Chapter Text
“Next up, John Laurens.”
John gulped, standing. He straightened his pants, pulled on his shirt sleeves, and tidied his hair. He walked slowly to the middle of the classroom, stopping in the center.
He glanced over his shoulder at the row of empty chairs lined up with their backs up against the blackboard. He saw his dark-haired friend sitting, slouching, in the seat next to his own. The boy smiled at him, giving an encouraging nod, and John looked back to the front.
Mrs. Winchester looked him up and down from where she sat with the rest of the class, all since eliminated, in the first row. She cleared her throat, then spoke. “John. Your word is abandon. Please spell it.”
A grin took to the boy’s face. Abandon! He knew that one! His dad had helped him prepare for this spelling bee, and this was one of the ones that had been on their list. “Abandon,” his high-pitched seven-year-old voice squeaked, “A-B-A-N-D-O-N. Abandon.”
Mrs. Winchester’s smile grew to match her student’s, and she stood. “Correct, John! That is correct!” She walked over to him, raising his small skinny hand in her large doughy one. “Class, we have a winner! The champion of the 17th annual grade 2 spelling bee, John Laurens!”
Much hubbub and excitement followed the announcement as the class rushed up to congratulate their champion. The humble victor accepted the praise graciously, returning it to each of his competitors with at least twice the sincerity.
Only one boy hung back. The dark-haired one. The one who had been last standing. Mrs. Winchester bustled over to him, her skirt swaying softly around her legs as she walked. She eyed the child, giving him a disappointed look. “Now Francis,” she chastised, “be a good boy and go congratulate your friend. I know, I know, nobody likes to lose. But we can’t be poor sports, now can we?”
Francis continued gazing distantly at John, not turning his gaze as he spoke. “Oh, no Ma’am. I’m not jealous. I’d just like to give John my congratulations when all the others are gone.”
“Well, alright, if you say so,” the teacher tisked. “We’re going out for recess in just a minute, you can talk to him then.” She lifted her skirts, hurrying away to herd the children outside. Francis stayed still, waiting until the group had cleared out, leaving only himself and John in the room.
They stood awkwardly, ten or so feet separating them. Neither said anything, they just stared.
John took the first steps, closing the distance between the two of them, and Francis quickly followed suit, meeting him in the middle.
John flashed his friend a grin then looked down at the floor. “You did good,” he complimented.
A genuine smile bloomed on Francis’s face as well. “You did better.”
John blushed slightly, hunching his shoulders to push away the compliment. “Me? I just got lucky.”
Francis cocked his head to the side, smirking. “No, you didn’t. You’re…” he trailed off, the smile fading. “You’re good. Really good.” John blushed deeper, looking back up at his friend. Francis took a tiny step forwards, stretching up on his tiptoes, John was notably taller than him, and pressed a light kiss to his left cheek. He leaned back, giggling just a bit, covering his mouth.
John’s face burned bright red, and he stifled a giggle as well. Francis shot him a beaming smile, teeth and everything, before running out the door to join the rest of the class for recess.
John placed his hand gently onto his left cheek, gently running his finger over the kissed spot with extreme care. It felt warm, tingly almost. He let the moment sit, let it brew in the pot of pure joy it had created.
He turned and ran after his friend to join the play.
John arrived home to his dad waiting for him at the door. Henry Laurens blocked the entrance, his large stature making him quite the imposing figure.
“Well?” he demanded, his deep voice gruff and intimidating.
John grinned, unperturbed. “I won!” he announced joyfully, “Out of my whole class, I won!”
Henry smiled and nodded, grabbing his son’s book bag from him and patting him heartily on the back. “That’s my boy!” he exclaimed, “You see? All that studying paid off!”
“Oh, it did,” John confirmed, walking with his dad into the house.
“Now,” Henry said, setting the bag down on the table, “come into my office. Let’s hear the whole story.”
…
“And then it was down to just me and Francis! And he spelled his word, anthill, wrong, so I got one last try. And my word was abandon, that’s A-B-A-N-D-O-N, and I spelled it right!”
Henry nodded, clapping his hands in time. “I knew you would do well. You are my son, after all.”
“But I haven’t even told you the best part!” the little boy exclaimed. “After I was done, when all the other kids had told me congratulations, Francis gave me a special gift.”
“Oh really,” Henry raised his eyebrows, “what was this gift of his?”
“Well,” John furrowed his eyebrows, “it’s hard to explain.” He paused, thinking deeply, finally coming to a conclusion that lit up his whole face in a bright smile. ”I can show you though!”
His dad nodded, inviting him to go on. John jumped from his seat, walking around the large oak desk to stand by Henry’s chair. “Lean down, please,” he asked politely, his father complying, though with a bit of confusion.
