❝ WAS PLANNING TO . ❞ his dad might have been looking for him by now , but as long as he didn’t show his face back in the house , . . — he could deal with the brewing storm later . right now , he’d decided that the time was reserved just for him & parrish , there was no intention of ruining the hard reached peace .
he was no stranger to june’s unconditional concern & care for him , & often enough , she was more of a mother towards him than anyone else . her care was overwhelming , a thing that no matter how long he spent his time around parrish , that he could become used to . he would often forget the ways to respond , only responding with a silent nod or a small , shifting grin towards her . & with that too , june always appeared to be more than pleased .
reaching over , he takes the container of food from parrish , one scribbled so neatly with his name in a sharpie . ELLIOT . gently he presses a thumb over his name before running it down the length until the last letter of his name finally ends .
❝ didn’t want to go back anyways . heard it was going to storm today . what if i was walking back & it started pouring ?❞ it was a lame - found excuse , & he’s certain that parrish knows as well . but he only tilts his face up , offering a lop - sided grin before clacking the container in his lap open , & spearing through the mac & cheese with his fork .
the truth was that mary anne had already texted him prior to his coming to parrish’s house . you big fucking lousy idiot . pissed him off again didn’t you ? don’t come back to the house or he’s going to break your neck for sure . stay somewhere safe , i’ll take care of it . & he’d left it at that , decided he would hang about until he would receive the safe OK from his sister again . quietly , he digs through the food with his fork , wincing at the sharp aches across his jaw .
❝ he was throwing shit about something my mom did . dunno what , it’s always something irrelevant . & i knew she wasn’t going to fight back . ❞ so i did . naturally , he would . it was something he’d always done , & parrish was aware of it as well . countless of times he’d thrown his fist across the jaws of threatening faces against parrish , which included his step - brother . the sensation & memory was still clear as daylight . the cold kiss of the gun - metal across his skin , & the momentarily panic that bloomed somewhere deep down in his chest at the realization . he had been lucky that the bastard wasn’‘t smart enough to pull the trigger on him fast enough .
he’d been afraid —- although it had been just for a moment , he had been . it was something he would never tell parrish ,
❝ tell your mom i had some horrendous fall down a staircase . ❞ the last time they’d used the excuse , june had better mind not to reason or argue with them . she however , had her eyebrows raised in question , arms folded as she examined the darkening bruises near elliot’s eye . a staircase that fights back ? she had asked , & smiled kindly . she knew , & elliot only nodded his head meekly . she didn’t ask any further .
❝ i know she won’t believe it , but she’ll pretend that she does . ❞
Parrish simply leans his head against Elliot’s shoulder for a moment, the smell of the food in his container wafting up to hit his nose as his eyes flit over to his open window. Clear blue skies rolling overhead, not a cloud for miles. He could pick Elliot’s excuses apart like clockwork these days, like prying faux meat back to expose the bone, the truth hidden underneath. But right now, he doesn’t mind the flimsy lie, and he nuzzles his face deeper into Elliot’s shoulder to prove that. He’d rather Elliot tell a small bad excuse, if that meant he wasn’t going to leave just yet.
“I wish things were different.” His tone is somber, words that he’d spoken so often that they were somehow feeling stale drifting through his mouth. He means them, though, and tries to make their meaning stronger, each and every time. Not only the situation with Elliot’s father, but with everything. He loves Elliot, but he loves having Elliot safe and sound at home even more. Whenever he went on his signature punching sprees, whenever he arrives on his doorstep, covered in bruises, sometimes nearer to death than he even realizes, Parrish is afraid. He tries not to show it, but he knows Elliot can see the widening of his eyes and the slack of his jaw (he still shudders when he remembers Elliot recount the story of his step brother. He’d wanted to punch Elliot himself, for acting so reckless that night. But, hug him, too. Such was the struggle between what he thought was best for Elliot, and what Elliot thought was best for Parrish).
He wraps an arm around Elliot’s torso, brings his lips to his cheek, tries to forget that the kiss will probably sting because of his cuts. He doesn’t want to think about such a thing, knowing that the scrapes and scars would become a physical barrier, separating them with the promise of pain and a knife-sharp ache. He’s quiet for a second, pondering the last segments of Elliot’s words. June wasn’t dumb, but she was also not one to pry.“It’s not my place, P,” she’d told Parrish one night, in between mouthfuls of her favorite take-out food, “If he wants to say something, I’ll let him. But… I don’t want to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong.”
And he’d hated that mentality, still partially did. How could a person just stand by, willingly let something continue when they knew it was hurting someone they love? God, he couldn’t begin to count the nights when he’d let his fingers hover over the emergency numbers on his cellphone, knowing it would only take that much to possibly help, and he couldn’t count the times when he’d held himself back, imaginary audio of Elliot screaming at him, so angry because “what, you think I can’t handle this myself, Parrish? What the fuck, do you think I’m not tough enough?”
He’s taking a risk when he speaks now, his voice partially muffled by Elliot’s shoulder, as he murmurs, “And I kinda wish she didn’t believe every word out of your mouth sometimes.” He reaches closer, goes to take his own fork and stab a piece of macaroni onto it, gingerly bringing it to his mouth. “El, don’t you get tired of making excuses? Don’t you want to do something, bring that bastard to the cops? Something?”
Do you want to die in your own house? Do you want the last thing you see to be your father, punching and kicking you to death? The rest of his questions are stopped up in his throat, and he can’t bring himself to speak anymore of the increasingly awful thoughts in his mind. He feels weird even posing those questions, like he’s somehow going against Elliot, but he can’t help it; they were eating him alive, wracking his brain in a way that made it near impossible to keep any of it in for much longer.
“I’m just… afraid for you. I’m afraid to ever find out the hardest way possible what your breaking point is.”
HE DIDN’T TRUST THIS MAN . just as he couldn’t trust the prior two , this one too , he plans to shy away from . vanish from their reaches before the morning could arrive & the dawn - light could hit . he watches this new man with an apathetic glance , before flickering the gaze back towards victor . —–like a python coiled & waiting , the man was watching him still as well , & it would be wiser to keep a sharp watch out for him .
❝ don’t touch me .❞ he says finally , threat snarled low into his voice as he backs away from the new - comer . the man seemed no stranger towards victor , almost showing affection , even . an associate , perhaps . was he a fool entrapped in victor’s snares ? or was he another evil - mind playing an equal game with victor ?
no matter . if he was another enemy , it was wiser to avoid him . if he was another prey for victor to swallow by the end of his games , elliot would still feel no sympathy for him . no bonds , no connections , & no emotions to waste —- this was the rule he had been living by ever since his escape to the heart of the city . it kept him safe , unattached & untethered to anything .
❝ no one did anything to me . it’s just all bad luck . ❞ it was a familiar defense mechanism , one that he often used with parrish . sometimes it had worked with parrish , but eventually the boy had caught onto his lies , & plucked them out accurately , revealing the bone - white truth of his lies one by one .
the only difference now was that parrish was not here . he was free to collapse & rebuild his world & identity as much as he pleased , & he would keep at it until he could leave the rotting city .
❝ you keep you boyfriend in check . that’s all i need from you . ❞ sinking his hands back into his pockets , he turns away , silently heading towards the dim - lit kitchen without a spare glance towards the watching bodies back in the room . tenuously , he tears out a several sheets of the paper - towel roll sitting on the counter , dabbing at the bloodied bits of his face . the tap water was cold as well , but he hardly revealed a flinch as he wet the paper - towel sheets in the running current , wiping at the smeared stains of blood by the corner of his mouth .
his mother might have scolded him for the poor after - care of his injuries . she would always pry his stubborn fingers from the frozen pea bags pressed against his bruised face , & she would patted his face dry , & pressed a bandage with a wavering smile . she wasn’t here anymore . the police would have taken her body into their own custody now . whether or not richard bothered to give her a funeral or not , —- she was free from his brutality now . that was something that he couldn’t take away from her .
the paper towels were crumpled in his fist as he turned the tap water off . they were bloodied , pink smears drenched through it , & he quietly disposed of them in the nearby trash - bin . victor & his pet was still standing by the living room . one pair of eyes calculating & perhaps wondering what the best way to butcher him would be , then the other pair of eyes full of concern & sympathy — , which he couldn’t care for , nor did he need them .
❝ if you’re done with your business , you should leave . i’ll be gone before sunrise .❞
“The little brat obviously doesn’t want us around. Shame, but what can we do?” Victor keeps his eyes trained on Elliot until he dumps his bloodied paper towels into the trash, and that’s when he finally pries his gaze away, as though he were a bored beast, tired of fiddling around with an uncooperative victim. He puts an arm around Adam, though looks more as if he’s shoving Adam to the door, rather than simply guiding him. “Why don’t you just go on home now, and I’ll be right on your tail, as soon as I take care of a few, last minute things here…”
All of which was code for, I don’t want you around to watch me annihilate this boy.
But to Victor’s surprise, Adam refused. He shakes his arm off, shimmying out until he’s free from Victor’s grasp. Victor stares him down for a moment, but is oppressively silent, his stiffened body language and partially outstretched arm apparently telling Adam all he needs to know.
“I don’t want to go home just yet, babe,” Adam glances at Elliot, then the floor, before locking eyes with the man standing before him, who was practically brimming with irate energy. He’s shaken, unsure of himself, but manages to maintain his ground, more or less. “Why don’t you go home first, and take care of your fucking pyromaniac foster child for a while? I’ll come back when you can promise he won’t try to set my fucking hair on fire tonight.”
