Compos Mentis 11
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Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, chronic health issues, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: After a long court case, your mother stays attached to her lawyer, bringing even more contention into your life.
Characters: Andy Barber
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There’s a weight on your chest. Not in it. There’s a warmth that’s soothing. Not the heat of shame or the sear of your mother’s wrath.
You move your hand up the cotton. Not a blanket. Something thinner. Then you feel flesh, not your own. Hair, thick, soft. Your fingers sink into the strands as your eyes open.
You look up at the ceiling as Andy’s quiet snores are smothered in your sleeve. His head rests on your shoulder as one of his arms hooks under you. You have one around him too.
You blink. The heat turns sweltering at the realisation of your proximity. You don’t know how it happened. You don’t remember. Not when you fell or asleep or how you ended up like this.
You’re not just confused. You’re scared. You don’t want to wake him up. He’ll find you like this and what if he gets mad? Your mother hated to be woken up.
Andy snorts suddenly. You flinch. He shifts. Your heart plunges.
He rolls his head on your shoulder then lifts it. He jerks and looks up at you. You shyly lower your eyes to meet his. It’s an awkward angle.
You feel his strength coil through him. He pushes himself up. He blinks as his eyes flit back and forth.
“Umm,” he swallows and sits back against the couch. “I’m… sorry. I… I must’ve been tired. How–?”
You sit up and drag yourself against the armrest. You make yourself as small as you can.
“I don’t know.” You utter. “I’m sorry, Andy. I…”
“Fell asleep,” he tries to tidy his hair but only makes his stick up. “You shouldn’t be sorry. I am. I was tired.”
“It’s okay.” You say. “We both were…”
He searches around. He feels in the cracks of the couch and shuts off the television. He coughs and sets the remote down.
“I…” He rubs his cheeks. “I don’t think I’ve slept that heavily in…” He sighs and stands up. “Coffee. Yeah. I need some. How about you?”
He leaves so quickly you can’t respond. Not that it matters. You don’t drink coffee. Before, when you thought you were sick, you avoided caffeine as much as you could.
You stay on the couch. You don’t want to follow Andy in case he doesn’t want you to. In case he’s mad.
You stare at the floor. You should do something though. Clean something. Help, somehow…
You’re stuck like that. Indecision and fear. It was easier with your mom if only in that you knew how she’d react. She was always angry. She was never pleased.
“Hey, look,” Andy appears in the doorway. “Sorry.” The coffee machine grinds dully. “I didn’t mean to run away like that. I’m… I need coffee and…” He chuckles as you look over your shoulder at him. He looks down. “Pants.”
He backs up and sweeps away. You forgot he was in his boxers. It’s easy enough to pretend they’re shorts. Thinking about how they’re not, makes you nervous.
You get up. Your pajamas aren’t much better. And you don’t have a bra on either. Oh boy.
You go upstairs to the room you’re staying in. As you get to the door, another opens. Andy steps out. He’s in jeans but his button-up is undone. He gives a start.
“I thought you were downstairs.” He says.
“Oh, sorry, I thought… I was going to change.” You stammer.
“Sure, sweetie.” He exhales loudly. “So… coffee.”
“I don’t drink it. Sorry,” you murmur as you turn the door handle, refusing to look back at him.
“Right, sorry. Something else?”
“No, I’m fine,” you eke out and quickly flit into the room.
You spin and shut the door behind you. How awkward was that? Ugh. You’ve overstayed your welcome already. As much as he keeps saying he wants to help and actually helping, you just don’t feel right. No one just gives things, do they? Your mom always expected something back.
You sift through the clothing folded in the drawers. You washed all the new ones and put them away. It kept you busy but not for long.
You pull on a skirt with polka dots. Oh, it’s not as long as you thought. You put a short sleeve blouse on with it, the hem just barely meeting the skirt. Hm. You miss your jeans and sweatshirts. This feels like too much.
You hurry across to the bathroom with your pouch of toiletries. Another generosity from Andy. The debt grows and grows.
You wash up at the sink and put your things back in the room. ‘Your things’. Not really, right? It’s his house, he spent the money, and he’s doing everything else.
You tiptoe downstairs. You hear him in the kitchen before you peek in. He sucks his teeth as he holds onto and open cupboard door and browses inside.
He shuts it and shakes his head. He taps his fingers on the counter then grabs the mug in front of him. He turns and brings it to his lips. His eyes widen as he sees you and he misses his mouth. The coffee spills down his button-up, staining the white fabric.
“Sh–oot,” he hisses. You know he was going to say something else.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” you search around and scurry over to grab the dish cloth hung on the stove handle. “Uh, here.”
As you near him, he’s unbuttoning his shirt. You recoil and clutch the cloth as he growls and strips off the shirt. Your mouth falls open at the sight of his bare torso. There’s hair on his chest, thinning down his stomach, a steady trail disappearing down his jeans.
“Uh, uh…” you stammer as he turns to rinse the shirt in the sink. “I’m sorry, Andy.”
“It’s fine, sweetheart.” He insists as he stretches the stain under the water, “Put some dish soap on it?”
