yesterday? Who could come up with something like that? Kissing him, and then just leave the shoes… Jonathan touched his cheek. It was still soar from the slap he got in the corridor from Sarah. Culd it really have been her shoes? He doubted it. By their size, the shoes couldn’t belong to a girl. She claimed she liked to wiggle her toes, but... thats kinda unlikely. But who was it then?

No, not now… He had to concentrate on the essay. Thinking is equal to feelings, and feelings are painful.

Forget and move on.

He sighed and read the words in the shabby book.


Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer's lease hath all too short a date:

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimmed,

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature's changing course untrimmed


Who had it been? Jonathan looked outside the window. The kiss… Did he like it or not? He didn’t know. In one way, it almost felt nice. The feeling of another human being so close to his own body was something he couldn’t recall any memories of. It had felt… Weird.

If he only knew who it was, it would be easier to decide whether to like it nor not.

He closed his eyes and tried to remember how the soft lips had met his.


Damn it! Why did the sonnets have to be about love? How would he be able to analyse something he’d never felt?

He closed the book and threw it on the bed. Who cared really? Why bother to do an essay for school? Why care about anything?

No one would notice if he didn’t show up in school… Well, Trevor would have to find someone else to do his homework. But no one would care about him. Why would they? He was nobody. He had heard it when he was just a kid… And all his life people had told him so. Why deny it? If everyone says one thing, it’s got to be true.


His sad blue eyes were filled with tears. Angrily he swept the tears away with his bandaged wrist. The cuts from last night still stung a bit when he touched them. It felt good. Pain was something he knew and understood. It felt safe.


He hid his face in his hands. What had happened to him? Most of the time he could just shut his feelings down, but this night it seemed impossible. He had to get his mind on something else.

Shakespeare? No, not tonight. The essay didn’t have to be finished until next week. If he’d still be here next week… He looked outside the window again, but his eyes were empty. He focused on the light on the other side of the street. A couple of moths were flying around it, hypnotised by the light. How easy their lives must be. Sleep and eat. Avoid birds. That’s it. Just spread the wings and fly. No feelings, no worries. No pain.


Spread your wings and fly away, far away… Like in that song his neighbours used to play on high volume. Usually he didn’t listen to that kind of music, with lyrics. He preferred classical music. Piano, violins… But that song… It was something special with it… It almost felt like it was written about – him. He didn’t know what to think of it. When he heard it he didn’t feel so lonely, there must be more people like him. But it also made him think. Being lonely was much better than thinking of it. Just accept that’s the way things are. How long could anyone stand to be alone? In some ways it felt like the only right thing. No one could hurt him, because no one knew him. Put on his mask every day, not showing any feelings. Feelings are a sign of weakness, and might be used against him. It had been done before, and it might be done again. Why risk anything?


He was just the quiet, weird guy in school. At work he was “The computer-guy”. Why let any one know more than that? Who would be interested in knowing more about him? Jonathan sighed and shook his head. He knew he was a nobody. He liked it that way. But still. Sometimes it would be nice to talk to someone. Not getting anyone to know him, just talk. No, not talk either. Just… Have someone to turn to. Without talking, without sharing.

All these thoughts! He had to get them out of his head, Jonathan thought. And there’s just one way to do it. To stop think is impossible; he needed something else to focus on. Something familiar that always worked.


Slowly he started to unwrap the bandages on his left arm. At first it was easy, he had done this so many times. But the last piece of it was soaked in dried blood since last night and wouldn’t come off the arm so easy. Jonathan went to the bathroom to wet them. He knew it would be easier to get the bandages off if he used water. He didn’t want to cause old cuts to break and make the arm numb. He desperately needed the pain, not just the satisfaction of seeing the red blood drip from his arm down on the floor, leaving red spots. Some nights that would do it, but not tonight pain was the only thing that could help him relax.


The water made the stiff fabric soften and loose its grasp of the crusts. The cuts had barley healed yet. They were all red and swollen. Jonathan looked at his own arm like it was a dead thing. He touched it and twitched when he felt the warm stinging ache. Some nights the sight of it filled him with disgust. Filled with fresh cuts, and scar from older ones it didn’t look at all like his classmates’ arms, but more like the arm of a freak. But that was what I am, so the arm should fit me perfectly, Jonathan thought and turned his face away from the reflection in the mirror.


