after reading carter smith’s dirty little friday today….. i need him to do a motelzine with kyle or johnny (or both truly) for the forever roadtrip aesthetic….. please
after reading carter smith’s dirty little friday today….. i need him to do a motelzine with kyle or johnny (or both truly) for the forever roadtrip aesthetic….. please
Warnings: Canon typical for both The Passenger and Obsession. This includes: violence & death, SA (nothing explicit, but many references and close instances), Benson is completely stripped of his autonomy, Randy is creepy. I also wrote this in a single 8 hour sitting while pulling an all nighter and did not proofread.
The box sat on the gas station counter, bright and gimmicky. It looked like an item placed there so that a parent might buy it for their child as they waited for the teller to grab their cigarettes. Randy Bradley saw it while he paid for his Arizona tea, his eyes searching the bright red box.
‘ONE WISH WILLOW: Amaze Your Friends, Make your dreams come true’. It was a new addition to the counter, among the lottery tickets, the candy, the clutter. Randy stared at the box as the cashier scanned his tea before his hands reached out, grabbing the triangular packaging. “One of these, too,” he murmured, sliding it across the counter.
A small hum of acknowledgement left the attendant's mouth as he rang it up, before telling Randy the price. Randy handed over a ten dollar bill, taking his change and walking out of the gas station to his car.
The drive home was quiet, his radio playing the 70s & 80s channel faintly. The music padded the drive, softening the sound of air rushing outside of the car. The sun was beginning to set, casting orange and then blue over the Louisiana evening. As Randy pulled up outside of his house, the sound of the radio ceased and was replaced by the incessant buzzing of cicadas and the distant thrum of the nearby chemical plant.
Randy stepped out of his car, walking up to his house. The house was quiet, Hailey and his parents likely already in bed. The slats of the floor creaked slightly beneath Randy’s non-slip shoes, which were sticky with grease and the other mysterious substances that coated the floor of Burgers Burgers Burgers.
As Randy entered his room, he turned on the lamp, illuminating it in a dull light. His room had grown dirty over the past several weeks, as he was too busy to clean, and each time he had a day off, he spent it sleeping or masturbating. Dirty clothes sprawled across the floor, along with assorted cans and food wrappers. Beside his bed was a pile of tissues, the box sat right beside a bottle of lotion on his night stand.
Randy peeled off his uniform, tossing it onto the floor. He put on a t-shirt and crawled into bed, turning off his lamp and staring at the ceiling. Light from the chemical plant dotted the ceiling in streaks of light, illuminating the room just enough to enable Randy’s imagination.
He thought about the day he had had. Chris had spent the entire shift messing with him. If it wasn’t cruel comments it was little shoves. If it wasn’t little shoves it was forcing Randy to do the work Chris didn’t want to do. Randy had been so hopeful that when he graduated high school, he wouldn’t have to deal with bullies for the rest of his life. Instead, he was stuck with the biggest man child in the south who couldn’t go an hour on shift with Randy without making his life a living hell.
But Benson had worked today. That made Randy feel a little better. Benson, of course, rarely talked to Randy. It was only small greetings, which truly could only be considered greetings in the loosest sense of the word. They were more so grunts of acknowledgement that Randy even existed.
Yet, Randy had allowed himself to latch onto Benson, creating a fiction in his mind that one day, the older man would truly notice Randy, protect him from Chris, and maybe even love him. It was a silly daydream, and Randy knew that Benson was indifferent to him. Yet when Chris’ bullying was unrelenting, Randy would catch Benson’s glances and project anger onto his naturally grumpy face, as if Benson was waiting for the chance to stop Chris once and for all.
Randy fell asleep thinking of Benson, and those thoughts seeped into his dreams. He dreamt of Benson in bed beside him, large hands exploring Randy’s body. Benson’s breath smelled of cigarettes, the scent seeping throughout the dream, making it seem intensely real.
Unfortunately for Randy, he woke to the sound of his alarm in a room by himself. The smell of cigarettes faded, and suddenly Randy was acutely aware of how alone he was in bed. He slowly crawled out of bed, slapping his alarm to silence it. He stood and stretched before grabbing his dirty uniform off of the floor, putting it on and making his way to his car once again in the early dawn. The air was cool but still sticky with humidity, enhancing the grime that Randy could feel on himself but didn’t bother to wash off.
Randy got into his car, starting it. It groaned before coming to life with a soft purr. Before Randy began his drive, he noticed the red box sitting on the center console. He grabbed the One Wish Willow he had bought the day before, staring at it. Why had he even bought the thing? It was a silly gag toy for little kids, built upon the same lie that birthday candles and shooting stars were.
Yet those were harmless. It couldn’t hurt. It was just a toy, but what if? Randy opened the box, a small jingle emitting from a mini speaker as the seal was broken. He held the small stick in his hands, considering what to wish for. The decision was actually very easy. Randy glanced on the instructions on the side of the box before speaking his wish. “I wish Benson loved me more than anyone else in the entire world,” he whispered before breaking the Willow. He stared at the broken piece of wood. Nothing felt different, but why would it? He set it back down and began his drive to work.
