Love Lost and Found

Love lost and found

//…// denotes thoughts
~…~ indicates something written
And please R&R! I'd really like to know what you think! *thanks*
This story deals with self-mutilation and is very depressive at the beginning, so if this might squick or trigger you please don't read it!

Disclaimer: Not mine, not true, all made up!

Chapter 1/?

Orlando crouched into the corner and wrapped his arms around his knees, staring at the door. He hated it. New Zealand, the Hobbits, the other actors, everything. New Zealand was so wonderful that he couldn’t stand it anymore. //The cast…// he thought and rested his head against the cold tiles of the bathroom wall. They were just too nice, too friendly, too caring…. Too everything. He had been here for two months and they still hadn’t given up hope on getting to know him better. //As if they’d really want that, once they know…// he thought bitterly. He could just imagine their faces when they found out. Quickly he forced himself to ban these images from his mind. Not good to think about that now. Not good to think about anything at all. He was thinking so much that he didn’t really know what he was thinking anymore. There were just too many things in his head. He felt numb. Totally and utterly numb. Except for those precious times he spent with the others. Especially the other fellowship members. He loved the easy way in which they talked and joked with each other on the set.
He even enjoyed spending his evenings with them in some pub or other but it never felt right for him to be there. He sought their company and yet felt more lonely when he was with them than he had ever been. Sometimes he just wanted and run. Just run away from everything. Run and hide somewhere in a deep dark place where no one could find him, where he didn’t have to listen to other people and where no one could see or him, much less try to talk to him.
But he had never done that. Not until tonight.
His eyes burned with unshed tears but he knew that even if he tried to cry he would never really do it. He never did. Not anymore. He had stopped to cry years ago. Just like he had stopped screaming and yelling or showing any strong emotions. Whenever he tried to cry he ended up in an almost hysterical laughing fit that left him feeling even more devastated and unhappy than before. He looked around him once more. Some paper-tissues, a towel and a bandage lay around him. He had everything he needed. Everything except for one small thing that would change so much. But he could never have that and he knew it. He carefully picked up the item to his right, relishing in the feel of it against his palm. He shifted, till he sat cross-legged with his bare back against the wall and then laid his arms upon his thighs. He clutched the item in his right hand more strongly and then, slowly, began.
He closed his eyes as he felt the first whisper of steel against his skin. He had seen this coming for days but somehow hadn’t been able to prevent it from happening. He didn’t know if he even wanted it to stop. Pressing harder he breathed a sigh of relief as a well-known warmth tickled his skin, leaving a stinging sensation as it slowly flowed down the length of his arm and onto the towel he had put under it.
His fingers shook slightly as he placed the razor-blade at the beginning of the wound he had just created and then cut into it again, adding more pressure this time. It was still not deep enough. He still didn’t feel anything. It was always the same. With the small difference that it got worse. It always did.
He used the tissues to clean the wound and still the bleeding a bit. When he was able to see the cut clearly again he deepened it once more. It was bleeding freely now and had begun to gape. //Good…// he thought as he looked at it with a strange fascination //At least I’ll be able too see it through the blood…// He cut into the wound a few more times staring at it as it gradually gaped more and more. He shuddered. He still didn’t feel it. Somewhere from the back of his mind a small voice reminded him that he had to stop if he wanted to continue filming after the weekend. Grimacing he looked at his arm. //Not enough…//
He searched but wasn’t able to find eh sph space on his arm for the kind of wound he wanted to create. There were just too many scars. He looked at his right arm. Only a few, faint scars crisscrossed it. Maybe he could… //No.// he decided //it wouldn’t be the same… not today…//
He put the razor-blade aside and the jabbed at the wound with antiseptic wipes. They weren’t too good but they were the best he had at the moment. Carefully he bandaged the wound. A little tighter than any doctor would allow but at least the bandage stayed in place that way.
He got up and quickly cleaned up the mess he had made. Not a drop on the floor. Good.
He felt at least a little bit better as he went into the living room and glanced at the clock.
10.47pm. He was lucky that he could sleep late tomorrow for he knew that he wouldn’t be able to find any sleep tonight. He seldom slept through the night anyway. //But what shall I do now?// he thought desperately. He needed a way to deal with his thoughts, whatever they were or he knew that he would find a space on his arm if he looked close enough. //But you already bandaged it.// he reminded himself. His eyes fell upon his notebook. //Yes, that’s it. It’s a starlit night and writing helps sometimes…// he always tried to write his thoughts down instead of cutting when he was on set but sometimes, like today, it was just too much to bear and nothing else would give him the strength to carry on. Scooping up the notebook, a few candles and a pen he smiled s. St. Strangely enough the cutting was what kept him going, what gave him the strength to deal with himself. He stepped onto the terrace and settled himself in one of the chairs at the garden table, hoping that he would be able to write something. For some time he gazed up to the stars and then began to write, quickly and almost without thinking.

~ Ignorance
tried to find a reason
that I could not name
did not know the question
I was trying to ask
did not know I was asking
till I felt like crying
did not know why I wanted to cry
so much that it hurt
could not cry
for fear
that tears might reveal the truth
could not stop asking
till it was too late
and silence descended
upon me ~

He frowned as he looked down at the words he had just written. Yes, they felt right. Somehow they captured the way he felt. The silence was the worst thing. Always hiding and keeping quiet. He longed to talk to someone who could perhaps understand him a little. Or would just listen to him. But there was nobody. And he could never ask. Not even Viggo, who had come to mean so much to him over the last two months. The older man would probably never speak to him again if he found out. He laughed at that thought, a harsh and embittered laugh. //And why should he? Why should he even want to try to understand someone like you? You’re nothing to him. Oh yes, a fellow actor perhaps but nothing more. Probably never speak to you again? Fuck you know he’d shun you! Everyone who found out did! Why should he be any different?// Slowly he went back into the house, once again wishing that he was able to cry.

Tbc...