|Self Proclaimed Messiah
Author: xanthofile PM
Rewrite. Bo knows he can't save everyone, although he always has to try. But all he really wants to do is just save one. Slash.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance - Chapters: 8 - Words: 23,559 - Reviews: 32 - Favs: 17 - Follows: 13 - Updated: 08-25-12 - Published: 07-08-12 - Status: Complete - id: 3040000
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
all right. second to last chapter. well, second to last chapter plus epilogue. i had planned to post both tonight in one large chapter, but thought it was unseemly. so you'll just have to wait, i suppose. i know: i'm mean.
thank you, everyone, for the reviews last chapter.
unrelated note: going to my first paranormal convention tomorrow. i hope it does not utterly blow furry balls.
18 august, 2012. 1:15 am.
I tried to ignore the call, my body aching and my mind dull, heavy from yet another eleven-hour shift to cover for some prick who 'had' to get off early to visit his girlfriend in the woman's correctional facility two towns over. Over a year here and everyone knows I'm a pushover about that shit; hand me a sob story and I'll just bend over and take it.
I'm a putz.
I glanced at the clock and groaned; I'd only been home twenty minutes and should have been by all rights dead asleep by now. The first thing I'd done once home was strip out of jeans and boots, crawling into bed in my boxers and shirt, my socks dirt-stained and vaguely funky, but I'd been too tired to care.
Such a lazily sexy motherfucker, right?
"Ya got someone 'ere to talk to ya!"
"Shit, tell 'em I'm not home!"
"He's inside, fucktard! Get yer lazy ass ou' of fuckin' bed!"
I threw a silent hissy fit as I jerked from beneath my blanket, prepared to chew the asshole right good if it were someone from work telling me I needed to go in and cover his shift.
Fuck no, I won't, not today.
Stumbling over one of my boots, I cursed, sending it to crash against the wall with a vicious kick of irritation; great, now my toes are killing me too. My door flew open against the dresser when I yanked it, causing it to rebound against my elbow and side but it didn't stop me from stomping from the room and down the hall to give the prickhead a piece of my damn mind.
Only, when I finally looked up at the door, the glare dropped from my face; I experienced a vague déjà vu at seeing Carlton with a wicked bruise around his eye and a nastily split lower lip.
"What are you doing here?"
Not an intelligent response at seeing him standing in my home with his hands shoved into ratty black jean pockets like we'd seen each other only yesterday, sure, but in my own defense…he was the last person I'd have expected.
"That brother of yours, Kelly…he told me where you lived."
Serene as always, giving away nothing; the bastard hadn't changed a bit. He was always so goddamned hard for me to read. I felt like a dumb asshole for being unable to do anything more than stare, especially when he finally looked away in embarrassment.
"I told her…told her if she ever hit me a'gin, I'd leave. She didn't, not for a long while, even got sober. Longest time in years. But it didn't last. She hit me, so I left."
Those eyes, cool and collected, were scrutinizing me but I managed to keep up the cold mask of indifference, wishing it were as easy for me as it was for him.
"So why come here? Bragging? Think I'll just clap you on the fucking back and tell you how proud I am? You left. Whoop de fucking do."
"No," voice level and composed, as if unable to react to my venomous sarcasm," I came here to thank you. You saved me, and I blamed you because I'd just wanted to die and get it over with. I never thanked you, and I was wrong. So I hitched out here…and I can just keep on going down the road, be out of your life again, if that's what you want."
He hooked his thumb over a shoulder with casual grace, as if he was asking if I wanted him to step out to the convenience store for more sliced cheese or something.
"You haven't been out of my life. Ever."
I was angry with myself for being such a dick, for standing here thinking about letting him sleep in my room so he wouldn't have to leave, for thinking about going into the kitchen and making him eat food I'd been saving for my own dinner.
"Y'all are so fuckin' queer."