Victor’s quietness is louder than his highest shouting volume, and for a moment, Adam thinks he’s made a horrific mistake. His eyes go downcast once more, and his fists clench and unclench at his sides. He doesn’t even dare to look up, not until Victor reaches forward, grabs Adam’s jaw in his cruel hand, squeezing so harshly Adam visibly winces. It was a gesture of trying to reclaim and reassert his control, and that’s all the more emphasized as Victor says, “Looks like I’ve spent the better part of my day trying to wrangle two brats, then… Not very nice of you today, Adam.” He releases Adam just as quickly as he’d grabbed him, his message loud and clear to the man still reeling from the rough treatment. Then, just like that, Victor is walking away, making his way to the door.
“We’ll talk more when we’re both home,” He says, and the narrowing of his eyes isn’t missed by Adam, who looks as though he were a panicking child, terrified of his parents’ wrath over some ultimately trivial mistake. His gaze then falls on Elliot, and his smile returns, just as serpentine as ever, just as vile and grotesque in its seeming perfection. “If you ever change your mind, the deal’s always on the table. I hope our paths will cross again soon.”
He’s gone without another word, his air of vicious antagonism following him. The entire apartment seems to feel lighter somehow, with the ominous presence now far removed. Isaac can be heard stirring in his room, laughing to himself about something. Perhaps he’d heard the entire altercation that’d just happened and thought it was incredibly amusing, or maybe he was just really high and giggling about a water stain on his floor. No one could have been entirely certain.
Adam breathes deep through his nostrils, his sigh heavy as he reaches up to rub at at his still slightly aching jaw. A part of him hopes his cheeks aren’t too flushed from the tenseness of the situation, albeit it was fading quickly. Eventually, he stops staring off into the distance, the space that Victor once occupied, and instead turns back to the matter at hand, that being Elliot.
“All bad luck, that what you said? I guess to you, bad luck is, what, being hit by a car a few times over? You look like you might as well have been, any-fucking-way…” He treks over to a couch in Isaac’s small living room, and as he sits, he turns his head over his shoulder, motioning to Elliot across the way. “Don’t suppose while you’re here, before you, ya know, run off into the great unknown, you’d mind grabbing a tired soul a bottle of water from that nasty ass fridge?” He pauses a moment then, eyes looking clouded and distant again, and he shakes his head and his hand as he says quickly, “Nevermind, a beer’s probably better right now.”
He’s trying hard to hide the fact that his hands won’t stop shaking, because fuck, I’m going to get such shit when I come home. He isn’t one to admit publicly, especially to strangers, how he too knew the pain of being hurt, the sensation of knuckles pounding against jaw, the sting of wet paper towels in the bathroom as the blood mixes with tears and the gnawing pain of something internal, something harder to grasp and define, but something bringing with it arguably more pain than the physical marks.
And then he’ll emerge again some point, acting like everything’s sunshine and roses, ignoring the bruises against his eyes because they don’t hurt that bad, I’ll just grin and bear it, and he saidit was only a stupid mistake, anyway. But each time, his heart just gets a little more hardened, scar tissue building up just a tiny bit more, nerves slightly more frayed than they had been. And the edge of the precipice continues to haunt him, the breaking point which he was unsure of when it would ever come. All he did know is that it would come one day, and it would crash down upon him hard.
“I kinda know what it’s like,” He says out of the blue, his body turning once more to attempt to catch Elliot in his softening sights again. He doesn’t know why he says it, and he almost regrets opening his mouth at all. Perhaps just a small ray of opportunity hit him then, the singular urge to want to relate to this fearful-yet-feared boy, if with the bare minimum.
“Look, I’m… I’m not trying to be one of those cliche fuckers who act like they care, act like they understand everything you’re going through - I don’t wanna be someone who pities you. I hate those people. I just - It must be so lonely, living like a fuckin’ phantom, how you seem to live. You’re so young, kid. You can live better than Mr. Weed Smoker and… Victor. Why sink to their level?”
He supposes that last question was a bit hypocritical. After all, who was the one who regularly slept with a man who made very little effort to conceal his murderous intentions from him? Sinking to Victor’s level had become near-second nature.
He sighs again and sinks into the cushions of the couch, staring absentmindedly at the door to Isaac’s room. “It’s fine, you don’t have to say jackshit if you don’t want to… But, I don’t know, am I weird for wanting to try and connect with someone who doesn’t seem like they’re completelygone yet? Someone who might be at least sort of stable? Or at least, still has a chance of finding stability?”
THE WORDS RANG LIKE ALARM BELLS . i hope that’s not an experiment they didn’t put out of its misery all the way … somewhere , eveline reaches her cold , bony fingers forward , placing them like death sentence upon his throat . it could have been you too . he barely registers the hobbling thing crushing its way towards them , despite the foul stench or rot and old gore , his eyes only remain focused on the flooring of the barn . jackie’s arms were wound around him , as if holding him tight enough could save them both from the thing .
finally , his eyes flicker up , & they freeze upon the mass of monster creature twisting its terrible head around . it was the same . the same things that crawled around the basement of the baker house , —– he’d seen lucas pit them up against the other potential ‘family’ , & most of the time , they never made it through , always being torn apart to gory meat shreds in a pool of their own blood . but this one was . . damaged , for whatever reason it was . its head wasn’t crushed in enough ? didn’t have bullets punched through it ?
he could take it down . he could , if the thing was in this weak enough state . but it also meant that he would lose his consciousness , & there was the risk of harming jackie while his mind was no longer his . eveline’s . . & she wanted them both back . he couldn’t take the chances . instead , he turns his head away , closing his eyes for a long moment before managing to whisper out shakily . ❝ gun – your gun . ❞ when he opens his eyes again , the rotting thing was hovering closer to them , limping its leg in a pitiful manner as it continued to drip black sludge against the hay stacks . ❝ aim for the head , that’s how they die . the head . ❞
“Shit, I-I don’t know if I can-” Her eyes are fixed on the creature like she’s hypnotized by its jerky movements, and for a split second Carson’s words don’t even register in her mind. Gun. GUN. Her hands shoot down to the waistband of her pants, arms and hands trembling with absolute terror, coupled with pressure to get this right, there was only so little time.
She can see it in Carson’s face, the dilemma waging in his mind, the shaky decision of whether he should fight against the monster, but at what cost? So, she takes the choice from him, makes the fight her own cross to bear to save him the fallout of such an action. She rips a small gun out from her belt, only a bit bigger than her hand, but with enough punch to get what needed to be done, well, done. With shaky hands she attempts to aim the weapon at the creature’s head, and she notices that it’s stopped advancing, and is simply standing in place, trying to keep its disfigured body upright as best it could. She couldn’t handle the fact that it seems to be staring right at her, and again, her aim falters. She fires a shot that whizzes past the monster’s head, and she hears it groan, guttural and low, rising from the depths of its gut.
She wipes her hand across her forehead, whisking the sweat off of her brow. The scenario is too familiar; it pains her to remember, but the memories keep flooding back anyway, crashing through the dam of her mind and drowning her consciousness in unwanted photographs of a time best left in the past. She sees her father, looming over her, black-dripping smile as he grabs her by the collar of her shirt, slams her back against the living room wall. A family portrait falls to the ground and cracks, all-too-brilliant symbolism of a family literally cracked apart at the seams. Through the tears she puts a bullet between his eyes, and he’s down, thudding on the floor like a toppled brick house.
Carson was right, she knew the observation all too well - they did always go down with a calculated shot to the head.
“Just like zombies, right?” She takes a breath, forces it in her nose and out of her mouth, and tries to steady her grip as best she can. She squints one eye as she aims, and even has it in her to release a bitter laugh as she remembers just how many zombie-themed comic books and movies she used to consume, during the old times. “Zombies are really played out for me, personally. Kinda silly now that we have the real thing.”
She takes her shot, and fires the shot in the monster’s head. It lurches backward, groans again, louder and sounding like it was in some sort of twisted agony. It staggers for a moment, stump-like arms flailing as though it wanted to reach up and touch its fatal wound, but was physically unable. Then, it collapses, falling to the ground in a cloud of dust and hay that flies into the air, causing Jackie to cough.
She’s quiet, lurching closer to the monster, nudging it with the toe of her shoe, before she nods to herself. “Dead as a doornail.” In any other situation, her analytical mind would have wanted to study the creature, figure out why it was so different than its more violent peers. But she doesn’t get that luxury, not right now, in the middle of their own personal warzone.
It’s then that there’s a horrid knocking on the door of the barn, the wood sounding as though it were being beaten in by a large number of furious fists.
“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck…!” She looks down in horror at her weapon, still smoking at the tip, then at Carson with her mouth hanging open. “They must have heard the bang!” She rushes over to Carson, hands back on his shoulders as her eyes scan the perimeter of the barn, trying to find somewhere, anywhere to hide, or escape, the latter much preferable to the former.
“It’s gotta be the Umbrella fuckheads, I know it… Either that or some more skittering, black goop freaks. Either way, we gotta move, or we’re just as dead, if not deader, than that poor bastard I just put down.”
HE DIDN’T WANT HELP . — he didnt need help . but victor was playing by clever cards now , dropping the illusion of offering the choice between accepting & declining . yet the only option was clear : accept , or he would pull out the dirty tricks hidden in his sleeves , cause elliot to accept . he didn’t want the money , he didn’t want victor’s help , & he didn’t want to play by other people’s games anymore . but did you ever have a choice ? it was only the matter of survival here , & victor was drawing out a way out , regardless of whether it was merely an illusion or not , it was something .