The sun was just beginning to come up as Randy pulled his car up beside Benson’s. It was beginning to warm up, another hot Louisiana day starting to bloom. Randy crossed the street to the former gas station-turned burger restaurant, stepping inside. Benson was the first one in, mopping the floor in small strokes. As Randy walked in, he gave a small wave. “Hi, Benson.”
Benson looked up, murmuring a quiet, “Hey.” To anyone else, it would’ve been a normal, if not rude, greeting. But Randy’s heart skipped a beat. He knew he was just letting the One Wish Willow get to his head, but he couldn’t deny that this was more of a greeting from Benson than he usually got.
Randy immediately began his task assigned on the board in the office, beginning with wiping down the trays from the day before. Randy’s eyes kept drifting towards Benson, looking for anything different, wishing for it.
Benson continued mopping, but Randy could swear Benson would look over every few seconds. As Randy cleaned the trays, he looked out of the big front window. “Benson, do you know who’s working today?”
Benson’s back straightened as he looked over at Randy, eyes searching before he answered. “I think it was that asshole Chris… maybe Jess,” he answered, which was punctuated by the rumble of Chris’ large truck and the music that blasted inside. Benson’s eyes narrowed as Randy tensed up.
Chris and Jess walked inside, clinging onto each other. Not long after, Hardy’s small car rolled up too, and the manager walked inside, bringing everyone into the back room. Chris and Jess stood side by side, pressed against each other. Randy stood by himself, while Benson stood behind him, leaning against the wall.
Randy listened to Hardy’s “pep” talk, unaware of the set of eyes that bore into his neck. Benson stared straight at Randy, ears not really registering Hardy’s words and instead taking note of Randy’s every movement. There was a slight tension in his shoulders that tightened every time Chris spoke. A twitch rippled down his neck. His chin was tilted downward, ever so slightly. Benson noticed all of this. He noticed it, he took it and buried it in his mind. He was so fixated onto the boy before him, like a predator stalking its prey before the hunt.
After Hardy’s short meeting, he pulled Randy into his office, shutting the flimsy makeshift door to separate their one on one meeting from the other three employees. Benson reluctantly made his way to the dining room, picking his mop back up while Chris and Jess began their half-assed performance of work.
The office doors did a surprisingly effective job at muffling the conversation within. Benson tried to listen, but he only heard a quiet outline of the conversation, Hardy doing most of the talking anyways.
Randy finally came out of the office, making his way back to the trays that he had begun to wipe down. Chris sauntered over to Randy, wrapping an arm around him and taking off his hat to give his head a knuckle rub. “What’re you up to back there, huh? Sucking Hardy’s dick?” he teased, leaning into Randy.
The comment sparked a tinge of jealousy within Benson, his neck twitching in anger at the comment. He knew it was a cruel joke, but he couldn’t help how it made his stomach twist.
Randy shook his head, tucking his chin to his chest. “He wasn’t talking about me either, right?” Chris asked, banging his head on a tray.
“No… I swear, he wasn’t,” Randy whispered, avoiding Chris’ smug, hungry gaze.
“If you’re lying…” Chris threatened, “you’re dead.” He sauntered off, leaning against the counter. He grabbed the microphone they used to call out order numbers, beginning to order something lewd and made up. Benson watched as Randy looked over. Chris began to chant the word pussy over and over again, Jess dancing to it.
Randy took a shuddering breath, before attempting to command Chris to stop, yet it came out more as a plea. “Hey, could you cut that out?”
Chris immediately looked up, face scrunching in disbelief. “What, Bradley? Why do you fucking care?” He made his way over, getting into Randy’s face. “Huh? What’s up?”
Randy’s shoulders tensed, the same way they did in the back room, and he swallowed thickly. “It’s just a bit disrespectful, is all.”
Chris gave Jess an incredulous look before turning back to Randy. “I’m gonna say pussy whenever I feel like saying pussy. Don’t give me a fucking serrmon on something you haven’t even seen first hand.” Chris continued to berate and question Randy. “What’s got you all high and mighty? Do you have a new girlfriend?” Benson looked over then, jaw tightening. “Boyfriend?” Benson’s stomach lurched at the idea. For a moment, he wasn’t sure why, but then the anger flooded back and the origins of the thought didn’t matter anymore.
Chris became more cruel in his taunts. Randy looked over at him. “Please, Chris, knock it off.”
A huff escaped Chris’ lips, and he looked at Jess, then at the glass case where a burger he hadn’t thrown away from the night before. “Yeah, I’ll knock it off. I’ll leave you alone from now on, if you do me this favor.” He took the moist wrapped burger in his hand, unwrapping it and holding it in front of Randy. “Come on, eat the burger and you won’t hear shit the rest of the day.”
Randy stared at the burger, bile building in the back of the throat as he looked at the discolored meat. Before he could open his mouth to take a bite, Benson stepped forward. “Chris, stop.” Chris’ head snapped around, his eyes narrowing. He walked over to Benson, getting in his face. “You made your point,” Benson said in a low voice, “and now you’re just being a dick.”
