FictionPress.com - let the words flow| FictionPress.com - let the words flow |
| Home Just In Communities Forums Beta Readers Dictionary Search | Login Register Extras |
Black Hair and Bruises
“Hi,” he said simply, and pointed out, “You’re shaking.”
I was. Carefully I put down the white Styrofoam cup I’d been holding, now only half full of water, and curled my hands into fists. I wanted to slap that smile off his face, shake him until he came to his senses, but I couldn’t do either, couldn’t hurt him more than he already had to be hurting. I tried to piece together the shreds of my composure to speak.
“What is wrong with you?” I said through gritted teeth, shaking with the effort to keep from yelling. And then, what it took me this long to notice, “Oh my word, your hair!”
Previously light brown, it was now bright purple and sticking together in clumps atop his head. He blinked at me calmly, and said, “They spray painted it.”
I rocked back on my heels and just gaped at him. Finally, I managed to form coherent words. “You’re something else, you know that?” I said, voice tight with anger. “I told you this would happen one day! I told you to be careful!” I had leaned forward again, so I sat back, closed my eyes, and tried to calm down.
Looking at him, I tried to study his injuries without letting my emotions get the better of me. Hair, now purple, was glaringly obvious, but so were both eyes, neatly blackened, and the lip, split so. He was paler even than usual, and the gash on his left check was all the more prominent for it. His jaw was swelling, too. I had to swallow, very hard, to keep going.
Finger-bruises, on both arms and throat. I surprised myself with the amount of willpower that I didn’t know I possessed. What had they been doing, strangling him?? He was shirtless; I silently counted every welt and bruise I could see on his thin torso.
He was watching me when I looked up, choking on rage. “I’ll kill them,” I croaked, relishing the idea.
“No, you won’t.” He was still infuriatingly calm, and I could have hit him or hated him for it, maybe even both. “I don’t need you in this state, too.”
“Half-dead?!” I screamed at him. I didn’t realize I was crying until his look shifted to concern, and I glanced to the side, quickly wiping the wetness away. I start getting emotional and he gets worried; he gets beaten up and he just sits there like everything is just peachy-keen. Taking a deep breath, I turned back to him and asked, “How did they find out?”
His cheeks coloured, and his gaze dropped. “Uh, I…” He reached up to rub the back of his neck, wincing absently. “I guess it wasn’t such a good idea to carry his picture around in my wallet, huh.” He smiled, sheepish; my insides twisted. “And then lose the wallet.”
I rolled my eyes, tried to laugh. “Oh, ouch. Ah, but he’s going to get hassled now, isn’t he? Whoever he is.”
I’d known for nearly a year that there was a certain someone out there that he fancied. For the first few weeks, I had prompted him to make a move, but he always gave me a rueful smile and changed the subject. I could see why, now… And somewhere deep inside, I was glad that he never had searched him out.
“Yeah, I know. He’s going to hate me, probably.” It was that same smile he gave me now, worry in his eyes. Regret tinged his tired voice. “I wish I – ”
“Shut up,” I said vehemently without thinking. “You didn’t mean any harm, okay? Stop beating yourself up over it.” He just stared at me, wordlessly, so I grabbed the cup of water and gave it to him. “You knowit isn’t your fault.”
There was a napkin in my pocket; I wet it and pressed it to his lip. He hissed with pain and shied away.
“Is that clean?” he laughed hoarsely, then winced as I persisted with the napkin. “Oww. That stings.”
I scowled at him. “Of course it – damn it, will you stop moving?”
He caught my wrist as my hand moved forward. “Michael. I’m fine, okay?”
I jerked back. “Don’t lie to me,” I said, voice tight again. “If this is your definition of ‘fine’, I do not want to see ‘not fine’.”
He laughed, to my surprise, and caught my hands in his own. “Michael,shh. I’m okay now, alright? After all,” his teasing smile was dazzling, “you’re here.”
I couldn’t stop the blush. “Okay, shut up. Let’s get out of here before someone finds us and finishes you off.” Something had lodged in my throat, something that wished he’d meant what he’d said. I offered him a hand, the excuse so readily available this time, any reason to touch –
He inhaled sharply, a hand flying halfway to his ribs before he stopped himself. I clutched his arm a little tighter. “Did they kick you?!” I demanded urgently.