❝ i don’t want your help . i never asked . i hate unwarranted aid . ❞ he says in an apathetic voice , eyes hardly gazing against the thick wad of bills held in hands . perhaps other desperate street - rats would have leaped at the first chance to accept the money , & kiss victor’s shoes for helping them out . maybe they would shine his shoes for him too , & thank him for being their redeemer from the low - life of the streets . ———- fucking snake , a viper. he knew the method well , how victor guised himself beneath the veneer of offering hope , but . . the guy probably wanted something far more than to just help . whatever it was, he couldn’t understand fully , but he would find out whether he wished to or not . there was no choice for him .
❝ & i disagree . most kids have hard time even having to breathe in the same space as me .❞ but he could hold off for a while , slip past victor’s attempts at snaring him to the corner for as long as he could . until he could leave the shitty apartment - complex , & find his way through the winding streets of the concrete jungle & hide himself behind the hustling faces of mundane lives . he leaves the money unaccepted still , eyes cold & terribly blue , flickering up towards victor in an unreadable tilt of his head . ❝ today , i’m going to be jonah . tomorrow , maybe tyler . —– & today , i don’t feel like accepting unwarranted sympathy . ❞ he never did . even with parrish , the whole ordeal had always been a struggle between the two . parrish attempting to corner him to finally surrender & admit that , yes , he needed his help . & elliot always trying to slide past his attempts , always promising that everything was perfectly alright .
for a moment , he wonders if isaac has any firearms hidden within the grimy set - up of his apartment . maybe beneath the couch cushions , or somewhere behind the plastered walls . a hand is slid back into his jacket , but his finger carefully poises against the handle of his switchblade , & he only looks away , as if to be poured down in thought . ( but his mind was racing , recalling the routes taken to get to isaac’s apartment , & the way back to the old chapel by the 7th avenue . he would only need to distract the man for awhile if he wished to make a fast dash for it. ) ❝ but i’ll remember to include you in my books . just search for a sociopathic bastard in the story . ❞
A scowl replaces the friendly grin he once wore as Elliot rejects his offer. He’s stubborn, unbelievably bull-headed, and its charm was rapidly deteriorating. Now, what was once entertaining was just becoming plain annoying.
“How ungrateful of you,” His voice has been stripped of any playful formalities, facade after facade being ripped out of his tone, nothing left but the bare-bones acidity of Victor’s true self. “Do you know how many people would have thrown themselves at my feet for a chance to even look at the money I’m holding out for you?” He makes a slight “tch” sound as he shoves the money back into his pocket. “You’re smarter than most people, though, I figure that. You sure you don’t want to hear the requirements? I promise, they’d be an easy pay day…!”
That was, truly, one of the biggest lies ever spill from his mouth. “Favors” for Victor Chandler were rarely ever easy, and more often than not, were extremely dangerous and much more trouble than the money was ever worth. But, desperation coupled with a lack of fear for dying compelled many a person to take him up on his twisted games; and rarely did anyone ever escape his clutches all the way intact.
“I wonder how tough you are though, that will be the question, won’t it?” He glances to the corner kitchen, sees a drawer of which he’s been over enough times to know the contents. Kitchen knives, in various lengths and levels of sharpness. Isaac mentioned something of a weapon in the kid’s possession, too, but would he really faster if he chose to lunge for the weaponry…?
His thoughts of blood and gore are, unfortunately for him, cut short by the sound of the doorbell ringing for a second time, an obnoxious buzz that seemed to drone on and on without silence. Whoever was pressing in the bell was persistent. Isaac can be heard groaning from inside his room, yelling out for Victor to “just fucking answer it already before I bash my fucking brains in!”
When Victor answers the repeated buzzes, the voice he hears over the intercom begging to be let in causes his face to morph into what might be considered concern, at least as concerned as Victor was capable of looking for another human being. He allows the stranger up, and in what feels like seconds, as if this newcomer sprinted all the way up to Isaac’s floor.
Another man enters the fray as Victor opens the door to allow him inside, and in quite the strange turn of events, they actually embrace each other, Victor’s arms wrapping around this man who appears frazzled and shaken by something yet unknown. He’s of a shorter stature than Victor, less lean and more sturdily built, and when he speaks, there’s a rare, soft quality to his voice, so unlike the man he was hugging.
“Fuck, I’m glad I found you here,” He says, and pulls his head away from Victor’s chest to stare up at him with mournful brown eyes. “You gotta get home soon, I guess your idiot pet project discovered what pyromania is and is now currently about to set the fucking house on fire.”
“Adam, just relax.” Victor simply shushes him with kiss on the forehead, and to the untrained eye, the pair might have come across as a couple deeply in love, what with the way Victor preened him and cooed in his ear to try and get him to calm down. But with a second, more analytical glance, the way Victor held him was not only meant to provide comfort, but it appeared incredibly possessive, his arms winding around the man named Adam’s frame like greedy pythons waiting to suffocate their next meal. Every action this man did always seemed to have a much deeper, sinister intention lurking just beneath his murky surface.
It was then that Adam realized there was another presence in the apartment, and he managed to pull himself out of Victor’s insistent hold (albeit with great effort) to look at Elliot across the way. “Jesus, Victor, what did you and Junkie Mc SmokesAlot do to this poor kid?”
He steps just a few inches closer to Elliot, and unlike Victor, his eyes betray genuine sympathy and compassion, the raw emotion that was impossible to just fake. His eyebrows are furrowed and his jaw clenches as he examines the full picture that was Elliot, from his blood spattered clothing to the defiant hostility in his icy glare. He tries to show Elliot a smile as if that might ease the tension in his muscles, but when that seems to fail, he turns to Victor in an accusatory fashion. “Whatever you were trying to do with this kid, I can imagine he didn’t find it very fucking helpful, huh? Just look at his face!”
There’s a sort of warmth to his expression when he looks back to Elliot, trying his best to exude some ray of positivity in his direction. “I don’t know what he was trying to get you to do, but thankfully I’m here to put a stop to it… Sometimes he just doesn’t think before he starts speaking, you know? Look, I think Isaac might have a few bandages in his bathroom somewhere, if you wanna come with me; I can fix you up, or at the very least, clean you up a little. I was in the Scouts as a kid, I know a thing or two about patching up some wounds.”
He’s smiling again, a full on bright smile, trying his absolute hardest to appear friendly and personable so as to negate the cold sting of Victor’s own… difficult aura. Even more than wanting to take care of this boy, he figures he may be able to help him escape the apartment more quickly. So long as he has a helping hand to shield him from Victor’s taunts, Adam thinks he can give this kid a fighting chance.
❝ MUTT’S FINE . ❞ as long as i’m able to evade you from the truth .
❝ jonah , 18 . ran away from a boring suburban home . had everything in my life , but was finding everything a little too dull . needed excitement , an adventure . stole a couple hundred bucks from dad’s bank account , & stole away from there . now i’m here . ❞ he keeps a minute of pause , as if to test victor’s reaction to the false - spun tale . then , reaching towards the right sleeve of his arm , he tugs the fabric upwards to reveal the fading but ever - present scars of burn - marks & slash marks that runs along from forearm to upwards .
❝ tyler . 17 . never knew my parents , grew up in the streets . been city - hopping all my life , came across too many thugs , & they gave me scars to remember them by . only arrived here a week ago , searching for a temporary hide - out . see , stole a bit of some precious drug stash from a gang , & now they’re coming after my head . too bad i won’t have them by the time they find me . been planning to sell it off to your friend here . ❞
there’s another long stretch of silence , & he allows the sleeve to fall back down to cover his am again . a feral dog circling around its prey , he takes a moment to consider the risks & benefits of this man , but only walks around him in a slow , steadfast manner before stopping in front of victor again .
❝ daniel . 19 . killed a few bodies down in another town , & now i’m running from the feds . figured hiding in the city would make it harder for them to track me down , so i’ve been holed up here ever since . thought i killed a few no - names , but turns out one of them is the town mayor’s daughter , & now he wants to see my head on a silver platter . but i’m still debating whether it would be easier to continue running from him , or to kill him first . ❞ finally , he stops , inhaling a deep breath as he closes his eyes. when he opens them again , there’s a stone - cold look of defiance & challenge against the man in front of him & he backs away a couple steps , hiding his hands inside the pockets of his jacket .
