HE DIDN’T TRUST THIS MAN . just as he couldn’t trust the prior two , this one too , he plans to shy away from . vanish from their reaches before the morning could arrive & the dawn - light could hit . he watches this new man with an apathetic glance , before flickering the gaze back towards victor . —–like a python coiled & waiting , the man was watching him still as well , & it would be wiser to keep a sharp watch out for him .
❝ don’t touch me .❞ he says finally , threat snarled low into his voice as he backs away from the new - comer . the man seemed no stranger towards victor , almost showing affection , even . an associate , perhaps . was he a fool entrapped in victor’s snares ? or was he another evil - mind playing an equal game with victor ?
no matter . if he was another enemy , it was wiser to avoid him . if he was another prey for victor to swallow by the end of his games , elliot would still feel no sympathy for him . no bonds , no connections , & no emotions to waste —- this was the rule he had been living by ever since his escape to the heart of the city . it kept him safe , unattached & untethered to anything .
❝ no one did anything to me . it’s just all bad luck . ❞ it was a familiar defense mechanism , one that he often used with parrish . sometimes it had worked with parrish , but eventually the boy had caught onto his lies , & plucked them out accurately , revealing the bone - white truth of his lies one by one .
the only difference now was that parrish was not here . he was free to collapse & rebuild his world & identity as much as he pleased , & he would keep at it until he could leave the rotting city .
❝ you keep you boyfriend in check . that’s all i need from you . ❞ sinking his hands back into his pockets , he turns away , silently heading towards the dim - lit kitchen without a spare glance towards the watching bodies back in the room . tenuously , he tears out a several sheets of the paper - towel roll sitting on the counter , dabbing at the bloodied bits of his face . the tap water was cold as well , but he hardly revealed a flinch as he wet the paper - towel sheets in the running current , wiping at the smeared stains of blood by the corner of his mouth .
his mother might have scolded him for the poor after - care of his injuries . she would always pry his stubborn fingers from the frozen pea bags pressed against his bruised face , & she would patted his face dry , & pressed a bandage with a wavering smile . she wasn’t here anymore . the police would have taken her body into their own custody now . whether or not richard bothered to give her a funeral or not , —- she was free from his brutality now . that was something that he couldn’t take away from her .
the paper towels were crumpled in his fist as he turned the tap water off . they were bloodied , pink smears drenched through it , & he quietly disposed of them in the nearby trash - bin . victor & his pet was still standing by the living room . one pair of eyes calculating & perhaps wondering what the best way to butcher him would be , then the other pair of eyes full of concern & sympathy — , which he couldn’t care for , nor did he need them .
❝ if you’re done with your business , you should leave . i’ll be gone before sunrise .❞
“The little brat obviously doesn’t want us around. Shame, but what can we do?” Victor keeps his eyes trained on Elliot until he dumps his bloodied paper towels into the trash, and that’s when he finally pries his gaze away, as though he were a bored beast, tired of fiddling around with an uncooperative victim. He puts an arm around Adam, though looks more as if he’s shoving Adam to the door, rather than simply guiding him. “Why don’t you just go on home now, and I’ll be right on your tail, as soon as I take care of a few, last minute things here…”
All of which was code for, I don’t want you around to watch me annihilate this boy.
But to Victor’s surprise, Adam refused. He shakes his arm off, shimmying out until he’s free from Victor’s grasp. Victor stares him down for a moment, but is oppressively silent, his stiffened body language and partially outstretched arm apparently telling Adam all he needs to know.
“I don’t want to go home just yet, babe,” Adam glances at Elliot, then the floor, before locking eyes with the man standing before him, who was practically brimming with irate energy. He’s shaken, unsure of himself, but manages to maintain his ground, more or less. “Why don’t you go home first, and take care of your fucking pyromaniac foster child for a while? I’ll come back when you can promise he won’t try to set my fucking hair on fire tonight.”
