Oh shit?! What’s that?! A bitch at 2K?! Looks fuckin like it. Honestly I wasn’t going to even going to do anything to commemorate the landmark but fuck it why not…
I’m calling this a collection, because I don’t like calling it a challenge really. We all love each other’s work so much. So really, this is a collection of other black fic writers—personally some of my favorites—and that’s why I love doing these things. I love seeing what my fellow writers and homies come up with and enjoy every single word of it. So fuck a challenge. A COLLECTION.
So if you know me, or read most of my work, you know my love for angst and drama and insane smut is so fuckin real. So for this collection, it’s a fuckin angst off. That’s right. Make me feel, make me cry, then turn me on. That’s the recipe. That’s the prompt.
Of course this is open to all muses. Whoever tickles your fancy for this type of story. But your options are:
Fluff smut: a little sweet, a little emotional. Banging out with love affirmations and weeping eyes. Lovey dovey but tug them heart strings.
Emo smut: emotional, heart wrenching, might make a bitch cry/feel some type of way, maybe rehash some old shit. Make that smut raw and real y’all.
Angry smut: Fuck that asshole but you can’t get enough of his dumbass type, fuckin broke your heart but damn that 🍌, angry rough sex, fueled by blind rage but their sex is volcanic. I know you know what I’m sayin.
Now what comes of muse and reader is entirely up to you. Maybe they work it out…maybe they stay broken up…maybe they meet years later and pick up all over again. WHATEVER. Thrill me dammit. I love a damn good story.
NO MINORS. 18+ UP ONLY. NO WEIRD SHIT. DON’T PLAY WITH ME.
Tag: #breakuptomakeup2k and tag me @fineanddandy or @olyvoyl. I’ll do better this time keeping up. I’m going to put all the stories on a master list.
No deadline. A no pressure type deal. If you feel inspo’d. You know I know what it’s like signing on to too much shit and getting overwhelmed. So I won’t trip when you do it. Just don’t forget to tag ya girl.
Race stared up at the figure who’d just killed the people next to him. He was afraid, no two ways about it. Whoever it was had just shot and killed the only people aside from the murderer he’d seen in weeks. And if he wasn’t scared he’d be next, he would have cried for them.
But the gun wasn’t aimed at him anymore. It was away, and he was being untied. “C’mon, we gotta get. They’ll be here soon.”
Race stood up, still terrified. “Why did you spare me?!” He panicked as he spoke, but he finished.
“Because you’re human, not like them.” The person, a man, said. “Now c’mon, or we’re dead.”
Race, knowing the truth of that statement, followed the crazy person with the gun. He could hear them now, in all honesty. Moans and shuffling in the distance. He couldn’t do this. This man, he’d just killed two people. What if he was next?
But it was a quick shot to the head, or getting eaten.
He’d take the gun, he guessed. So he followed the person. He couldn’t make anything out about this person. It was all covered by rags and denim and leather. Something about him made Race think, but he didn’t care much. His voice was familiar. Like Race had known him once, long ago, but he’d since forgotten.
They walked until nightfall, when they came to a shelter in the trees. There were no lights on, but high in the towering trees of the Catskills were wooden and metal structures. A whole city above the forest floor. But the person led Race past that. They walked and walked, until they reached the outskirts of the city in the trees. The moaning grew louder around them, but they had reached their destination. A old, wooden shack built on the very edge. Race couldn’t find any features this far below.
The person led him to a gated ladder. It must have been how they kept the city safe. But Race remembered building this. He’d spent so long trying to forget, but he remembered this gate. He had built it with Albert.
His Albert.
Who was dead.
Shaking his head to stop remembering, he climbed up the ladder after shutting the gate behind him. The gate needed three latches, a measure they had used in the early days when most of the corpses were still fresh. Now so many were too rotted to open a gate without a lock.
Climbing the ladder was just as he remembered. The holds were more worn than he remembered, probably from use. Race hadn’t been here in almost five years, this person must use this gateway a lot.
Which meant the shack above must be his now.
Race knew that someone else would have had to move in. Housing was limited, especially somewhere safe like this. But he wondered if Albert’s stuff was still there. Or if it had been thrown away, or re-used. There were only so many things they could do with it.
