Chapter Text
randy wasn’t sure where he was. locationally, that is. he knew he was in his coworker- benson’s- station wagon. and he knew he still had the blood of his coworkers caked in his hair. he could feel it. that crunch he felt every time he tried to move his fringe off his sweaty forehead. God, it was so hot in this car.
randy didn’t know why he’d done it. why he helped benson drag their bodies, and mopped up the blood off the worn, vinyl tiles of Burgers Burgers Burgers. he supposed he was scared, trying to spare his own life by following bensons orders. yes. that’s what he was doing. playing along with whatever sick game benson was playing until he could leave.
benson turned up the radio, his homemade moistboyz cassette rattling in the tape deck as they drove on the white rock roads. randy winced at the volume increase, squinting as he listened to the music. it was loud. punchy. not something he’d really heard before.
years ago, back in highschool, he had a friend. lisa. randy didn't know how they met, but knew she was the only friend he ever really made back then. she was the only person who really got him.
one particular saturday night, randy sat in her bedroom while she played him some new records she got her hands on, like they did every weekend. she was playing him an album by descendants that night, excited to show off the shiny new vinyl. randy sat in silence as he listened to the foreign music, taking it in. that’s what benson’s music reminded him of, he thought. loud, distorted, but purposeful. had meaning.
his mother always hounded him about listening to stuff like this. drilled it into his head it would make him violent. he never believed it, of course. but now, as he sat in the car, digging his nails into his palm, a part of him wondered if it was the truth.
but then again, if it was true, then he wouldn’t have helped him. because randy never really listened to stuff like that, or watched scary movies, or played shooting games at the old arcade. his mother was always watching him, monitoring, to make sure he was always doing the right thing. whatever she deemed it was, anyways.
randy didn't mind anymore, he was used to it. so he found himself content with listening to his few tapes of classical hymns on repeat. he’d bought them two summers ago, at an old thrift store visiting his cousins up north. they were a comfort of some sort, he figured. that God was with him.
but he couldn’t be. because if God were with him, protecting him, just like he was taught since he was a kid in vbs, he wouldn’t be in this situation. with chris’s brain matter coating his non-slip shoes. randy winced at the thought of it, but didn’t dare look down at them. he could feel it, and that was enough.
then again, was He ever with him? randy knew he wasn’t… right. not worthy of being protected. how could he be made in Gods image if he has these… desires. these sinful fantasies. as much as he tried to hide it, he knew people could tell. the ladies at his mothers church gave him tight-lipped smiles, and said they’d “pray real good” for him. he heard how they referred to him, as ‘sweet’. that he was ‘just real close with his mama’. but randy knew. he saw how his mother bristled every time she overheard those comments. she’d never once asked him. didn't need to.
lisa did. she asked that same humid night she played him ‘good good things’. randy remembers exactly how she asked, how she waited for a break between songs to lift the needle off the record. “…y’know bradley-“ she started, and randy winced at the name she knew ticked him off. “you can tell me whatever. i’m cool.” she insisted. “hm?” randy asked, laying back on his hands as they weaved through the plush green carpet of her bedroom. “that if you’re gay, you can tell me. and i won’t mind.” she said cooly. almost like it wasn’t randy’s biggest horror. his spine straightened and his mouth fell agape as he stared at her. gauging if she really meant it, or was trying to get him to admit it.
she snorted at his expression. “bradley. it’s painfully obvious.” “i don’t… it’s-“ he started, his nails hitting the primary backing of the carpet. she noticed his fear, instantly correcting her demeanor.“hey, i’m not… i like that. about you. you’re like me.” she offered, trying to let him know she was safe.“you’re…?” he started, confused but relaxing slowly. “a dyke? yeah.” she huffed out, laughing at herself. all randy could muster was a soft “oh,” as he sat there, listening to the steady hum of the window a/c unit.
“i guess, yeah. i am.” he said after a few minutes of somewhat tense silence. lisa just nodded, turning to play the next track. “good. you’re secrets safe with me, bradley.” she said playfully as she carefully dropped the needle and picked back up the bottle of nail polish she had been busying herself with.
randy didn't know where she was today, they’d grown apart once they graduated. he likes to think she moved to some big city to study her art like she always talked about. maybe los angeles, or seattle. she deserved that, he thought. to be… out hopefully. as long as one of them got to.