❝ so then , there’s three versions . you choose the most plausible one . ❞
of course , none of them were the complete truth . but each had bits of the truth embedded into them , as he had learned from alex once —- if you want to fool anyone , always tell the half - truth , tell lies with the truth hiding in between your words . whether victor could figure him out , he was uncertain , but he was certain of the fact that before victor could figure out the pieces together , elliot would have long fled from isaac’s apartment. it was never safe to stay in one place for too long , whether it was in some hidden lair of a junkie or not . isaac probably dealt with the underground businesses , as well as drugs , so it would only be a matter of time the man would be busted out one day . & on that day , elliot would be gone . already , he’d drawn out a map of roads & ways to get himself cutting across the states , until he arrived to a place far detached from his home . los angeles , he had been reminding himself . or a place that no one would know , somewhere in the heart of a distant & quiet state down in the south .
how he’d get there , he would figure out along the way . there were a couple hundred dollars that he’d managed to steal away from his house before he made his run , & he would have to use them wisely if he planned on to make it through the next few months . that also only gave him the next few months to erase himself from alexandra completely , to become something else other than elliot . to forget alexandria , his home , mary anne , adaline , alex , & parrish .
there’s a dull ache in his heart at the thought , but he keeps it swallowed & hidden , the fear tucked somewhere deep inside his heart as he meets victor’s eyes again . ❝ & you’re right . it would be your best bet to push a bullet through me before you get an apology from me . ❞ he hadn’t refused victor’s name - drop of calling him a ‘ mutt ‘ . after all , it was what he was , – wasn’t it ? his father had called him a mutt plenty of times before the insult became too boring for him . elliot wasn’t acting out against it much anymore . jasper called him a deranged mutt , & elliot didn’t deny this either . even alex would call him a rabies - infected mutt at every chance he got , which earned barely a glance or a shrug from elliot each time . all in all , victor had a piece of truth here , if anything .
He can’t help but laugh when Elliot circles him like a predatory animal, recognizing such a power move to be one he kept close to his own list of behaviors, when he wanted to intimidate a client, or just fuck with someone on the street. He’s impressed with the way this boy acts, the endlessly fascinating facets of him. He wasn’t afraid of Victor, wouldn’t dare to tense up or show any sense of weakness, and that made him worth investing so much time in him. He was different.
“Wow, seems like Isaac picked up quite the imaginative type! Such interesting webs you weave, mutt…” His eyes widen just the smallest amount when he’s shown the cuts, the scars from olden days and the ones more freshly embedded in his skin. Whoever this boy was, Jonah, Tyler, Daniel… He was an enigma, a feared hound, a combustible substance ready to be set ablaze at any moment. He was unlike any normal down-on-his-luck city rat, the kind he’d normally be taking advantage of, given his ruthless and horrifically unfair line of work.
He relies on context clues to help him decipher the code this kid has laid bare for him. For one, he catches Isaac perk up at the mention of a potential drug deal, but then quickly shake his head and turn away, feeling stupid for having been duped into believing something untrue when he supposedly knew this teenager better than Victor. Now he knew that little tidbit about a gang was a lie, at least. But the other information, who was to say what was true and what was not? Does he honestly really even care about that? He’s much more interested in seeing just how far he was going to push; he wanted to dare to even attempt to push him straight off the edge, if he even had a concept of edges.
“Well, this has all been fun and dandy, but I think it’s time you - Leave! I can get my money another day, sound cool?” Isaac was back again, attempting once more to shove Victor out of his apartment, this time physically, by pushing on his torso with all his might. Victor only stumbled backward a bit, but was for the most part a solid rock unable to be moved. Isaac eventually gave up, throwing his arms up and grunting loudly in frustration. “Fuck this! I’ll be in my room for a while, I gotta relax. You two really know how to raise my fucking blood pressure. Please, just, don’t kill each other out here, got it? Victor, leave my money by the door, and I hope the door hits your ass on the way out.”
And just like that, he’s gone from the general scene, slamming his bedroom door behind him so harshly the wall shakes a bit in his wake.
“Jesus, well, now that the big boys are left alone -” Victor mutters to himself, as he reaches into one of his pockets and retrieves a wallet that looks thickened by a few wads of large bills. “So, mutt, those were all entertaining tales you created. You should write a book one day, I’m sure it’d be excellent. Whatever your story may be, whether it’s murder or running from the police or simply just daddy hit you too much and you got pissy about it, I like you. You’re absolutely insane, you’ve definitely got some balls, and dammit if I don’t respect that, as well as think it is incredibly stupid. You’ve got guts, and I don’t feel like tearing them out of you… just yet. So, here’s what I’m thinking.”
He flips open his wallet, licking one of his fingers as he swishes through one stack of fifties, and once he stops at a reasonable number in his head, he holds out the sizable pile to Elliot. “Whoever you are, what I gleaned from your creative writing session is that you are running from something. Seeing as I’m in the business of helping those down on their luck, and you seem to be one of those people - a few hundreds are not going to be enough to sustain you, I’m sorry - how about I loan you the money? All you’d have to do in exchange is do a few favors for me today, and I’ll let you be on your way before the moon is in the sky. What do you say? Seems like a fair deal to me.”
His eyes are blue electricity, crackling and sparking and oh so alive as he eyes Elliot, waiting for his next move. He knew there was a very good chance the boy would just say no and leave, but there was also the possibility of a yes, and that was the opportunity for one more recruit in his up-and-coming “business” venture.
“At the very least, it’ll be more than enough money to send to your sweetheart back home, if you’ve even got one with that snarling mug of yours. And if you’re not totally convinced, I can always call my other friend over to change your mind… He’s about your age, with blond hair, too. Imagine that. You two would probably get along just swell.”
LAUGHTER FANS OUT SOFTLY , & he wipes at the corner of his mouth with a sleeve as if to smear down the scent of alcohol scent off .
❝ you wouldn’t want her living under the same roof as you . although . . i do think your mom has a bit of a favoritism . ❞ catching parrish’s arm , he rises up to stand in front of him , brushing down a thumb over the side of parrish’s face in fond gesture . a pause , & he presses a light kiss against parrish’s cheek , fingers lightly tapping against the nape of his neck .
❝to each their own , right ? i’m your favorite , so that’s fair . ❞ whispering quietly , he leans back to give another soft peck against parrish’s lips before moving away , a hand pressed against the mirror as he turns his gaze away .
through the thick & thin , this boy had been by his side all along . forget the years of his sudden absence —, the rage he had formerly held against parrish had dissipated to nothing but a sigh of relief when he caught side of his familiar face by the driveway . there was nothing to blame , because he knew that he too , would have ran . & the thought of parrish’s step - brother had always lingered by the back of his mind , the urge to crush his fist through the bastard’s mouth growing only bolder with each thought . ( & he had , the bastard had a gun on him as well , but elliot had made out of it just alright . )
once , while he was going through the storm of his withdrawal , parrish had stood by his side then as well . watched him drain the bottle empty from its pills , & made sure that elliot had flushed everything down the toilet before he could leave again . he could still remember the shaky hands , cold sweat drenching by his back - side , & the terrible nausea that ate through his stomach inside out . —–-& now , he had been clean for nearly a whole year .
❝but really , i promise that i’m trying to behave more . ❞ turning his gaze back , he yanks parrish in closer to him , drawing him in for a momentarily hug . his heart - beat seemed to slow down to its regular rhythm , his face pressed against the slope of parrish’s shoulder as he closed his eyes in the silenced comfort .
❝know what they’ve been saying about me ? — said that i’m finally mellowing out . old johnson thinks he wants to write my recommendation letter . ❞ oh yeah , & haven’t gone back to juvie . the day of his release , the guard — , hater harrington , they all called him from his bastardish attitude & violent tempter against elliot & the others , he had promised elliot that he would be back for good in a few months again . but he hadn’t , so it was a triumph fuck you against harrington . ❝& come on , let’s go before your mom decides to ram the door down .❞
Parrish lets a sigh escape his lips, slow and with sweet intentions as he feels a familiar sense of bliss wash over him. He leans into Elliot’s caresses with a fluttering heart, only to be calmed when Elliot presses his lips to his, and buries his face in his shoulder.
“You’re lucky you’re cute, or else I’d have kicked you to the curb a long time ago.” He laughs, shakes his head, immediately denies that as a complete farce and nothing more than a playful jab. They’d been through too much, far too much, for either one to abandon the other. It wasn’t a relationship built on unhealthy co-dependency, but rather, the simple knowledge that they were two separate people who could lean on the other whenever it was needed.
There were worse months than others, that was true; but on the whole, Elliot was right with what he was saying, as was everyone in their community. Elliot was doing better, and it finally seemed as though all the long nights filled with gentle crying and the cleaning of wounds old and new (he’ll never forget the murderous look in his eyes after he’d come over, telling him just how badly he’d roughed up his half-brother), and the withdrawal symptoms that shook Elliot to the core just as it did Parrish to watch him suffering, vomiting over the toilet and trembling so hard Parrish though he limbs might just pop right off - it seemed like, for the first time, all the hardships were paying off.
He visibly perks up when he hears that exciting news, and squeezes Elliot tight, hugs him around the waist as he smiles. “Wow, he really said that? Look at you, my little scholar!” He reaches up to rake fingers through the mop that Elliot calls his hair, ruffling it and looking upon his face with nothing but beaming pride. “Finally starting to care about his classes! Aw, I hope you’ll still make time for my tutoring sessions though. Even if they start to include more goofing off than actually, you know, studying. I don’t mind either way, you know me!”
He’s hushed for a moment as he listens to Elliot further, and he just shakes his head again and holds him closer, as close as they could possibly be as he murmurs, “I appreciate that. Just, don’t think you have to change who you are entirely, as if that would make me happier or something. I love you like you are, you’ve made so much progress and change already… I’m really proud of you, I hope you know that.”
After that moment of privacy, when they’ve both collected themselves, they finally decide to exit the bathroom, and June is on them in an instant. It seems as though she’s been lurking in the hallway, just waiting to hear the click of the lock signaling her son and his boyfriend’s return. The first thing she does is come up to them and deliver each of them a suffocating hug, and unusually, she doesn’t comment on the gauze covering Elliot’s hands. She simply nods as though she understands, and she’s leading the boys into the kitchen, where she’s thrusting her aforementioned four cheese mac & cheese into Parrish’s hands, along with a pair of forks.