Once they were on the old, but still well maintained walkway, the person turned to him. Looking Race right in the eyes. One of his was milky white, blind, seemingly from a scar. But his voice still felt familiar. “He’s dead because of you.”
There was only one person he could have been talking about.
Race remembered that day clearer then his own name, no matter how hard he tried to forget.
It had been five years, six months, and a week ago almost to the day. Race and Albert had been on a normal trip into the city, for supplies. It had only been a little while since the end of the world, they were confident and young. They thought they may find something in the city.
“Okay Racer, here’s a easy one. Yankees or Red Sox?” Albert asked, trying to keep the mood light as they walked into a city far too quiet. Queens used to be someplace to be avoided. Now it was a ghost town.
“Cubs.” Race said, just to disrupt Albert’s expectations. He had still believed then, that everything would be okay in the end. That a cure would be found, that the world would recover. Something had to happen, something to set the world right again. Race, then, couldn’t imagine never walking through New York City again. He certainly never imagined living in this new world forever.
“Race, they won once in a hundred years.” Albert pointed out. Race had caught himself admiring Albert, proud to call him his boyfriend. Especially then, neither of them expected humanity to fall the way it had. They were blissful and in love, without care.
Neither of them saw the walker until it was too late.
And Race tried. He tried to kill it, but it wouldn’t die and Albert screamed and screamed. And Race couldn’t bear the thought of killing Albert. So he ran. He ran away from home, he ran far into the mountains. Never to look back to the city again. Never to even consider returning.
He wouldn't be able to take the guilt. He’d nearly broken down, with a gun in his mouth, because of it. Some days he still came close.
He’d killed his best friend, or as good as.
And he’d blocked that memory as best he could for five years, six months and a week, almost to the day.
But then it was fresh in his mind, and he fell to his knees on that old wooden walkway, hands in his lap. “Please just kill me..” He mumbled. He’d never see Albert in the afterlife. His Albie was in heaven, where he belonged. Race would suffer in hell, and he’d be happy, because Albie was okay and safe. He was happy up in the clouds of heaven. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”
But no such mercy came. Instead the person kneeled in front of him. “You know I can’t do that Racer.”
Race looked the person in the eyes. His single brown eye was so familiar, it hurt Race’s heart. He looked too much like Albert. His eyes held too much warmth and love and he said that old nickname that he hadn’t heard in so long.
But it wasn’t Albert. Albert was dead.
“You aren’t him.” Race said numbly. “He died, I let him die. I couldn’t kill him, but I did.” Race felt hot tears run down his face. “I killed him.”
The person lowered the scarf over his face. Race would know that face anywhere. Brown eyes, scattered light freckles, strands of fire red hair.
“Albie?” Race asked in a broken voice. “Oh my god Albie..” Race cried harder. Albert pulled him into a tight hug. It was as warm and comforting as Race remembered. He’d forgotten how stray tufts of Albert’s hair would poke his cheek, how he always had the faintest smell of nutmeg. Little details that rushed back to him as he sat crying in Albert’s arms, clutching him for dear life.
He wouldn’t lose him again, not ever.
It took half an hour to move inside. Albert and Race removed the layers of protective clothing, nothing but humans were up here. Albert’s arms were covered in huge white scars, like someone had gone over him with a lawnmower. Race had scratches and scars of his own. But he had a idea of how Albert got most of them.
It was all Race’s fault.
Albert sat next to him in a tank top. His blind side to Race, which could either mean he trusted Race to keep a lookout on that side or that he didn’t want to see Race. He wanted it to be the former, but knew it had to be the latter.
They sat in silence for a little while before Albert asked a simple question. “But for real, Yankees or Red Sox?” He turned to Race while he said it, eyes twinkling a little.
Race laughed. “Cubs! I will never change my answer Albie.” Albert cracked a smile, and Race did to.
“But now it’s been 10 years since they last won.” Albert pointed out, longish hair moving with him. Race tucked it behind his ear absentmindedly, moving it out of Albert’s eye.
“Yha, and I still love the Cubs. Suck it up buttercup.” He said with his trademark smile. He’d never forget the ease of conversation with Albert. Even when he’d tried to forget he’d always saved that detail even after he forgot his voice.
“It’s been too long since I heard your voice. Or your stupid insults.” Albert said sincerely.
“Shuddup and kiss me.” Race said softly. Albert obliged.