“Michael.”
I sighed and helped him into the car before walking around to the driver’s side. Resting my forehead against the doorframe, I stared at him for a few seconds until he turned my way and gave me a questioning smile. I muttered the butterflies in my stomach into silence and stepped into the car.
I had never been more grateful that the drive home took barely ten minutes. I could have blamed me for not turning down the radio when I’d parked the car that morning, so that it blared when I put the keys in and we both instinctively reached for the volume dial, resulting in a torturously brief half-second of tangled fingers, but that was all really only part of it. I didn’t want to talk, because I had nothing to say that might not make things worse, and because I wasn’t sure my voice would stay even if I did. He was just silent, eyes completely blank and lids half-lowered, looking defeated, tired. The lump that had worked its way down into my chest ached.
It was worse when I pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine because of the ensuing quiet. It lasted for all of the one minute that it took me to help him to our front door, which swung open moments before I touched the doorknob. My sister Jenny stood in the doorway, eyes wide. “Michael!” she demanded. “What on earth happened?!”
I shot her a dark look and manoeuvred past her into the house. “Shut up, Jen. It’s not mine to tell.” I heard him stifle a laugh.
“Yes, little brother,” she mocked, and was putting on her jacket when I swallowed my pride and stopped her.
“Jen, wait – could you – uh… I think… Could you do me a favour – two! Two favours: one, could I have that box of black hair dye sitting on your dresser, and could you wrap up his ribs?” I ignored his indignant “Michael!” and added, “As you can tell, he, uh, doesn’t seem to think there’s anything wrong with them.”
Jenny dropped the smug look she had on her face and was instantly all business. “Does it hurt to breathe or talk?” she demanded of him, rolling up her sleeves.
He smiled sweetly at her. “Is that a rhetorical question? I mean, I did just get beat up – ”
“Don’t be a smartass,” we growled in unison, and he laughed, then winced, hand curling reflexively at his side.
Jenny gave him a hard stare. “Hurts to laugh; good enough.” She turned to me. “What happened exactly?” She saw my look and rolled her eyes. “I don’t mean that. Did he get his head knocked in – he should,” accompanied by a glare, “get kicked, would he have a concussion, etc…”
I swallowed. “I don’t know,” I said, the words bitter in my mouth. “I wasn’t there,” and I berated myself a thousand times over for that.
Jenny’s brief look was of understanding; then she was ushering him firmly down the hall to the bathroom, leaving me to follow behind.
Our bathroom was small, so I stayed in the doorway and watched him submit to my sister’s ministrations. It was hard not to react to each grimace and soft grunt he made when pain was inevitable; I distracted myself with the box of hair dye that was already on the counter.
I’d maybe read the dumb instructions panel over at least seven ties, including the French or whatever the hell it was, when Jenny swept out of the bathroom, dragging me with her into the hall.
“He’s all wrapped up nice and sound,” she told me, hands on her hips. “Don’t let him tug on them or get them wet. I don’t want to have to redo the wrapping, okay?” She glanced at the box in my hands. “Want me to do that for you, too?”
I shook my head. “No, it’s fine, I can do it.” Then I saw the gleam in her eye and scowled. “Damn you for being so observant,” I muttered.
She laughed. “Sorry, can’t do anything about that. Being observant is part of my job.”
“Which one, nursing or making my life a living hell?”
She reached out to ruffle my hair. “You know I’m your favourite sister.”
I snarled and jerked away. “You’re my only sister, Jen.”
She smirked. “I know.” Her expression turned serious, and she frowned, leaning back against the wall. “So…I’m not going to tell Mom about all this, okay?”
I stared at her. “You’re…okay with it?”
Jenny glanced back at the bathroom and lowered her voice. “Okay, so maybe my little brother likes guys – ” She made a face and sighed. “Who am I to judge. Just…” Her smile turned wicked. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
I snorted and turned back to the bathroom. “That’s, like,everything. Prude.”
She laughed and headed down the hall. “Love you too, bro.”
I forgot about everything but him the instant I stepped back into the bathroom. He was sitting on the toilet with the lid down, staring at the wall, when I waved a hand in front of his face. “Hey.”
