Chapter Text
Gary Barkovitch, short in stature as well as temper was on Collie Parker’s mind a lot lately. He had recently started hanging with them, them being the ‘clique’ one could call it he found himself in. Starting initially with just four members, Garraty, McVries, Baker, and Olson, the group expanded to include Pearson, Harkness, Abraham, Scramm (only partially as he primarily spent time with his girlfriend Cathy), that’s where Collie came in, the most recent addition to the ‘musketeers’ as McVries referred to them on occasion with no real attachment to the title.
It was not official in any way, they just knew. And when Barkovitch began spending time with them after McVries got over his aversion to the guy enough so Garraty inviting him to do so would not result in a fist fight, he had that inexplicable sure feeling that he was now a part of whatever sort of arrangement they had going on.
Yes, Barkovitch, he considered. Once again, he sat at their table, diagonally across from where Collie himself was seated. It was gaining frequency, he now on average joined them for lunch four out of five days of the week.
Collie snuck the occasional glance over at Barkovitch as the table discussed the ethics of consensual cannibalism, he wasn’t really invested in the conversation, only occasionally chiming in with the little bits of information he had picked up from God knows where as it pertained to the discussion.
He was more focused on Barkovitch, specifically his neck. It always seemed to be injured and always in the same way. Small, oblong, fingernail sized… he couldn’t figure out what they were, burns maybe. No, he thought, they would be blistered. Not scabs, because there was no dried blood either. Maybe it was some skin condition, but Collie thought it wouldn’t just affect one place like it seemed to (the sporadic hot early autumn days meaning shorts and short sleeves meant he had a pretty good idea it was just his neck).
Olson cried something Collie only caught the end of in horror and disgust at Stebbins’ apparent few reservations regarding the macabre. Stebbins was only passing through, he popped in every so often, giving his baffling perspective on whatever they were talking about, Garraty’s friend or something, he wasn’t entirely sure of that though.
Amused by Olson’s frantic objections, he smiled and laughed softly, forgetting to look away from Barkovitch, who seemed entirely uninterested in the cannibalism chat, instead focusing on the sandwich he was eating. Well, until his head turned up, eyes meeting Collie’s.
“The fuck are you looking at?” he spat defensively. “Queer or something?” McVries stared daggers in his direction, but Barkovitch wasn’t paying attention to him.
Collie put up his hands defensively. “Just spaced out, didn’t mean anything by it.” He spoke using his regular voice, hoping that would placate him.
Barkovitch’s defensive expression warped to one of shock, like he just noticed how he had reacted, maybe that was the case. “’m sorry.” He muttered just enough to be heard.
“It’s fine, don’t worry.” Collie assured. He didn’t mind really, and he empathized. Before he started hanging out with Garraty and his friends, he’d been a real jerk, not like Barkovitch, but still. It kept him from making friends, and breaking the habit had been a bitch. Luckily his new group was very patient with him, he could be too.
His response didn’t seem to make him feel any better though, Collie observed as Barkovitch hit his temple with a half fist like he often did after slipping up, muttering a string of curses while he pulled on a lock of his tangled blond hair. He went back to eating his sandwich looking on edge for a few moments before he threw it into the paper bag he brought it in, abruptly got up and left the cafeteria without pushing his chair in, Collie watched him storm out, guilt-ridden.
Luckily, no one seemed to have noticed the ordeal, conversation continuing at its same pace. Except for McVries, who looked to him warily, Collie offered an ‘I’m fine’ smile before turning back to his food, tuning out the discussion.
After what couldn’t have been longer than a minute, he realized the uncomfortable feeling gnawing at his appetite wasn’t going away and he didn’t want to be at the table anymore. He packed his remaining food into his lunchbox and stood.
Abraham beside him, noticed this. “Leaving early?” he asked.
“Yeah.” He answered. “I’m restless, wanna walk around for a bit before next period.” That was partially true. Abraham nodded and turned back to the group. Collie made sure to push in Barkovitch’s chair as well as his own on his way to the halls.
He paced for a while, but it wasn’t helping any, so he resigned himself to hiding in the west wing bathrooms. Instinctually, even though it was lunch period, and nobody used these bathrooms because they had been out of order since before he got into high school, Collie stood crouched over the toilet in one of the stalls like everyone would in middle school to get as long a break as you could from class without drawing suspicion.
