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Every night had the same premise. Lawrence goes to sleep, dreams about Adam, and wakes up.
Tonight is no different. Lawrence is sawing his leg off, but it never comes off. He’s just pressing the blade against his leg and sawing. When he blinks, he has a gun pointed at Adam. Lawrence tries to stop himself from firing it as if it would change what really happened. But it doesn’t. He puts seven rounds into Adam this time.
Adam looks so young. So painfully young. Because he was. The most youthful he had ever looked. Larry thinks about how that was the youngest and oldest he’ll ever look. And Lawrence took that away from him. Took him away from his parents, his friends, and his siblings (if he had any). He murdered Adam. Shot and left him to rot. Took away his life. And now he’s gone. Because of Lawrence. He looked petrified.
He blinks one more time and Adam is bashing in his skull instead of Zepp’s. He looked even younger, even more afraid. And with that, he jerks awake.
His temples are near-exploding and his sheets are soaked. Lawrence’s chair is just far enough it’s painful to grab it and as he collapses in it, his will to shower is now gone.
A ghost dripping blood blurs his way into Lawrence’s vision. A gnawing feeling of guilt curls itself into the blond’s gut. It bubbles and hardens into a deeper feeling similar to rage. At himself, at Adam, whoever his mind can reminisce of. Somehow, Adam's dissipating into a soft smoke makes Lawrence’s grief worse.
Lawrence tries to convince himself that Diana is sleeping in her room across the hall, to fill the lonely empty inside ofhim. It doesn’t work. He knows that Diana is at Alison’s with her new boyfriend. He knows it’s just him. Alone with the ghost of his most guilt-ridden victim following him.
—
The shower dulls the ache in his head and the warmth consumes him like the fires of Hell themself. His foot aches, despite the fact it’s alone, rotting in a bathroom with the decaying corpse of Adam. John hadn’t told Lawrence to come in, so he had all day to pity himself.
His hair drips water down his back which makes him shiver. He can feel Adam’s presence (or the lack thereof) in the room with him. Lawrence wants nothing more than to call out. To scream at him. He closes his laptop and shoves his work to the side.
An empty balcony clouded with smoke is Lawrence’s favorite place as of recent. The sting of cigarette smoke reminds him of the irony of his job. The irony of it all. He’s a cancer doctor, who’s smoking. He’s a doctor who saves people, yet couldn’t save the one person that mattered most. He’s supposed to save people, yet he kills them in his free time.
“Larry.” Adam chirps out. He’s smiling. “Thought you didn’t smoke?”
Lawrence’s face pulls into a mix of annoyance and longing. He sighs deeply before thinking of a response. “I didn’t. And then I did. Simple as that.”
Adam seems to take this answer before the corners of his lips quirk up once again. “You’re kinda pathetic, y’know?” He smirked like the Joker himself possessed Adam’s facial muscles. “I mean, really Lawrence. Smoking for someone you knew for six hours before you killed him? You didn’t even know me.”
“Exactly. I didn’t know you. Nobody knows you. You told me you were alive and nothing, and you were right.” Lawrence had to pause when he felt bile creep up his throat. “That’s why I feel guilty.”
That reasoning shuts Adam up quickly. Lawrence swears he heard the boy mumble a soft apology before sitting down. “I don’t blame you. I know that… Everything that happened was for a reason. I know that. I know that whatever happened to me was for the better.” He started. “I would have done the same in a heartbeat. I wish someone would have done that for me.” Adam chuckled, but it sounded more sad and pathetic than happy. Then again, everything Adam did was sad and pathetic. John was right.
The younger sits down and looks over at Lawrence. “Are you actually a ghost or did I make you up?” The blonde whispers. It was supposed to be to Adam but came out like he was talking to no one in particular, and maybe he was. Adam hums in response. “I’m whatever you want me to be, handsome.” He winked. The older man clearly was not thrilled with this response. Adam could tell. He made a noise adjacent to clearing his throat. “Anyways, what I’m trying to say is that I’m not mad at you. Y’know, just… don’t leave me alone wondering where you are.” Adam said softer now. His smirk had melted into a soft and genuine smile.
Lawrence didn’t like how it tugged at him. He rubbed his eyes and put out the cigarette he was smoking, before staring blankly over the balcony as he nodded at Adam’s previous comment.
–
Paperwork was boring, and that was all Lawrence could really do except for sleep. So he slept.
