Chapter Text
The knock at the window came quietly at first. So quietly, Carl thought maybe it was a gust of wind causing the stir of leaves to hit the back of the window. Then it came again, louder, more insistent, but he ignored it.
It was half past midnight. Carl’s room was dimly illuminated by the small lamp he kept on his nightstand as he skimmed over the same page in his comic he’d been reading for the past ten minutes. The words in front of him were jumbled, making little sense as the pull of sleep gnawed at him, but he was persistent to stay awake. Sleep these days was something he wanted to deny himself of, mostly because sleeping felt like missing out on something, but he couldn’t pinpoint what that something was.
When he heard the third knock, Carl sighed, then glanced over at his window. He thought that ignoring the sound would make a difference, but it didn’t. The moment his eyes locked onto the window, he rose abruptly, nearly tripping over his own feet as he rushed over to lift it open.
“Shit—shit,” he mumbled when he saw who had arrived.
Carl backed away slightly as he watched Ron helplessly tumble onto his bedroom floor. He heaved out a frantic breath for air as blood dripped from his nose, staining the wood beneath him.
It wasn’t the first time this had happened.
With a sense of urgency, Carl moved from the window to his closet where he kept a first aid kit tucked beneath a pile of clothes. It had become a ritual for him to clean up after Ron each time his father had his way with him.
Ron didn’t say anything as Carl dropped down to his knees and wiped away the blood. He felt a wave of emotions stirring inside of him as he cleaned him up. Anger, guilt, sadness; but mostly anger. These days, the abuse seemed to be escalating, but he knew better than to think that Ron would do anything to stop it.
When Carl finished patching him up, he let out a sigh, studying his friend.
“Your dad again?”
Ron shrugged, his tone casual as he replied.
“Who else would it be?”
Carl toyed with the hem of his shirt as his anger surfaced.
“You gotta tell someone about this. A neighbour, I don’t know—my dad. I’m sure we could figure something out to help you, it’s getting out of hand.”
Ron shrugged again, glancing out the window.
“Don’t bother,” he retorted. “It’s not like it’ll make a difference. Nothing ever does.”
Carl balled his hands into fists.
“Stop it, I’m serious, you can’t keep letting him fuck you up like this—”
“Don’t,” Ron snapped. “Just don’t, it’s fine.”
Carl grabbed hold of the collar of Ron’s shirt and shook him. His nonchalance was getting under his skin. He couldn’t fathom how he could be so relaxed about this. It wasn’t something he could ignore.
For years, his father had taught him how to be stronger, how to do the “right thing” when it was necessary. Ron was his friend and he cared for him, allowing this to happen would mean giving his father the upper hand.
“It’s not fine,” Carl hissed.
But Ron wasn’t listening. Instead, he shook his head and gestured towards a large grey bag he had dropped near his side.
“I’m leaving,” he said at last. “I packed up everything I need in there, he’s not gonna see me again. Today was the final straw.”
Carl frowned as he glanced over at the bag. Carefully, he reached out, unzipping the largest pocket. When he got the bag open, he was greeted by the sight of a heap full of clothes thrown haphazardly inside, an assortment of snacks, then a sock shoved in between with a questionable shape. After giving Ron a suspicious glance, Carl reached for the sock, his brows knit together tightly when he realised that there was at least over a thousand dollars inside.
“Holy shit,” Carl whispered after he shoved the sock back inside. “You’re not actually serious about this, are you? Where’d you even get the money from, did you steal that from your dad?”
Ron snatched the bag away from Carl, scowling.
“I’m dead serious,” he replied. “I’m leaving.”
Carl couldn’t accept this as an answer, he knew better than to. Ron wasn’t someone who was rational, he was too impulsive, often making decisions without any consultation. Carl had learnt that Ron was someone who never had a positive influence in his life. It made sense as to why he did what he did, but Carl knew better than to be a bystander in his life.
Running away felt like the solution for someone in his shoes, but to Carl, it was something else. This was dangerous, a setup for sabotage.
He approached Ron slowly, hesitance gnawing at him after placing a hand on his shoulder only to receive a wince as a reaction.
“You’ve been hit too hard on the head,” Carl tried. “You should just stay here, sleep the night, and think things over. Running away isn’t gonna solve anything.”