He had done this for such a long time now. The first time was when he still lived in England with his adoptive parents. If they hated him more than he hated them was impossible to tell. They seemed to do anything to make his already miserable life a living nightmare. That night, four years ago, he had been crying as he put the razorblade to his wrist and made the first cut. His intentions had been to end it all that time, but his parents had interrupted him. They called him a weak coward, not worth all their time and care. Was this the proper way to thank them, they had screamed, as they took the razorblade from his shaking hand and locked the door from the outside. Jonathan was left like that for several days. At dinnertime his guardians let him out, and he was expected to sit by the dinner table and politely answer their questions. But otherwise he spent his days locked up in his room. His parents made sure he had no access to any sharp objects at home, but that didn’t matter. When he got back to school, he stole a scalpel from a classroom. Jonathan had discovered the relieving feeling of cutting his wrist, and from that day, he kept doing it to himself whenever he felt the cruel reality was getting too close. The pain from the cuts eased the pain inside. He didn’t think of it as much.


In the beginning, a voice in his head had screamed whenever he took out the scalpel and watched its sharp edge. But the relieving sensation he felt when the cut was bleeding was more powerful. The stinging pain and the sound of quiet dripping against the floor was calming. To watch the warm, red blood soak the bandages he put on the fresh cuts, feel the ache when he wrapped them tight round his arms was a feeling of being safe. The pain he could control. He could evoke it whenever he pleased.


Jonathan opened the bathroom cabinet and found the razorblade where he’d left it. He had cleaned it careful last night. He always did. He held the knife in his hand and felt the calm spread already. He knew what to come. The cold, sharp blade easy made a clean cut in the flesh. With his blue eyes fixed on the blood slowly making a small runnel, Jonathan lifted the razorblade again. The blood felt warm against his cold skin. The first drop hit the floor, followed by several more. A pulsing ache grew in the arm. One more cut… And another one. The dripping sound almost became an irregular, thin flow. Carefully Jonathan sat down in the floor. He dropped the razorblade on the floor and let his left arm hang down his side and rested the hand on the floor. Soon the blood had made a small puddle around his knuckles.


Jonathan fixed his eyes on a spot on the wall opposite to him, leaned his head against the towels hanging from a hook behind him. He felt free. It was like all his tough thoughts left his body along with the blood. The thoughts were gone. Now it was just him and the bleeding, aching arm left. That’s the way he liked it.


The puddle on the floor grew wider, and Jonathan realised he had to stop the bleeding before he would become dizzy. He took role of clean bandage from the shelf next to him and tied it hard around his arm. He felt the pulse even more distinct now. Every heartbeat gave a new strike of the dull pain he had grown to trust. The pain was his friend. He could always rely in pain.


Maybe it would be easier to fall asleep now. It was always easier to relax after he had cut his wrists open. If it was the familiar pulse in his arms that made him relax, or the sensation of all bad thoughts going away with the blood he didn’t know. Maybe it was the combination. It just felt good and that’s all Jonathan needed to know. He never felt as good as when he had done this. Light, relaxed. Almost a bit euphoric when he came to think of it.

Carefully he got off the floor, took the razorblade and held it under the tap to wash the blood away. Then he dropped it in the garbage bag. Next time he would take a new one.


Maybe he had let the cuts bleed a little too long this time. He felt dizzy and nausea and had to sit down on the toilet seat. The room was spinning around him. Had he gone up from the floor to fast? This wasn’t the first time he felt like this. If he just got to the bed and could lay down for a while. Then he’d clean up the mess on the floor.


Jonathan got up again, and leaned against the wall as the dizziness increased. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. He needed to stay focused to make it to the bed. It was just about ten feet away, he would make it easily he tried to convince himself. He took a few steps, loosed his firm grip around the doorframe and slowly stepped towards the bed. Just two more steps, then he could lie down. Just two more… But suddenly everything turned black and the floor disappeared into thin air. Jonathan fell to the floor, but he didn’t notice that. He had already passed out.


An hour later Jonathan woke up. Slowly he became awere of where he was and what had happened. There was a sound from his upstairs neighbour that made him open his eyes a familiar sound. The song again. Sung by a man. He almost sounded British. Jonathan hadn’t thought of that before.


 Since he was small

Had no luck at all

Nothing came easy to him

Now it was time

He'd made up his mind

"This could be my last chance"


How close it had been this evening. He had been dizzy before, felt the room spinning around him, but he had never passed out. Not from bleeding, anyway.


Slowly he crawled over to the bed and climbed into it. He was lying on his side with the knees under his chin. The arms curled up around the legs. He was still exhausted from being passed out. How strange lying on the floor, unconscious, could make anyone this tired.


Jonathan closed his eyes, felt the comforting pulse in his left arm and fell asleep as the last refrain was heard from upstairs.


Spread your wings and fly away

Fly away, far away

Spread your little wings and fly away

Fly away, far away

Pull yourself together

'Cos you know you should do better

That's because you're a free man




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(c) Copyright Kristian Hellström