Race was walking back from the Sheepshead when he heard shouts coming from a newby alley. Hesitantly, he approached the opening and peeked in.
Race’s stomach dropped out from him. Albert was shoved against the wall of the alley, his lip and nose bleeding, trying desperately to hold his own against Oscar and Morris, who were approaching him menacingly. Morris had his knife out.
Race threw down his paper bag running toward them. “HEY! LEAVE HIM ALONE!”
Oscar and Morris turned around at the sound of Race’s voice, mischievous smiles playing on their faces. “Is this your little boyfriend, Dasilva? Has he come to save you?” Oscar teased.
Albert ignored him. “Race! What are you doing? Get out of here!”
Race shook his head, biting back tears as he approached the Delanceys. “Not without you!”
Morris gave him a sickenly sweet smile. “Good luck with that,” he snarled, slashing his knife blindly behind him into Albert’s stomach before grabbing his brother and running out of the alley.
Albert’s eyes flew open wide with shock and for one painful moment he made direct eye contact with Race, blood dripping from his shirt onto the dirty street before he collapsed.
“Albie, oh my god, Albie,” Race mumbled as he ran toward his fallen boyfriend on shaky legs. Albert was slumped against the wall, practically choking on his breath, eyelids fluttering dangerously, one hand partially obscuring the gaping wound in his stomach.
“Hey, hey, baby,” Race rambled, tears dripping down his cheeks. Albert wasn't going to make it. There was too much blood. He was breathing all wrong. They were too far from the house. But he had to try, he had to at least try. “Look at me, look at me, right at me. It’s gonna be okay, everything is going to be okay. I’m gonna get you back to the lodge, Mush is gonna fix you up. Just stay with me, baby, please.” He slid his arms around Albert, trying to lift him.
“No, no, ‘ace,” Albert slurred, wiggling out of Race’s grip. “‘S no use.”
“No, baby, its gonna be okay, i promise, just let me get you-”
“‘S not,” Albert said gently, opening his eyes all the way to look up at Race’s tear stricken face. “‘S okay, don’ cry, I ‘ad a good life, I go’ t’ be wit’ you.”
Race pulled Alberts head into his lap, one hand combing gently through his hair and the other firmly grasping Albert’s hand. “I know, I just wish we had more time.”
Albert gave him a pained smile. “We ‘ad all th’ ‘ime we needed.”
Race sniffled as a fresh round of tears filled his eyes. Even in the shadow of death, Albert still managed to be poetic. “I don't know what I’m going to do without you, Albie,” Race sobbed, leaning his head down on Albert’s shoulder. “You’re my everything. Who’s gonna steal my cigars in the morning? Who’s gonna make jokes with me at the gate? Who am I gonna cuddle with after a long day?” Race’s voice cracked as he fisted his hands in Albert’s hair.
“Shhhhh,” Albert whispered, draping one of his arms around Race’s back, he lacked the energy to provide any other comfort. “You’re gonna be fine, ‘ace. Jus’ keep goin’. Don’ cry when ‘m gone. Don’ let me stop you from livin’. ‘ou ‘till b’long ‘ere. Don’ try t’ follow me.”
Race nodded into Albert’s shoulder. What had he done to deserve him? And how was it that he was about to lose him?
Albert shifted, groaning in pain, and Race quickly sat up, murmuring reassurances. Albert reached up and, with some difficulty, removed his hat, letting his red hair spill into Race’s lap. Then he motioned for Race to lean down, and removed Race’s hat, putting his own in its place. “‘ere,” he mumbled, staring up at Race with tears in his eyes, “somethin’ t’ remember me by.”
Race quickly leaned down pressing a kiss to Albert’s lips, which he returned with desperation, suddenly very aware that this would be their last kiss. Fresh tears sprung into Race’s eyes at the thought. “As if I could ever forget you.”
Albert smiled, but it turned into a painful cough, wracking his weak body with sharp movements, blood splattering onto his lips.
“Shhhhh, shhh its okay, its okay,” Race soothed, rubbing Albert’s shoulder and squeezing his hand gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Te- tell th’ boys I love ‘em,” Albert rasped, his breathing now more irregular, “an’ not t’ miss me too much. An’ all my stuff, me shirts an’ stuff in m’ bunk, I want ya t’ ‘ave ‘em, ‘ace.”