Victor’s quietness is louder than his highest shouting volume, and for a moment, Adam thinks he’s made a horrific mistake. His eyes go downcast once more, and his fists clench and unclench at his sides. He doesn’t even dare to look up, not until Victor reaches forward, grabs Adam’s jaw in his cruel hand, squeezing so harshly Adam visibly winces. It was a gesture of trying to reclaim and reassert his control, and that’s all the more emphasized as Victor says, “Looks like I’ve spent the better part of my day trying to wrangle two brats, then… Not very nice of you today, Adam.” He releases Adam just as quickly as he’d grabbed him, his message loud and clear to the man still reeling from the rough treatment. Then, just like that, Victor is walking away, making his way to the door.
“We’ll talk more when we’re both home,” He says, and the narrowing of his eyes isn’t missed by Adam, who looks as though he were a panicking child, terrified of his parents’ wrath over some ultimately trivial mistake. His gaze then falls on Elliot, and his smile returns, just as serpentine as ever, just as vile and grotesque in its seeming perfection. “If you ever change your mind, the deal’s always on the table. I hope our paths will cross again soon.”
He’s gone without another word, his air of vicious antagonism following him. The entire apartment seems to feel lighter somehow, with the ominous presence now far removed. Isaac can be heard stirring in his room, laughing to himself about something. Perhaps he’d heard the entire altercation that’d just happened and thought it was incredibly amusing, or maybe he was just really high and giggling about a water stain on his floor. No one could have been entirely certain.
Adam breathes deep through his nostrils, his sigh heavy as he reaches up to rub at at his still slightly aching jaw. A part of him hopes his cheeks aren’t too flushed from the tenseness of the situation, albeit it was fading quickly. Eventually, he stops staring off into the distance, the space that Victor once occupied, and instead turns back to the matter at hand, that being Elliot.
“All bad luck, that what you said? I guess to you, bad luck is, what, being hit by a car a few times over? You look like you might as well have been, any-fucking-way…” He treks over to a couch in Isaac’s small living room, and as he sits, he turns his head over his shoulder, motioning to Elliot across the way. “Don’t suppose while you’re here, before you, ya know, run off into the great unknown, you’d mind grabbing a tired soul a bottle of water from that nasty ass fridge?” He pauses a moment then, eyes looking clouded and distant again, and he shakes his head and his hand as he says quickly, “Nevermind, a beer’s probably better right now.”
He’s trying hard to hide the fact that his hands won’t stop shaking, because fuck, I’m going to get such shit when I come home. He isn’t one to admit publicly, especially to strangers, how he too knew the pain of being hurt, the sensation of knuckles pounding against jaw, the sting of wet paper towels in the bathroom as the blood mixes with tears and the gnawing pain of something internal, something harder to grasp and define, but something bringing with it arguably more pain than the physical marks.
And then he’ll emerge again some point, acting like everything’s sunshine and roses, ignoring the bruises against his eyes because they don’t hurt that bad, I’ll just grin and bear it, and he saidit was only a stupid mistake, anyway. But each time, his heart just gets a little more hardened, scar tissue building up just a tiny bit more, nerves slightly more frayed than they had been. And the edge of the precipice continues to haunt him, the breaking point which he was unsure of when it would ever come. All he did know is that it would come one day, and it would crash down upon him hard.
“I kinda know what it’s like,” He says out of the blue, his body turning once more to attempt to catch Elliot in his softening sights again. He doesn’t know why he says it, and he almost regrets opening his mouth at all. Perhaps just a small ray of opportunity hit him then, the singular urge to want to relate to this fearful-yet-feared boy, if with the bare minimum.
“Look, I’m… I’m not trying to be one of those cliche fuckers who act like they care, act like they understand everything you’re going through - I don’t wanna be someone who pities you. I hate those people. I just - It must be so lonely, living like a fuckin’ phantom, how you seem to live. You’re so young, kid. You can live better than Mr. Weed Smoker and… Victor. Why sink to their level?”
He supposes that last question was a bit hypocritical. After all, who was the one who regularly slept with a man who made very little effort to conceal his murderous intentions from him? Sinking to Victor’s level had become near-second nature.
He sighs again and sinks into the cushions of the couch, staring absentmindedly at the door to Isaac’s room. “It’s fine, you don’t have to say jackshit if you don’t want to… But, I don’t know, am I weird for wanting to try and connect with someone who doesn’t seem like they’re completelygone yet? Someone who might be at least sort of stable? Or at least, still has a chance of finding stability?”