I have seen the R A I N *Xerxes*

[XERXES HARRISBURG]

It was kind of a weird sensation, really, feeling your limbs tense up and spring without like, any stimulus or whatever from you. It was weird to feel your own larynx like, yelling stuff your brain hadn’t ever thought of in like, your entire life. It would have been cool, really, had it been any other day, any other place, anywhere but this dark alley, in the middle of the night, with rain pouring down and these terrible noises setting fire to his ears, and these…these…things all around him, things he couldn’t bear to look at for fear of having the hideous images imprinted upon his eyes for the rest of his life. If he wasn’t so cold, so scared, so alone…

Xerxes had never believed in a God, but as he tried to ignore his wrists tensing up, grasping something cold and like, slimy and wet, plunging deep, deep down into something he didn’t want to know, he found himself praying. Please, God, please, he whispered, as around him the storm of malevolence raged. Please, God, I’ll join a monastery, I’ll never say ‘oh my God’ again, I’ll read that Bible thing every day, I’ll stop swearing, I’ll shave my head, I’ll throw stones at gay people, just, please, dude, God, wake me up. Please, please, dude, I’ll do anything, just wake me up. Get me out of this. He knew that if he had any control of himself right now he’d be cowering on the ground, hugging his knees, bawling his eyes out like some kind of little baby thing, shielding himself from the hell that was surging around him.

Please God, please, I know you haven’t given me a lot but c’mon dude, wake me up, please… But around him the screeches and screams deafened his ears, as he felt himself getting wetter, getting hotter, blazing hot, blazing fire licking his skin, searing his eyes, with all the blackness closing in on him on all sides, everywhere…and then, suddenly, like a sword of white light, a voice pierced everything.

"It's all okay Chere, I'm here."

Annamarie.

Annamarie was never in his dreams.

But she was there, as he looked through his own eyes, through the pitch black fog and fire that surrounded them he saw them, those beautiful auburn eyes that twinkled even in this darkness, that golden hair that splayed across her back, that voice, that…Chere.

This isn’t a dream.

And the minute the thought crossed his mind, he felt a stirring within him, as if whatever this thing was that was like, controlling him, knew that he’d realized. This was real, this was real, holy shit, this was real, he wasn’t sleeping, this was real…but as he quietly lost control, he felt the thing inside him panicking. ”Fly, my minions!” cried the horrible, horrible voice that wasn’t even close to his. ”Flee this place! We must flee!” Xerxes felt cold again, suddenly, colder than he’d ever felt in his life, like ice crystals forming along his arms, his head, his every limb. The noises were louder than ever, screaming, screeching, like the volume on his head phones on maximum with no way to turn it down.

And then it was over. The thing was gone. The alley was silent and serene, as if nothing had ever happened there. Xerxes raised an arm hesitantly and found with relief that he could control his body again. And that was when he noticed it.

He was holding a knife. And he was covered in red paint. No, not red paint…that was blood.

Real, live, people blood.

And then he saw the body. Which was also covered in blood.

What had he done?

“Annamarie…” The pathetic whisper escaped his lips, and it was his voice again, his own voice.

He was holding a knife. Covered with blood.

“I did that, Annamarie, didn’t I…”

Xerxes collapsed on the pavement, breaking down into spasmodic sobs. The knife clattered against the opposite building as he cried at her feet, feeling her lips on his forehead and shaking his head. ”I killed someone…Annamarie…I killed someone…I…"

He knew what he was the instant the word crossed his thoughts. "I’m a monster.”

[wooooozle]

Annamarie wasn't sure what was happening here. She knew she should be scared. Dead bodies tended to prompt that emotion. But she wasn't. Well, wait, that wasn't exactly true. She was scared, for Xerxes. He... didn't seem to be himself.

Her body clung to him, the rain fell over them, and his body was tense. That horrible voice- not the sweet voice of the sweet boy who had so sweetly saved her, but one of a monster- called for the shadow creatures that surrounded them. The Woozle hissed at one as it passed by him, the shadow imprint of the doberman sized weasel near her ankles. But her mind wasn't really on him.

Suddenly it felt like a weight was removed from Annamarie, like the air became clearer. She looked into Xerxes eyes inquiringly, and she found that the sweet version was returning. His eyes looked over the... situation, and it stared upon it with horror. The blood that stained his cloths and that mingled with the acidic rain water, the corpse laying nearby the pair, the note that Annamarie had seen it all.

His voice broke her heart, even though he had only spoke her name.

Fear.

Revile.

Desperation.

They clouded his voice as he spoke her name.

And then he asked if he had really done that, to which Annamarie could only nod slightly. There was no denying it, after all, Annamarie had seen. But, at the same time, it hadn't been him at all. The Woozle curled around him, and Annamarie's eyes gazed at him shooingly. What The Woozle wanted would not help, not right now. Xerxes collapse beneath the weight of his crime, and he sobbed quietly at her feet before she wrapped herself in him. Her poor Chere, so alone and scared. Stroking his hair, Annamarie cooed him gently. "No, no, no. Yeh notta monstre Chere, no. Don be sayin such things now..." She whispered, holding him closely to her chest. "It wasn yeh, not really. It was the monstre inside. I heard him, terrible thing. But not yeh, not yeh at all. Just sometin on de inside." Gently, she wiped away his tears, leaning closer to kiss them away.

The presence of the thunder made itself known to Annamarie once more, as she knew Xerxes was- physically speaking- safe. "Come wit me now, and we'll get yeh all clean and dry and warm." She spoke, trying to mask the urgency in her voice with genuine affection, pulling him gently to his feet. As she did so, it occurred to her that it would be best to get them away from the crime, as all of this was most damning. Grabbing the knife, she put it in the pocket of her borrowed sweatshirt, pulling him along. The sooner they were away, the sooner they could forget.