“No, no, I couldn't.” Race continued to rub circles into Albert’s shoulder.
“Please, ‘ace?” Albert asked and Race couldn't say no to the desperation in his eyes. He nodded his head in confirmation.
Albert’s body was seized by another coughing fit, this one much more violent and intense. His eyes blinked closed several times, making Race’s heart clench. “C’mon, baby, look at me, one last time.”
At the sound of Race’s pleading voice, Albert’s eyes blinked open halfway and he gently squeezed Race’s hand. “I love ya, ‘tonio, don’ firget ‘t,” he mumbled in his barely there voice.
Race leaned down close to Albert, thumbing his fingers through his hair soothingly. “I love you too, Albie. So, so much.”
Albert gave Race one last smile before his eyes fluttered shut and the grip on Race’s hand released.
•••
Race jolted awake with a start, wiping away his tears and forcing himself to take a few deep breaths before dragging himself out of bed and towards the window. Almost as an afterthought, he grabbed Albert’s hat from the end of his bed.
Race climbed up the ladder to the roof to where he knew Jack was sleeping. Crutchie had opted to sleep inside tonight.
Jack was leaning against the rail, looking out over the city. Race wordlessly wandered over and joined him, his hands toying with the hat in his hands.
After a few minutes, Jack spoke up. “You had the nightmare again?”
“Yeah,” Race whispered. “I don't understand, Jackie, it’s been almost a year, why does it still happen? Why do I have to relive it every night?”
“I don't know, Racer,” Jack sighed, leaning over to place his hand on Race’s.
“It just makes it worse,” Race continued. “I know he’s gone. I know he’s not coming back. And then, every night I see the whole thing happen again. And then I wake up, and expect it to be a dream, that he’ll be there any second to reassure me that everything’s going to be okay, that he’s okay, but he’s not, Jack. He’s gone. He’s never coming back.” His voice cracked on the last word and he bowed his head in defeat, the cool New York air biting at his his tear stained cheeks.
“Truth hurts, doesn’t it?” Jack sighed, putting an arm around Race’s shoulders, holding him gently. Race tensed at first, he didn't like people touching him that much anymore, but then he relaxed into Jack’s embrace.
“I didn't try hard enough to save him,” Race sighed. “I could have brought him back here, we could have at least tried.”
“No, Race,” Jack said gently. “You did what he wanted. You made him comfortable. He just wanted to be with you one last time, and you gave him that.”
“I guess,” Race sighed. “Everything just feels so pointless without him here anymore.”
“He wanted you to keep living, right? That's what you told me?” Jack asked softly.
Race closed his eyes, reciting the words he had told him from memory. “You’re going to be fine, Race. Just keep going. Don’t cry when I’m gone. Don’t let me stop you from living. You still belong here. Don't try to follow me.”
“See,” Jack soothed, “He wants you here. You've done a great job, Race. I don't think I could have been as strong as you've been this past year.”
“It’s so hard though,” Race whispered. “I just want one more day with him. Is that too much to ask?”
Jack rubbed Race’s arms comfortingly. “Sometimes, the universe is a cruel place. You’ll see him again one day. I promise.”
•••
“One day” turned out to be a lot closer than Race had expected. About a month later, he was thrown in the refuge for stealing an apple from a street vendor. It wasn't his fault, he had been hungry and selling had been tough the last year without his partner in crime.
Snyder had locked Race in one of the basement rooms and beat him for mouthing off to a guard. Not that he really cared. He hadn’t cared about what happened to him in almost a year. He didn't have a boyfriend to come home to anymore, so what did it matter. He did stupid stuff, mouthed off to people, got in fights, and this time it had cost him.
Race groaned in pain, his ribs screaming from being kicked down the stairs, his back on fire from the lashes he’d received, and his leg was beginning to go numb, which he didn't think was a good sign. Race tried to keep his eyes open, but the darkness called out to him and it sounded so appealing that he allowed himself to slip away.
•••
When Race awoke he was laying on something - no wait, someone. There was a hand comfortingly stroking his hair and Race leaned into it, sighing in satisfaction. The pain was still there, but it was much duller than before, barely an ache and disappearing by the second.
“Dammit, Tonio,” a voice said from above him. “Everything was just starting to get better, and then you do this?”