Ron let out a huffy breath.
“You don’t get it, but of course you don’t,” he snapped. “ I’m leaving. If I don’t, he’s gonna kill me.”
Carl watched as Ron chewed the ends of his nails, the tension between them thick.
“He deserved to have that money stolen!” Ron cried. “He deserves to sit back and wonder what went wrong after one of his kids went missing.”
Ron paused for a moment, trying to catch his breath before continuing.
“So yeah, sorry if my plan seems stupid to you, but I think it makes sense for someone like me.”
Carl said nothing as he listened to Ron’s ramble. He wanted to say something sensible, but he knew better. Doing so usually escalated things, and Ron genuinely seemed to be at his wit’s end. He wondered if maybe Ron would eventually exhaust himself, drowning out the rest of his words until one sentence got his attention.
“You should come with me,” Ron said at last. “I mean, you have a car, right?”
Carl’s head snapped up as he glared at Ron.
“Are you out of your mind? My dad’s literally a cop! If he finds out we’re missing, it won’t look good.”
Ron’s expression grew serious after realising that his words alone weren’t convincing enough. He pressed his lips into a flat line, studying Carl before starting again.
“Come on, I know you hate it here… it’s obvious,” he tried. “You don’t think I know how you feel? I see that look of disappointment on your face every day, one that tells me you’re bored of everything here. I know you want out, I know you feel bad because your dad doesn’t pay as much attention to you like he used to.”
Carl felt his stomach flip as he listened.
“Does your dad even know you don’t want to go to college?” Ron pressed, desperate for a reaction. “Does he even know who his son is and what he wants?”
A bitter laugh slipped from Carl’s mouth as he continued speaking.
“I know you like guys,” he whispered. “And that’s okay, nothing’s wrong with that, you know?”
Carl clenched his fists again as he remained silent, letting Ron ride out the waves of his emotions. Carl felt a bad memory resurface as he thought of the way his father reacted to him being different from the other children.
All throughout his life, his father had wanted him to be someone else, someone worthy of respect, someone he knew he could make proud. But Carl had let him down, there was a constant feeling of shame that gnawed at him like a hungry beast.
“Plus, you cut yourself,” Ron stated, his eyes dark as he stared at Carl’s wrist.
This caused something to snap inside of him.
“Don’t,” Carl threatened.
“It’s true,” Ron retorted, his tone flat.
Carl hid his arms further beneath the sleeves of his shirt.
“Just stop it,” Carl begged. “Just go to bed, we’ll talk in the morning.”
Without another word, Carl rose front he floor, then plopped down into his bed, tapping the space near him for Ron to sleep.
Ron stood, then snuggled up beside him.
“I’m still leaving,” he repeated.
Carl didn’t respond. He let Ron’s words repeat inside his head. He knew what he was doing, the way he was trying to persuade him into leaving. Carl knew that Ron could see through him, that he understood what he was feeling deep down.
The two of them had some kind of exchange that went without discussion.
Every time Ron was beaten, Carl was always there to clean up the mess. And every time Carl fucked up, Ron was there to wrap the bandages around his wrist. Neither of them talked about what went on inside their heads, but maybe they didn’t have to. Maybe leaving said enough.
Carl tried to rationalize with himself.
The truth was, he wasn’t happy. Rick barely spent time with him anymore. They used to be close knit, but those days were gone. Carl couldn’t remember the last time they did anything together.
These days, Rick seemed to have work hours that stretched beyond what was normal. He was never around for anything, he almost missed Carl’s graduation back in June, but made it just as the ceremony began.
Carl knew he wasn’t ignoring him on purpose, but he knew better than to speak up about what he felt. His father had responsibilities greater than spending time with his son. Still, it didn’t erase the hurt he felt. It never took away from those feelings of inferiority lingering in the depths of his heart.
There was always a distance between them, even when Rick was more present in his life. He wanted Carl to be someone he knew he wasn’t. Carl always tried to do what he knew was best, but really it was just what his father wanted. He did what he was told, he obeyed almost every rule, he was kind—he used to wear his father’s hat with pride because he thought that doing so would make him like him, but it was all just an illusion.
Maybe he idolized Rick too much, and that was a problem he never wanted to admit.
With a sigh, he glanced back over at Ron who laid there waiting, expectant on Carl to do something.