“Here! Thought you both might be a little hungry, you’ve barely been home all day, Parrish! You and Elliot take that to your room and relax for a while. I’ll be down here if you need me at all.”
Parrish expresses his thanks and goes to hug his mom, where she whispers into his ear, large grin puffing her cheeks, “Just make sure you keep that door open, okay, P?” She laughs as she says it, clearly intending it to be a joke, but Parrish’s face and the tips of his ears aren’t any less red as he nudges her away and rolls his eyes.
They find themselves in Parrish’s room, a sanctuary for the two of them. Whenever they’re having great, fantastic days, or days in which they simply need to be quiet and hold each other, they more often than not find themselves in this room, sitting on the floor, watching cheesy movies or stupid videos online, anything to brighten their day just a little, or a lot more, depending on the occasion.
“So,” Parrish starts as he plops down onto the edge of his bed, hands clasped together on his lap over the container of food he’s carrying as he looks up at Elliot. “I figure you’ve got a little bit of time left here, wanna spend it chowing down with me? My mom’s cooking will make it worth your while…!”
❝ GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF OF ME . ❞ he responds with a cold snarl , & he stops victor’s hand with a vice grip , as if to break off the fingers reached on out towards him . ❝ you like wearing your rings , yeah ? then keep your hands off . ❞
it’s more than a defiant manner , but it’s defensive , shielded by the cool threats laid beneath the dark growl of his voice . pitiful little mutt , what are you going to do now ? his father had said the same thing once too , & he had only smiled back through with bloodied teeth & gums , before spitting into his face with a wider grin . that punch better kill me or else , shitface .
in a measured calculation , he removes his hand away from victor’s , curling them into a tight fist by his side as he tilts his head to take up a good look of this man . tall , collected , didn’t seem like a potential threat . yet . but regardless , he still reminded him of a venomous snake slithering its way through the grass , keeping its fangs hidden until the moment was ripe . so he was a danger . most things in the world around him were , including himself . it was like walking with a ticking bomb planted into yourself , & each time he looked into the mirrors , it was his father that stared back towards him , wearing his bruises & scars . countless of times , he’d broken the mirrors of his home , shattered them to icicle bits beneath his fists .
& — this time , he doesn’t ask who this man is . he wasn’t interested , to be precise . creating more connections meant only more potential risks for himself . maybe it would have been better to give a false name to isaac too , —- but no , isaac had already known him before they had met . parrish would have given his name up due to his fair & trusting nature . it was too late to back - trek on him now , but this new man . .
he could easily hide himself beneath the veils of lies , & it was the only matter of getting isaac to cooperate with him . maybe he would , maybe he wouldn’t , but every choice was always a gamble . drawing back , he recoils away from victor in a wary manner , keeping the gaze locked steadily upon him . ❝ you don’t need to know where i came from , that doesn’t matter anymore . right now , i’m no one . ❞ in a flat voice , he digs his hands deep down into the pockets of his jeans , tilting his head in a measured pace , a twitch of grin daring to appear on his face . ❝ i’m nothing , but i’ll spin you a story if you’re so unable to mind your own fucking business . ❞
When his hand is grabbed tight, Elliot’s fingers like a vice as though he intended to crush his bones, the curious, half smile on his face dims considerably. His expression goes flat, and all that remains is a quiet youth of his lip, a grimace that might appear more like a snarl.
“A filthy street kid with an equally nasty attitude. How original.” His look of disgust fades as Elliot releases him, and he has half a mind to grab the boy’s throat in retaliation, but he thinks better of it. He has no idea who he is, who might be searching for him - for all he knows, he might be getting his hands dirty with a rich man’s son, one who might have his head on a platter by daybreak (although judging by this stranger’s appearance, that outcome felt incredibly unlikely)
He decides to play his cards carefully, but not without a bit of fun added into this game. He was always hunting for something new, something exciting in which to inject his venom. Perhaps this boy will prove to be a useful asset yet, even if his only use is just pure entertainment.
“I can only assume Isaac picked you up from the rabies ward in the city shelter. Didn’t your parents ever tell you it’s not polite to try and hurt someone you just met?” He’s rubbing his hand as he says it, despite the truth that the pain was less than minimal, practically nonexistent at this point. “Normally I’d insist on getting in apology, but I’m going to guess that’d be akin to pulling your teeth. Am I wrong, mutt? I think I’ll just call you that, since you seem so insistent on hiding everything possible away from me. Sound fair, mutt? Or maybe I’ll call you a snotty little puppy instead?”
He throws the words like verbal bullets in Elliot’s face again, and although his body language is very subdued, his eyes tell the whole of the story. It was a challenge, as though he were just begging Elliot to come at him again, just try and lay a hand on me like that again, see if I won’t put a bullet in your heart.
The tenseness of the situation seems to be building to a fever pitch, until Isaac steps into the fray, a knife to cut through the thick air between Victor and this standoffish boy. “Heeeyyyy, let’s all just be cool here, yeah?” He places a hand on Victor’s shoulder, only for the older man to shrug it off immediately, a noise of clear disgust uttering from the back of his throat. Isaac is unfazed by the action. “Victor, why don’t you just give me the money you came here to give me, and-”
He pauses, looks at Elliot, bites his tongue just before he blurts his name out in the open air. That’s all Victor would need, just enough to be able to worm his way into another person’s skull. “And my new friend and I will keep hanging out, like we were planning to do before you barged in here.”
Victor gives Elliot one last once over, before finally releasing the boy from his icy glare. “Mm, I think I might stay for a bit, if you don’t mind. By which I mean, I’ll be staying here, getting to know your ‘new friend’, and you’ll shut up and wait for us to finish. Then I’ll pay you. Good? Good.”
He turns to his new focus of attention, Isaac’s kitchen, a small, built-in-the-corner room of the apartment, with a dingy looking refrigerator, which he promptly swings open and retrieves a bottle of beer from inside. He cracks it open, takes a sip, but his eyes narrow as he swallows. “Isaac, this brand is… Horrid. Buy a different kind next time, would you?”
“Uh, well, I didn’t buy any of it for you, douche-nozzle!” Isaac yells, fingers curling into fists at his side. He leans closer to Elliot, mouth right next to his ear as he whispers, “We used to live together, a long way back. Now when he comes over, he still thinks he owns the place, along with every goddamn thing in it. Annoying as fuck.”
“So, let’s get back to you, smart aleck,” He promptly pours the beer down the kitchen sink, to Isaac’s utter dismay. He grumbles in the background and brushes past Elliot to close the fridge door that Victor so rudely left hanging open and allowing all the cold air to escape.
“You say you’re nothing and no one, but that just leads me to believe you’re running from something, someone, right? But you, I’m sure you’ve got at least one person back home, pining for your return. Why don’t you run back to them, instead of allowing yourself to be beaten to a pulp in alleyways by thugs? You, with your baby face and pretty blond hair, you don’t look like you’re cut out for this life.” It’s then that he reaches upward, fingers skimming the skin of his own face, outlining a faint, but visible scar that spreads from the right corner of his mouth, up to mid-cheek.
It was a mystery to most how it came to be, and the only ones who truly knew the whole story were long, long dead and buried in shallow graves lining a lonely, isolated riverbank. All that remained was the ugliness of one fateful encounter, a craggy indent forever etched there, like a vine of death and destruction that spewed from his dangerous lips, and stuck to his skin like a badge of dishonor.
“Why don’t you tell me a story then, street pup? There’s only so much of one’s own business they can mind before they start to wander, indulging in the lives of other people. Plus, I’m not leaving here anytime soon, since I haven’t got an appointment until tonight, so you might as well say something. Unless you want me to talk your ear off. But something tells me you don’t care much for me, or what I do.” He flashes his teeth when he smiles in Elliot’s direction, crossing his arms and leaning his back against an adjacent wall.
❝ PARRISH .❞ an apologetic hush of his voice , he reaches a hand out to carefully grab against the boy’s wrist for a small tug .
❝i’m sorry , for being so difficult .❞ it was a routine by now , for him to show up by parrish’s door - steps , bruised & tired , then for parrish to slowly patch him back up . the cycle returned to square 1 afterwards , always . it had been alright before parrish had moved back into his life . before , it was all he could do to himself to distract himself from the overwhelming pain of loss & to combat the constant war between his father’s rage & his mother’s meekness . it had earned him the tiring title of , ‘ the crazy fucking tyver kid ‘ or a ‘ rabid dog ‘ , coined kindly by jasper himself .