This time, it was John’s turn to stretch up on his tiptoes, his turn to plant the kiss. He did so, returning to his feet, looking up expectantly, waiting for a response.
Henry froze, his boy going rigid. He didn’t look at John, instead burning a hole into the wall just behind him with his eyes. “This… boy , this friend of yours…” he gritted out.
“Francis,” John eagerly supplied, not grasping his father’s menacing tone.
“Yes. Francis ,” Henry spat. He turned his steely gaze to his son. John took a slight step backwards, noticing the severity in his father’s tone. “He… he kissed you.”
Joh gulped. “Y- yes…” He took another small step backwards as his father stood, large body towering over him, casting a dark shadow.
“A boy ,” Henry clarified once more, “A boy kissed you?”
John backed up once again, his back running into the bookcase that lined the wall. “Y-ye-yes?” he stuttered, his answer more of a question.
He didn’t see his father’s hand snap out, he only felt it make contact with his face. He felt the sharp sting of pain in his left cheek. The cheek Francis had kissed. The pain spread like a pool of ink, quickly, not sparing a centimeter. He felt tears well up, but he held them back, blinking rapidly.
He looked up with sad, mournful eyes into his father’s cold steely ones. He saw just the slightest sliver of sympathy appear, a tiny morsel of regret, so small he almost missed it. One of his tears spilled over, tracking its way down his smarting cheek, creating a cooling path, and just like that, the sympathy, the regret, it was all shut out.
“God help me,” his father grumbled, reaching a hand to massage his brow. He turned away from his son, as if he could no longer bear to look at him.
“Go clean up,” he ordered, all the pride of the previous moments drained from his voice. John backed away slowly, handheld to his burning cheek. He reached the doorway, turning and slamming it shut as he fled down the hall.
John smiled at Alex, pressing a string of gentle kisses down his jaw. They lay, nose to nose, in the dead of night by the babbling creek. The fall grass was scratchy all around them, but they didn’t mind.
They breathed peacefully, together. In, and out, and in, and out, chests rising and falling at an even cadence. Their hearts beat in tandem. Down by the water, they were a single entity, thoughts and wants and needs all coinciding. They were one.
Well, not quite one. Kissing was much harder to do with just one.
John heard the gentle disturbance of grass around him, Alex sitting up. He could barely make out his form, it was almost pitch black, but he could feel the absence right in front of him. John pushed himself up, slowly, into a sitting position.
He reached out, finding Alex’s face with a curious hand. He ran his finger up his jaw, up his cheek. It was damp. Damp with tears.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked, voice low, worried.
Alex let out a little laugh, reaching up to take John’s hand from his face. He brought it away, cradling it in his lap. His voice came out just above a whisper. “We can’t keep doing this forever, you know.”
“Doing what?”
Alex traced the bones in John’s fingers, bringing shivers to the surface of his skin. “You know what I mean, John.” He squeezed John's hand in his lap, then let it go. “This.”
John sighed deeply, reaching back up to take one of Alex’s hands. “Why not, sweetheart? Why can’t we? It’s not hurting anyone, is it? Us being together?” He squeezed Alex’s hand, but he didn’t let go. “Like this?”
Alex considered that. “Well, no…” John brought his hand up, laying gentle kisses on each of his knuckles. “Not yet…”
“Well then I,” John broke his statement with a soft kiss to Alex’s forehead, “Don’t see why we should be stopping.”
Alex blushed, though John couldn’t see it, and lay back down on the ground, his friend joining him shortly after. “Ok then,” he breathed, “I guess I don’t either.”
The bell rang out, cutting across the classroom, silent save for the scratching of pens on paper. The students stood quickly, packing their papers into their bags, a low hum of noise taking over the room as they discussed weekend plans.
“Don’t forget your essays!” Mr. Washington called from the front of the room, “due Monday, no extensions!”
No one paid him any mind, continuing to chat with their friends, heading out at a leisurely pace. John packed his things quickly, staying quiet. He glanced around the room, searching for Alex. He could have sworn he had been sitting in the back… Ah! There he was.
He made his way over to his friend, fastening the clasp on his book bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “So…” he started, Alex looking up from where he was organizing his papers into a neat pile. “Are we still doing it?”
Alex nodded nervously. “Yeah. Yeah, I think we should.”
“Ok. I’ll go find Gil. Meet us down by the creek?”
Alex smiled up at him. “Alright. I just have to talk to Mr. Washington real quick. 4:30?”
“Sounds great.” John smiled and jogged off, out of the classroom and down the hall. He came to a stop in front of Gil’s last class of the day. He could still hear the teacher droning on inside, Mrs. Bennet was particularly bad at ending the day on time. Well, he would just have to wait.
He leaned his back against the door, shutting his eyes and picturing how it would go.
“You see Gil, Alex and I…” or “Now Listen, Alex and I…” or “We know what other people think about this sort of thing but…”
No. No no no. It all sounded too forced. It had to be just right. And even then, what if he didn’t… well what would happen if he just didn’t ? Maybe it was a good idea just not to tell him-
John’s thoughts were interrupted by a steady flow of students rushing from the classroom. Kept too long and eager to be free, they pushed and shoved one another playfully. John scanned the crowd for Gil, finding him right in the thick of things. He rushed up to meet him, grabbing a hold of his arm and steering him away.
“Hey,” his friend complained, shaking him off, “what was that for?”
John kept walking, outpacing Gil, making him walk faster to catch up. “Nothing.”
“Oh really? You dragged me away for nothing did you?” The two exited the school building, coming to a stop.
“Well, it’s not nothing. Just…” John looked right and left, taking in the students still milling about around him. “Just come with me. Alex and I will explain at the creek.”
Gil sighed. “Okay then.” The two set off.
…
John found Alex waiting by the creek. He was pacing, back and forth, back and forth, in front of the old oak tree. The very one they had- well, best not to think of that right now. With Gil right beside him…
John gave his friend a nervous smile, walking over to stand next to Alex, who had stopped his pacing. “Why don’t we all sit down,” he invited. They did, John and Alex knee to knee in the shade, Gil opposite them.
John exchanged a look with Alex, raising his eyebrows in a you want to say it or should I gesture. Alex nudged his head back at him, signaling that he should go first.
John looked back to Gil, taking a deep breath. “Gilbert.”
“That is my name,” he interjected, raising his hands in defense when both Alex and John glared at him. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll shut up.”
John took another breath, exhaling and starting again. “Thank you. Gilbert. Alexander and I have something that we’d like to tell you. It’s been going on for some time now, and we thought you ought to know. We are… different. We’re… well I guess the simplest way to put it is... in a relationship.”
Gil’s eyes widened, but his face remained otherwise neutral. He didn’t freak, as John had feared he might have, he didn’t lash out or go ballistic. Not like his dad would have,
Gil cracked his knuckles nervously, looking down into the grass. “So you’re…”
“Yeah.” John plucked a piece of grass from the ground, twirling it in his fingers. “Yeah pretty much.”
“You’re… in love?” Gil asked, his voice unsure.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say in love ,” Alex cut in, chuckling nervously.
“But it’s still early,” John replied, placing a hand on top of Alex’s where it lay in the grass. It was a warm hand. Alex grasped it in return, squeezing tightly. This was going relatively well, all things considered, John supposed.
Gil’s attention was fixed on the intertwined hands. “And I’m the… first one to know? The only?”
“The only.” John gently pushed Alex’s hand away, erasing the distraction from the scenario. “For now, at least.”
“I figured,” Gil nodded.
“Now, Gilbert,” Alex started, his voice calm and reasonable, “you’ve got to know, we trusted you with this. You can’t go around telling left and right. If people found out… well it wouldn’t be good for anyone.”
“Don’t worry,” Gil nodded, smiling resolutely, “I’ll do what’s right.”
John eyed Alex, giving him a you see, it wasn’t a complete disaster look. “We’re glad to hear it.”
Six days- six uneventful days- had passed since the talk with Gil. Everything had more or less returned to normal. There was a bit of lingering awkwardness, but for the most part, the three friends had gone back to their normal lunchtime dynamic.
John made poor jokes while everyone groaned, Alex tried to see how many girls he could get to accept his invitation to the dance (the current count was zero), and Gil laughed amiably, sneaking some of his lunch into Alex’s lap. The group, to any outside observers, looked perfectly ordinary. No one else would have noticed the warry glances Gil gave the other pair or the secretive smiles John and Alex shared.
The seventh day, however, brought a change. Gil was quieter, his normally peppy personality subdued. But John didn’t ask, and he didn’t share, so everything continued as if nothing had changed.
The bell that signaled the end of the day and the week sounded. John headed out, beginning the short trek home. Alex was staying after that day, to work with Mr. Washington on something or other.
John was not two blocks away from school when he heard footsteps speeding their way towards him. He stopped, turning to see Gil. His friend slowed his run to a jog, then down to a walk, finally coming to a stop in front of him. He panted, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.
John eyed his friend, adjusting his book bag over his shoulder. “Can I help you?” he asked.
Gil straightened, returning to his normally dignified manner. “Yes, actually. I need to go home with you.”
“Great.” John started walking, expecting his friend to follow. Gil did, waiting a few seconds before jogging to match his strides.
“Great? You’re not going to ask why or something?”
John stopped, turning to face his friend. “No. It’s not any of my business.” Besides, he thought to himself, I’ve got a pretty good guess.
Gil considered this approach, looking off into the distance. “I… I guess you are right. You don’t need to know, do you?” He started walking, and John joined him in silence. Gil stopped again, turning to face his friend. “Well, now I feel awkward, so I’m going to tell you.” He waited a beat, but John gave no response, so he went ahead. “I need to talk to your father.”
John nodded, once, curtly. “Figured.” He started to walk again. It was expected. His dad basically ran the town. What was the good in having him as a friend if not for his favorable connections?
But it wasn’t like that with Gil. He would never just befriend him for his connections. They had been close since primary school. Sure, he had talked with his dad a number of times, but nothing crazy. John had never asked about it, Gil’s private life was just that, his private life. If he didn’t want to tell, then he wouldn’t ask.
They walked the rest of the way without conversation. The school was a short distance from John’s house, but the thick silence made it feel like forever.
When they reached the door, John pulled a key from his bag. He unlocked the door, pushing it in.
“Dad?” he called, “you home?”
“In here,” his father yelled.
“He’s in his office,” John told Gil, “You know the way?”
Gil nodded, giving him a small smile. “I do.”
John watched him walk down the hall and make a right at the second door. He made a left, turning into the kitchen. He scanned the cabinets, searching for a snack. He grabbed an apple off of the counter, snagging a cookie from the jar and a napkin on his way out as well. He made a left into the hallway that led to the stairs.
“You’re fucking kidding me.” His father’s voice was loud. Too loud for a normal conversation with a friend of his. He stopped in his tracks, peeling his ears to listen to the conversation taking place in his father’s office. “Gilbert, tell me you are joking.”
John could hear the shuffling of feet from inside, moving further from the door. “I’m sorry sir,” Gil’s voice came weekly, and John moved closer to the door to hear better. “But I swear, I’m telling the truth. No fib.”
A pause, then from his father, “Alright then. It will have to be dealt with, I suppose.” The voice got quieter, and John moved closer, pressing his ear against the door. “Thank you, Gilbert. If what you say is correct, you will have nothing to worry about for a good long time.”
“No, thank you, Mr. Laurens. I know I wouldn’t be where I am now without you.”
“Yes, yes,” the voices grew louder, but John stayed frozen, not quite comprehending what he had just heard. “Well, Gilbert, you're a good boy. Don’t hesitate to come to me if you need any more help. If you keep bringing things like this…”
“Of course, Sir.” The doorknob jiggled, and John realized too late that he would be caught. He tried to play it cool, straightening his posture, turning around to face his dad and friend, but it was no use. The door swung inwards, a dense silence following John’s reveal.
“ John ,” Henry Laurens gritted out, his eyes tightening with barely controlled rage. “Why don’t” he took a calming breath, “you go escort Gilbert here out. Then you can come back here. And we can have a nice little talk .”
John clenched his jaw, trying not to let his emotions spill onto his face. The rage, the hurt, the fear. He locked it all up, instead responding with a curt nod to his dad, then one to Gil. He walked stiffly down the hall to the front door, placing his snacks down on the bench beside it.
He pushed the door open, stepping out into the warm afternoon sun. He climbed down the steps slowly, turning to cut across the lawn. He could hear Gil following behind him. He turned sharply again, slipping between the hedge and the house so that they were out of view of anyone walking by.
“Listen,” Gil started, but John cut him off, swiftly turning to face his friend, taking a menacing step forwards.
“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare say a word. Not one fucking word until I tell you to speak. Ok?”
Gil took a step forwards, in John’s direction. “Ok, John, I don’t know what you think you heard but I promise whatever it was-”
John pushed him swiftly, making him fall back into the house. “I said. Don’t. Speak. Got it? ” Gil nodded mutely, eyes welling with tears, but John couldn’t bring himself to care. “Did you or did you not just tell my father about… about Alex.”
Gil opened his mouth as if to speak, but a glare from John cut him off. “One nod for no, two for yes. Gil nodded once, curtly… then again.
John turned away, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Fuck,” he murmured, “fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.” He turned back to face Gil. “Fuck,” he spat.
Gil opened his mouth again, his voice coming out in a high squeak. “John. John, you have to believe me. I had no choice, I didn’t want to-”
“Oh, of course you didn’t” John cut in, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Just like you didn’t want to have to fags as friends, yeah?” He stepped back, stomach churning with disgust.
Gil’s face fell. “No,” he whispered, “no that’s not it at all.”
John looked to his friend, his eyes filled with anger. “Then please,” he replied, his voice equally low but much more threatening, “enlighten me.”
Gil sighed, sliding his back down the wall of the house. “Sit down. I need to explain some things to you.”
John did, his silence prompting his friend to continue.
“This is going to sound like a lot, but I need you to hear me out, ok?” Gil started, “It’s long and it’s complicated and-”
“I get it,” John interrupted, his exasperation clear. “Just go.”
“Ok then. We’re starting at the very beginning.” Gil took a deep breath, preparing himself. “My dad isn’t actually at war. And my mom doesn't actually work at the factory. They’re both dead.” Gil looked around as he spoke, anywhere but at his friend. “I stay with my cousin, but I shouldn’t. She’s not my legal guardian. I should be with my grandparents. The ones that live in France. But I don’t want to leave. And I sure as hell don’t want to go into foster care.”
John’s angry expression relaxed as his friend spoke, becoming one of concern. Gil went on. “As I’m sure you know, your father more or less owns the town.” John scoffed at that. Of course he knew. Everyone knew. “Well when my mom died, my cousin went to him. Asked if he could help us out. He did. He knew I was friends with you, and for a while, that was enough.”
Gil shifted his gaze yet again, this time making eye contact with John. “But then, right around the time middle school started, he started asking for favors. Small things. Little snippets of information. Which teachers liked you, which didn’t. What classes you were doing well in, which ones you weren’t. Your friends, acquaintances, enemies, anything really. He told me it was because you were pulling away from him. He said he wanted to be a part of your life, and you wouldn’t let him. He said he just wanted to help you.”
“And… you believed him?” John asked. He couldn’t have blamed Gil if he did. His father was quite good at manipulating people.
“Yeah,” Gil dropped his chin, “for a while I did. For a few years actually. Then, I started getting suspicious. I stopped getting back to him so quickly, gave superficial answers. Lies even, sometimes. He caught on quick. Called me in for a talk . He told me about my condition. At the time I knew I was supposed to be back in France, and I knew what my cousin was doing wasn’t right, but I hadn’t put much thought into why I wasn’t being forcibly dragged across the ocean, or put into the system. Well, he told me. About how, with a word, he could arrest my cousin, charge her for concealing a child. How he could send me off somewhere where no one would care if I lived or died.” He laughed breathly, but there was no humor in it.
“He told me everything had worth. That everything I told him was weighted. Sometimes something bought me a month, or a week, or just a few days. The telling was up to me, from then on. I would normally just call him up, give him something, then let it alone until the deadline was near again. But this… this information… it was different. John please, you have to believe me. Things have been getting harder and harder. My normal snippets have been giving me less and less time and-” he stopped, taking a calming breath. “It’s not long now. Before he’s done with me completely.”
John swallowed, hard, pushing down his emotions. The rage at his father, the disappointment at his friend. “How long?” he asked, “How long did this one buy you?”
“I don’t know yet.” Gil looked down, eyes finding his lap. “Six months, at the least. A year if I’m lucky.”
John nodded, connecting the dots. “And by that time you won’t be a minor. He’ll have nothing over you anymore.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be free.”
“Ok.” John forced the word out. It made everything so much better, yet so much worse at the same time.
“Ok?” Gil asked, “Is that… it?”
John wanted to say no. No, it wasn’t it, it wasn’t good, it wasn’t all fine, and it wouldn’t all work out in the end. But… hearing what his friend had gone through… he just couldn’t stay mad at that.
To think all these years, he had been stressing over the next step in staying alive while John had been worrying about mundane things, school, homework, what movie was on that night. He couldn’t stay mad, no matter how wrong it was.
He let out a deep sigh, the last dregs of anger going with it. “Yeah. And I won’t tell Alex,” he added, “You don’t have to worry. Just… if you do need to give him more… come to me first.”
Gil threw himself at John, almost tackling him with the hug. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Thank you so so so much. If you ever need anything…”
John pushed him away stiffly, standing. “Just come to me first. Now I need to be back inside. Dad will already be suspicious.”
Gil stood as well. “Of course. And… good luck.” He turned, walking across the lawn to the street.
“I’ll need it,” John murmured under his breath. He started the trek back to the house. He climbed the stairs slowly, placed a trembling hand on the doorknob, easing it open.
The hall was eerily silent. His apple and cookie still lay on the bench by the door. His sisters and brothers would have all been home by now. Hopefully, some of them had gone to see a friend, or were at least up in their rooms.
The door to his father’s office was slightly ajar.
John walked as silently as he could, placing his feet softly on the normally creaky floorboards. He passed the kitchen, the door to his father’s room, and the bathroom then-
“John.”
It wasn’t a question or a statement. It was an order. John hung his head, shuffling into his dad's office. His fate was inevitable.
...
“Get the fuck out of my house!” Henry pushed his son into the hall. He stomped forwards, grabbing John by the collar, lifting him up a few inches. “And don’t you dare come back until you’ve fixed yourself.” He spat in his face, pushing his son away.
John stumbled back, his head slamming into the coat hanger on the wall. He could feel his ears ringing. But it was just another blow. One more, he could handle that. His father had already beaten him to a pulp. What was a shove? Well, a shove was the reason he could practically feel his brain practically liquifying in his skull… but that was probably nothing. Right?
He had to get out of here.
John slowly rolled onto his stomach, trying not to groan. He pushed himself weekly to his feet, stumbling down the hall. It felt a mile long, his pounding head messing with his sense of reality.
He took stock of his situation. His forehead smarted, and blood dripped into his eye. That would be the fault of the candle holder. His lip hurt as well, and he could feel flesh exposed to the stagnant air. The fist had done that. And, of course, the burning in his wrist. Though the finger marks had not yet appeared, he was sure they would come. They always did.
He struggled to make it to the door, grabbing his car keys off the hook where they hung and heading out. He almost tripped getting down the steps but caught himself just in time. He hurried to his car, head still pounding, unlocking the door with his shaky hands and getting inside.
He sat. Simply, still, unmoving, letting the events of the previous hour wash over him. Gil, then his father, and now… what? What was next? What came after being betrayed by your best friend, then being beaten and kicked out by your own dad?
Gil had offered, of course, to help if he needed anything, but John just couldn’t bring himself to ask the very person who had sold him out for help the next second. It would be embarrassing. To let Gil see him like this. Not to mention the guilt he would most certainly feel… and after all he had been through…
No, that wouldn’t work. John drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. Where else could he go? He had family in town, but they would just report back to his dad. He could just drive around, he supposed, park somewhere, spend the night in the car…
It was already getting dark. The street lamps would be turned on in just a few minutes. If he was going, he would need to go now, while he could still see.
Another thought came to him, just an inkling of a possibility. He could… well he could go to Alex. Alex wouldn’t tell, obviously, and from what he had heard his dad was too much of a mess to notice.
The pounding in his head became more powerful, and he closed his eyes. Could he make it? Alex lived on the other side of town. Sure, it was a small town, but that last slam had done a number to his head.
He opened his eyes, doing his best to focus on the swerving stationary road ahead of him.
There was only one way to find out.
John parked a block away. The walk, the cool air, it would do him good. Well, that, and he also couldn't remember exactly which house was Alex’s.
That was concerning. He had dropped Alex off here more times than he could count. He chuckled lightly under his breath. No matter, he was sure he would know it when he saw it.
The street was completely dark now, save for a few street lamps shining through the gloom. He walked slowly, still off-balance, but feeling a bit better. He avoided the cracks and lines in the pavement, an old childhood mantra playing in his head all the while.
Step on a crack, break your mother’s back. Step on a line, break your mother’s spine.
He came to a yard more empty than the others. This whole street was filled with houses in poor condition, all in need of repairs, but most had at least patches of grass growing. Not this house though. It was just a plot of flat dirt.
It had to be Alex’s.
John pushed the gate open and mounted the path. He had dropped Alex off before, yes, but he had never actually been inside his house. Alex always insisted he stay in the car. Whether that was to protect him from his father or from his house itself had never been resolved.
John steeled himself for anything, promising not to look disgusted or alarmed, or have any reaction at all for that matter. He would just stay neutral. That couldn’t be too hard.
He raised a hand and knocked.
Then he waited. And waited some more. And some more. He knocked once more, louder this time.
His head was spinning again. A gust of dizziness blew over him, making him stumble. He reached out a hand, holding himself steady against the door frame. He reached his hand up again, but before he could knock, the door opened.
The first thing that hit John was the smell. Day-old liquor and smoke mingled with the smell of musty dust in the air. It took all of his willpower not to wince, not to take a step back into the clean air outside. But he didn't. He stayed where he was, trying to block out the stench, trying to ignore it.
He focused his attention on the man in front of him. Average height, chin-length messy salt and pepper hair, out-of-control beard, and a stained flannel over a dirty t-shirt and jeans. He held a bottle of something in one hand, John didn’t want to know, and smelled foul.
“I- I’m here for, um, uh- Alexander?” he stuttered. The smell was only making his head hurt more. He needed to sit down.
The man, Alex’s father, grunted, looking him up and down. “And who might you be?” he asked.
“Laurens.” The man’s dull eyes lit up. “John Laurens.”
Alex’s father sneered. “Good. Very good.”
The next morning, after he had left, after Alex had kissed him goodbye, John’s head still hurt. It was less severe than the previous night, but it was there, a constant throbbing in his brain. A concussion, probably. But there was nothing to do about it.
John sat in his car, contemplating his next step. He could go home, he supposed. Dad had told him to ‘fix himself’. Lord knew that would never happen. He would be like this until the day he died.
But maybe it was better to give his father more time. His temper could get the better of him, as John had experienced more times than he would have liked, but he always cooled down after a while. Something like this though…
It would be best to give it a few days. But where was there to go in the meantime? Alex had been kind enough, letting him stay the night, he wouldn’t dare ask for anything else. His aunts and uncles in town would have certainly been warned by now not to let him in, so they were out.
John needed to get away, to go far, to distract himself. He checked his pockets, digging out a quarter and two pennies.
Shit. That wasn’t much at all.
His stomach grumbled. How long had it been since he had eaten? Lunch on Friday at school, then… nothing. His stomach grumbled again, more insistently. He stuck the keys in the car. Food it was.
The convenience store was empty at 11 am on a Saturday. A bored teenager, no older than John himself, sat at the register reading a comic book.
John browsed the shelves. He grabbed a jar of jelly, one of peanut butter, and a small loaf of bread. He walked to the counter, setting his load down, clearing his throat to grab the attendant’s attention.
The boy looked him up and down, taking in his gashed face, bruised wrists, and split lip. He gave him a small smile, an I know the feeling kind of smile, and rang him up.
“That’ll be 59 cents.”
John set what he had on the counter. Only 26. He glanced at what he had picked out. He supposed he could do without the jelly…
He reached for it, but the cashier’s hand stopped him. John flinched at the touch but didn't jerk away.
“Don’t worry,” the boy smiled at him with kind eyes, “I’ll take what you have and pick up the slack.”
John opened his mouth to refuse the offer. It was kind, but he couldn’t take charity like this.
“You can pay me back at school on Monday,” the boy added.
John considered it. He supposed, if he did pay him back, it wouldn’t be hurting anyone. His father had told him never to take pity from anyone, to always be strong enough to support himself, but his father had put him in this situation.
He lowered his eyes to his groceries. He wasn’t his father. He could accept help. “I- Alright. Yes. Thank you.”
He grabbed a knife from the plastic utensils box, turning and walking away. He came to the door and turned around.
“I’m uh… I’m John Laurens by the way.”
The boy nodded again. “I know. Everyone does. I’m Pete Graves.”
John pushed the door open. “Glad to make your acquaintance, Pete Graves,” he called over his shoulder.
Back in the car, John made quick work of two sandwiches loaded with peanut butter and jelly. He sat back, as content as he could be. His head hurt less, and he could barely feel his lip at all anymore.
He pulled a cigarette out of the extra pack he kept in the car, cranking open the window. With steady fingers, he lit a match bringing it to his mouth.
He took a long drag, blowing it out with a sigh.
What was there to do next? Stay in the parking lot all weekend? Live off of sandwiches for two days?
He stared out the open window at the window of the convenience store. It was plastered from wall to wall with ads, new cars, furniture deals, yard sales… everything and anything one could buy.
John scanned them, eyes moving from right to left, hoping for an idea. Half off pants, a new restaurant, deals on a cottage in the woods, job openings at- wait just a second.
He looked back, finding the cottage advertisement again. That was it! The cottage his father owned, just two and a half hours outside of town! They had gone there often when his mom was still with them, on school breaks, or just an occasional weekend. It had been one of his favorite spots as a child.
He hadn’t been back in at least 3 years, maybe even more. It had been his mom who had loved it. His dad had tolerated it, maybe had some fun on occasion, but it was her spot. After she was gone… it had disappeared from their lives.
That was where he would go. It was perfect. It might be a bit run down, after such little use, and it would certainly need some fixing up, but he had time. If he broke just a few speed limits, he reckoned he could make it there in under an hour.
He dropped his cigarette out the open window, cranking it closed and rewrapping his food. He could do this. He could survive on his own. Soon, it would all be over.
John puttered down a small gravel path that broke off of the main road, leading into the dense woods. It was much narrower than the last time he had traveled down it.
Of course, the last time he had been here he was much smaller, sitting in the back of a station wagon stuffed with siblings. Harry, Jemmy, Pasty… Henry too for some of the earlier trips. They had been so happy back then. But now it was all over. Henry was gone, their mother was gone… so many good things were gone.
John shook himself out of those melancholy thoughts, bringing his mind back to the present. If he remembered correctly, the path should bend right… here.
It did, and he turned along with it, the wood cabin coming into view. John stopped the car and climbed out.
He took in the view. Dark wood, dead remnants of plants in the window boxes, black roof. It was smaller than he remembered it too, but it had more than enough space for one. Too much space for just one, maybe.
Well, no matter. Much better to have too much space than to sleep in a car all weekend long. John walked up the drive to the front door. He bent down, picking up the welcome mat and plucking the key from the ground.
The wood under the mat was clean, spotless, a sharp contrast to the dusty floor of the rest of the porch. It would need a sweep at least, maybe a full wash. Well, he had two days. He was sure he would get to it.