Carl’s chest ached with pain as he studied him. The exhaustion in his eyes, the bruises that lined up along his face like constellations, the swelling in his busted lip. If there was anything Carl knew he wasn’t capable of not having, it was empathy. Somehow, he always felt something for someone.
“Fine,” Carl said out of nowhere. “I’ll go,” he added as he swung his legs off the mattress and scurried over to the closet where he grabbed hold of his old school bag. He didn’t wait for Ron to react as he reached for a random selection of clothes and began shoving them inside.
He took only what he needed. Clothes, his toothbrush, a family photo from when his mom was alive, his father’s hat.
In the depths of his closet he found a tin lunch box. Carl took it out, shaking it before popping open the lid. Inside was about $190 worth of cash he’d saved up from the tips he’d earned working a part time job during the Spring. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
Carl took the wad out, then shoved it into one of the smaller pockets. Then, he glanced over at Ron, ensuring that he wouldn’t notice the additional small tin he slipped inside in case he needed it.
When he finished packing, he grabbed hold of his bag and tossed it beside Ron’s feet.
“Let’s go,” he said quietly.
Ron nodded, bending down to retrieve his bag before the two quietly crept down the stairs.
Carl tried not to think about the fact that this might be the last time he’d see the home he spent the past eighteen years living in. He tried not to pay attention to the photos lined along the walls, the way the halls always carried with them a familiar scent of comfort, then finally, the small note he found hanging on the fridge attached with a twenty dollar bill.
Rick had left it for him before going to work:
“Out late again, get pizza for dinner.”
Beside him, he heard Ron tsk as he glanced at the note. Carl said nothing as he took the bill, then shoved it into the pocket where the rest of his money sat.
They moved into the garage shortly after that.
Inside was a small Toyota that was just as old as they were. It belonged to Lori before she passed.
To the left of them hung the keys. Carl wasn’t even sure how much gas was sitting inside the tank, but he decided to take his chances as he reached for the keys, then motioned for Ron to get inside.
The interior of the car was no better than the exterior.
“Jesus man,” Ron mumbled as he winced at the smell of something neither of them could pinpoint.
“Don’t start,” Carl retorted, trying to suppress the tremble in his hand as he inserted the key into the ignition.
To his surprise, the engine started up. The tank was half full, meaning that Rick had, at some point, filled it.
Carl let out a sigh, but he wasn’t sure if it was out of exhaustion or relief that he was doing this. Nonetheless, he reached for his seatbelt and clicked it in. The sound of the buckle latching felt like a finality he couldn’t turn back on.
“Seatbelt,” Carl urged.
Ron rolled his eyes before reaching over and clicking his in.
Without giving himself the chance to think twice, Carl took the breaks off and slowly moved forward. The automatic door opened, revealing the empty streets ahead of them. Neither of them said a word as they pulled out from the driveway, leaving their lives behind.
–
A full hour had passed in silence.
The empty roads stretched out in front of them, but no conversations rose between them. Carl wasn’t sure what he should say, even if he wanted to.
Every now and then, he’d glance over to the passenger’s side, watching Ron with an observant eye. He wasn’t a psychiatric professional, but he understood the state Ron was in. It was likely some form of dissociation with the way his eyes distantly started out the window; every movement he made robotic.
Carl wanted to say something, offer him words of comfort, but he didn’t know how. What else could he say other than that he was sorry? There was no getting better in this situation. Maybe Ron was right, maybe running away was the solution.
When Ron finally spoke, it was after he reached into his bag and pulled out a sleeve of Oreos. He opened the pack slowly, stared at the cookies like they’d eventually smile at him and say something before reaching for one and chewing like it hurt to eat.
“Want some?” he asked, shaking the pack in Carl’s direction.
Carl shrugged, then took two out, trying to savour the artificial sweetness coating his tongue. It had been a while since he’d allowed himself to indulge in junk food. These days, everything he consumed tasted like nothing but grey matter. There was no point in eating if it meant nothing in the end. He’d lost weight, but no one had noticed. Not even his dad had commented on the way his clothes hung loosely off his frame, or when the scale dipped by ten pounds.
“I haven’t had these in a while,” Carl offered, trying to break the silence.