He started with another wince. “Oh. Hi.” His lips graced me with a smile, but his eyes were guarded. I tried to ignore it and wiggled the box of dye in his face.
“Time to do something about your hair,” I said. “Lean over the edge of the bathtub.”
“I can wash my own hair, you know,” he grumbled, complying.
“You’re injured.”
“I’m not an invalid!”
“Whatever.”
--
Three rinses later, he announced that he had a crick in his neck, and my hands were getting slightly wrinkly. He sat back, towelling his hair dry, while I turned off the water.
“It’s spray paint, Michael, it’s not meant to come off,” he said, watching me.
I sighed. “Yeah, I know. That’s why we’ll have to dye it. At least it doesn’t clump together anymore.” I glanced at his hair; it was now a splotchy, uneven purplish-pink colour. “Why couldn’t they have used, like, blue or something, then you could just say you’d decided to go punk. Why purple?”
He clenched his jaw. “Because I’m a fag,” he said bitterly. “You know that.”
I had nothing to say, so I took the towel from his hands and draped it over his shoulders. “Why does that have to be a bad thing?” I finally muttered, spreading the contents of the box out on the counter. “They probably don’t even care about that. They just want an excuse to pick on someone. Sit in front of the sink.” I put the gloves on and opened the bottles of dye, mixing them. “Don’t move around. I don’t want to put this in your eye or something.” I glanced at his reflection and winced. “It’s bad enough already as it is.”
There was a flimsy plastic comb in the kit, but I ignored it and worked the dye into his hair with my fingers. He gave a little sigh and closed his eyes, which gave me an opportunity to stare at him a bit more.
“Crap,” I muttered suddenly, and his eyes shot up, blue-grey orbs searching mine in the mirror. “I should have gotten you some ice for your eyes. Or your jaw.”
“It’s okay,” he said softly. “I’m good without.”
I stared at him. “Are you sure?” I asked in a guilty voice. “It would have helped with the swelling, or…”
He nudged me in the stomach with his elbow. “One thing at a time. I’m fine for now, okay?”
I frowned and kept moving my fingers to make sure the dye was evenly distributed. “What about Tylenol?”
“Geez, Michael! You worry like a mother hen.”
“Or a best friend,” I retorted, then snapped my mouth shut before I said something I regretted.
I stood there running my fingers though his hair for a bit longer than was probably necessary, but he didn’t mention it, and neither did I. Stripping the gloves off, I told him to stay put while I got him an ice pack.
Jenny was layering lasagne in the kitchen, and gave me a look. “Ice pack,” I said, and she nodded.
“Use some of the cream in the medicine cabinet, the stuff in the yellow jar.”
I nodded mutely and left.
He’d done as I’d said, idly running his finger over the plastic teeth in the comb. “Your sister is a nurse?”
“Yeah.” I wrapped the ice pack in a cloth and gave it to him. “It's handy when you get scraped up or something.”
“Or something,” he agreed wryly.
I made a face at him. “I’d really rather she not have to patch my friend up because he got beaten on for no reason.”
“For being a fag,” he corrected, voice going hard.
“Don’t,” I said sharply.
“Don’t what?”
“Use that word.”
“Fag?” He laughed humourlessly at my dismayed expression. “Get used to it, Michael. It’s what I am, so it only figures that – ”
“Don’t,” I ground out. “Now get over here. I need to wash out the dye.” I was relieved when he stopped talking and did as I said. “Hand me the bottle of shampoo in the corner.”
“…Lavender?”
“Shut up, mine ran out, and we aren’t going shopping until – stop laughing, do you want me to pour this down your throat?”
“Play nice, boys!” Jenny yelled from the kitchen, and the laughing stopped, replaced by awkwardness. I sighed and finished rinsing.
“Y’know,” I said as he straightened and stood, towelling his hair. “I think I like the black hair. You could totally be, like, all emo and stuff.”
He gave me a mock scowl. “No, thank you, I only need to fulfill one high school cliché; I don’t need to be both a queer and suicidal.” There was a glimmer of the first real smile from him today.
I smirked. “I really don’t think… Wait, where’s your ring?”
He looked down, confused by the sudden shift in topic. “Huh? …Oh. Where else? They took that too.”
