* & // BECAUSE OF YOU, i'm ruined. i want to stop. i don't want you anymore. i can't do this anymore. please don't give me any excuses. you can't do this to me. all of the things you said are like a mask. it hides the TRUTH and rips me apart.
he’s been staring at the page for god knows how long – the page ripped right from laura’s file. the cold, hard evidence that she betrayed them. he remembers looking at this page last year, remembering what it was like to be stabbed by her, both literally and figuratively. he hears the door click open and he feels his heart skip a beat, because there’s no way he’s going to hide his shaking and crying from the person. there’s also no where to put the page. so he decides to let out the weakest, tiniest, ❝ i’m fine. ❞
he’s quite distracted — then again, he’s practically always distracted at this point. he’s always looking one way then the other and oh, something else distracts him. however, hearing the softest mutter of ben’s voice has him faltering in his steps. parker’s gaze lifts to look at the other; an eyebrow raised in clear disbelief. unfortunately, parker’s not the best at doing the whole comfort thing. but it’s ben. he tilts his head to the side, walking a little closer to him, fingers grazing the warm skin of ben’s arm. ❝ you’re not, huh ? don’t lie to me. ❞ he mumbles, eyebrows knitting.
You’re trying not to tell him you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you don’t even have a name for.
but it’s not okay. nothing about this is okay. he feels like shit, complete and total shit and there’s nothing that can help him at this point. as much as he wishes that parker’s words helped, that his arm and the blanket helped him, they just don’t. he’s crying still, nuzzling into parker’s side and practically falling into his lap as he buries his face in the material of the other’s shirt. his eyes are squeezing shut and ian was trying his hardest to clear his head – he can’t have a flashback right now. he can’t imagine it again, not after the fact that he almost just had sex with parker and he’s terrified that parker’s face will be on that that body. that’s happened before. one of his old therapists said something inadvertently cruel and in his next memory, it was his therapist’s face and not alexander’s. he wasn’t too distraught over losing the therapist though, but he simply can’t lose parker, he means far too much to even stomach the thought of losing him. so he’s nuzzling deeper into the material of his shirt, breathing shakily and shaking his head.
parker’s fingers gently comb through ian’s hair, allowing the other to climb onto his lap ( despite their rather large size difference — he can’t bring himself to really think about that in that moment though ) and nuzzle close. typically, he wouldn’t be too keen on this, the whole emotional connection and everything in between sets his mind off into other places but he manages to keep himself collected; for ian that is. he feels as though he should possibly say something to ian, a word of encouragement or endearment, but nothing seems to be working so he remains quiet and shifts his body slightly, allowing himself to wrap around ian in a gentle and caring manner. pressing his lips so gently against ian’s temple, he continues brushing his fingers through ian’s hair ( it’s quite soft ). as much as the words ‘you’re going to be okay’ desperately want to leave his lips, parker doesn’t know if it’s true. he’s never dealt with this kind of stress, with this kind of pain that someone’s had to deal with. the atmosphere around them is sad, the glum colors from the sky outside reflect into the room, painting the walls with a soft blue hue that parker can’t help but look at as his fingers continue to touch ian’s hair, again, and again, and again.
the more parker thinks about it, the more he realizes that everyone he loves ended up dying, one way or another. everyone ended up dying.
there they stand. they’ve made it. their jobs are done. it’s about then that parker realizes that one of them won’t make it. it’s a predictable scenario. the grass tickles his ankles as he gazes at the helicopters overhead, the sunset that surrounds them leaves a gentle, comforting yellow-pink hue to their skins and it’s like a warm blanket for what’s to come. parker’s gaze travels to abel, he looks up at the sky with the slightest smile on his lips. the sun, he’s the sun, parker remembers thinking. they’ve told the helicopters above them that the device in their hands is connected to a nuclear power plant — if they do not withdraw, parker presses the button. however, there is no power plant. they’ve finished that. and this, this is only secondary to them. abel’s smile gleams up at the u.s. helicopters and the detective that had been following them for months on end calls to them desperately —
‘ why did you do this ?! come back ! … why are the u.s. forces here ?! ’
parker waits for abel to do something, anything — yet he just stands there. his hands are shoved deep into his jean pockets, his white shirt makes him quite noticeable in the darker field as the sun lowers itself slowly into the mountains. abel’s hair goes wild, it’s gotten longer over the past few months, blowing all around his face as the harsh winds from the helicopters beat down on them. they’re not moving. it’s as though everything is still in that moment and parker hopes that they can stay there forever. it’s so peaceful, serene. like nothing can harm them anymore, they’re finally safe from everything in the world that had tried to grasp them with their fingertips poisoned with death. they had escaped the soft whispers and toxic words that would’ve been injected into their tired bodies. parker tears his gaze from abel, and focuses on the detective. the detective knows why they did what they did — parker and abel both know this. their conversation with the man had been brief, but concise in details and plans and everything in between. their story would be out there.
‘ we did it to show our story. possibly not the best way to go about it, but the world never listens. they turn blind eyes to those who scream and shout — the only way to get such a hateful world to listen is to cradle it with palms driven by death, hatred and revenge. then the world will turn to you, and listen. regardless of what you’ve done. ’
in the deafening silence, the winds begin to whisper and tickle at parker’s ears, the shouting of the detective soon falling silent and for a moment, parker believes he’s gone deaf. inhaling the cool, crisp air — parker thinks of life after. maybe their life will be normal, maybe they’ll be fine — nothing bad could happen to them now. fuck. they felt immortal. everything was so incredibly perfect —-
‘ perfection, parker, in this world, doesn’t exist. we’ll never be a part of a family, never have a home — we’ll stay vagabonds. and it was never our fault, y’know ? ’
the shot was perfectly aimed straight at abel’s chest, the red liquid staining his shirt so quickly that parker didn’t have time to react or press pressure against the wound. bile began to creep up into his throat and make it burn, his eyes blurring with the sudden onslaught of tears — his limbs were like lead. abel’s frame slowly begins to crumble and fall to the floor — face contorting into one of horror and pain — the sun falls behind the mountains and the moon begins to peak overhead. parker’s lips part as he gazes as the one person he’s grown to trust’s blood begins to spread across the grassy floor. parker’s knees give way as he, too, falls to face abel. fingers desperately begin to search for a pulse — anything, anything at all would do. but there is nothing, abel’s skin begins to look paler than it had moments ago, his body begins to flush cold and parker’s sobs are the only thing resonating throughout the field. the helicopters withdraw, flying back to wherever they had come from, leaving the detective, parker, and the dead boy who smiled like the sun alone.
past experiences help shape who we are currently, how we see the world. Send in a symbol and I’ll write a drabble of one of my muse’s memories.
❥ — a childhood memory
♣ — a fading memory
✂ — a vivid memory
✖ — a repressed memory
✈ — an eye-opening memory
✤ — a memory that involves romance/love
☤ — a memory of death/loss
✍ — a memory of their mother
☽ — a memory of their father
♘ -- a memory of their sibling(s)
✌ — a memory of a relative
↕ — a memory that may or may not have happened
♚ — a memory of something paranormal
✓ — a sexual memory
♬ — a friend/best friend memory
he never thought he’d tell anyone this. it’s something so personal, so intimate that he honestly never imagined he’d be sharing it with someone else. but here he was, crying into his sweatpant clad knees as parker reads over his words. he wishes he could string together his thoughts in a way that made more sense, made it easier to read over but as of right now, he couldn’t be less concerned with the way his words had sounded. the boy needed to get it out of his system, needed to make sure that parker fully understood why he can’t speak and why he can’t be touched in certain ways. some part of him wishes that he’d told parker sooner and got it over with but there’s no way he could’ve avoided what he’s feeling right now — shame, guilt, dirty. it hasn’t happened in 5 years and yet he’s still sitting here, feeling as dirty and used as the first time he was touched. after swallowing a lump in his throat and exhaling shakily, his dark eyes leave the material of his jeans and look at parker, tears staining his cheeks as he shakes his head slowly. it’s not hard to believe that he’s having a difficult time accepting that this is actually happening, that he actually just told parker his biggest secret, right?
the entire room is practically silent, parker’s words drowned out as the complete absence of sound begins to take over entirely. parker’s never been good with comfort ; there’s a lack of communication between them at first, soft blue eyes focusing on the other. parker reaches up onto the bed, tugging down a random blanket — it’s gray and rather fluffy. it’ll do. shifting his body forward, parker slips closer to ian, fingers nimbly moving the blanket around the other boy, he pauses and looks at ian once more. with a gentle, almost fragile-like touch, he tilts ian’s chin upward. when their eyes connect, he simply gives ian a reassuring nod as though to say ‘it’s okay. i’ve got you.’ it’s around then that parker begins to realize that although there is no vocalization between them, the feelings and emotions between them are still so vividly strong. seating himself besides ian, he wraps an arm around the other and moves once more, lips slowly pressing against ian’s temple. ‘ you’re okay. we’re okay. ’ the words are only spoken as reassurance, not just for ian, but for parker as well.