& the fact was that he had done nothing to deny the rumours , but his actions only further confirmed them . each day , it was just another fight against the hostile world & the cruel words from kids he barely knew in school
, —- & it had been getting tiring . everyone acting as if they’d known him , although all they had ever known about him was through the passing mouths of a blatant talker like jasper . it was alex that he’d met next , & together , they were coined as the two pairs of mad kids in school . they had joined the lacrosse team together , made it , blew off steam through it together . sometimes , they cracked their rage against each other , but somehow , it had been better than being left alone with himself .
next , parrish returned . it was as if the chapters of his life had slowed to a pause , & it was something he’d hardly been able to believe . he could count the days that he spent watching through his bedroom windows , waiting for the front doors of the neighboring house to swing open again , to see the friendly crinkle of smile on parrish’s face , his mother waving kindly behind him . it never happened , until ——-
❝i don’t mean to be , but i guess i’m just not trying hard enough . ❞ it was like trying to tear through his skin . the defensive rage was something that he’d shrouded over himself in protection for years , that it had become a thing like his own skin now , & to be removed of it , . . it felt terribly wrong . the saying went in school already , that elliot had calmed down by a hundred degrees ever since parrish had started attending the alexandria school . it made parrish a some kind of a star , especially among the teachers . of course , he had gotten elliot to cooperate , & earn an A through a whole semester of chemistry . & it was parrish that they were thanking above anything else . & that was only right , of course .
slowly removing his fingers from parrish’s wrist , he brings his attention to the first aid box instead , scrambling through the contents before discovering the bottle of pain killers . a half his mind convinces him to tuck the bottle inside his sleeves when parrish wasn’t watching — , but he only makes a small scowl before unscrewing the cap , & rattles the pills out over his palm in concentrated silence .
he swallows them down dry , without a twitch or a grimace . it was something he’d done often enough to forget about the unpleasantness of the whole process , which included swabbing the alcohol pads down the cuts & bruises on his face .
❝oh , your mom shouldn’t worry so much . if i’m not finishing the food , mary anne will . she’s addicted to your mom’s cooking . i think she’s about to move in with you guys soon . ❞ swabbing the alcohol pad down the heavy bruising on his lip , he makes a slight grimace before lifting the alcohol swab away , & offering a kind of grin towards parrish .
❝ drop me a kiss , you shouldn’t be worrying so much either . ❞
“Just stop right there, don’t apologize
for anything.” There it was, the carousel of emotions coming
around, right on schedule. He’d show up in a harried frenzy, Parrish would protect
him for the night, and then come the stinging I’m sorry that
had Parrish cringing inward on himself. It hurt his heart, to hear Elliot
apologize for things that were not his fault to bear, at least in Parrish’s eyes. He was a product
of his environment, a stone worn down and smoothed over by the wearing of
fast-paced time and too many black eyes. His hardness was not his weight to
carry, not entirely, at least.
“ou don’t need to ‘try’ harder, whatever that means. I’m proud of you for even just getting up every morning. If anyone’s gonna be saying sorry here, it’s me. I
still feel guilt, still lay awake at night, for the stupid thing I did… I don’t even wanna put a name to it, that’s how awful I feel.“ Many an evening he would
be comfortable in bed, only to be rudely awakened by the memories of past
mistakes, of the could have, would have,
should haves that ran around his brain like it were a high school track
meet up there. He couldn’t forgive himself fully, for leaving Elliot so suddenly, slamming the
door so rudely, denying his own feelings and shoving them down within himself
so harshly.
He feels partially responsible
for the way Elliot was, although he’d rather saw his own arm off than ever admit that out loud. It would only cause a storm of emotions
that Parrish really wasn’t up to experiencing. Not right now, anyway. What he liked to instead
focus on was the fact that Elliot was better with him in his life, and vice
versa. They were a duo unlike any other, anyone in Alexandria could see that
clear as day. They enriched each other’s existences, and they were together so often it felt
wrong to be apart for too long (which, to
them, was like, twelve hours at a time).
He smiles to himself and
sighs, but his lips twitch a bit when he watches Elliot fiddle with the pill
bottle. Even as he moves to wash his hands in the sink, he makes sure to keep a
trained peripheral gaze on him, to ensure he doesn’t try anything. He’d been through too many moments of catching his
boyfriend stealing bottles from the nurses’ office at school, or even in his own medicine
cabinet, once. Each time, Parrish made him flush each and every pill down the
toilet. You’re not going
back to juvie, El. It’s just not happening! I’ll be freakin’ damned if that’s gonna go down!
When he’s finished wiping his
face with the wipes, and he hears Elliot’s lighter, softer voice bounce against his ears, his
smile returns with full intensity. “Maybe I should let Mary Anne move in. At least she has some sense of manners at the dinner table.” He can’t hold back a cheeky grin
as his wrists come together to lock behind Elliot’s head, fingers playing with the wispy hairs on the
nape of his neck. When Elliot asks for a kiss, he’s more than happy to oblige, feeling as though it’d been too long since
they’d shared an intimate moment that wasn’t marred by some bully or threatening entity (or in one instance, June, which had been
incredibly awkward).
When he pulls back, he screws up his face a bit,
sticking out his tongue with obvious displeasure. “Blegh, gross, you taste just like those alcohol wipes!” He tips his head back,
laughter flowing from his parted jaws as he gently brings their foreheads
together. “Ugh, why did I kiss you when
I literally just saw you use one of those
on your mouth? How dumb am I?”
But he can’t stop himself from
dipping in for just one more peck, the stinging taste of the rubbing alcohol be
damned. “Shit, sorry, I hope that doesn’t hurt you much. Your lip looks like garbage…No
offense! It’s, uh, let’s say, hot garbage, in the best way, I swear!”
He knew this was just a
defense mechanism, a way for them to push out the demons that lurked just
outside the bathroom door. But he also knew they desperately needed this, some
kind of distraction that would help them forget the sadness and heartache, the
complicated emotions that haunted them so very often. Right now, this cramped
little bathroom was their sanctuary, and the silly banter and kisses were fuel
to keep them going, keep them alive and
together for just one more moment. Right now, this was enough.
A knock on the door, though, brings
this good thing to an end, as all things must go. “Boys, you okay in there?
I’m
worried, you’ve been in there for a while…”
“We’re fine, mom! Almost on our way out!” Parrish calls back, and June seems satisfied with
that answer, although it takes her a moment before the sound of her footsteps
retreating down the hall can be heard. He turns back to Elliot, pressing an
index finger to his nose to poke him as he smiles a soft and subdued smile and says, “Well, you’re all fixed up. What’re you planning on doing
now, Mister Man? Don’t tell me you’re gonna leave the doctor’s office so soon! You haven’t even gotten your lollipop yet, for being such a good patient! Oh, and shut up, dummy. It’s my job to worry about you, and I’m going to keep worrying about you till the cows come home, so get used to it!”
THE BARN WAS STIFLING ,thick with the musky scent of all thing unpleasant , & of course , he couldn’t miss the decomposing piles of … whatever they could have been when they were alive . & he thought better than to ask jackie what exactly they were , & he was certain that he wouldn’t have liked the answer . yet the questions remained hung in heavy air . but who were they ? humans ? were they like me ? how’d they get here ?
❝ they’re searching for me . ❞ he comments instead , a heavy swallow going down his throat . it almost burns , & a small irk of panic rises through his chest . whatever it was that resided in him now , he’d forgotten his control of it . the longer he’d stayed in the lab , the more the lab - coats had tried to bring the thing outwards , & each time , they had succeeded . now , he was uncertain of how the thing worked within him now , a part of him was certain that it had a mind of its own . & eveline … .
❝she’s searching for me too . ❞ it’s said in a fearful breath , & he stalls , ❝ & she — she’s searching for you too . ❞ it had been made evident from the black sludge that jackie had been spewing only moments earlier . it was how it all began , before it began to progress on towards the whole consumption of the body . before you became like the bakers .
his stomach still churned by the memory of it all ,—– how he’d clawed against the doors until his fingers began to bleed , & the hollow , evil stares of each family members , & the indescribable stench that rotted through the house . but carson , weren’t you like them as well ? you were a family once , too .
❝ you — shouldn’t have helped me out . it might have been better for me to stay there , i don’t know what will happen now . eveline will find her way to bring us back to her family , & . . then we’ll be a family again . ❞ he sifts through the dampened hay piles , carefully picking his way through the dilapidated plants of rotted wood , and dusts the space next to jackie before crouching down .
he couldn’t go back to that house again . no . he had somehow escaped once , but he would not make it out for the second time . eveline would eat her way through him entirely , & he would only become a mindless creature to play out the role of a brother for her . ❝ but . but thank you . you let me out , because you see me as a human , don’t you ? ❞
“They’re searching for both of us, I know.
Really not helping to keep reminding me, buddy.” She says in a very defeatist tone, setting herself down on the ground beside Carson, legs
crossed like a pretzel in front of her. She rests her chin in the palm of her
hand, sighing through her nostrils. “That little bitch, Eveline – Yeah, and I hope you hear
me talking shit about you, you teeny tiny whore!” She seemed to be screaming at no one, eyes cast off
in the distance, staring at one particularly darkened corner of the barn.
She just knew the freak was spying on them from some far off place – or
maybe she wasn’t far away at all, and was hiding out in the bunker of the barn
ceiling, just waiting to pounce. Paranoia was taking a heavy toll on her
sanity. Her hands were trembling, and she wasn’t sure if that was because of the nerves, the virus
within her, the withdrawal she was experiencing after being off stolen Umbrella
Corp. painkillers for so long… Perhaps a deadly trifecta of all three.
There’s a deep set frown that
only grows the more Carson speaks, and by the end of his worrywart sentiments,
she’s
shaking her head violently, putting her hand on his shoulder to steady him
through her touch. “Listen, let me tell you something. No one, and I mean fucking no one on god’s green earth is ever going to hurt you like you’ve been hurt. I fucking
promise you that. Not Umbrella Corp., not Eveline, not her freakish demonic
zombified slaves – As long as I’m holding on to you, just like this –“ She motions in between
them with her index finger, emphasizing their physical closeness. “Eveline’s gonna need a goddamn
crowbar to pry us apart. We got this, Carson. We. Got. This. Together. You’re more human than any of
the researchers in that lab, who burned and cut you open without a second
glance. I think you’re just as human as anyone; in fact, probably more so. You actually feel things, and that’s more than most so
called people can honestly say in
this day and age.