Race sucked in a sharp breath. He’d know that annoyed voice anywhere. But, it couldn't be…
“Albie?” Race spoke the name of his boyfriend for the first time in a year, it felt foreign on his lips and his voice cracked, almost as if he had forgotten what it was like to be someone’s everything.
“Yes, Race, I’m here,” Albert said soothingly.
Race hesitantly opened his eyes, crying tears of happiness when he saw Albert’s face above him. He looked just as Race remembered, messy reddish hair, warm brown eyes, lightly freckled skin, glorious smile. He was wearing the same clothes as the last time Race had seen him, less the hat, which was firmly jammed on Race’s head. He even smelled the same, like freshly printed papers, and new york city, and lingering cigar smoke.
“I- but- you’re, you’re dead,” Race stuttered. “Does that mean I’m dead too?”
“Not quite yet,” Albert said, running his hand gently over Race’s face. “You’re getting there, though.”
Race lifted himself up slightly, looking around. “Where are we? This isn’t the refuge.”
Albert pushed him gently back down so his head was resting in his lap once again. “Shhh, stay down, okay? You’re hurt real bad, don't want it to get worse.” He paused. “We’re on the roof of the lodging house. I usually hang around you guys, its where I’m the strongest.”
“What do you mean?” Race asked, picking up Albert’s hand and holding it tightly. The pain in his back was beginning to return and he needed something to hold onto.
Albert gave him a soft smile. “I’m still around Race. I follow you when you go out selling every day, I’m standing right next to you when you're betting at the Sheepshead, I sleep next to you in the lodge every night. I’m always there when you wake up from that nightmare. And I wish I could comfort you, I really do,” he paused, sniffling, “It’s so hard to see you in pain, because of me.”
“You didn't do anything wrong, Al,” Race whispered. “Don't beat yourself up over this.”
Albert smiled slightly. “I told you not to cry over me when I was gone. And you still did.”
Race felt tears coming on. “It was hard not to, you were my everything. Heck, you still are my everything.”
“I know, I know,” Albert sighed. “But you were doing so good, Racey. So, so good. And then this happened. I told you to keep living, right?”
Race squeezed Albert’s hand tightly, repeating the words from that fateful day. “You’re going to be fine, Race. Just keep going. Don’t cry when I’m gone. Don’t let me stop you from living. You still belong here. Don't try to follow me.”
“And look, you tried to follow me,” Albert paused. “You never used to be that careless Race, what were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t.” Race winced, more pain shooting through his back and across his ribs.
Albert noticed immediately. “Baby? What is it? Talk to me, Tonio.” He stared at Race with a look of concern.
“Hurts,” Race said through gritted teeth.
Albert looked at him sadly before getting a far off expression on his face. “Jack’s pulling you out from the refuge,” he whispered.
“What?” Race’s face contorted in pain as he shifted in Albert’s lap.
“In the real world,” Albert looked down at Race, “Jack just rescued you from the refuge. He’s bringing you back to the house right now. If- if you're feeling pain, that means that you're going to make it.”
“What does that mean?” Race asked shakily, needing to hear it from Albert.
“You can’t stay here with me,” Albert whispered, his eyes filling with tears. “You have to back.”
Race felt his own tears spilling over. “But I wanna stay here with you,” he protested. “I just got you back, I can’t lose you again.”
“Shhhhhh,” Albert soothed, leaning down and pressing a gently kiss to Race’s lips. Race kissed him back desperately, trying to memorize the feeling of his lips, the way he tasted, everything. “You're getting a second chance, Antonio,” Albert whispered. “Aren’t you happy?”
“No,” Race wheezed, the pain was really setting in now. “I want to be with you. I can’t be without you, Albie. It nearly killed me when you died. I had to carry you back to the house, I had to explain to the boys what happened. I had to go to bed that night, knowing that you wouldn’t be there when I woke up. I had to keep living without my second half. I can’t go through that again, Albie. Let me stay with you, please,” he begged, clutching Albert’s hand as if he might disappear any second, which judging from his flickering, fading image was a high possibility.
“Tonio, listen to me, baby,” Albert said softly, tears clogging his voice. “You belong on Earth, living. You mean so much to all those boys down there, they’re all so worried about you. I can see it right now, Jack just put you on your bunk, Mush is pulling off you shirt, starting to clean your back. He’s crying. Romeo is hovering by the corner, and Specs is holding him back from jumping on you. Behind him is JoJo and Blink and Henry and Tommy Boy and everyone else. They’re all trying to hold it together. Elmer just ran out to go get Davey. They care about you, baby, they really do. They’ve already lost me, I don't want them to lose you too.”
