floratic:

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 .

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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.”

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floratic:

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  . ❞  

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“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 said it 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 completely gone yet? Someone who might be at least sort of stable? Or at least, still has a chance of finding stability?”

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floratic:

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.”







floratic:

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 . ❞

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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.

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“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.

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floratic:

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 .   

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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.”

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floratic:

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 .   

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 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…!”

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floratic:

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 .  

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& — 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.”

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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.







floratic:

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 .  

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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, dont 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 Im 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. Youre not going back to juvie, El. Its 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!”

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floratic:

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 .  

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❝ 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.”







floratic:

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 ?    

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   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.

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“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?”

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floratic:

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 .   ❞   

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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.”







floratic:

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 .   ❞  

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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.

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