everlasting_angel
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“Now Randy,” he says, low and careful and right against his mouth, “you’ve gotta remember that when I tell you to do things, it’s for your own good. Right?”
Randy’s having a hard time keeping his eyes focused on just the cigarette or just on Benson — both are so close that his eyes keep making them blurry.
“Uh— Uh-huh.”
“So when I tell you you’re gonna smoke,” he continues, “that means you’re gonna do what?”
Randy’s stomach drops. He doesn’t understand — doesn’t understand how Benson making him smoke is for his own good. He knows it’s not. He wants to ask, but knows Benson will just punch him for it instead, so he doesn’t. He feels his teeth clench together; Benson’s fingers flex along his jaw, feeling the muscle twitch.
“Randy.”
He relents. He feels like putty, all his nerves spooling and tangling and getting crossed to make him numb.
“I’m gonna…” Randy swallows, feeling breathless. “I’m gonna smoke.”
Bookmarked by everlasting_angel
28 Jan 2025