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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