“Me neither,” Ron replied. “Dad always hated whenever Mom would bring back junk from the supermarket. He’d just smack the cookies straight from Sam’s hand whenever he saw us eating them.”
He gave Carl a wry smile.
“Bastard.”
Carl sighed as he steered with one hand, exhaustion gnawing at him as he struggled to keep himself awake. He wasn’t even sure where they were headed, or what they’d do when it got too late. They had nowhere to stay, and nothing to do.
When Ron finished with his snack, he sank into the passenger’s seat and brought his knees to his chest as though doing so would alleviate the emotional pain that was tearing him apart.
Seeing him like this filled Carl with a wave of sadness.
In an attempt to cut through the tension between them, he reached for the small knob on the radio, hoping to keep some sound on in the background. But it didn’t work.
Carl winced at the high pitched static that blasted through the speakers before shutting it off.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, regretting his decision already.
“Maybe this car just doesn’t get reception or something,” Ron replied, glancing at the set.
Then, out of curiosity, he reached for the disk player.
“Maybe there’s something inside?” he hit eject, then frowned when an empty disk came out. “What do think’s on it?” Ron asked, offering Carl a more hopeful look.
Carl shrugged.
“Probably something my parents used to listen to.”
He took the CD and inserted it into the player off the possibility that it would work.
The moment the sound came on, Carl cringed, regretting this for the second time.
It was indeed something his parents would’ve listened to, maybe fifteen years back. Through the speakers came the clear sound of old country music. The lyrics were sad, corny. Enough to push someone like Ron into their breaking point.
“Is this… something you’d like?” Carl tried, deciding that he’d endure it if it made Ron feel any better. But he shook his head in disapproval.
“No,” Ron replied, his voice laced with an urgency to shut it off.
“Sorry,” Carl said as he hit the eject button and tossed the disk into the backseat where it would stay lost amongst the mysterious garbage that had been resting there for years.
Carl ran his free hand through his hair. He really wasn’t sure what to do. The decision to leave was one that came on a whim.
The truth was, now he was beginning to feel scared.
He’d never been bold enough to do something like this. He almost always played things safe, wanting to ensure that he followed each of Rick’s rules carefully. He wanted to be the son he knew his father would be proud of, but leaving like this was something he knew he’d get a lifetime’s worth of punishment for if he decided to go back.
It was nearly three in the morning. By now, Rick had to be back. He usually didn’t work later than one. If he did, he’d have called Carl. Maybe he was home looking for him, wondering where he’d gone and why he’d left. Carl hadn’t even bothered with leaving a note or a sign that he’d do this.
Out of impulse, Carl pressed harder on the gas, daring for something to happen. But the roads were clear. No one was out at this hour, it was just him and Ron and the never ending stream of thoughts that screamed at him to turn back.
Just as things began to spiral, he glanced over, noticing that Ron had reached into his bag again, but it wasn’t for more snacks. This time, he’d pulled out a small baggie of weed followed by a pack of cigarettes.
Carl’s stomach churned at the sight of this.
Ron pocketed the weed, but kept the cigarettes. He didn’t even offer Carl so much as a glance as he slipped one out from the pack, then lit it with ease.
Carl’s hands shook against the wheel as he drove. It was the tremble in his hands that got Ron to look at him.
Ron stared at him, taking a long drag as though he was waiting on Carl to react. Carl knew why, but he kept his mouth shut regardless of what Ron was reaching for.
Over the years they’d gotten to know each other, Carl had come to learn that Ron loved reactions. It was likely from the years of having to endure abuse from his father that he began to relish in the chaos of being yelled at. For him, it was normal, even if it was something he never wanted to admit.
Ron’s gaze never left Carl as the smoke curled between them. It was grating on Carl’s nerves; but still, he said nothing. The only commentary he offered was, “crack the window.” Ron did so with no protest, but Carl could see the mild disappointment on his face as he blew the next drag into the open air.
There was a beat of silence between them before Ron spoke up, finishing the remnants of his cigarette, then flicking it out the window.
“You’re not gonna say anything?”
Carl shrugged. He knew what kind of game Ron was playing and he refused to play into it.
“No, I’m not.”
Ron sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly as he glanced down at his lap.
“Damn.”
Carl’s grip on the wheel tightened, enough to the point where his knuckles turned white.