John stood back up, inserting the key into the lock, jiggling it until it turned. He pulled it open stepping into…
A dark, musty-smelling front room. There was a single shaft of light coming from a cracked shutter, illuminating the waves of dust his entrance had stirred.
John looked around, catching the shadows of covered furniture in the dim light. It looked old, abandoned. It was old and abandoned. He set his hands on his hips. It seemed he had some work to do.
“I have to find a girl, there’s no other way.” It pained John to speak the words, however true they might have been.
He had figured it out over the weekend, as he had thrown himself into the work. He had intended the job to have the opposite effect, to numb his mind to any thoughts, but his brain had just kept working, as long and hard as his body had.
Now it was Monday, and he was breaking Alex’s heart by the creek.
He thought back to the long day at school, with the oblivious people going about their oblivious tasks. Pete had only nodded when he had told him he would need till tomorrow to get the money, staring blankly at the now-bruised gash on his head. It was in ugly sight indeed.
He had told everyone at school that he had fallen trying to get a dictionary off a bookshelf, and they had believed him for the most part. Gil’s eyes did linger on his wrist as it was briefly exposed, but John doubted he had put much thought into it.
Alex’s emotionally dead tone snapped him back to the present, to the terrible conversation he was supposed to be having. “And use her?” he asked, the disgust in his eyes saying everything.
John clenched his jaw and nodded. Alex didn’t need to like it, he didn’t like it, but the judgment still felt harsh. He did deserve it though.
“I don’t know what he’ll do if I don’t-” He cut off at Alex’s blank stare, his mindless gaze into the distance. “I need to protect us,” he amended. “Protect you. A girlfriend is the only way.”
What he really needed was to fool his father into thinking that he had “fixed” himself. Well, he would probably never actually fool him, but he needed to at least show him he could conform to the world’s ridiculous standards. That he could be the good son his father and his siblings needed.
“Ask any girl out.” A pained smile fell from Alex’s hesitant lips, one that John didn’t believe for a second. “She’ll fall at your feet.”
John laughed, more of a snort really, no humor behind it. It was true of course. He knew how they looked at him.
He turned to Alex, facing him head-on for the first time, sweet sincerity invading his voice. “Baby,” he sighed, “I want you to remember that I only love you, even when I have to kiss someone else, okay?” It broke his heart to speak the words, but they needed to be said. Alex needed to know.
“Okay.” But it wasn’t ok. It would never be ok.
John wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, trying to quiet the butterflies in his stomach. He had never done this before, ask a girl out, he had never had a reason to.
Well, now he had a reason. A terrible, treacherous reason, one there was no escaping.
He made his way across the lawn in front of school slowly, with purpose. Students lounged about, lunches and last-minute homework spread around them. They talked in little groups, all oblivious of everyone but themselves.
He had made his choice carefully. He didn’t want to ask out someone too popular, that would create buckets of drama he didn’t think he could deal with, but he didn’t want a total nobody either. He needed something sensible. Something dad would approve of.
John had spent more time than he would have liked to admit over the last week scouring the yearbooks. He had flipped through mind-numbingly boring pages of girls for hours. They all ran together in his head, blonde hair, brown hair, blue eyes, green… what did any of it matter?
Well, he had chosen. Somehow. And now he was here to ruin her life.
“Martha.”
It wasn’t a question, it wasn't a sweet endearing term of affection. It was her name. Her full name, not Patty , or one of the other silly nicknames she had. It was meant to get her attention, and it did just that.
Martha Manning turned to face him. She was nothing special, really. Pretty, he supposed, but not beautiful or anything. She had a yellow dress on, modest without being too stuck up.
“John,” she blushed, turning away from the group of friends she was talking with, clasping her hands in a perfectly ladylike way behind her back, “Can I help you?”
John cleared his throat, crossing his arms across his chest. “I was wondering if you’d like to, oh I don’t know, maybe go see a movie? With me? Together?” he paused. “As a… couple?”
The word tasted foul on his tongue, but her face lit up, eyes blind to the repulsion coursing just beneath his skin.
“I- I-” she stammered, looking down to the ground, “I would like that. Yes. Yes of course! That would be marvelous!” She brought a nervous hand up to rub the back of her neck, raising her eyes and blinking innocently at John. “Just marvelous.”
“Good.” John nodded curtly. He would need to work on the whole ‘sweet caring boyfriend‘ act. “How’s Saturday? They have a two o’clock showing, double feature.”
Martha’s smile grew into a grin, and a wave of pity washed over John. The poor girl.
“It’s a date!” she giggled.
John forced a smile out. “Yes. A date.”
He turned, walking slowly, all the time distinctly aware of Martha’s eyes boring into his back. He had but one thought.
What would Alex say?