One of Chris’ hands reached up and gripped Benson’s shoulder, hard and tight. “I’ve never had a problem with you, Benson. But if you try to tell me what I can and cannot do, I will make your peaceful redneck existence a living hell.”
He shoved Benson back before walking back over to Randy. “Come on, you know what to do.” Chris cocked his head to the burger that sat on the counter.
One of Randy’s shaky hands reached down, picking the burger up. He held it to his mouth, taking a bite. The taste immediately triggered his gag reflex, but he continued to chew, not wanting to face any more of Chris’ wrath.
The anger that bloomed in Benson’s chest was intense and sudden. Randy took another bite, and Chris finally walked away, grabbing Jess’ waist and pulling her into a booth. Benson stormed out of the restaurant, the anger too much to control. He made his way across the street, bracing himself against his car. His heartbeat thumped in his ear, and he grabbed a cigarette, hoping that would cut some of the overwhelming rage that was filling his body.
He lit the cigarette, taking a deep inhale of the nicotine. He untucked his shirt, the fabric almost claustrophobic against him. It felt as if his veins were expanding with the anger, and it wouldn’t be long before he burst.
His mind, reeling from the sight of Randy eating that burger and Chris leaning over him, finally cleared. A beacon of thought hit him suddenly. His shotgun sat in the trunk of his car, as it always did. Its intended purpose was for Benson to have some stress relief after work. He would often go target shooting in the woods to blow off some steam. He had used it a couple times to put down animals that had been hit by cars and left on the side of the road to die. Benson had his hunting license for that sole purpose. He loved animals, and he hated to see them hurting. He was not a hunter, he was a merciful death for the suffering.
He was not a hunter.
But he unlocked his trunk, reaching into the box where the shotgun sat. His fingers twitched as he grabbed the heavy metal, making his way back to the restaurant. Chris needed to die. He had to die. He had teased Randy, hurt him so much physically and emotionally. Benson was furious at the fact. He opened the door, making his way straight over to Chris, who lounged in a booth. Benson lifted the shotgun, and Chris’ slick remark died in his mouth as he came face to face with the gun. Benson shot, hitting Chris square in the stomach. His torso and hand were mangled by the shot, but he wasn’t immediately dead.
A blood curdling scream left Jess’ mouth, deafened when another shot rang out from Benson’s gun, this time hitting Chris in the chest, killing him. Hardy ran out from his office, screaming, “What the fuck is going on?”
The sight of Benson, bloody, and Jess, bloodier, standing over a bleeding, mangled Chris caused the words to choke in Hardy’s mouth. He tries to run, but Benson chases him down, shooting him in the back. He, too, had hurt Randy. He allowed the relentless bullying to continue, and even if Chris had been joking, Benson couldn’t allow a man who could potentially violate Randy to continue to live.
Last was Jess. She continued to scream, backing up away from Benson. She screamed desperately, but she was just as bad as Hardy. Her passivity hurt Randy. She was complacent in his bullying. A shot rang out, and her body fell to the ground, hard.
A sense of relief filled Benson. No longer could they hurt Randy. Why was he so angry that they had hurt him, enough to kill them? It didn’t matter. He was. They were dead now. He unloaded the shotgun shells, turning to Randy.
He stepped closer, standing face to face with Randy. Tears filled Randy’s eyes, small sniffles leaving his nose. The sight damn near broke Benson’s heart. He set the gun down, stepping even closer to Randy. “You have to help me move the bodies to the freezer,” he murmured. His hands raised, grabbing Randy’s neck, using his thumbs to stroke his jaw. “Then we can clean up and get out of here. But we cannot stay.
Randy’s eyes lifted to look Benson in the eyes. Tears dripped down his cheeks, and his heart was loud in his ears, but the thumbs stroking his jaw left a sweet buzz on his skin. “Okay,” he whispered, nodding.
The two worked to bring all three bodies to the freezer. As Benson dropped Jess’ body on top of the pile, he stood side by side with Randy, looking down upon him. His hand came to rest on Randy’s back as he closed the door behind him, bringing him back into the dining room. The two began to clean the blood that was becoming sticky on the floor and that was splattered across the walls. By the end, there was still a bit of residue in the spots that had had the most time to dry. Benson decided it was good enough, and now it was time to make sure Randy stayed safe.
He rested a hand against Randy’s back once more, half-guiding him, half-pushing him back out to Benson’s car. “Get in the car,” Benson murmured as he went to the truck, putting his gun back into the trunk. He began to unbutton his work shirt, revealing his muscular biceps.
Randy got into the car, sitting still as he waited for Benson to get into the driver’s seat. He was still shaken, his ears ringing from the loud sound of the multiple gunshots. Benson’s actions were so sudden and extreme. He had never seemed particularly violent, just a little quiet. That quietness had been such a big appeal as to why Benson continued to be Randy’s object of projection.
Benson got into the driver’s seat, turning on his cassette of rock music, peeling out of his parking spot and beginning to drive down the road. His fingers drummed to the music while Randy sat in the passenger seat.
Randy was still tense, his eyes searching Benson. He wasn’t really sure why he wasn’t dead. Benson had killed everyone else seemingly out of nowhere. Everyone except Randy. And his anger, it ceased as soon as he stood face to face with Randy, and instead became a peculiar tenderness. Now they were driving to lord knows where, and Randy was totally at the mercy of his work crush-turned kidnapper.
Benson pulled the car into the parking lot of the Kutzburg diner. He reached into the back seat of his car, grabbing the long green jacket that rested on the floor. He handed it over to Randy. “Put this on,” he murmured, running a hand over Randy’s jaw. Randy put the jacket on, the fabric nearly swallowing him up. They got out of the car and walked into the diner, settling down at the counter. The two ordered their breakfast, and as they waited for the food, Randy leaned forward, looking at Benson with nervous eyes.
“Why are you doing this?” he whispered, leaning forward towards Benson.
Benson leaned forward too, the two men’s faces mere inches apart. His hand came up and rested on the back of Randy’s neck, holding them close together. “Randy… I’ve been watching you. You have got… an honest to god, functioning human brain, unlike most of the people in this godforsaken town. Watching Chris treat you that way today, I couldn’t stand it,” he murmured, keeping his voice to a low whisper. “I couldn’t stand watching him treat you like a piece of meat. You deserve better than that. You deserve… so much. There’s something about you, something so…” He searched for the words. “Attractive. Seeing you being treated as anything else, it’s deplorable.”
Randy felt his cheeks heat up at Benson’s words. They were so sudden and jarring, but undeniably flattering. Had Benson felt this way about him all along? Or… his mind drifted to the stick sitting in the center console of his car. I wish Benson loved me more than anyone else in the world. Had it worked? The thought was silly, but the sudden onset of Benson’s affection was unexpected, and the intensity of it as well, it suggested that yes, it had.
“Attractive?” Randy stammered out.
Benson nodded, squeezing Randy’s neck. “You’re the most attractive person in this whole town. Whole goddamn state, I’d bet, Randy.” Before he could go on, the waitress came by, setting the plates of food down before Randy and Benson.
They ate, the food warm and comforting in that heavy quality that comes naturally to diner food. Benson paid the bill before leading Randy back to the car. Benson began driving once more, making his way into the residential area of the town. He parked outside of his house, grabbing his gun and walking inside.
Benson’s house was cluttered and messy. His Ma sat on her chair, a blanket sprawled across the lap. Benson stared at her. Normally, he greeted her with a kiss on the forehead, but now he could not bear the thought of his lips touching any other person, even his mother. He greeted her with the grunt he usually reserved for everyone else, putting his shotgun away in the safe and replacing it with a pistol. He then grabbed Randy’s wrist, bringing him to his room.
Benson’s room was similar to Randy’s in the sense that it was a mess of clothes and clutter. Benson picked up a Motorhead shirt and some jeans, holding it out to Randy. “I want to watch you change,” Benson said in a breathy voice, his eyes hungry as he stared at Randy.
Randy took the clothes, ears burning. “Benson, I-”
“Change. I want to see you. I need to see you, Randy.” Benson walked closer, grabbing Randy’s work shirt and beginning to work at the buttons with shaky, desperate hands.
A soft gasp escaped Randy’s lips, but he relished in the feeling of Benson so needy to take off his shirt. Once Randy’s pale, thin body was exposed, Benson desperately grabbed at him, his breath quaking with each inhale. Benson pushed Randy towards the bed, leaning over him, pressing open mouthed kisses and licks to his skin.
Randy felt his blood rush to his crotch as all of his daydreams came true. His head tilted back, relishing in the wetness of Benson’s mouth on his skin. Benson’s kisses went lower and lower, but before they were able to pass Randy’s belly button, Benson stood up straight, his eyes searching his room, then staring wide eyed at the bare-bodied Randy on his bed. “What the fuck…” he murmured, eye twitching. His breath, which was already shaky, began to hitch, and he took a step back. “Where is your shirt?” he asked Randy. “Why are you in my house?”
Randy sat up, his brows furrowing at Benson. “Well, we- we needed new clothes, and then you started…”
As Randy gave his explanation, the tension and confusion began to fade from Benson’s face, and a smile eased onto his lips. “Of course.” He leaned forward, kissing Randy gently before pulling him up. “We need to get going. Go ahead, change.” He himself began to change, putting on a t-shirt with a rabbit on it, black pants, and a yellowy-green cardigan.
Randy put on Benson’s clothes, the fabric hanging off of his body. Benson looked him over with a look of desire before once again grabbing Randy’s wrist, dragging him outside to his car. The two climbed back in, and Benson turned to Randy.
He reached out, touching Randy’s cheek. “This is all for you,” he whispered, thumb tracing over Randy’s skin. “Everything I do is for you.”
Randy’s breath hitched, staring into Benson’s eyes. He nodded a bit, lips parting. Benson leaned forward, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to Randy’s lips. He then started the car, beginning to drive.
They drove mostly in silence, save for the sound of the wind and the road humming and the faint sound of Benson’s cassette playing. Benson’s thoughts swirled around Randy. Randy, Randy, Randy. An occasional part of him will question what the hell he is doing, but then he looks at Randy, and his heart squeezes, and it goes right back to Randy, Randy, Randy. His mind then conjures the memory of Chris’ taunting, asking Randy if he had a new girlfriend or boyfriend. He looked over at Randy.