While she says her
motivational speech, she can hear the warble of her shaky voice. She knows
Carson can still detect the fear, the uncertainty looming in her dark eyes.
But, if they were going to make it out of here alive, or at the very least, sane, they needed to hear something encouraging. She’s quickly started to
realize just how detrimental self-deprecation and hopeless words led to
hopeless thoughts. And the last thing they needed was to show Eveline just how
hopeless they’d become.
She’s quiet for a moment,
listening to the rustling of hay in the background that signified the presence
of rats, or other small critters lurking there in their nests. “Hey,” She can’t help but laugh,
attempting to lighten the mood just a bit, despite the darkness surrounding
them, literally and figuratively. “If I turn into one of those monsters, will you still
promise to call me pretty if I ask? Even spongy, black goo monsters need a
little self confidence booster.” She nudges Carson’s shoulder with hers as she giggles, so much that she
misses a larger, more distinct rustling in the hay, more exaggerated than
before. When she calms herself, she manages to catch it, and her heart is
spinning into overdrive again. So much for a lighthearted moment.
She squints her eyes, trying
to make out something, anything in
the pitch darkness. It seems to be coming in the direction of the decaying
smell, where the bodies were most likely hidden poorly underneath some straw. “Oh fuck…” She whispers,
instinctively grabbing Carson as though she were suddenly his protective
mother. “I hope that’s not an experiment they didn’t put out of its misery all the way…”
As if on cue, a monstrous
growl resonates from behind a bale of hay, as a short, humanoid figure creeps
out and into view. It’s a hideous sight, made even more horrific from the
lack of sufficient light. It’s missing an arm, and seems to be hobbling on a
lame foot, but still,is coming toward Jackie and Carson with deliberate
malice in its moaning and groaning. It’s setting its black eyes directly on
the pair, single arm outstretched as it shuffles closer. It almost looks more pitiful than intimidating, and if one
looks close enough, humanity is not entirely lost from the orbs stuck deep
within the deformed mass that is supposed to pass as its skull.
“Jesus, should we just finish them off?” She turned to look at Carson, biting at her bottom
lip with indecision. “I’m sure we could take them… They look like shit, no pun intended.”
HESITANCE SHOWS EVIDENTLY IN THE SLIGHT PART OF HIS LIPS . the water bottle is thrusted into his hands , & he takes a loose hold on it , only staring at the man – now , isaac , with a hard swallow of his throat .
❝ —-why are you so intent on helping me ? what will you get out of it ? ❞ he asks after length , the former guard finally released to reveal the uncertain trepidation of the 18 - year old boy within himself . the knife was forgotten now , & he presses the cold surface of the bottle against a bruising cheek , wiping at the dribbled blood by the corner of his mouth in a slap - dash matter .
it wasn’t often that another body would come forth so willingly to offer him help . his mother was kind , but far too weak to oppose against his father . mary anne had been there for him sometimes , but she was most often not than she was . the moment she’d hit the hard age of 18 , she was gone , a jail - bird girl pursuing out of her cage for the free world .
for a while , he had been resentful of her as well . but that was how it was with the tyvers , always & always . live for yourself . his father had told him countless amount of times , words reworded & retold in different tales : in the wild , the lions abandon the weakest cubs to die . this world is always the survival of the fittest . are you a lion , elliot ? or are you a weak , helpless thing ? his mother had raised him to be a boy with trembling hands , & his father had raised him to be a terribly cautious , daring , & dangerous creature . there was nothing , no one else to blame .
❝ you say that i’m interesting , but you . you’re hiding something . ❞ rolling the bottle down the side of his face , he flickers the cold gaze up towards isaac . what’s a once high - academic kid doing here now ? what kind of cliff were you pushed off of ? were the hands pushing you of someone else’s , or was it your own ?
he wasn’t a stranger to tragedies , & he didn’t find that he found sympathy for them within himself either . it was to merely identify another thing of his own kind , —— alex had once said that it had felt good to realize that he wasn’t the only one leading a concoction of everything fucked up in his life . you , tyver , i say that i’m a fucked up bastard . . but you’re really a riot , you know that ? what’s it like living walking on knife edges all the time ? not scared that you’re going to fall & cut yourself up one day ?
he pauses a moment , as if to contemplate isaac’s silence . then without waiting for the reply , he wipes the sweating condensation of water down his face , & digs deep into his pockets to pull out a rolled up wads of dollar bills .
❝ here , i don’t owe debts . ❞ tossing a wad towards isaac , he returns the rest of the money back inside his jacket , ——- the former guard against the other lifted back up once again . the fences were rarely placed down , &parrish was a rare exception , he was always an exception , & the only one .
❝ take me to your nest , junkie . –won’t be touching your stash , but make wrong moves , &i’ll cut your throat . ❞
His eyes widen for a moment,
gleeful expression evident on his clownish mouth. “Oh man, so you think I’m interesting, too? Gosh,
I’m flattered.”He
holds a hand to his chest in an exaggerated fashion, gripping Elliot’s wad of cash in the
other. He pockets the money, and then whips out a crushed carton of cigarettes.
He brings one to his mouth, then tips the carton over, allowing a small lighter
to fall out into his palm. Bringing the flame to the tip of the cigarette
alights it in a cherry red burn, and it isn’t until that moment that he speaks again, watching
Elliot through a plume of gray smoke that puffs from his mouth and nostrils,
and fades just as quickly as it’d come.
“Don’t we all have secrets,
Elliot? Mine, well, I’ll just tell ya straight up. Fuckin’ show you, more like.” He moves his fingers to the hem of his shirt, leaving
the cigarette to dangle between clenched lips. He lifts up the dark fabric,
revealing a vast series of thin, pink scars, criss-crossing across his abdomen
in a fairly aligned pattern. A methodical case of harm, drawn out literally in
a case of parallel carved-in lines. “Every time I didn’t do well in my classes, or was ‘disrespectful’ at home, I’d give myself one of
these bad boys. Misguided shame does that to a dumb kid. My parents were
fucking nutcases. They’d scream at me to high godforsaken heaven if I so much as breathed out of turn. Dad was a retired
military officer, mom, an active city cop. We weren’t poor or nothin’, there was no reason to push me like they did. Just… It’s all about the Ivy League legacy, right?”
He gives a grin, but it isn’t like the others he’s shown. It was stripped
of his smugness or cocky attitude, and all that was left underneath that, was
the shuddering, vulnerable, depressive boy he believed he’d left in the past. But
there he was, lurking underneath the surface, melded to him just as the
self-made scars marred his body.
“Shit’s fucked. That’s all she fucking wrote.” He takes another inhale of his cigarette, sucks in
long and deliberately, allows the smoke to billow from his slack jawed mouth. “Oh, and I don’t want anything from you. Just, when you see a kid in distress, you
have a lawful obligation to help them. Well, for me, it’s more moral than lawful… And that uh, throat
cutting thing is very much noted. I will keep my colorful comments and my hands… Mm, relatively to
myself. Sound good, champ?” Then he’s waving his hand over his shoulder, telling Elliot to
follow him to the entrance of his the apartment complex. He makes a point to
nudge a sleeping homeless woman on the front steps with the toe of his shoe,
for no reason other than his own sick amusement at watching her slump further
down on the concrete. Just like that, his emotional layers were pulled back
over his wounds, tightly sealed and not so easily pried apart.
“Aaaaaaall right, welcome to casa di Moreau!” As he opens the door to
his apartment, the first thing he does is unceremoniously drop his cigarette to
the floor and kick a piece of dirty laundry over it, snuffing out the flame
with the fabric. “Mind where you step, I haven’t exactly gotten around to spring cleaning yet. Even
though it is… Waaaay past due for that. I’m a bachelor, this is how we live. Manly traditions,
you get it.”
He leads Elliot past the
mounds of garbage and clothing, strewn in disarray all across the living room
floor. There’s a room to the left, with a sign on it stating in all capital letters,
“DO
NOT ENTER,” and the contents within could have only been Isaac’s infamous “products.” Other rooms with open
doors seemed to be bedrooms and a bathroom, each with their own unique level of
hygiene problems.
“Make yourself at home, bud! You can have that little bedroom to the far
right over there. Stay as long or as little as you want, I just ask you don’t eat all my fucking food
or drink all my beer. I know how you teenage boys can be, the little black
voids that you are. I was just like that myself.”
There’s a buzz at the door, and
he’s
a bit startled by that, the confusion momentarily in his eyes signifying that
he was not expecting visitors. He leaves Elliot to call down to the buzzer, and
a grainy, dark voice responds to him. Isaac all but bashes his head against the
wall, but tells the visitor to come on up. He looks over at Elliot, sighing so
heavily he nearly makes himself wheeze.
“Hope you don’t mind, but this fuckface I’m partners with just has to come up and drop off some
money he owes. We work together. Weird, freaky shit, but it pays well.” He smirks at how strange
that vague description must sound to a stranger who was not as in the know as
him, and just shrugs his shoulders when he should have been explaining more. “I’ll protect you from him,
don’t
you worry. He’s a creepier fucker than me, but just smile and nod when he talks to
you and you should be good.” He holds a finger to his mouth after some thought as
he adds, “Mm… On second thought, that might be a challenge for someone like you.”