“But I don't want to lose you,” Race sobbed. “Can’t I just have five more minutes? Is that too much to ask?”
Albert looked at him sadly, shaking his head. “No, Tonio, you have to go back. Don't try to follow me again. You're going to have a nice, long life. Don't rush it just to get back to me.”
Race’s vision blurred from his tears and the blinding pain that was becoming more intense every second. “Will I ever see you again?”
Albert nodded. “One day, I promise, Antonio, I’m not going anywhere.”
Race stared up at Albert’s fading image. “I don't want you to go,” he whispered in a pained, broken voice.
“Shhhhhh, just concentrate on living for me, okay baby?” Albert soothed, rubbing his hand through Races hair.
Race nodded weakly, his eyes began to flutter and he forced them to stay open.
“Tell the boys hello for me,” Albert whispered. “I love you, Antonio, don’t forget it.”
Race almost laughed at the irony as he stared up at the love of his life one final time. “I love you too, Albie,” he managed to choke out. “So, so much.” Then his eyes slipped closed.
•••
The next thing Race knew, he was laying on a soft bed, muted voices surrounding him. He let out a pained groan. Immediately, the voices subsided.
“Race?”
Race cracked open his eye to see Jack kneeling next to his bed, Mush, Romeo, Specs, Blink, JoJo, Henry, Elmer, Crutchie, Tommy Boy and Davey all standing behind him, holding their breath.
Tears were flooding Race’s eyes before he could even stop them and he shoved his head into his pillow, reaching one hand up blindly to feel for Albert’s cap which was still on his head.
“Whoa, hey, Race, its okay, you're okay, were at the lodge, everything's gonna be fine,” Jack soothed.
“I saw him, Jack” Race sobbed. “I saw Albert. He was okay. He talked to me. He-” Race gasped. “He sent me back here, told me to keep living.”
“Its okay, Race, its okay,” Jack rubbed his hand through Race’s hair.
Race let out another sob. Albert was wrong. He couldn't keep living without him. He wanted to be where Albert was. But he’d lost his chance. Now all he could do was wait and hope the wait wouldn’t be too long.
__________
I thrive off of other peoples pain hehehe
feedback is always appreciated hmu to be on the tag list
I know it’s like a bandwagon and I apologize but like...it looks like fun?
@marcusisaprettygay and I are going to do an angst off. We need seven judges so the first seven people to reblog it VERBALLY STATING that you want to be a judge will be used.
We agreed to put the rounds on here so you guys can choose if you want to read these (also because of triggers and stuff):
Death Angst
Break Up Angst
Happy Ending Angst
I will repeat this: SPECIFY THAT YOU WANT TO BE A JUDGE. Don’t just reblog.
The posts will be on HER BLOG.
Also we will mainly use the tag “max vs dragon fly” (it’s the first tag in the tag section of this post) so follow that because we may do other writing competitions in the future. Also make sure to use it when you reblog any of the posts.
The prompt: “You can’t just do something like that and expect everything to be fine the next day.”
---
Albert regrets that night.
He regrets not taking up Elmer’s offer to head back to the lodging house a little earlier, instead opting to grab some dinner with the little extra change he has in his pocket from a good selling day.
He regrets not going to Jacobi’s, instead trying a little corner deli a mile or so away from the lodging house (he passed it one day while selling, and he’s been curious).
He regrets lingering in the shop a little too long, talking with the nice man behind the counter until he realizes the sun has set. He takes a small bag of leftover food with him for Elmer.
He regrets taking a different route back to the lodging house, taking shortcuts through a few alleys to get home just a little sooner.
He finds trouble in one of those alleys in the form of the Delancey brothers.
They want his extra change. They want his food. They want to be power-hungry jerks, as usual, and Albert does not want to engage. He tries to push past them and leave, but that doesn’t work. He tries to turn around and leave that way, planning to find another way home, but he is grabbed from behind.
