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Connor got up from the grass and shook the dirt off his sweater, starting a slow walk back to the one place where he didn’t want to be. As he walked, he was too aware of everything around him, paying close attention to the chirping of birds and the quiet chatter that could be heard from where he was standing. He was still in shock, he couldn’t understand how or why something like that had happened to him. After all, he wasn’t a bad person, was he? He was completely sure that he didn’t deserve what he had been put through. Well, almost completely sure. Like a 50%. Did he deserve it? Maybe he did. In the end, this was an act of revenge against him.
His mind was playing tricks on him, he was sure. His thoughts were running so fast around his mind that he didn’t even know for how long he had been walking. His legs were aching and his body was screaming for water, but he kept on walking calmly, ignoring the sharp pain on his arm as if everything was completely normal. As if nothing had happened.
He thought back to the traumatizing event that had taken place only a few hours before, trying to remember how he had felt through it all. There was only one problem: he couldn’t. He felt completely numb, both physically and mentally, he wasn’t able to identify what he had felt or what he was feeling at the moment.
As he looked down at his hands, he could tell they were shaking, so he put them in his pockets so that they weren’t visible to any passer-by. He didn’t want to seem too obvious.
Connor kept his gaze focused on his feet, praying for the repetitive pattern of left, right, left, right, to help him finally calm down. It accomplished completely the opposite, as he discovered a drop of blood on the side of his right shoe, making his memories rush back into his mind and making his body tense in response to them.
Blood
He started walking faster, trying to make this go away. He was remembering everything piece by piece, and he was hoping for the extra physical effort he was making to make the memories go away.
Someone was screaming, there was so much blood
Connor started running. The hard cement hurt his feet but he couldn’t care less, he had to get away.
“Please don’t do this! I’ll do anything, I swear!”
The screams were all Connor could hear, his screams. He noticed his cheeks were damp, but he couldn’t identify if it was because of his sweat or if he was crying. He didn’t care that it probably was the latter.
“Please…”
That word was the last thing Connor had heard him say. That word was the one that had been haunting him since it had happened, because he knew that he couldn’t have done anything to save him, that he had suffered while Connor was unable to move. That didn’t make him feel any less guilty, what had happened was still his fault.
Sirens, police sirens.
The police had arrived just a minute too late. The paramedics had done everything they could to save his life, but they and Connor knew it had been too late.
He rested his back against a nearby tree, panting from the physical and mental exhaustion, and, as much as he tried to stop it, everything came back to him in full detail.
Connor sat on his own living room, hands and feet tied to the chair. He cried for mercy or for help, knowing that he wouldn’t get either. In front of him, Troye faced a similar fate. Hands and feet tied to the chair, he cried for his life.
“Isn’t this great, boys?” The man said, a terrifying grin stretching his face, “we’re finally reunited!”
Connor and Troye cried harder, knowing that they had no escape. They looked at each other trying to find comfort, but couldn’t find any, as they realized that they both were thinking the same thing. They were going to die. The only difference was that Troye had no idea why the man was hurting them, while Connor knew exactly why.
From the corner of his eye, Connor saw the man take something from his bag, and shuddered as he realized it was a knife. He brought it up to Troye’s cheek, as the boy cried harder. He gently but firmly trailed it down his face until it reached his jaw, leaving a red trail behind. Troye cried out in pain, the wound bleeding profusely.
“Now, now, there’s no need to cry, boy! It’ll all be over soon, you just wait” the man let out an amused chuckle, laughing at the two lovers’ misery.
“Why are you doing this?” Troye asked softly, desperately wanting to know but not wanting to anger the man with the knife.
The man brought the knife to his hand, casually cleaning Troye’s blood off the blade, “you see, boy, your precious Con-Con here took something extremely valuable away from me,” he stopped, smirking as Troye looked at Connor with eyes wide in fear and Connor noticeably tensed. “he stole my friends, ruined my reputation and my career, made my own family hate me…” he paused a second time, his face glowing, showing just how much he enjoyed watching the lovers suffer. “So now I’m taking the one thing he considers as most valuable away from his life. Or should I say, the one person he does”
By that point both boys were terrified, knowing that they had no escape.
Troye looked up with teary eyes to see Connor staring at him. Connor tried with all his might to convey through his eyes all the love he felt for Troye, as he whispered what would be their last conversation “I love you Troye, so much”
That seemed to anger the man, who suddenly cut a slash on Connor’s forearm, “Shut up! I don’t want to hear you talking anymore!” That was when the man decided it was a good idea to speed things up, taking his knife and suddenly thrusting it into Troye’s stomach.
Troye screamed, the pain unbearable. “Please don’t do this! I’ll do anything, I swear!” he pleaded, but nothing could stop the man. He retrieved his knife and started stabbing it into the boy’s stomach as the lovers cried from pain and despair. “Sawyer, stop!” Troye begged, “please…”
That had been when Connor and Sawyer had heard the sirens coming closer, as a neighbor had called the police after hearing the screams. They both knew it had been too late. Too late for Sawyer to escape and too late for anyone to save Troye.
Connor’s world had crumbled; his mind and body had become numb as he had heard the police kick his door open. In a turmoil of police officers, paramedics, neighbors and TV journalists, Connor had run out of his house with one last look at the love of his life, who was lying lifeless on the chair.
Connor had run as fast as he had been able to, desperately trying to escape everything, still in denial of what had happened.
The man’s murderous grin was still on his mind as he had lowered himself onto a park bench.
Connor stood up straight. His back was sore from the tree’s rough trunk but he paid no mind to it, starting to slowly walk back to his house.
As he got closer he could hear the people anxiously arguing, their main witness was nowhere to be seen and in need of medical help. They had been too busy taking care of Sawyer and Troye to realize that Connor had slipped away.
He reached a group of doctors who instantly started fussing over him. He could tell he was being talked to, he just couldn’t understand what was being said. He was gently pushed into an ambulance and made to sit down, the doctors clearly knowing that talking to him was pointless. Connor felt dizzy, the walls spinning around him. The doctor in front of him put a cloth drenched in some kind of drug –probably chloroform- to his mouth and nose. As his breathing evened out and he started to fall asleep, the same thoughts kept replaying inside his mind like a broken record:
Troye is dead. It’s my fault. I’ll never see him again. Troye is dead. It’s my fault. I’ll never see him again.
And he never did.