It was totally quiet, pin dropping audible silence, which helped to calm his nerves. Quiet until the door creaked open. Collie was going to holler out to the kid that the bathroom was out of order, didn’t you read the sign? but figured better of it, they were probably there for the same reason.
He peeked through the broken stall door’s lock to see if he could recognize who it was. He did, and his breath caught in his throat. Barkovitch. Collie breathed as quietly as he could, making sure to stay absolutely still and silent. He knew he should get up, kick the door open and announce himself, Hey, funny thing Gary! We both had the idea to hide out here, isn’t that a joke? Well, I’ll be going now, so you can do whatever I know you don’t want me seeing in peace, bye now. he should, but he couldn’t. He felt frozen, couldn’t draw his eyes away even as he hated himself for intruding on his friend’s privacy, disgusted at the voyeuristic quality of it all.
Barkovitch sniffled, Collie thought he might be crying but he wasn’t, he couldn’t see very well but was able to make out the blotchy red patches at the corners of his eyes, so he had been crying but was not anymore. He stood in front of the sink, gripping the edges as he looked at himself in the mirror. Raising a shaky hand, he wiped his eyes, the movement rough, Collie internally winced, it looked painful.
He then lowered that hand to his neck, grazing over the mystery wounds with a finger before settling on an empty patch of skin. He started scratching with a blunt nail against that spot, Collie heard the sound, innocuous, but it made his stomach turn. He thought nothing of it at first, but Barkovitch kept going and going, and Collie realized that is what the odd scab, blister, whatevers were from and he felt sick. He wanted desperately to run out and stop him or out of the bathroom entirely, but he was paralyzed, transfixed by the sight. He was afraid too, Barkovitch would be understandably furious if he came out now so all he could bring himself to do was remain still and watch on in horror.
Barkovitch stopped, eventually. Collie could see where the new mark was, it glistened under the fluorescent lighting, like a fresh burn, and there was no blood, just some skin red from irritation around the perimeter of the wound. He turned on the faucet, but no water came out. Muttering a ‘fuck’ into the perceived emptiness he wiped the offending hand off on his pants instead. He looked himself over in the mirror again, adjusted his hair so it covered the injured places, wiped his eyes once more, and left.
Collie’s eyes didn’t move, neither did the rest of him. He just kept staring at where Barkovitch had been until his legs ached from the position they were in, and he got down. Once level with the floor, he suddenly gagged, turning to spew into the toilet. He tried flushing the vomit away afterwords but of course that did nothing, he pitied the janitor. His throat burned with the acidic remains of his lunch, so he made his way to another bathroom to wash his mouth out, the second nearest, in case Barkovitch went to wash his hands properly. He lingered a good while before going however, making sure Barkovitch wasn’t still around.
Over the next few weeks Collie observed more things about Barkovitch (though he tried keeping his distance to suppress the crushing guilt which made itself known whenever he was near). Bruises mainly, which he’d noticed before, Barkovitch had a reputation, everyone in school knew he got into fights, so nobody ever brought that up. What he noticed was about the bruises, how they all seemed to be perfectly circular, like they were hit with something, and the ones that weren’t were located at joints like they were hit into something.
Collie kept his mouth shut, even so, for a long while until it escalated to the point where the uncomfortability of doing nothing outweighed that of confrontation. Barkovitch came to school with a raised bruise in the middle of his forehead, scabbing from scrapes jutting out with the bump. Walling is textured, he thought to himself, if you hit your head into the wall enough it would break skin. Their eyes met for a moment. Barkovitch’s irises showed less, giving way to pupils that were too large. He gave himself a concussion, he gave himself a fucking concussion.
Collie looked away, deciding that was his tipping point, he was going to say something today. Not now though, there was no time with classes starting in a few minutes. Lunch, he would drag Barkovitch somewhere during lunchtime, when he’d first found out about this.
Collie waited anxiously at the table for Barkovitch to get up, he always did some halfway through lunch to throw his trash away, Collie held the wrapper to a bag of pistachios in his own hand for an excuse to go with him. Learning his lesson with glances, he listened for the sound of his chair scraping instead.
When it did, he promptly followed, working up the words. “What happened to your forehead?” Collie asked, casually when they reached the trashcans. Barkovitch looked back, surprised. Collie guessed nobody ever had the guts to ask him about any of it.
“Don’t” he started in response, pausing for a moment, “just, don’t.”