I sighed and found the cream Jenny had been talking about. “Go figure. You sure you won’t tell me who it is so I can go pound them?”
He smiled ruefully at me. “Let’s not make your sister have to patch up her own brother, okay? Getting beaten to a pulp, contrary to popular belief, is really no fun.”
I couldn’t find that funny enough to laugh. I dipped my fingers into the cream. “Close your eyes.” Confused blue blinked once, then closed, and I carefully touched my fingers to the bruise surrounding his left eye. He sucked in a breath, and I snatched my hand back. “Does it hurt a lot? I’m sorry.”
“No, the stuff’s just cold. Go ahead.”
I didn’t believe him, but I had no way of disproving him, so I continued, holding my breath because our faces were so painfully close. His skin was warm under my fingers, and smooth… I followed the gash on his cheek with the cream, and he flinched, jaw tensing.
“Sorry,” I breathed, and his eyes flickered open, mere inches from mine.
“Don’t be silly. You didn’t do anything,” he said, a little hoarsely.
I scowled and drew back. “I wasn’t there,” I said angrily, and reached for his hand. “Let me see your knuckles.”
He was quiet as I rubbed the cream onto his bruised knuckles, head lowered so his eyes were hidden behind newly black hair. I was tempted to reach up and brush it back.
Michael, he already likes someone.
I nearly dropped his hand. Right, I thought numbly. So he does. It was suddenly a little harder to breathe.
“Michael?” Concern.
I couldn’t stay in the bathroom. “I’ll go get you a shirt,” I muttered, and left.
He came looking for me when I wasn’t back directly, and stood in the doorway of my bedroom, watching as I pulled shirt after shirt out of my dresser without looking at them. “That one looks like it’ll work,” he said quietly, and I stopped and looked down at the black t-shirt in my hands.
“Oh,” I said, and handed it to him.
He frowned at me. “Are you okay?”
“That’s funny, shouldn’t I be asking you that?” I looked up into his face. “Your eyes are grey. What did I do?”
He stepped away from me. “Nothing. Thank you,” and he pulled the shirt over his head while I told myself not to look; distracted thus, I closed the drawer on my finger. Great, insult to injury.
“Boys,” and now it was Jenny in the doorway, “supper’s ready.” She gave us each a piercing look in turn, but didn’t comment. “Hurry before it gets cold.” I followed her out, reaching to turn off the light again at the same time he did. More touching, more contact; I could have screamed. Instead, I flattened my mouth into a hard line and shoved my fists into my pockets. Fate was very, very cruel.
The only sounds during supper were the clinking and scraping of forks against the plates, Jenny asking if we wanted milk, apple juice, or tea, and my heartbeat throbbing in my head. I had a headache. Jenny didn’t try to start a conversation, to give credit where credit was due, though I wasn’t sure whether it was a good thing or not. I got up halfway through the meal to get Tylenol, both for him, and me.
I was helping dry the dishes afterwards, with him in my bedroom. I stood in front of the cupboards and dried a glass for over a minute before Jenny hit me upside the head and took it away.
“Trouble in paradise?”
I tossed her the towel. “Remember, when you fall in love, not to fall for someone who you already knew liked someone else. It’s a very good way to break your heart into little bits.” I grabbed two cookies on my way out of the kitchen.
He was lying on his side, facing the door. He sat up when I came in and gave him a cookie. “Jen’s peanut butter ones,” I said dryly. “Your favourite.”
He gave me an odd look but didn’t say anything, only lay back down when he was done. I sat down beside him, cross-legged, and said the first thing to come to mind: “So…who is he?”
He didn’t give any indication that he’d heard me but for the lips, pulled back into a thin line. I thought he wouldn’t answer, until he said abruptly, “Why?”
I gave him a smile and a shrug. “So if he really ends up hating you, I can…talk some sense into him?”
He frowned. “I doubt that,” he murmured softly.
“What, which part?”
“…Never mind.”
Damn it all, I wanted to move closer. “Well…what is he like, then?” I asked, shifting surreptitiously until his hair was brushing against my knee, trying not to think about how his eyes lit up at the thought of him and the small smile that appeared on his lips.
