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Addiction. The fact of being addicted to something, being physically or mentally dependent on a particular substance or activity.
Owen wouldn’t say he suffered from any form of addiction. He was simply a very sad and mentally disturbed man. That’s how he had always been. When he was alive, when he was younger, when he was sick. He hadn’t really considered finding coping mechanisms people would deem unhealthy until he was well into his twenties.
Alcohol had been the first. Though not the worst. It was the hardest to acquire, so when he did have it he found himself indulging, finding solace in the numbing effect it brought. He’d work harder some weeks to make extra coin, just to attempt to buy some cheap liquor to numb his shaky hands. It was a desire that only popped up on every other occasion, and had been thoroughly doused when he had been turned.
The need stayed, the ache for that numb fuzziness the drink brought never fully left. But he found solace in other activities. He had found solace in tearing Oakhurst apart and he found solace in tormenting its new residents soon after. But when his beloved began walking the Earth again, he was by his side. He was once again lost to his pain and his fears.
He loved Louis. Louis had been his reason to get up in the morning while he was alive, soon being a replacement for the alcohol he consumed weekly and instead he drank wine and traded kisses. He didn’t need to be numbed when all he needed was his beloved man to kiss his fears and his pains away. He thought that maybe, just maybe this time he wouldn’t need anything else to keep his mind at bay. But he was wrong.
He had first discovered what wonder self inflicted pain could do when he was alive. He would stare at his gnarled and blistered skin, disgust curling in his gut as he picked and pulled and scratched at every inch of his arms until he felt dizzy from blood loss. He had wrapped his arms up soon after with guilt in his heart and moved on. This pattern repeated for most nights he found himself alone.
Now he had no wounds to pick at, simply scarred flesh that stared at him with distaste. He wasn’t sure which scars were his doing and which were from his illness but it didn’t matter, both were a painful reminder. He kept his bandages on most days now.
Louis and Legundo were wonderful. They were his partners and he wouldn’t trade them for the world, they made him feel like he didn’t need the pain or the numbness of his past afflictions. But the urges still itched at him, whispering softly like they were kind and not cruel. He kept them to himself, going through his days like he always had, with kind words and soft touches from his partners to ease his shaking mind.
“Ouch.” Owen hissed as his whittling knife slipped slightly from the piece he had been carving, leaving a sizable cut along his thumb down to the joint. It throbbed, he could feel the skin starting to stitch itself back together slowly by his enhanced healing. He heard Legundo make a worried noise above him as he looked over to where Owen was sitting on the floor.
“You alright?” He asked as Owen stared at the cut, it was already mostly healed, it wasn’t that deep. Owen licked at the blood that had formed, savouring the sting from the wound as it finished healing.
“Yup. Vampiric healing is a wonder.” He grinned, going back to his carving, but his mind was elsewhere. Legundo shrugged, looking back at his book.
He kept whittling, his thoughts bubbling and the pain fading from his hand. He frowned, standing up and mumbling to Legundo that he was going for a nap. He closed the door to the bedroom with a soft click, before walking around the bed and leaning against it on the floor. He stared at the knife in his hand. The handle had been fixed by Louis many years ago when it had snapped, a loving message carved into the side.
‘For Eternity.’
Owen looked at his arm for a moment, before peeling back one of his bandages. He had started to get more comfortable not wearing them in the house, but sometimes the guilt and disgust would get too much and he had to wear them. Legundo and Louis never minded.
He stared at his scared flesh for a moment, that familiar feeling of gross despair filling his mind as he brought the blade up to the back of his arm. He was numb as he pressed the blade into his skin, finding solace in the motion as he swiped it across. He watched in fascination as the skin soon started to stitch itself back together. Owen frowned, bringing the blade up again and pressing harder into that same spot. He sliced it through his skin easily, swiping a few more times to deepen the cut.
Blood started to drip from his arm and onto the floor, suddenly bringing Owen back from his trance. He hissed silently, rooting under the bed for the med kit Legundo had stashed under it. He had med kits stashed all over the house. He also grabbed his bin of bandages, before desperately wiping the blood off the floor, pressing a cotton pad to the wound as it healed, slower and more painful this time. Owen hummed at the stinging feeling of dry cloth against his open wound, enjoying it while it lasted as the wound finally healed enough for the blood to stop flowing.
Owen frowned again, his arm still throbbing uncomfortably as he cleaned up his mess, a familiar guilt filling his gut like it had all those years ago when he picked his skin raw. His brain was suddenly becoming alight with this new discovery, wishing to press that blade against his skin again and again. But he refrained, taking a breath and putting all the stuff away, rewrapping his bandages with a clearer head.