Albert reacts, spinning away from his attackers in an effort to face them, but his ankle twists and he falls to the ground, dropping his bag of food. He recovers quickly, but Morris and Oscar are already on top of him, dealing blow after painful blow. Albert is no stranger to fighting, and he swings out, managing to catch Oscar in the face and Morris in the gut. The brothers groan and grunt and draw back for just a second, out of Albert’s field of vision.
Then they’re back, and Morris has a switchblade in his hand. This has escalated far too quickly, and all Albert wants to do is get away. He struggles under Oscar, who’s pinning him by the shoulders, shoving him into the rough cobblestones. Albert, who thinks he can’t have much to lose, headbutts Oscar as hard as he can, ignoring the stars that dance in his vision when he does. It works. Oscar crumples to the ground, not unconscious but nearly there, and Albert moves to get up.
Morris comes at him suddenly with the switchblade, and Albert acts completely on instinct. He dodges the knife and shoves Morris as hard as he can. Morris drops the weapon, Albert scrambles to pick it up-
-and shoves it in between Morris’ ribs.
The Delancey freezes for a split second, then drops to the ground like a sack of rocks. Oscar is lying on the ground nearby, still clutching his head. He hasn’t seen what’s happened yet.
Albert runs. He turns on his heel and flees the alley, not caring that his head is pounding and every step is more painful than the last.
He doesn’t stop running until he reaches the lodging house, slamming open the front door before almost literally running into Elmer, who’s in the front hallway. He has boots on his feet and a cap shoved over his messy hair, and he looks like he was about to leave, but he stops short when he sees Albert.
“Al?” Elmer whispers. “I was just about to go lookin’ for you. Where’d you go--wait, fuck, is that blood?” He grabs Albert’s arm, pulls him closer, starts looking for invisible injuries. “You look awful. Are you bleedin’?”
“It’s not mine,” Albert says, staring at the floor. He doesn’t think he can make himself look Elmer in the eyes right now. “It’s Morris’.”
“Morris Delancey?” Elmer’s face pales. “Albert, what the fuck happened?”
“He and Oscar jumped me on the way back here. They wanted my money. Morris pulled a knife and...” Albert finds that his knees are shaking. “I got it from ‘im. I barely even knew what I was doin’, Elmer. I didn’t mean to.”
“You stabbed Morris Delancey.” It’s a statement, not a question, and for some reason it makes Albert angry.
“He was gonna stab me first!” His voice is too loud, but Elmer doesn’t shush him. “You don’t understand, El. I don’t know what they were thinkin’, but...I was fightin’ for my life. But it’s fine. He was alive when I left. I know he was.”
“Albert, that doesn’t mean he’s gonna be alive tomorrow,” Elmer says. He shakes his head. “You...you can’t just do somethin’ like that and expect everything to be fine the next day. This is bad.”
“I know.”
“The Delanceys...they know people. Bad people.”
Albert sighs. “I know,” he says again.
“They’re goin’ to come for you.” Elmer’s voice shakes. There are tears in his eyes. He grabs Albert’s hands in desperation.
A third time. “I know.”
And they both know that there’s nothing they can do about it.
Requested: This was my piece for Mine and @booksbroadwayandbagels Angst Off! Stay tuned for the Ultimate Angst Off to determine who the Queen of Angst is one and for all! Between myself and @well-the-kids-do-too
“Is this a game to you?” Race roared staring Spot down. They were standing on opposite sides of the living room, rage radiating from both of them.
“What do you fucking think?” Spot scoffed crossing his arms.
“At this point,” Race said standing up straighter, “I don’t even know.”
A look of betrayal crossed Spot’s face before the anger returned. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I donno, Sean! Maybe it means you refuse to let me in! I just want to help you. I don’t remember the last time you talked to me!”
I’m talking to you right now.” Spot’s voice was suddenly low and quiet.
“Maybe, but you’re not listening. You’re not listening to me. I’m trying to talk to you.”
“I’m listening Tony. I am.”
It was quiet for the first time in the last hour.
“I just want to love you.” Race whispered finally. Tears were rolling down his cheek, reflecting the setting sun from the window.
“I’m not stopping you.” Race had never heard Spot so quiet, and that just made him angrier.
“Yes you are! We used to be perfect! We used to be the it couple, Spot! Even straight people wanted to be us! What happened?”
“Nothing happened.” It wasn’t convincing.
“You started pulling away. You wouldn't kiss me, or hug me, let alone touch me. I don’t understand!” Race was screaming again, rivers of tears streaming down his face.
“You shouldn’t want to understand!” Spot screamed back, now just as angry.
“You should never want to know what is in my head! Someone like you couldn’t handle it.”
“Someone like me?” Race asked in surprise.
“That’s not what I meant.” Spot tried to protest.
“What did you meant then? I’ve been through hell and back to be with you. I’ve been beaten, assaulted, hell I almost fucking died for you Spot! I could be dead! I’ve given you everything Sean. And what do i get in return? A broken glass?” Race gestured to the shattered glass the littered the middle of the living room. The thing that started all of this. “A broken heart?”
Spot looked at the wall ashamed. He never meant for this to happen. For any of this to happen.
“I can’t keep living like this, Sean.” Race whispered. His voice, along with his soul, shattered at the end.
And what came next was the final blow.
“Then leave.”
Those two words changed Race’s life. And ended it.
“Wish I had never met you.”
Race watched at Spot took a step back in shock. Spot regretted the words as soon as he said them, but by the time he tried to take it back the front door was slamming close.
Spot stood for what could have been ten minutes or five hours, he wasn’t sure. The sky was dark by the time he moved.
It was sudden, like Atlas had dropped the weight of the world onto his shoulders.
He crumpled to the ground, knees digging into the glass that had been broken only hours before. He could barely feel the pain in his legs, that of his heart was too overwhelming.
Spot feared that he may have just thrown away everything. Everything he has worked towards. Everything he has built. And everything he has loved. All thrown away by one badly placed comment. Or, maybe it was more than that. Maybe things had been going wrong for a while, but he was so caught up in his head that he didn’t even notice.
Spot didn’t think it couldn’t get any worse. Boy, was he mistaken.
It had to have been a few hours since Race had left. Spot was pacing the kitchen, not having bothered with the glass and blood in the living room. His phone rang and he stopped dead in his tracks.
Spot lunged to the device and answered, not even checking the caller ID.
“Hello?” He asked frantically.
“Hello, is this Sean Conlon?” A stoic female voice asked.
“This is him.”
“I’m calling from Manhattan Central Hospital.”
And Spot thought that nothing else could break his heart.
“There’s been an accident.”
“What happened?”
“Antonio was helping the victims of a three car collision when-” The woman paused, not sure how to continue. “He was involved in a hit and run.”
Was. Was. No. Nononononononono-
“He was pronounced dead at the scene.”
Spot almost didn’t go to the funeral. Race wouldn’t have wanted everyone to make such a fuss over him. In the end it was David who convinced him to go.
Race always talked about how he wanted his funeral to be fun. To be a celebration of his life. But, that wasn’t what happened. No one could bear to celebrate when something so horrible had happened.
It shouldn't have ended like this. Spot kept repeating the words in his head. He died thinking you hated him. You told him to leave!
He didn’t say anything until the service had ended. It was pouring rain. Spot was standing next to the grave, tears mixing with the storm. The weather seemed fitting.
Spot heard footsteps behind him but didn’t move. He couldn’t. Those last words still ring in his ears. I can’t live like this.
“It’s getting late.” Spot recognized the voice immediately. Albert, Race’s best friend. “You’re going to get sick if you stand out here any longer.”
“I don’t care.” Spot mumbled, still staring at the headstone.
Antonio Shea Higgins
1997-2018
Beloved Son, Brother, Teacher, Friend, and Boyfriend.
“I wish I could take it all back.” Spot was angry with himself. This was all his fault.
“Spot-”
“I could have saved him!” Spot was yelling but he didn’t care.
“You couldn’t have done anything, Spot!” Albert was yelling too. His black umbrella long forgotten. “Would you get over yourself?”
“Get over myself?” Spot roared in shock. :The love of my life is dead! Fucking dead! And my last words to him were “Leave”! You don’t know what I’m going through!”
“I love him too!” Albert screamed. Spot stopped cold.
“I loved him too.” it was quieter this time. Spot watched as Albert took a deep breath and stood up straight. When he spoke next his voice was calm and even, which hurt more than yelling.
“You got everything i ever wanted. And what did you do? You threw it all away for your own giant ego. So yeah, get over yourself Sean. You’re not special.”
As Spot watched Albert walk away his heart was crushed to dust.