When Lawrence opens his eyes, Adam's decayed face floods his view. He's not stupid. It's been two months, he wouldn'tlook this dead. His jaw is eaten away and his body is pale. Adam's skin was like the moonlight reflected off his window.
Lawrence squeezes his eyes closed. When he decides it has been long enough, he unclenches his body. His eyes slowly open. Adam is lying on his side, and his hand is propping up his head.
The older man desperately tries to cool the warm, tingling feeling that Adam's shit-eating smirk is causing him.
"Hey, doc." His whiny voice pierces Lawrence's ears. Adam's voice to Lawrence is like a whistle to dogs or the wind humans used to hear. Lawrence feels his throat desperately constrict as he begs it to swallow his shame. "Adam. It's far too late for this."
He's still not sure if the Adam that's in his nightmares is the one haunting him, but he tolerates them both, so why fuss?
Adam stays silent, simply observing Lawrence and seemingly admiring the empty pit he leaves in Lawrence's stomach. His smirk transformed into a softer, more playful smirk. "Sick of me already? Jeez, Lar, no wonder you left me."
A sour taste other than smoke fills Lawrence's mouth. "Don't call me that." The man said sternly, trying to hide the meek shame in his voice. Lawrence let out a breath he was holding. Talking to each other felt like walking on eggshells. Or landmines.
Looking over at Lawrence, the shorter stays unmoving. Just taking slow and deep breaths. He blinks. Adam is gone, the only remnant being a dent in Lawrence’s pillow, and the faint reminisce of a “sorry” on Larry’s lips.
—
Remembering Adam is cold. Touching (or the lack thereof) the ghost of Adam is colder. Lawrence is currently hugging the air, gripping it like a vice. His arms are loosely hung around Adam’s neck, and his nose is digging into his collarbone.
This is extra humiliating because Lawrence is hovering over the air because he can’t touch Adam without his skin ripping through his hands and into the air he breathes.
Adam’s shirt is cotton. It’s soft and wet and soaked in blood. Lawrence tries to grip it but he watches as his wounded shoulder puffs into gas before resolving back. This makes the blond feel worse.
Ugly sobs rip painfully through Lawrence’s throat as it tries to close to ward off the whines and cries. He cries until he thinks he might throw up and some more after that.
He resists the urge to slam his fist desperately into a wall until his knuckles are shreds of skin and muscle. As he clenches his fist where Adam’s hair would be, the ghost whispers shush to him. Promising he isn’t angry anymore, that Lawrence shouldn’t be either. Lawrence swears up and down he feels ghostly hands sliding up and down his back. The eldest gasps harshly for air.
Lawrence can’t remember the last time he’s cried like this, surely before Diana was born. Maybe even before Alison and him met.
“You’re fine, Lawrence, Jesus Christ!” Adam whispers, unsure of what to do. “Just take a deep breath… let it all out. I can take it… I can take it. I can take your anger, I’ll keep it safe inside me.” If Lawrence knew any better, he would think Adam was speaking gibberish. However, at that moment, Lawrence listened, leaning against Adam and wailing. He wasn’t even sure why. He drove his fist into Adam, even though he couldn’t feel it.
“Yeah, that’s it. If you need to be mean, you can be mean to me. Just lean on me as you break my heart.” Adam said softly, listening as the other tried to mumble stupidly about how he was fine. “Oh, don’t fucking bullshit me. If you were fine, you wouldn’t be crying and punching a ghost.” He scoffed to which Lawrence scoffed too.
The doctor didn’t have the strength to fight back, so he just let himself weep against Adam.
—
“I want to know more about you, Adam,” Lawrence said, scribbling his signature on various pieces of paper. The brunet perked up.
“What do you want to know?” He smiled up at Lawrence. “Anything.” The eldest whispered.
Adam looked up at the ceiling. “Well, I grew up catholic. I dropped out of high school. I wanted to be a vet. I took up photography because it was the only thing my brothers weren’t doing. Oh, yeah, I have twelve brothers, I’m the youngest. I overdosed on depression medicine when I was nine. My nose bleeds randomly. I can’t really sleep. I’ve always wanted to fall in love.” Adam listed random items about himself.
Lawrence hums in response. He tries to get choked up. “What about you?” Adam asks.
“I also grew up catholic. I wanted to be in the army growing up. I tried to take my life at 19.” The silence after that was tense enough for Lawrence to make the quiet awkward and calm enough for Adam to make it nice. Lawrence thought before responding again. “And, I’ve also always wanted to fall in love.”