“Why not?” Collie tried. At no answer he went on. “I want to talk about it, why don’t we go somewhere, away from the others? Oh, what about the bathrooms on the west wing, no one’s ever in there.” He stated with finality, confident Barkovitch would follow him at the way his breath hitched at the mention of the bathrooms.
“Fine.” Barkovitch caved.
Neither said a word until the door swung shut behind them. Collie raised his eyebrows, waiting for a response.
Barkovitch sighed, running a hand down his face. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business.”
Collie scoffed, smiling humorlessly. “It’s not my business.” He echoed. “You can’t give yourself a concussion, scratch your throat open then say-"
Barkovitch cut him off. “I never—"
“Shut up!” Collie interrupted him back. “Don’t lie, I saw you.” He confessed, pointing to the stall he was in. “I saw you.”
“You had no right!” Barkovitch shouted.
“I didn’t mean to!” Collie defended. “I just happened to be there and froze up. How was I supposed to know that you were going to…” he trailed off, took a breath before circling back. “You can’t tell me it’s none of my business. Can’t do that so obviously and expect your friends to not give a damn.” Collie finished, out of breath.
“It wasn’t obvious, you only found out because you watched me do it, and we’re not friends!” Barkovitch retorted.
“Yes, we are, read the fucking dictionary, whether or not you want to call it that, we are friends. And I knew before, not exactly, but I knew there was something. The day, the one that I…” he paused, “saw, right before you got pissed at me for looking at you, what do you think I was looking at?” Collie’s eyes drifted to his neck.
Barkovitch noticed this and defensively covered the marks with his hair. “Bullshit.” He challenged. “Why did no one ever say anything if it was so obvious?”
“I don’t know, God, it’s a hard thing to talk about, I don’t know.” Collie struggled.
“Well, you managed.” He taunted. “Now what, what do you want?”
“I want you to stop, promise that you’ll stop.” Collie nearly pleaded.
“I can’t.” Barkovitch barely let him finish. “I can’t.” He repeated, his voice was weak, like he wanted to agree but couldn’t.
Collie didn’t speak, just watched him, letting the ‘why’ hang in the air.
“It’s the only thing that calms me down, I’m so angry, all the time.” He clenched his fists, looking down at them as he spoke. “Doing… you know, it makes it go away. What else am I supposed to do?” He was looking back up at Collie, desperate.
“I don’t fucking know, join a sports team or something. There are better ways to deal with your emotions.” Collie replied, exasperated.
“What do you know? You have no clue what it’s like.”
“I do, not exactly, but a little bit. Before I met our friends. I was a fucking jerk, and no one wanted to be around me. But when I fell in with the musketeers or whatever the fuck we call ourselves, I started trying. And it was really hard, and I fucked up, and I still fuck up, but it gets easier, managing.”
Barkovitch contemplated for a while. “I’m still not promising shit.” He stood his ground.
Collie sighed. “Will you try at least, promise that you’ll try.” He was practically begging.
“Fine.”
“Say it.”
“We’re not in the third grade, what the hell difference does it make if I say it or not?” But Collie persisted, looking with pleading eyes until he relented. “I promise I’ll try.” Barkovitch rolled his eyes. There was a beat of silence before he spoke again. “You won’t tell?”
Collie looked conflicted. “No.” he agreed after a moment. “But you should.”
“What good would the others knowing do?” He asked, confused.
“I didn’t mean the others, I meant like, your parents or something.” Collie corrected.
Barkovitch laughed. “Tough chance.”
“Doesn’t need to be them, could be like, the guidance counselor.” He suggested. “She might be able to help you.”
I don’t fucking need-" Barkovitch hit himself again, Collie winced.
“You should probably stop that too.” He pointed out, regretting it because he obviously knew that. Barkovitch looked away nodding slightly in acknowledgment.
“Maybe I’ll talk to her.” He muttered, Collie thought he sounded noncommittal, but he already gave his word that he wouldn’t say anything, and knew Barkovitch wouldn’t budge so he didn’t push it.
“Okay.”
“Oh, um, thanks, for trying to help I mean. I appreciate it.” Barkovitch awkwardly communicated. ‘I just don’t need or want it’ was left unsaid, but the words might as well have been screamed with how loudly they showed in his expression.
“Yeah.” Collie nodded. “I’m going to head back now.”
“Sure, I’ll be there, just give me a minute.”
It’s something, Collie thought, pushing his way out the door, something at least.