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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