“He’s, oh…he has a rather dry sense of humour. He’s…very stubborn, rather impulsive…doesn’t always act his age.” His eyes closed, and my hand crept unbidden to finger the soft black strands of his hair. “He cares about other people. I guess you couldn’t really tell just by looking, but…” How I wished he would talk about me with that…fondness in his voice. He laughed softly. “He likes to put on a brave front most of the time, except with people he’s very close to.” Eyes opening, he turned to me with a small grin. “He’s a lot like you, actually.”
Ouch. A lot like me, but not me. I wished he’d stop looking at me like that, because each smile tore a little piece out of my heart.
The grin faded quickly enough as his eyes dimmed. “Of course, he’s probably straight.”
I swallowed hastily. “You never know.”
He grimaced. “Right. So say you’re this random person and I just come up to you and declare that I’ve been watching you and that I likeyou and I would like to get to know you better so I can date you. Yeah, any sane person would totally embrace me with open arms.” The sarcasm hung heavy in the air.
“You…never know,” I repeated meekly, then blurted, “You smell like lavender.”
He gave me a sharp look, and I flushed, but the silence still loomed ominously, and I had to keep it away. “It reminds me of grade four, when our teacher made bath bombs with us, those fizzy things? I don’t know why… Most of the bath bombs didn’t keep their shape because the molds sucked, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to go home and drop them in the water.”
His eyes were closing again, and without thinking, I threaded my fingers through his hair. He instantly tensed, and I quickly withdrew.
He rolled over, sat up, and stared me in the face, eyes wild. “What do you want?” he growled, an I recoiled, shocked.
“W-What?”
“You always – you keep acting like – like – ” He ran both hands through his hair, clenched them into fists in his lap. “Damn it, Michael! What do you want from me?!” He groaned and shook his head once, violently. “Swear that you’re not messing around with my mind just because you know…please, swear to God you’re not…”
I was frozen in spot on the bed, brain scrambling to make sense of his rambling. “I – I swear I’m not messing with you – what are you even talking about? Because I know you’re gay?! Calm down, c’mon, please, I wouldn’t – I swear, I swear, just – calm down, please!”
He finally did, cheeks flushed and eyes averted. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I…I should go.” He was out the door before I could get off the bed.
“Kaedon!”
I caught up with him at the front door as he fumbled to put his shoes on. “Don’t just run off like that without explaining!” I yelled at him. He ignored me and opened the door. “Kaedon!”
“Forget it, Michael, okay? Just leave it alone!” he hissed, eyes cold.
So he was going to be like that. Dragging him back inside, I shoved a jacket at him and shoved my feet into my shoes. “Fine. Act like the big chicken that you are, then, but I’m driving you home.”
He laughed, even while getting into the car. “Why do you even care, then, if I’m such a coward?” he taunted, eyes dark.
I wouldn’t let myself answer, even though I knew he was only baiting me. I bit my lip and turned on the radio so I had something else to focus on other than the burning in my eyes. He said nothing else for the fifteen or so minutes it took me to drive to his house.
He didn’t say goodbye. I had hoped that maybe he would have apologized or said thank you or at least said goodbye or good night, but he didn’t. I even waited a few minutes after he’d entered the house, in case he would come back out to say something, anything rather than stone-cold silence, but…nothing.
I drove away feeling like the biggest idiot in the world.
--
“Hey, look, it’s his secret lover!”
It actually took me half a period to catch on.
“Hey, Mikey, gotten any favours lately?”
Just goes to show how distracted I was. I slept all of two hours last night and spent the rest tossing and turning and unable to get certain people out of my head.
“What’s it like, being the secret obsession of a guy?”
Someone dropped his ring and wallet on my desk in math class. Inside the wallet were pictures of me, smiling at the camera, making faces, eating, studying, sleeping. His ring I played with the entire day, a solid silver band engraved with the name “Kaedon Sean Peters” along the inside. It fit on my thumb.
He wasn’t at school. I was glad for his sake, but he’d never told me he wouldn’t be here. After school I decided to go to his place to find him…never mind that I was asking for a confrontation, now. I was barely seated in my car before I realized that he wouldn’t be at home. His mother would have never allowed it. But I was sure I knew where he would be…
Unlike yesterday, I didn’t go crashing through the trees in the little patch of forest just adjacent to school property. This time, he was lying on his back on the ground; he flinched when he heard me and closed his eyes.