John's semi-amused voice broke my train of thought, especially as he shook his head and turned the station on the television, the volume steadily rising to drown out our 'queer' conversation.
It was too loud for me to think, too loud to talk normally, and I had to move closer to Carlton, standing too close for my broken heart. The rending ache made me frown, unhappy as I looked him in the eye with the intention of telling him it was best he keep moving on, but the emotion I saw in his face startled me from being able to say anything; there was bitter desperation there, the kind I'd always seen whenever he was close to breaking.
The volume of the television was too loud even now for me to say what I meant so I did the next best thing, huffily closing the scant distance between us and pushing my mouth against his, the kiss aggressively gentle.
His response was to lean into the kiss, forceful in making me open my mouth as his fingers curled against the nape of my neck, taking charge of our kissing. I let him do it, falling into his embrace because I'd never thought about anything as often as I'd thought of this. The noise of the television abruptly went dead, John swearing like a sailor, but I didn't care, putting a palm to the small of Carl's back and pulling him even closer because his body language told me he wanted me to.
I don't know why I always find myself inadvertently submitting to him; maybe it's the quiet aura of command, of knowing exactly what he wants and being able to just do it. As if he's not bound by the same rules of compunction as everyone else.
He'd kissed me before, twice, but he was still the one to drive me away. No waffling, no hesitation, he'd told me to leave him alone and then never looked twice at me. And now, he'd come out here, showing up like it was always supposed to end up this way. Maybe I'm a putz, but just this once, I don't even care.
It was only when I tasted blood that I thought to pull away, pulling from his arms even though they tightened a bit, resisting; the split in his lip had reopened, lazily bleeding and causing him to reach up and press fingertips to the wound, as if that would keep the blood at bay.
Bet it stung like a sonuvabitch.
"You really left? Just like that?"
He nodded, dead serious; "Of course. She'd got a bottle of Daniels somewhere and was pretty drunk when I got home. She said I looked like my old man, self-righteous prick or something, so she hit me, and again when I told her I was done, that I was leaving. She said I really was like my old man, leaving her, but what did I care? I told her I'd leave, so I did."
"…And Kelly told you I was out here?"
He paused, and I wondered just what Kelly had told him.
"He saw me a few times before I left, said you'd moved out here. I got the impression that he figured you'd want me to know. So…I came here."
The first hint of uncertainty bled into his eyes, quelling the nerves in my stomach and causing me to grin; "You sure pick shitty times to show up, I'm nearly dead on my feet."
He smiled, that smirk of his that had entrenched me into being his friend in the first place.
I laughed, receiving a quick peck from him that I had to chase with a few more before allowing him to deepen the kiss for a few moments. I pulled away with a yawn and slid down the hall, my fingers absently gliding against one wall for the balance and assurance that I wasn't dreaming.
It was only once I'd staggered back into bed that I remembered that I was still wearing dirty socks and boxers.
…I'm such a lame-ass.
I waited for the sound of his door shutting before grabbing my duffel by the door, setting it near the chair nearest the hallway as I sank down and waited for Bo to sleep off his exhaustion. It had gone even better than I thought, and I didn't even feel guilty about taking advantage of how tired he'd looked.
For a moment I'd thought he'd brush me off, tell me to get the fuck out and keep going, but then he'd changed his mind.
Feeling tired myself now that the adrenalin was gone, I pulled my heels up onto the seat, settling in a bit more comfortably in the lumpy chair even as I finally turned my attention to the guy Bo was living with. He was somewhat familiar, so must have been someone I saw a lot at school but not one of the ones who ever gave me shit; at the moment he was staring at me like I was a multi-legged gigantic spider dripping flesh-eating poison.
I raised an eyebrow and he flushed, getting up from the couch and scurrying down the hallway to his own room, the door rattling the windows.
I snorted, scratching a bit more blood from beneath my lip and pillowing my head on the side of the chair with my arms, letting unconsciousness take me down for the first time in two days.
a/n: until next time.