But Xerxes would not forget. How could he? It obviously hurt him. The Woozle urged her, telling her that there were ways she could help him forget for the moment. That she could make it all better, if only for a few moments of passion. She tried to ignore these, she tried to resist. They were hateful thoughts that plagued her. The very idea that she could think that Xerxes would want that now. But wouldn't it be a way to show him? Show him that Annamarie did not think he was a monster, that Annamarie was not afraid?

Reaching the dorm, Annamarie was pleased to see that the other occupants were still fast asleep. Off dreaming what dreamers will dream. She lead him to his room, and locked the door behind them, the shiver that Annamarie had managed to lose earlier returned. Quickly, she removed her cloths, unashamed by her nakedness, but quickly redressing in yet another one of his shirts. Shorter, plain black, resting on the top her her thighs, while her panties beneath played peek-a-boo. Taking his towel, she wiped her face, and gave her hair a quick pat down before looking at Xerxes.

"Chere? You need to git dry, 'fore yeh catch yeh death..." The poor choice of words was not noted until after they were out. She approached him, patting his cheek and neck with a corner of the towel. "But yeh ain' a monstre, yeh hear me. Don be sayin that." Her voice was both firm and gentle, if one could imagine. "Yeh done a bad thing, but it wasn't really you. I could tell. The eyes were mean, and the voice was evil. Not like yeh, no, not like yeh at all." She sounded so sure, it even worried herself. After all, why did she trust him so very much. He had proven himself to be dangerous.

But his eyes...

They weren't the eyes of the Monster, but the eyes of her Chere.

Tugging at the hem of his shirt, she braced herself for a wind of self control she prayed would come over her. "Come on now, off with these cloths. Yeh'll git sick standin 'round in them." Her voice sounded like worry, and affection, and utter devotion, and mostly...

Love.

In the matter of two hours, Annamarie had found herself in love with this man who was two side of the same human coin. Unable to fight the urge anymore- she never lasted long, and the revelation to herself made her resolve weak- Annamaire kissed her Chere.

[XERXES HARRISBURG]

Xerxes was a monster.

But, oh God, he really was, wasn’t he? He was that big scary hairy thing in the closet that every little kid had nightmares about and woke up screaming for. He was that cruel, creepy dude with a black hat who always stalked girls around in the movies. He was…oh God, he was what his parents had warned him about. What his teachers had warned him about. That if he didn’t behave, the scary things would come out of the darkness and jump at him with a big scary knife and a roar and…he was what he’d been fearing all his life. He was the shadows on his wall that made him inhale sharply and the creaking floorboards on the stairs while he slept that made him bite his lip until he bled.

He had just surrendered control of his body to what he’d been terrified of his entire life.

"No, no, no. Yeh notta monstre Chere, no. Don be sayin such things now..."She whispered, holding him closely to her chest. "It wasn yeh, not really. It was the monstre inside. I heard him, terrible thing. But not yeh, not yeh at all. Just sometin on de inside."

”Y-y-yes I am,” he sobbed, shaking and trembling against Annamarie’s chest. ”Me…or…or that thing inside of me…he…when he laughed…it was so…” But Xerxes couldn’t finish, because he couldn’t describe what had just happened, turning his world on its foundation and shattering it on the floor. There totally weren’t words, and like, if there were, he didn’t know them. He huddled closer to Annamarie, his teeth chattering as the cold winds seeped past.

"Come wit me now, and we'll get yeh all clean and dry and warm."

”No! No…” Xerxes’ response was suddenly urgent, though he wasn’t sure why. ”No…no…not…inside…” He couldn’t go back there. Not back to that warm bed, that locked door, that nice, safe, happy bedroom, a place he didn’t deserve. Scary things couldn’t go in safe places…right? You were supposed to be like, safe, behind a locked door. Xerxes couldn’t be there, the place that was supposed to be secure for him. What if the, like, thing, came back? Xerxes would have nowhere to hide from it, if he let it in.

"Chere? You need to git dry, 'fore yeh catch yeh death..." The poor choice of words was not noted until after they were out. She approached him, patting his cheek and neck with a corner of the towel. "But yeh ain' a monstre, yeh hear me. Don be sayin that." Her voice was both firm and gentle, if one could imagine. "Yeh done a bad thing, but it wasn't really you. I could tell. The eyes were mean, and the voice was evil. Not like yeh, no, not like yeh at all."

”There was something in me,” he whispered, his voice barely a wisp of wind. ”Inside me…this thing…and he was laughing at me…and he said…that I was…nothing, meant nothing…nothing at all…and death…death was coming…soon…” He shivered again, as a wash of terror fell over him like a shadow from above. ”And he just…he was…scary,” he finally admitted, after coming up dry for a better word. God, shit, why him, dude? Why him, of all the stupid people in the world, why him?

"Come on now, off with these cloths. Yeh'll git sick standin 'round in them."

And then she was kissing him, and in spite of everything Xerxes felt a hot like, blush spreading across his cheeks. ”I’m so glad you’re…here…with me,” he whispered in her ear, feeling a lock of his rigid hair brush against her cheek. He felt her back against his chest, and his breath, cold and hot in the same moment, danced gently across her neck. The two of them were so close together that he could feel her every breath, her ever sudden muscle movement like a prickle against his skin. He could feel the sweat and rain in her hair mixed with the vague aroma of a shampoo he didn’t recognize, and his fingers slowly moved through her golden hair. The next few instants were silent as he felt both of their movements tense, outlined with a new and different intonation. Their muscles shot from passive to passionate, easy to fierce, controlled to wild and archaic. His fingers wriggled down towards her hips, latching on as he pressed himself into her lips.