You’re acting like a child. This is as much your mess as it is mine.

No sound came from the coffin. B wanted to respond, but he couldn’t. Although this memory remained hazy in his mind, he knew that changing it was impossible. If he said nothing back when all of this happened, he could say nothing now.

I should have known you’d be like this. I know this isn’t what you wanted. She had to know. We couldn’t keep acting like nothing happened.

All at once, a display appeared in this dark, cramped space. Right. He had run back here, but there was no security in this place. Time would move on, and he had abandoned his post. As he looked into Clara’s eyes. Tears would have been easier for him to take. Her eyes held the depths of her pain.

If you’re waiting for a time to take control back, this is it. You can sulk later.

As he felt himself cowering into his space, and there came a familiar feeling. Absorbing A’s words, feeling their weight slowly press him into a form he knew all too well. This was it. This was how it happened. He was becoming the person that until moments ago, he thought had been all he ever was. He had allowed himself to be trapped here, but A’s anger and abuse must have been what sealed him here.

I’ve always held myself to a higher standard than is perhaps reasonable to expect from oneself. This obsession with perfection, I’m not sure if I was born with it, or if I made the conscious decision that it was possible to always make the right choice.

This is how it started. He could breath a sigh of relief, though it hurt him to know that he hadn’t always been like this. At one point, he had held the power of control, and because of a moment of weakness, he had been tricked into giving it back.

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I’m worried that I’ve passed some of that obsession on to you. It’s not just a losing game, it’s a curse that can ruin you if you let it.

Wait. It wasn’t the words at first that caused him to pause, but the tone behind them. Stripped of its dripping sarcasm and caustic edge, it was warm. It wasn’t a trap, or some cruel retort. It stirred up more memories like a stone unearthing the silt at the bottom of a clear pool.

Look, she hasn’t kicked you out yet. That means something. I know you love her. But you’ll regret it if you don’t stand in and try to fix things.

Why wasn’t he saying anything? Why were the moments passing him by while he stayed in this decrepit state? As if in answer, he could hear a chorus of voices, all belonging to A. Not just words of encouragement, but advice. It felt like a needle had been plunged into his lungs, it twitching with each breath. These were words only exchanged between friends.

I can’t do this. Or I shouldn’t. You can’t pick and choose with this. It’s all in, or all out.

How had he forgotten all of this? Not only this moment, but every moment that came before. They hadn’t been enemies, far from it. It was just easier to live with a lifelong enemy than a wounded friend. He still hadn’t said a word, and he could hear the panic in A’s voice. It was fragile like the bones of a bird, but as he continued to speak, his tone began to sound more familiar.

It's not going to go your way if I’m the one in control. And I won’t let you pin this on me forever. Part of you knows that you had to tell her. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here. Your cowering is going to only doom us both.

…

If I go and deal with this now, I’m not coming back. You’re clearly not ready for the responsibility. I don’t know why I even bother.

No. This couldn’t be right. He had to say something, anything, anything at all that might stop him from going. Instead, the pressure grew, but it no longer felt so suffocating. There was a feeling of comfort to the pressure, comfort that he welcomed. It hinted at his own oblivion. B wanted to cry out, to stop this memory from happening, but he knew that it was futile, as his eyes closed, and his mind pushed all memories of this time deep into a forgotten well in his mind.