He stared at his knife with a newfound appreciation, cleaning the blood off it carefully before placing it in the bedside table where it usually rested before crawling into bed. He snuggled against the pillows, purring as he savoured the smell of his partners on the pillows and blankets. He grabbed his healing arm, pressing his thumb against the area the wound had been in hopes of causing some pain, but all he got back was a dull ache. He frowned again, his brain going into overdrive.
Perhaps a knife made of silver would last longer.
He didn’t tell his partners about his revelation, or about his little activity. They didn’t need to know. They would worry, say it’s unhealthy. Perhaps it was. But Owen simply saw it as stress relief. He was always so worried, stressed and full of energy he didn’t know what to do with. The pain had helped when he was alive, maybe the pain would help now.
Over the next few days he managed to leave the house alone. Louis was busy running a charity event in town and Legundo had a long surgery that day, so when Owen was supposed to be chopping down trees, he went mining instead. He soon found some silver, running home and refining it as quickly as he could. Setting the piece into a blade and making it a knife was its own sort of ritual, burning his hands at every step. He soon put gloves on, realising his partners would be able to see the silver burns along his palms if he continued.
When the blade was done, he mixed it with some iron, in hopes of dulling the burning effects just slightly. He wasn’t interested in burning his flesh, he just wanted the cuts to last. To hurt for longer than a moment. He wasn’t sure why he wanted that. His brain felt dizzy from all this feverish work, he didn’t know what had come over him. He didn’t realise how badly he had missed the routine of sitting on the floor and causing himself harm. But this was new, and so ever exciting for him. It made him sick.
Once the blade was done, he grinned, running to the bedroom again. This time he set everything he needed in front of him to help with cleanup. He felt giddy as he pulled back his bandages again. He pressed the blade to the back of his arm and hissed at the soft burning sensation it gave. He wasn’t a fan of that. So instead he pulled it back, angling it over his skin and swiping down in three fast motions. The blade dug deep, and hurt a lot. It was addicting.
He swiped a few more times until he felt he had dug deep enough, and he pulled back. He watched the blood drip onto the hardwood floor for a moment before grabbing a cloth and wiping it away, pressing the cloth to the wound. It burned and stung and felt so painful Owen started to tear up. He waited for what felt like an eternity, before lifting up the cloth to see the wound had only healed ever so slightly.
Weirdly.. he felt proud as he looked at it. He quickly covered the wound in cotton pads to stop it from bleeding anymore before wrapping his arm in bandages. He was used to wrapping wounds- even if this one was slightly different.
When Louis got home, Owen simply gave him a kiss, pulling him into a hug as his partner smiled.
“How was your day? Hope you didn’t miss me too much.” Louis teased, kissing his lover's cheek. Owen just smiled.
“It was good.”
Owen had never been good at keeping secrets from his partners. When he neglected to feed himself, Louis noticed and helped him regain his appetite. When he was feeling scared or upset because of a nightmare or a memory, Legundo noticed and held him in his arms, safe and warm. When he was doing something he shouldn’t, like applying his bandages too tight or binge eating till he threw up, his partners noticed and helped him through it with gentle hands.
This was easier to hide. He began wearing his bandages daily, his partners giving worried looks when he refused to take them off for bed. He started staying home instead of chopping wood while his partners were at work. He would be less cautious while whittling. The only thing that worried his partners were his bandages.
“Owen.. have you been having bad thoughts looking at your scars again?” Louis asked as Owen pulled on a long sleeve shirt over his bandages, fresh cuts throbbing through the cloth. Owen just smiled,
“Maybe a little. I’m sure it’ll go away eventually.” Louis and Legundo exchanged looks before each giving him a kiss, telling him he was beautiful. And they would be here for him.
About a month into his continued wearing of his bandages Louis and Legundo started asking if he needed help easing out of them. He had just started weaning off of them before his new hobby and he knew it worried his partners to see him all closed up again. All Owen could say was that he wasn’t ready, and maybe soon he’d take them off in front of them again. They both looked sad but nodded.
Another few weeks passed before Louis became suspicious. Owen could tell he was keeping a close eye on him as the days went on. Owen tried his best to keep from wincing when Louis touched his arm, his beloved’s eyes picking up on each movement like it was his job. Louis even tried to talk to him about if his insecurities were bothering him again, trying not to pry but his worry was evident. Owen couldn’t muster up the strength to admit it wasn’t his insecurities.
Legundo soon noticed his med kits were losing supplies, giving hushed whispers to Louis as they both began monitoring Owen. It was infuriating. So he stopped using the med kits. Instead he would use an old shirt that hid the blood stains well. He’d hold his arm above his head until the bleeding stopped then wrapped his existing bandages tightly around the wounds.
“Owen what is this?” Louis asked as he walked into the living room. Owen was sitting on the couch doing a simple numbers puzzle from a book Legundo had bought him. He looked up with a hum to see Louis holding his knife. The silver one. The one he had hid under the mattress in a wrap of cloth and leather in hopes no one would find it. Owen tensed, but tilted his head as if confused.
“Uhm.. a knife?” He hummed, hoping he was convincing as Louis’s eyes bore into him.
“It’s a silver knife.. mostly silver anyway. It was under our mattress. Did you put it there?” He could tell Louis was trying to be gentle with his accusations, but his expression was confused and worried. Owen just shrugged, standing up and taking the knife from Louis like he was going to inspect it.
“I’ve never seen it before.” He lied, his gut churning with guilt as Louis gave him a look like he didn’t believe him. All Owen could do was watch in horror as Louis took the blade again, giving Owen a suspicious but resigned look before sighing.
“Alright.. I’ll just get rid of it. Don’t want silver in the house.” Louis examined Owens' expression as he nodded.
Owen swallowed with a strained smile. “Good idea.” He tried to seem bored, going back to his number puzzle as Louis left the room. He felt fear clutching at his gut at the possibility of Louis or Legundo finding out what he had been doing. It didn’t feel wrong to him, but he knew they would be mad. They’d be mad he kept it from them. They’d be mad he lied to them. They would be so disappointed in him.
Legundo and Louis kept an even closer eye on him after that. Rarely leaving him alone in the house anymore. Sometimes it was unavoidable, and in those few hours of reprieve Owen snuck out again and crafted another knife, instead keeping it in a box that he hid under a floorboard in the attic. He would not have this be found out.
He managed to keep up the little routine for another two months. His partners tried to get him to open up, only to be met with a fake smile and the shaking of his head. But as all good things must, it came crashing down on top of him.
He was sitting in the bedroom, humming faintly as he dragged the blade over his skin. The other cuts that had healed over the months were now scars to match his others, simple wide, white lines sitting proudly atop his blister scars and marbled flesh. Owen took a drink from the blood bottle he had beside him as he swiped across his skin again. He didn’t hear the front door open.
He only noticed someone was home when the bedroom door creaked. Owen hissed, yelling at whoever it was to close the door, as he frantically tried to clean up his mess.
“Owen?” It was Legundo's voice. He must have gotten off early.. Louis was due home soon as well. Legundo had listened to Owen, not looking into the room and instead leaning against the door handle with it cracked slightly open.
Owen cursed, tears forming in his eyes as he wrapped up his wound as fast as he could before shoving all his supplies in the box and pushing under the bed. He would move it back to its spot later when he won’t be spotted. He quickly stood up, pulling his sleeves down over his hastily applied bandages before heading to the door with a fake practiced smile.
“Sorry Legs.. I-.. didn’t have my bandages on.” It wasn't a lie, but he still felt guilt choke him as Legundo gave him a worried look. He sighed, pressing a kiss to Owens forehead.
“It’s alright. Have you eaten?” Legundo asked simply, looking Owen up and down like he knew something else had been wrong. Owen knew the Doctor knew something was wrong, but he chose to ignore it as he shrugged.
“A little, but I can eat with you.”
They both went to the kitchen, with Legundo making himself a quick meal and sitting at the table, placing a blood bottle onto Owens side of the table. They sat in silence as they ate, before Owen's heart dropped. He could feel his bandages loosening slightly from his movements, and he could feel blood running down his arm. He tried to stay composed as he sipped his blood, praying to whatever god could hear him that his healing would speed up and stop the bleeding.
No such luck. He rested his arms in his lap, feeling the blood soak into his clothes and drip onto the floor. He was frozen in fear. He didn’t know what to do. Legundo was watching him as he finished his meal, analysing him. Suddenly the front door opened, and Louis entered with a smile. Owen smiled back, shuffling so his arm wouldn't be seen. He was stupid to think he could hide it.
Louis’s face morphed into one of fear as he walked into the kitchen.
“Owen! You’re bleeding!” He gaped as he grabbed Owen’s arm. Owen hissed as the doctor also stood up frantically, walking over to see all the blood seeping through his bandages and dripping down his arm. Owen hissed at them both, pulling his arm back into himself and quickly standing up and leaving the room. His partners called after him but he was already trudging to the bathroom.
He quickly locked himself in, with both his lovers calling for him from behind the door. Owen let out a choked sob as he grabbed one of the med kits. He sobbed as he cleaned his fresh wounds properly, hearing Legundo cursed from behind the door. Louis begged him to open the door, but he just snapped at them to go away. A silence fell on the other side of the door.
Owen thought he had won, watching as more blood dripped from his arm and into the sink, water washing it all away as more flowed. Suddenly he heard a click from the door and he froze. The spare key. Those fuckers used the spare key.
The door gently opened, with his partners peeking inside. Owen hissed at them, throwing the bag of medical supplies at them in hopes they’d leave him alone. They didn’t. They both stood in the doorway as they looked at Owen, who had collapsed on the floor with the tap still running and his wounds still oozing. He hissed at them again, tears running down his face until he choked out another sob and buried his face in his hands, pulling his knees to his chest.
He doesn’t really remember what happened next, he just remembers gentle arms enveloping him on either side. He remembers begging for them to go away, begging for forgiveness, begging for it to stop. Louis had whispered comforts into his ear, rubbing circles in his back as he heaved. He remembers Legundo gently taking his injured arm, apologising as Owen hissed weakly, before starting to clean the wounds.
Owen clutched onto Louis tightly as Legundo worked, slowly stopping the bleeding and wrapping the cuts with practiced ease, before running his hands along the older ones. They went all the way up Owens arm, and he sobbed harder as Legundo peeled the rest of the bloodied bandages off. Owen knew they needed replacing, but he still felt like Legundo was exposing his biggest secret to the world just because he wanted to see.
Owen refused to look at his partners’ faces, he knew they would be filled with disappointment and pity. He didn’t want either. He didn’t want their kind and gentle hands, he didn’t want Louis’s soft and scared comforts. He didn’t want Legundos steady hands helping rewrap his arm. He didn’t want it. But oh how he craved it.
He was feeling dizzy from bloodloss, like he did most times he did this activity, so he didn’t protest when Louis picked him up off the bathroom floor. He didn’t say anything besides quiet sobs as Louis and Legundo undressed him, throwing his bloodied clothes into a wash basket. Owen didn’t hear what they were saying. He didn’t want to hear. He knew they were mad. They had to be. Surely they were.
He said nothing when Legundo pressed kisses to his freshly bandaged arm, he said nothing when Louis hugged him so tenderly, he said nothing when they dressed him in clean clothes, free of blood. He said nothing. He just cried. And cried until he couldn’t cry anymore. Louis tried to get him to drink. Owen refused. Owens' head was full of cotton. He wished he had some liquor.
Louis and Legundo had stopped talking to him, realising he wasn’t listening, and wouldn’t be for a while. He heard them talking quietly to each other but his ears had started ringing. He felt like he was back in those doctors offices waiting for them to determine if he was worth saving. He knew he was trembling as Louis and Legundo manoeuvred him under the covers, pressing soft kisses to anywhere they could as they cuddled up next to him.
He didn’t move to nuzzle against his partners like he usually did, he just allowed them to envelop him in their warmth as the adrenaline and blood loss finally caught up to him, his consciousness fading. Sleeping was definitely better than the anger he was no doubt going to face come morning.
.
.
.
He was sluggish as he woke up, the bed cold and he was alone and sore and tired.
He blinked his eyes open, turning his head to look out the door to the bedroom. It had been left open and he could see Legundo and Louis shuffling about the kitchen down the hall. They were talking in hushed voices, like they didn’t want Owen to hear. He didn’t care.
He sat up in bed and looked at his arm. It was all wrapped perfectly, you wouldn’t be able to tell there was anything wrong. He sighed, crawling out of bed and padding barefoot down the hall. The whispering stopped and Louis peaked his head from around the door as Owen pushed his way into the kitchen.
He sat at the table. His blood was still on the floor, leading out the door where it had dripped an incriminating path to the bathroom. He looked away from it. His partners exchanged looks before placing a blood bottle in front of him.
“Good morning sunshine..” Louis said softly, pressing a kiss to his head.
“Morning.” Owen mumbled as he took the bottle and started to chug it. He didn’t realise how hungry he was. Legundo gave him a warm look as he and Louis sat at the table as well.
“How are you feeling?” The doctor asked. Owen felt like he was a bug under a magnifying glass, his partners staring at him as he drank from the other side of the table. Owen finished his drink, cleaning his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Fine.” He said simply, still exhausted and embarrassed from the night before. He was waiting for the anger.
“You know we need to talk about yesterday.” Louis frowned, his voice gentle like he was talking to a rabid animal. Owen felt sick as he nodded. More silence fell on the room and Louis sighed softly.
“The knife was yours?” He asked, but he clearly already knew the answer. Owen nodded, tapping his claws along the table.