he thought he was ready, really he did. the boy had thought it over, stewed over the idea of moving into a physical relationship with parker and somewhere along the way he’d probably convinced himself that he was ready, that he was past everything that happened and he was able to be touched like that again. but the second they moved past their normal kissing, he froze. he couldn’t breath, couldn’t see straight. his hand had tightened around parker’s arms before he was pushing other off with force he didn’t know he possessed and now he was sitting on the floor with a notebook in hand, scribbling away anxiously. he owes parker an explanation — he needs to know why he stopped so suddenly. it took him a while to actually write it out before he was handing the notebook to parker, drawing his legs to his chest and burying his face in his knees as the familiar feeling of tears begins to sting his eyes.
it started when i was eight. thats when he first touched me. said that
all good boys let other people touch them like that. i didnt want him
to tell my mom i was a bad boy so i let him. i dont know why i let him.
i shouldnt have let him. it’s my own fault, really. i didnt tell anyone
what he was doing. maybe if i had told someone i could actually talk
to you or be a proper boyfriend instead of freaking out the minute
something i’m not used to happens. ————————————
he told me that i had to be a good boy or he would punish me more,
make it hurt more so of course i obliged. i was quiet for him. “cant
have the neighbors my pretty boy’s sounds”. he said that a lot. i never
put two and two together until after it had all happened.. it happened for
7 years. until my mom walked in one day and pulled him off of me.
they fought. we went to my grandma’s and grandpa’s and she had a
bloody nose and bruised ribs. he eventually went to jail and my mom
got a new job in a new city but i still think about at night. it keeps me
up. im sorry, parker. im sorry im a bad boyfriend and im sorry i cant
do things normally and im sorry i cant sit down and talk and im sorry
that i have to write instead of speak and im just fucking sorry.
parker hadn’t been expecting any of this — he hadn’t expected most of it to go on or the kissing to escalate ; although he wasn’t objected to it either. except things had suddenly gone rigid, ian’s body had gone stiff and parker hesitated — had he done something wrong ? sure, parker had a habit of screwing up a lot of things but… but for once he thought possibly things were going right. eyes trained on the white wall, he presses his lips together in an attempt to put the puzzle pieces together, not noticing the feverish scribbling on paper until he snapped out of his own miserable train of thoughts. taking the notebook cautiously in his hands, he eyes the words carefully. the bile begins to creep up into his mouth and his heart begins to race at the words that are so roughly written. it begins to make sense. and sudden grief falls over him. sudden guilt. all of those times he had been wishing to hear ian’s voice — and now understanding why ian never did want to speak. parker finds himself putting the notebook on the bed, sitting down in front of ian. ‘ i still love you, you know that, right ? you’re not a terrible boyfriend. you’ve been the best boyfriend for putting up with all of my shit. ’ his voice barely above a whisper, he makes sure to give ian space at first before making any sudden movements.
ben, does it ever worry you that parker might end up getting hurt because of you?
MY MUSE IS UNDER TRUTH SERUM — ACCEPTING.
he thinks it’s wrong that he almost laughs. ( he also thinks it’s wrong that he thinks about this every night when parker is laying in his arms. )
slender fingers drum at the surface of the desk, and he studies the pattern of the wood. all the swirls and changes of colour. to the outsider looking in, one might think he’s calm and just prolonging answering the question. on the inside, he’s debating. his head is spinning and for a moment, when he thinks of parker getting hurt because of him, he feels light headed and he almost asks to leave the room.
although, it’s something he’s used to. when parker is asleep next to him, ben is up. staring at the ceiling, wondering about whether or not parker is going to get hurt the next day. whether or not he’s going to lose the other, and just to torture himself, he’ll think of all the possible ways that parker can get hurt to him. then, with tears falling down his cheeks, he manages to find some peace in a couple hours of sleep before the nightmares come. a lot of the time, he lies and says they’re about laura and his torture. most of the time it’s about losing parker.
( he doesn’t think it’s very healthy to be dreaming about it every night. )
although, when he opens his mouth to speak, he manages to find his way around spilling all of that. he finds away to keep it all his dirty little secret still. so he speaks the truth —-
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