“Was that stuff Chris was saying true? You got a girlfriend?” he asked, jealousy squeezing his throat.
Randy looked over, wide eyed. “No. No, I don’t.” He looked out the window for a moment before back at Benson. “Of course not.”
Benson nodded a bit, drumming on the steering wheel. “Boyfriend?” Another no from Randy. “Good…” he whispered, the jealousy tamed before coming back more intense and toxic. “Have you ever had one?”
Randy looked at Benson, noticing the tension on his face, before giving the gentle admission of, “Yeah, a few years ago.” He fidgetted with his fingers.
“What was her name?” Benson asked, lips twitching, seething.
“Lisa,” Randy answered in a soft voice, a voice too affectionate for Benson.
“Lisa, like the Simpson,” Benson mused sarcastically. He scoffed, shaking his head, gathering himself. “Why did you break up with her?”
Benson looked over at Randy, watching his face carefully as he spoke, watching carefully for lingering feelings. Randy noticed, reaching over and touching Benson’s bicep as he answered. “She broke up with me. Her cat died…? And she just ended it.” Randy gave a small shrug.
Benson let out a surprised laugh, his eyebrows furrowing. “She broke up with you because her fucking cat died?” He was baffled. “What, she said, ‘I can’t be with you because my cat died’?”
Randy let out a shy chuckle, looking at Benson. “Yeah, I don’t know.”
Benson shook his head, a couple more chuckles escaping his lips. “You never asked her why she broke up with you, actually?” he asked, looking over at Randy, at the hand resting on his bicep. Randy shook his head, and Benson bit his lip in thought. “Do you know where she is? Where she’s working?”
Randy hesitated for a moment. He had seen what Benson had done to their coworkers. Lisa hadn’t wronged him, not in the same way Chris had… but even he was curious why Lisa had truly broken up with him. He always knew that Oreo’s death wasn’t the full story, and since she had been his first and only romantic relationship, he had spent the last few years desperately trying to figure out why the relationship had ended.
“She works at the mall,” Randy answered. “I don’t know if she’s working today, but…”
Benson was already driving in the direction of the mall, a look of determination on his face. They pulled up to the mall, which was empty in the weekday noon, although it barely had any visitors during weekends either. Randy walked beside Benson as they walked into the stuffed animal shop. It was empty except for the dozens of blank slate stuffed animals of different animals. Randy leaned against the counter, calling out. “Hello? Is anybody here?”
Lisa’s voice drifted from the back room. “Coming!” She stepped out into the main room, hesitating as she saw Randy. “Oh. Hi, Randy. What are you doing here?” she asked, her eyes searching Randy, then Benson.
“Lisa,” Randy greeted. “I wanted to… talk to you.” He looked at Lisa, smiling politely. Behind him, Benson narrowed his eyes, his fingers twitching. He hated the way Lisa looked at Randy. He hated how polite he was being to her. But he allowed it. For now.
Lisa, who was holding a basket of craft supplies, began restocking the small tables as she talked to Randy. “I’m really busy, Randy,” she said apologetically. “I know it looks dead in here, but I have a party of second graders in an hour.”
“It’ll be quick,” Randy said, stepping towards her.
She shook her head, eyes darting to Benson, who was giving her an intense death glare. She then looked back at Randy. “Look, I’m sorry, but I’m here to help customers.”
Randy was disappointed for a moment, looking back at Benson. Benson’s face immediately eased up at the sight of Randy’s, and he gave a small shrug. ‘Whatever you want to do’, the shrug silently suggested. Randy turned back to Lisa. “We can be customers.”
She looked at Randy, raising a suspicious eyebrow. “Sure. Okay.” Both he and Randy picked out a stuffed animal to decorate. Randy grabbed the closest one to him, a crocodile. Benson looked at the stuffed animals more carefully, before selecting a deer.
Randy sat with Lisa, quietly discussing why they broke up, while Benson sat by himself at a table across the store, decorating his deer with precision whilst also listening to Lisa and Randy’s conversation carefully.
As Lisa explained why she broke up with Randy, how it wasn’t so much about Oreo as it was about Randy’s lack of caring about anything, Benson got a clear picture of who Lisa was. She was demanding, she was needy… Benson wasn’t like that, not at all. Benson knew Randy cared. Benson knew, and he accepted Randy for who he was, rather than Lisa, who seemingly wanted to change, change, change him.
Then, Lisa said, “You won’t even talk about what happened to you in second grade.” Benson looked up. Second grade? What happened to Randy in second grade? His eyes found Randy, who was looking down at his lap nervously. No, he wouldn’t let Lisa terrorize his Randy any more. Benson stood, carrying his newly decorated deer by the antler. He looked down at Randy’s crocodile, a smile growing on his lips.
“Look at you, fuckin’ Picasso,” he complimented. “Come on, let’s go.” He coaxed Randy into standing, and Randy made his way to the door, leaving Benson somewhat alone with Lisa. He lowered his voice, his tone becoming dark and serious. “You leave him alone, you bitch,” he spat before turning, holding the back of Randy’s shirt.
The two of them walked outside of the mall. Randy looked down at the deer in Benson’s hands. Despite being a green deer, it resembled Randy uncannily. He looked up at Benson. “Is that… me? Your stuffed animal?”
Benson looked into his own hand, a smile teasing his lips. “Of course. This way I can always have you by my side, no matter what.” Benson grabbed Randy’s hips, pushing him against the hood of the car, holding Randy’s waist. “I never want to be apart from you, Randy.”
As Randy was pinned against the car, his cellphone began to ring in his pocket. He pulled it out, looking at the caller ID, before his eyes found Benson. “It’s my mom,” he said apologetically, answering it.
She began to practically interrogate Randy, asking him where he was, who he was if, why he hadn’t called to tell her he was off work. “I’m with Benson, Mom. You don’t know him, but we work together. He’s… he’s really nice.”
A small smile teased Benson’s lips, before he looked at the car, and his brows furrowed. His arm moved away from Randy’s waist, shifting to the side, looking around. Randy didn’t notice, too busy giving his mother reason after reason why he didn’t call. Benson stared at Randy, so confused. Why was he at the mall, which he hated so deeply for being the embodiment of capitalistic greed… why was he at the mall with his odd, quiet coworker?
Benson took a step back, reaching for his keys. Randy hung the phone up as he did, reaching out for Benson. “Ready to get going?” he asked.
Benson’s eyes snapped back to Randy, his face softening. “Of course,” Benson murmured, opening the passenger door for Randy and stepping around to the driver’s side. He sat down, looking out of the window to the empty parking lot. He then turned to Randy. “What happened in second grade?” he asked. He wanted to know everything about Randy, even the bad.
Randy looked at Benson, hesitating. He then told him the story of Ms Beard and the eraser. Tears began to drip down his cheeks as he told the story, detailing how the guilt has eaten him alive for years and years. As Randy cried, Benson reached out, stroking his cheek and wiping the tears. He leaned over the center console, kissing the tears off of Randy’s cheeks.
“You were just a kid, Randy. It wasn’t your fault,” he murmured. His tongue slipped from between his lips, licking up the salty tears. He whispered gentle reassurances to Randy, holding Randy close.
“Randy…” Benson whispered. “I love you. I love you, Randy.” Benson professed his love over and over, holding Randy close as he cried. When Randy’s tears finally began to dry, Benson pulled away, running a hand over Randy’s hair.
“You should see her,” Benson declared in a soft voice, holding Randy’s head. “You can’t let her torture you your entire life.”
Randy looked at Benson, his eyes becoming watery once again. Slowly, he nodded. Benson began driving to the elementary school, in hopes that the two could find Ms Beard. The parking lot, too, was empty for summer break, save for a couple cars, possibly belonging to administration or janitors, or a few stray teachers working on their classrooms. Benson parked right by the main entrance of the school, and he and Randy got out, starting towards the door. Randy began to hesitate, his breath hitching.
“Benson, I’m not sure this is such a good idea,” Randy said. Benson turned, taking Randy into his arms. His hands held Randy’s neck.
“You need this, Randy,” Benson reassured. “This is for you. She’s been torturing you since you were a little kid. You need this.” He sounded so certain, so sure. He held Randy close, staring into his eyes. “Besides,” he whispered, “we’re already here.” For a moment, Benson’s grip tightened, putting pressure onto the veins on Randy’s neck, making Randy slightly lightheaded. Then, Benson let go, the two entering the school.
They walked into the office of the school, where the secretary sat. She looked up at Benson and Randy, quirking an eyebrow. “How can I help you, gentlemen?’ she asked.
Benson leaned against the counter, giving her a charming smile. “Hi, yes, we were wondering if a Ms Patricia Beard is working today?”
The secretary tilted her head. “I’m afraid not, we’re on summer break. Only our janitorial staff and a few admin are here today.”
Randy frowned slightly, looking at Benson. Benson, however, continued to give that sweet smile. “I thought so. Any way we could get her address?” He slowly traced his fingers over the top of the counter, looking back at Randy and giving a slight wink.
“Well, we don’t give staff addresses out to strangers, I’m afraid,” she said, giving a small frown.
Benson nodded, standing up straighter. “I understand, but, see… this is a special circumstance. We’re moving to the city tomorrow, and… this here is Randy Bradley.” He gestured a hand to Randy, tilting his head as if the fact was obvious. Instead, he was met with the furrowed brows and confused expression of the secretary. “You know, the one with the…” he gestured to his eye, making a falling out motion with his hand.
The secretary’s mouth opened as she realized, before she put her hand to her chest and gave Randy a sympathetic expression. “Oh… well, in that case…” she murmured, going to the desk and pulling out her address book, writing it down. As she wrote it down, a man walked out of one of the back admin offices. The man said goodbye to the secretary, walking past Benson and Randy.
One moment, all of Benson’s focus had been on helping Randy heal. The next, it was on the man. Elliott Shepherd. All adoration for Randy dissolved, replaced with rage, with fear. “Shepherd…?” Randy murmured, turning back to stare at the man as he walked away.
Shepherd turned around, a polite smile on his face. “Yes?”
“Elliott Shepherd?” Benson confirmed. As Shepherd nodded, Benson felt a cold chill run down his spine. He looked at Randy, then at Shepherd, and he couldn’t quite tell the difference between them all of the sudden. He felt out of control. His body began to shake. His autonomy had been in a weird limbo all day. Sometimes he felt in control, and sometimes he was on top of Randy when normally he was repulsed by the mere thought of affection with another person. All because of Shepherd.
Shepherd stared at Benson, trying to place him. “Do I know you?” he asked Benson.
Benson quickly shook his head, waving Shepherd away. “I knew someone you taught, is all.” Shepherd takes the answer and begins to walk away. As he walks away, the secretary hands Ms Beard’s address to Randy. The two left the school, walking back out to the parking lot.
Shepherd was still making his way to his car as Benson and Randy stepped out. Benson stared at Shepherd, then looked back at Randy momentarily. He could feel the fuzz that had begun randomly earlier in the day starting to come back, and he knew he had maybe minutes, less if he kept staring at Randy, before he’d be swallowed back into the space where he held no control. He began walking straight towards Shepherd, punching him square in the face before beginning to beat him.
He wailed his fists against the man, screaming and crying as he assaulted him. Blood splattered across Benson’s arms and face. “It’s not me,” he screamed. “It’s not me. I don’t want you.” His voice was already beginning to strain as he yelled. He grabbed his pistol from his back pocket, beating Shepherd with the butt of the gun.
Randy ran forward. “Benson, wait-! Stop! Benson!” he cried, trying to grab Benson. Benson continued, tears dripping down his face. “Benson, we have the address. We need to go.” The fuzz was coming back over Benson’s mind. He felt himself becoming less strong. He stood, looking at Randy. His heart ached.
Benson tried to fight it, he did. He fought the same way he fought after he realized why Shepherd had brought him to an empty room. He screamed, stepping back and walking in a circle to try and clear his mind, but Randy’s face dragged him further. Benson used the last of his will to kick Shepherd in the face before he grabbed Randy once again. His bloody, broken hands held Randy’s wrist, his eyes drifting to the card in Randy’s hands. His face softened. “Let’s go,” he cooed, walking with Randy back to the car as Shepherd laid on the asphalt, choking on his own blood.
The drive towards Ms Beard’s house was quiet. Benson tried to cry, but he couldn’t. All he could do was take glances of Randy, feeling his face soften with each look.
They pulled up to the house, a quaint little townhouse. They walked to the door, knocking. A woman in purple overalls with a matching eyepatch opened the door, looking at the two men before her. “Can I help you?” she asked softly. Randy stammered, suddenly unsure of what to say. Thankfully, she recognized the shy, stammering blond boy before her. “Randy? Randy Bradley?”
Randy nodded, his face crumpling. “Yeah…” he whispered.
“Come in,” Ms Beard immediately offered, stepping aside. The two of them walked into the house, following Ms Beard to her living room. Randy happily sat down on the couch, taking the tea she offered, while Benson stood in the entrance to the living room, hands buried in his pockets, body tense and stinging.
Ms Beard offered again for Benson to sit, and he shook his head. “Could I use your bathroom?” he asked instead. Ms Beard nodded, guiding him to the bathroom. He shut the door, locking it behind him. He stared into the mirror, his face crumpling. His stomach churned, and he vomited into the sink, sobs accompanying the expulsion. What was happening? Why couldn’t Benson control himself? Why was he so obsessed with Randy? He had been repulsed by love, by sex, by touch for as long as he could remember. He had never thought of Randy as attractive, as desirable. It wasn’t the boy’s fault, but it just wasn’t how Benson felt about anybody. Why did he keep touching Randy? Why couldn’t he stop?
Several more sobs escaped Benson’s lips and he vomited once more before straightening up. He washed his vomit down the sink, then washed the blood on his hands, both his and Shepherd's, watching as it ran down the sink.
He left the bathroom. He needed to go, leave this house, leave Randy. But as he passed the living room, he found himself stuck, staring at Randy as he sat on the couch. He looked between Randy and Ms Beard, breathing heavily.
“Randy’s real sorry about your eye… he told you that, right?” Benson asked Ms Beard. He needed to make sure Randy was healing. He needed to make sure Randy was able to have closure, even if Benson could not.
Ms Beard gave Benson a soft smile. “Yes, he did. He did,” she assures gently.
Benson nodded, looking down on his feet. “We have to go… Randy.” His eyes locked onto Randy, who furrowed his brows.
“Benson, we just got here,” he protested, standing. “It’s okay, we can stay.”
Benson shook his head, grabbing Randy’s wrist again. “We have to go, Ran.” He looked at Ms Beard. “Thank you for having Randy.”
Ms Beard joined Randy in standing, a frown on her face as she looked at the grip Benson had on Randy’s wrist. “Well, let me walk you out at least.” The landline began to ring, and she looked back. “Let me answer this, and I’ll walk you out,” she asserted, answering the phone.
As she spoke into the landline, her voice became gradually panicked. Once she hung up, she stepped back into the living room. “Someone assaulted our vice principal in the school parking lot,” she whispered, clearly in shock.
Benson looked at her through half-lidded eyes. “Is he alive?” he asked, jaw tightening.
Ms Beard bit her nail, shaking her head. “He was when the paramedics got there, but… he died on the way to the hospital.” She looked at Benson, then at Randy. “Randy, you were just there? Did you see anything?”
Randy had begun to shake his head, to say no, when Benson lifted a hand to his mouth, allowing Ms Beard to see the wounds on Benson’s knuckles. “No… we didn’t see anything…” he whispered.
Ms Beard’s eyes widened, stepping back nervously, and Benson let out a weak sigh before pulling out his pistol. He had to protect Randy. He could not allow Randy to be an accomplice to murder. Ms Beard began to scream instantly, backing herself into a corner. Randy gasped, grabbing Benson’s arm. Benson whipped around towards Randy, pointing the gun at him. “I’m not getting caught on account of that shit stain of an old man!” Benson shouted, waving his gun at Randy. But as he tried to threaten Randy, or at the very least scare him, his arm whipped back to being straight at his side. He didn’t mean to, he couldn’t control the movement, but he felt like he physically couldn’t hurt Randy. “...the fuck…?” Benson whispered, looking at his gun, then at Ms Beard.
“Benson,” Randy pleaded. “Don’t hurt her…”
Benson stepped forward towards Randy, grabbing his cheeks. “Of course I won’t…” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Randy’s forehead. “I’m sorry. I won’t… I’d never hurt you…”
Ms Beard stared at the two, still shaking. Benson stroked Randy’s cheek. “We have to leave,” he whispered to Randy. He grabbed Randy, gentler now, and commanded Ms Beard to follow.
Once more, they got into the car. Benson began driving, holding onto the steering wheel tightly. His eyes kept darting to Randy, who sat in the backseat, constantly checking in. Ms Beard kept questioning Benson, asking him so many questions, so many useless questions. He shook his head, murmuring “shut up” over and over again.
As Benson drove, Randy spoke up quietly. “Benson, can we stop? I need to use a bathroom,” he asked.
Benson looked back, his eyes softening. “Of course, Randy.” He pulled up to the Kutzberg diner, the very same the two had eaten at that very morning. They sat at a table before Randy disappeared into the bathroom.
Benson sat across from Ms Beard, staring blankly at the menu. As the server came over, he ordered a coffee, plain black, something to wake him up. Wake up. Wake up.
His coffee was placed in front of him as Randy walked out of the bathroom. Benson took a sip, and he woke up. The fuzz was gone again. He stood, grabbing his gun, aiming at Randy.
“What have you done to me?” he yelled. “This isn’t me! I don’t love you!” Benson cried, waving his gun at Randy. “I’m not me. What the fuck is happening? This isn’t me!”
Randy stood, his eyes wide. “Benson…? It’s okay, you’re okay. Benson, it’s me. It’s Randy,” he pleaded, a soft smile crossing his lips.
“Shut the fuck up! Shut up! You… it’s all because of you!” Benson paced, turning in a circle, before his hand twitched, pulling the trigger of his pistol. The shot hit Randy square in the shoulder. Benson stood still, his mind reeling. He felt sick. He felt the fuzz…
And then he was walking towards Randy, pleas of forgiveness already leaving his lips. He could barely hear the sound of one of the waitresses calling 911. He grabbed Randy’s shoulder. “Fuck, fuck, fuck… I’m sorry, Randy. Randy, I’m sorry…” he cried, tears dripping down his face as he tried to apply pressure to the bleeding wound. “I love you, Randy. I’m sorry… fuck…” he murmured. Sirens began to grow closer. Sobs left Benson’s mouth.
“Randy, I-” he stepped back, eyes wide. “I’m sorry, I… I can’t…” He began to pant. “I’m not… I’m not in control… I’m not in charge of… of me…”
Randy held his shoulder, looking at Benson with wide, pleading eyes. “Of course you are, Benson,” he assured gently as sirens grew closer. “You’re still in control, Benson."
Benson stood dead still, his body trying to pull towards Randy. He wanted to hold Randy, to protect him and kiss him and hold him. He felt the fuzz fighting to get to Randy, but he kept his feet planted, refusing. Officers pulled into the parking lot, getting out of their cars, guns drawn.
Randy called Benson’s name, but Benson only shook his head. “I was never in control, Randy,” he whispered, before he made up his mind. Dying was how he could protect Randy. If he died, all blame would be taken off Randy. If he died, the person who shot Randy would be dead.
Benson felt the fuzz release him and his drive to go to Randy, and instead it dragged him outside, forcing him to draw his gun and point it at the officers, who shot him down before he could fire a single shot. He collapsed onto the ground, pain flooding his body.
As he bled out, Benson stared at the sky above him, a few stars peaking through the thick humid sky. Nobody touched Benson as he died. He died alone, in the cold, as he had lived his life for years, and how he had planned to live it forever before the wish. He was glad that he was able to die holding that promise for himself. Thankful that he got his autonomy back, at least for his last moments.
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