“Why Silver?” Legundo asked, making Owen flinch slightly as he shrugged.
“It made them last longer.” He whispered, his gut was churning as Louis and Legundo exchanged worried looks.
“Why didn’t you tell us you were struggling?” Louis asked, making Owen's eyes water. Where was their anger? Their confusion? Why weren’t they asking why he would do that? Why weren’t they yelling?
“Because I’m not.” Owen said easily. His beloveds paused. Before Legundo's gaze hardened.
“Hurting yourself isn’t healthy Owen. It’s a sign you're struggling.” Legundo pursed his lips together as he spoke. Owen knew the doctor knew some things about self inflicted pain. This made Owen feel even worse.
“It doesn’t matter.” Owen mumbled, holding his middle in feign comfort. “I’m happy now. I have everything I could want, two partners who love me, a house, the forest. I just.. needed stress relief.” He admitted, closing his eyes as his face burned. He didn’t like being stared at.
“Just because you’re in a safer and happier environment doesn’t mean you can’t still struggle.” Louis said firmly while Legundo nodded. Owen knew that. He had helped both his partners through rough patches before. He’d held both of them through nightmares, he’d helped Legundo through flashbacks and derealisation episodes. He helped Louis when his limp became too bad for him to walk, when his body became flooded with pain for no reason.
He knew that. But it didn’t make it easier to apply to himself. Out of all of them Owen had suffered the least. Louis had burned for days at the stake, Legundo had watched hundreds of people die by his hands by either poison or insufficient medical supplies. Louis had watched Owen slaughter and destroy everything he loved. Legundo had watched his friends do horrible things in desperation to stop their hunger. All he had was being an outcast and being sick.
He didn’t deserve their pity. He didn’t want it.
“It doesn’t feel like it.” Owen conceded, trying his best to hold back the tears that threatened to spill.
“I know my love.” Louis said gently, reaching over the table and taking Owens hand in his. “It’s okay to need help. You help us, and we help you. That’s how this works. We love you so much. We’ll help you get through this.”
Owen felt the tears finally spill. Why weren’t they angry? It didn’t matter. He felt weak and pathetic as Legundo stood up and pulled him into a warm hug. Owen always loved Legundo’s hugs. He was much larger than Owen and completely swamped his small frame in warmth and love. He cried even more as he held onto his beloved.
“I don’t- I don’t want to stop though.” Owen hiccuped as Louis rubbed circles into Owen’s hand. The knife had been something he could rely on. He knew he could rely on his partners, but the knife was something else. It was sharp and cold and left him with little trophies of his pain. He didn’t know why he found such joy in it. He still felt disgust as he looked at his bare arms. The cutting helped punish his gross scars and marbled flesh and replace it with something he did himself. Something in his control of how it looked.
“That’s okay... But I’m afraid you're going to have to… It’s not healthy.” Louis frowned sadly as he pressed a kiss to Owen’s knuckles. Owen just nodded. He knew that. But he doubted it would stop him.
The next few days were full of soft touches and gentle questions. Asking how he was feeling. Asking if he had any urges. Asking if he was hungry or wanted a cuddle. It was nice. But also horribly demeaning. He once again was put under high monitoring, never really being left alone. Louis took time off work, while Legundo started doing less work in his office and taking it home. They would go on walks, sit on the couch and talk about anything and everything.
He would snap at them sometimes, try to sneak away and get his knife from under the bed. They always caught him before then. Sometimes he would get so mad at their fretting he’d lock himself in the bathroom. His partners would worry he was doing something he shouldn't and try to get in, but all he was trying to do was decompress. They apologised to him after he had a meltdown over it, promising to give him some space. It was nice.
He sat on the bedroom floor again, tears running down his face as he pressed the blade to his skin again. Louis was in the other room. He threw the blade at the wall.
“Louis!” He called between sobs. Louis ran into the room, a sad but proud look on his face as he walked over to where Owen was crouched in the corner.
“Oh sweetheart..” He sighed, taking his cut arm and gently cleaning him up. He pressed kisses to the wounds and to Owen’s tear stained face, whispering praises as he went.
He watched in disgust as Louis threw the knife away.
He didn’t understand how his partners could be so patient with him. They were patient when he yelled. They were patient when they found him on the floor again covered in blood. They were patient when Owen came up to them begging for a distraction. They were patient when Owen finally started feeling like himself again.
He didn’t want to stop. But he did. His partners were gentle and quiet as he went through the motions. They gave him kisses when he relapsed and gave him praise when he came to them to fight off urges. He was still a broken and very mentally disturbed man. But maybe his partners could help stave off his addictions.