“You weren’t at school,” I said softly, and studied him. He was still wearing my black shirt, which made the bruises on his neck and arms stand out, ugly mottled purple and yellow and green. His eyes looked a little better. Jenny would be glad to know the cream worked.
“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely, eyebrows furrowing though his eyes stayed closed.
I dropped to my knees by his side. “Last night…you just left without saying anything.”
He groaned and flung his head to one side, pain marring his features. “I’m sorry… It – I was just – it had been a long day. No – those are excuses… I…I was just…” He swallowed. “I was mad at you,” he finished in a whisper.
I touched one of the bruises at his throat. He jerked, his eyes flying open. “I have your wallet, and your ring,” I told him. His eyes were large, and grey, and bleak.
He wet his lips. “Do – do you hate me?” he asked, unsteadily.
I laughed a little and shook my head. “I don’t understand. Why were you mad at me?” I had worked his ring off my thumb and was sliding it back onto his hand, which was cold, and shaking.
He turned his head to the other side, away from me. “I…I thought that maybe you knew I…I liked you, and…you kept doing things like – like – ” His voice broke, and I bent down to press a kiss to the palm of his hand. He swallowed convulsively. “Like that, but you never said you were gay, so I thought maybe you knew and were teasing me, and…” He exhaled, quivering, sounding so close to tears.
He wouldn’t look at me, so I leaned over him, planting a fist on either side of his head. “Kaedon,” I murmured. I had to say it a second time before he would look up at me, his eyes wet. The familiar lump with its familiar ache was back in my throat for an entirely different reason. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
He looked completely confused. “…Why…would I…”
I slid to rest on my elbows, knowing exactly how close I was getting to him and doing it to him deliberately, now that I knew. I smiled. “Because…” and bent down, fast enough to give him no time to move, but slow enough for me to see his eyes widen in surprise and spark with blue. It had only been meant to be a small, chaste kiss, but somehow his fingers wound their way through my hair and drew me down, and…
Remembering that he was injured, I reluctantly pulled away. “Your lip,” I breathed, resting my forehead against his. And, “Your eyes…they’re the most beautiful blue…”
He stared up into my eyes. “You do not know how long I have wanted to do that,” he said huskily. “Every – EVERY fucking day…I would see you and wish, so badly…” He was trembling, and…
“My word. You’re crying, Kae.” Gently I kissed the corner of one eye, then the other. “I toldyou to go talk to ‘him’. I’ve been telling you that ever since you mentioned that you liked someone!”
He laughed shakily. “Well, if I had known you’d…” He clutched at my hand. “I spent most of yesterday in bliss and absolute paranoia because I didn’t know if…you know, the hair, and – and – damn it, Michael,” he said breathlessly. “That’s…dis…it’s distracting…”
I stopped tracing his swollen jaw and gently cupped his cheek instead, smiling as he closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. “I know,” I whispered in his ear. “I wanted to see if I could make you shut up.” I moved my lips to his battered throat, and he gasped, whimpering.
“Michael…Michael, stop…”
I eased up and gave him a purely mischievous grin. “Yes? How is your neck doing?”
A blush stained his cheeks as he glared at me. “All very well and good, but we really don’t have to consummate – ” He laughed when I choked and turned bright red.
“I wasn’t even – !”
He smirked and tugged me down beside him. “I know. I was just teasing you.” His fingers slid between mine, and I sighed, content. “In fact, we shouldn’t even…”
“Mm. I know.”
He curled up beside me and closed his eyes. Then, “Michael?”
“Yeah?”
“My lip hurts. Kiss it all better?”
I laughed softly. “Now I think I want to go get a split lip just for that reason alone. You’re a marvellous kisser.”
He stuck his tongue out at me. “Flatterer.”
“Yep.” Leaning over, I pressed my lips to his lightly. “Oh, and for that record?
I still think I like the black hair.”
a/n: holy crap, that is a long one-shot for me, probably sucks so bad, the flow and all, but, y'know, working on it, and if i can get feedback, all the better, da?
inspired by deviation of egosun (again): http://egosun . deviantart . com/art/bl50doodleNo-26-kiss-36452650
hope he doesn't mind! because what i wouldn't give to be able to draw like that... :whines:
