02 May 2017 @ 12:24 am
Title: Sleeping With Ghosts
Author: [personal profile] forameus
Beta: [personal profile] matturemuser & also a big shout out to [personal profile] thekeyholder91
Pairing: Belldom
Rating: M for the moment, but will go up to E in the next chapters.
Summary: The thing about love, Matt thinks, is that it haunts you just like a ghost.
Disclaimer: Muse not mine - sigh - this is just a work of fiction etc. etc.
Author’s note: I must admit that I had a lot of doubts about posting this - but then again, I don't think there was ever a time when I was 100% sure about my writing, so this is nothing new under the sun, really. Still, I haven't done this in a looooong (help me saying "looooong") time (actually, this is the first time I try to write, not translating, something in English, so bear with me) and while I did end up with a pretty long first chapter, I feel like this is too short to even be considered a prologue. However, since it's not exactly tied to the "real" beginning of the story,  and I still felt like it had to come before it - bit like a semi-spoilery introduction, if you want - I decided to post it anyway. Also, this is my official debut on MS@DW - champagne is on me! :D

The thing about Matthew —
When he was a child, Matt had witnessed his mother perform — or pretend to perform — exorcisms on several occasions. Her makeshift abracadabras consisted mostly of bits of old prayers and random Latin words which, Matt was certain, didn’t really mean anything at all. However, they seemed to work, because as soon as she got her crucifix out, people started cursing and shrieking and spitting just like in that movie — the one his brother hadn’t wanted him to see but that Matt had stolen from his collection and watched anyway.
He wasn’t allowed in the basement where the rituals took place until he’d turned ten, but all the same, all the time, as he listened to the godless shrieking from his bedroom doorway, half-jealous of his mother’s attention on someone other than himself, Matt had wondered what it felt like to be possessed, to share your body and mind and soul with someone else, to lose yourself, your hands, your heart, completely.
No wonder why his mother’s victims all screamed as if they were dying; it must hurt, Matt thought, to sever what had become yours. Spiritual amputation. A gaping, bleeding, big fucking love-shaped hole in your soul.


Later, in retrospect, much much later, after all the laughing and the crying and the fucking and the fighting and the fucking and the fucking — et cetera et cetera — but long before the final detonation anyway, Matt supposed he should have seen it coming, so of course he bloody didn’t.

— he’s an accident just waiting to happen: a train with no breaks, a fuel leak at three thousand feet, a one-man detonation. Ready to burst. Always ready to burst.

(But he never does)
listening to: Easily - Muse
where: down the rabbit hole
feeling: awake
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