They never spoke about going into this trip sober, without bad habits. But still, Carl couldn’t deny the way watching Ron smoke made him feel. It seemed so trivial in comparison to everything else building up around them, but it was within reason.
The smell clinging to Ron only reminded him of bad times—of being surrounded by bad people doing bad things. Carl shook his head as though doing so would suppress the memory before it came crashing on him.
“Sorry,” Ron offered, trying to cut the tension between them.
Carl kept quiet. Saying anything now, meant saying something he knew he’d regret later.
“It’s fine,” he murmured, but something inside of him said otherwise.
What was he doing exactly? That was a question he barely asked himself a few hours back. Yet, he’d been so quick to drop his life just for the sake of helping a friend. Was Ron really just a friend at this point? Now, they were stretching into something more personal. This was serious.
“Are you okay?” Ron asked, his tone slightly more desperate.
Carl shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
Carl wasn’t sure how to tell Ron what he was feeling. He wasn’t sure how he could explain that maybe he left not just because he wanted to help, but also because he thought that by doing so, Rick would finally acknowledge him.
For months, Carl had felt like a void lingering in Rick’s life. He never really looked at him, never really asked him questions, never bothered doing any of what they used to years back. It had bothered him for the longest time, but now the feeling was consuming him.
Every tree they passed reminded Carl of how angry his father would be in making this decision. Carl half expected Rick to show up out of nowhere to yell at him, to punish him, to do anything. Truthfully, he wouldn’t have complained. Being yelled at meant being seen, and that alone was enough to make up for everything.
Maybe then, he’d have the opportunity to bury himself into his father’s arms and cry out all the emotions he’d been holding in for so long. Maybe he’d have his chance to explain to Rick the scars lined up on his arm, what they meant, why they were there. Maybe Rick would reach out and trace over them and hold him like he used to when he was little to remind him that he would always be his baby boy.
Out of impulse, Carl unbuckled his seatbelt. The faint click drew Ron’s attention. He glanced at Carl, slightly concerned.
“What are you doing?”
Carl didn’t look at him. He knew that if he did, Ron would start making connections. He didn’t want to tell him that he wanted to do something reckless, even if it was trivial. In the back of his head, Carl imagined a concerned Rick begging him to come back.
“It doesn’t matter,” Carl replied, his tone curt.
Ron studied him for a moment before doing the same, then sinking further into the seat.
“Fuck it,” he said. “I guess it really doesn’t matter.”
It was that tone that got Carl’s stomach to twist. There was a difference in the way Ron had said that last line compared to the way Carl said it. Ron’s sounded more like submission, Carl’s was more out of desperation. He wasn’t sure if he liked that, but he knew all along that Ron never cared about consequences. If chaos was his norm, then he never would.
They were silent again before Carl released the gas slightly, lowering the speed.
“Do you think it ever gets better?” Carl asked, finally giving Ron a look.
Ron bit down against his nails, then shook his head.
“It doesn’t,” he admitted. “It only gets better for people who get lucky. Like, people who have it all. Getting better doesn’t happen for people like us.”
Carl let those words sink in. He knew there was truth in them. His father worked hard for years only to lose his wife, lose a large portion of his happiness, lose what Carl assumed a will to live—considering his long hours. Working like that wasn’t living, it was more like throwing your life away. And here he was, stuck in the midst of being neglected.
He had no interest in things like school, or trying to establish connections with other people. Carl had learnt from an early age that nothing lasted. So why would sticking around make a difference? Eventually, someone would force him to go to school, to study something that didn’t matter; to get a job he’d never be satisfied with.
People who were lucky had families that were put together or money that solved all their problems. Rick wouldn’t have to be away from him if they had more money. Maybe things wouldn’t be so strained if that were the case. But this was all hypothetical; Ron had said it—it doesn’t get better.
“You’re right,” Carl replied.
He slowed the car down entirely, then pulled over to the side of the road. He was tired and hungry, and he knew Ron was in the same position.
“I’ll find a gas station or something in a bit,” he added. “But for now, I guess I just want a break.”
Carl put his head into his hands and sighed before glancing back at Ron. Neither of them said anything, but there was a silent understanding between them. Like they knew exactly what they were feeling and what they were running from.
Even though they handled things differently, they were one and the same.