And just like that, there’s a new man standing in
the apartment, taller than Isaac, blue eyes sharp and alive as they seem to immediately register
another life force besides Isaac, standing just a few feet away. Isaac holds a hand to his head,
sighing again as he says, “Victor, please, can
you not stare at people like a
fucking hawk? It’s weird. Look, the poor kid’s probably shaking in his boots. Either that, or he’s about to tear you a new one with his favorite toy…”
“It’s hard not to stare when I
come in here and find a strange boy in your apartment. I thought you were over this whole ‘save the children’ obsession.” The man named Victor
strides further into the apartment, movements fluid and without falter or lack of elegance in any of his steps. He comes to stand before Elliot, sizing him
up like he’s a predator scanning the potential of getting a good meal out of this new
piece of prey. He’s still watching Elliot as he calls over his shoulder to Isaac, “Where on earth did you
find such a pitiful little mutt? I hope you weren’t the one who roughed him up, Moreau. Tsk, he looks like a lost
lamb…”
He reaches forward, cool, silver ring-clad fingers intent on thumbing at the crusted blood droplets against Elliot’s cheek. It’s invasive and without care for personal space, but he doesn’t seem to be one who has much concern for those things. An immediate red flag if ever there was one. “Which dumpster did Isaac drag you up out of, hm?”
HE WANTS TO SAY THAT IT ISN’T TRUE , -- but the fact is that it is , it is true ,& there was no smart way to deny it . he wearily watches the thick , black sludge puddle onto the earth , & a terrible stab of ugly pain jolts through his chest . he wishes to say that it’s alright , – but it wasn’t . it was a common lie he’d told himself while he’d stayed with the baker family , through the gore - fested ‘family dinner ‘ , & through the night - time ‘game’ that lucas so loved to play . over & over again , he’d repeated to himself . it would be alright .
❝ — i can’t . ❞ he states flatly , breathless & heaving . it feels sickening , because the black muck sliding down the corner of jackie’s mouth had long - infested within him as well , made a snug home in between his organs & spread its branches out like a parasite . it wasn’t alright - this wasn’t , nothing was —
❝ you saved me . & i , — i know nothing about this place . can’t tell which path leads to where , i’ll get caught again . ❞
perhaps the laboratories were a far suitable condition than staying with the bakers , this was something he’d thought the first day arriving to the pristine room of his new confinement . until he realized , they had no intentions of saving him . it was only the parasite in him that they were eager to understand , whether that meant searing & tearing through his skin with abominable chemicals or experiments on daily basis . it was bitter to think that it was a bit too late to think of himself as a human now , but jackie had … she saw him as one , & that was why she’d risked her life to help him escape .
clambering fingers grasp against her fingers , & he tucks the wisps of her hair back again , dark fawn eyes full of hope & fright .
❝ let’s go together . please . ❞
She stares at him for a
heartbeat, still unsure, but when he pushes back her hair and stares at her
with such fear, when he says she saved
him – she knows she cannot just abandon him. That would be more of a death
sentence than anything. She flashes him a smile, and although weakened from
what she’d just done, there’s a stronger light in her dulled eyes, as she staggers
to her feet, standing at her full height. She momentarily thinks about hugging Carson, but thinks perhaps now
is not the time for a mushy sentimental moment.
When they were safe, though,
she internally promised herself to deliver him the hug of a lifetime.
“Thank you.” She murmurs, and when she grabs his hand to keep running, she’s brought back to a
memory, when her little brother would cling to her as she ran through the
backyard, screaming at the top of his lungs when she tried to throw him into
the sprinklers her father set up to let them cool off during the summer months.
He would laugh just as much as he would yell, and his eyes were deep and
mournful, just like Carson’s were when he’d stared at her. They were still just as innocent,
even as he tried to bring a knife down into her shoulder -
She has to hold back the
tears coming up fast, obstructing her vision. She could grieve more when they
were out of harm’s way.
A helicopter cuts through the
air above them, and Jackie pulls Carson to the side, hiding with their backs to
a tree, waiting until the machine is gone, the roar of its propellers getting
father and farther away. Her eyes scan the forest, searching for something
known only to her. “This way, there’s an abandoned barn off in a clearing not far from here. We –“ She shakes her head,
corrects herself. “They would bring experiments – people,
goddammit, they were people…they’d bring people out there to ‘release them,’ as they said so
unkindly.” She didn’t think she had to elaborate on the truth behind the words of her
fellow researchers. She recalled how they’d laugh when they’d talk about the recently released specimens,
recounting the ones who pleaded for their lives just before the moment of
death, and the ones who simply begged to be put out of their hellish existence.
After an eternity of running
and feeling like they’re going to pass out, they reach the barn. Jackie has a
bit of a struggle in prying open the giant doors, but eventually they open,
hinges squealing all the way. The inside smells of hay and something decaying,
and Jackie’s heart sinks when she understands why.
“Shit,” she says as she leads Carson into the darkened barn. “Guess they didn’t even bother to give some
of them a damn burial. Figures.” She looks to her young companion, frown etched on her
features. “This is about as good as we’ll get right now. Just… Be careful where you sit.”
SAVING HIMSELF OFTEN INVOLVED FORGETTING . to forget about the chaos for awhile , the bruises , & keep the memory - lane blockaded as long as he could . parrish however , appeared to have a conflicting idea about saving , —- was it to save himself or elliot ? the answer was that in saving elliot , he would always be saving himself . he had been aware , the tightening strangle of guilt that left his rage turned up against himself at each misstep he took towards parrish . his lover came forward to save him , & each time , elliot had escaped with a guarded heart .
❝ . . i mean it , parrish , i really do . you’re not going anywhere near him . & if he tries to lay a hand on you , i’m going to shatter his wrist . ❞ last july , he’d sent the bastard limping his way out into the sidewalk , & allowed him a two - week long vacation at the hospital . it had costed him a broken arm & a punch - bruised face for the next month , but it had been worth the troubles . it had meant a two - week length of a sudden , unsettling peace within the house — something so eerie and disquieting thing , that he’d almost despised the odd presence of the silence . but he was far too early to give up . if he was to go down , there would only be one way : to drag the fucker down to the dirt graves along with him . until then , there would be no giving up , no scurrying away from the fight like a dog with its tail tucked under . once , he might have believed that running , then pretending to live within another world of imagination was a far safer way , but now — it was only to live in the present , & batter back at it fist by fist , blood by blood .
a part of him kept the idea tugging however , a waver of doubt , because parrish had meant safety . he had always & always meant safety for him . the day parrish had left , he’d taken that safety along with him somewhere across america , & the day he returned back , the quiet of his heart had settled back down again .
could i trust you ? isn’t it foolish to think that you can find home in someone else’s heart ? he grinds his teeth down , swallowing down the hesitation , hoping that parrish had not caught sight of his unease . ❝ —-let’s go , hope your mom doesn’t ask to much questions though . can’t tell her anything , got it ? don’t want her worrying . ❞
He gives a nod, reaching for Elliot’s hand, giving it a squeeze before forcing himself to pull back. As much as he wanted more contact, he wanted also to allow him some space, a chance to breathe on his own, but not without a reminder that he was there, supportive and steadfast like a rocky island on which he was always welcome to find purchase.
“I won’t tell her anything she doesn’t need to know.” He flashes a smile, stronger than his others had been, gaining silent relief in the way Elliot finally bent to his will,although it had felt like trying to bend a steel beam. He was stubborn, that was for sure. He might as well have been an indignant donkey Parrish wanted to walk across the street with a leash. “Come on, I’m sure she’s got some food she’s just dying to shower you with, too. Comfort food, for the road.”
&&&&&&&&&&
“Elliot!” June is heard before she’s seen, her chipper voice resonating throughout the house as she comes to realize her son is not coming through the door alone. Her figure appears, and she’s already moving to hug and kiss Elliot on the cheek as she so often did,before Parrish stops her with a hushed murmur.
“Mom, the first aid kit…?” He’s quiet and nodding to Elliot, who’s a shadow of himself, huddling behind Parrish and eyes downcast to the floor. June looks as though she’s going to speak, eyebrows furrowed, until something clicked in her mind, after staring into her son’s pleading eyes.
“Oh, sure… Right in the medicine cabinet of the hall bathroom.”
As Parrish leads Elliot further into the house, she calls after him, “Make sure you see me before you leave, sweetie! I’ve got a Tupperware of mac & cheese with your name on it!” Parrish flinches at the concern edging her tone. He knows she’s going to badger the hell out of him later tonight,he can already hear the worried questions flooding from her nonstop mouth.
Then they’re in the bathroom, Parrish shutting (and making sure to lock) the door behind them. He starts rifling through the medicine cabinet,eventually retrieving a small box with a red cross on it. “Okay, so you just hold your hands out for me, I’ll put some gauze or something on for you, then get you an ice pack before you go.”
As he removes the gauze from the box and starts unfurling it, he glances up at Elliot, then back down at the material in his hands, as he swallows against a taut lump in his throat and murmurs, “Really hoping you choose to stay for a little while, though. Maybe we could watch a movie or something first, while you eat my mom’s mac & cheese…? But, I understand if you’re in a hurry, that’s fine too. Whatever’s best for you, El.”
What he wants to do is just drag Elliot upstairs, wrap him in blankets and lock the door, prevent him from having to face the outside and the wrath of home life again. But the rational part of him knows that’d be wrong, on more levels than one, so he simply stays quiet after that, waiting for Elliot’s response, bracing for the very possible no that could spill from his straight-lined lips.