“Ummmmm, sure.” You put the cloth down and reach for the bottle of soap. You press right against him to get to it. He doesn’t seem bothered.
“Go on, put it all over.” He orders.
You squirt the soap onto the stain, coating it. He puts his hand under the fabric to keep it flat. You put the bottle down and take a step back as he continues to rinse his shirt.
“I hope it’s not ruined,” you bite your lip, eyes straying as his arm flexes. The muscle is round and bulging as he holds the shirt under the faucet. “I didn’t–”
“Stop, you don’t have to be sorry,” he assures. “Alright, sweetie.”
“I know but…” you bounce on your feet and wring your hands. “But your shirt.”
“Just a shirt.” He shuts off the faucet and examines the fabric. “I got enough to last me.”
He lets the shirt hang over the edge of the sink and he turns. He looks down at his torso and the speckled moisture on the hair. There’s a bit of redness at the top of his chest.
“Damn, coffee was hot…” he mutters.
“Are you burnt?” You ask. “Erm,” you reach for the dishcloth, “here.”
“Maybe a little,” he says as he takes the cloth and blots at his chest. “I’m fine. Promise.”
“Mm,” you hum as your eyes follow his hand over his torso. Your face is on fire.
You turn, half-frantic, and notice the little puddles on the floor. You grab some paper towel and get down to sop up the dregs. You crumple up the wet three-ply as Andy steps closer.
You look up as he almost stands over you. Your head is right… there. He offers his hand.
“Come on,” he says.
You give him your hand and let him help you up. He squeezes and drags his touch up your arm. You only realise then, you’re shaking.
“You’re not in trouble.” He trails his hand back down and takes the paper towel from you.
“I know, I’m sorry.”
“Please,” he waves away your apology and turns to toss the towel. “I’m gonna go get a new shirt.”
“Right, uh… okay.”
You nod and turn away. You wait until he’s gone. It’s only then your brain starts working.
You grab the mug and rinse it off. You dry it and pour more coffee from the pot. You leave it on the counter.
You turn and teeter on your feet, rubbing your palms together nervously. Andy reappears, cautiously entering as he looks for you. His brows twitch.
“I got you more… coffee.” You say.
“Aw, sweetie. You didn’t have to.”
“I know but I… ruined the first one.”
“Nah, don’t worry. I’m just… not used to having someone around.” He crosses to the counter. “Grab me the milk please?”
“Oh, sure, I guess I didn’t… ask.”
You turn and open the fridge. It takes a moment to find the carton. You take it out and give it to him. He pours a small dollop in his mug.
He comes toward you and you back away. He opens the fridge and puts the milk back himself. He looks over at you.
“I should clarify, I don’t mind having you around.” His lips curve softly. “Just in case…” he pauses as his eyes zero in. “Honey, you’re not scared of me, are you?”
“Um, well, no, I don’t think…” you ball up your fists and rock nervously. “It’s just… I don’t know…”
“It’s just you keep staring at me, you know?” He says. “Not that I mind but you know I wouldn’t want you to be afraid.”
“I– I’m not.” You stutter.
“I hope not,” he nods and goes back to his mug. “Oh, I was going to ask before I made this big mess, what do you like? If you don’t drink coffee.”
“Er, oh, I don’t need… anything.”
“Maybe not need, but do you want anything? Tea or…” he trails off.
“Sometimes I drink tea, but… no, it’s not important,” you shrug and cross your arms.
“If it’s what you like, it’s important,” he insists. He takes a drink and sighs. You frown. His eyes narrow. “What?”
“It’s just… I’ll pay you back.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, I’ll pay you back. For the clothes and… my mom has control of my trust but I could… talk to the bank–”
“A trust? For your settlement money?” He asks.
You nod. “Yeah, she said–”
“She never told she did that,” he intones. His brows furrow. “Why would she put it in a trust? It’s your money.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know. She said it was important. And she had me talk to that other lawyer–”
“Another lawyer? Sweetie,” he puts his mug down. “Are you sure she put it in a trust?”
“Well, I… she said so.”
“Did you sign anything? You got paperwork? Some sort of statement?” He goads.
“Oh, oh,” you put your hands up as your scalp gets all speckly. “I don’t know, Andy. I don’t know. I didn’t– ask and… I don’t know. But– that money… it isn’t mine, anyway? Now I’m not sick!” You fan yourself as you get all hot. “So I can’t pay you back–”
“Shhh, sweetie,” he nears and tries to touch you. You flinch away and clutch your head. “Woah, you gotta calm down.”
“Don’t be mad at me, please. I– I didn’t mean to lie.”
“No, you didn’t. She did.”
“But I should’ve known,” you gulp as you struggle to breathe. Everything crashes down at once. Your mom, the cops, the money, the lies. “I should’ve known. How could I not know?”
“You gotta breathe,” he girds as he holds his palms out.
“But– but– but—” you babble.
“Hey, hey,” he grabs you and pulls you into a hug before you can evade him again. He cradles your head with one hand as his other spreads across your back. He rubs up and down as he rocks you. “Sweetie, you’re okay, alright? Just, take it easy.”
“I didn’t know…” you murmur.
“I know, sweetie. I know. You’re a good girl. You’re not in trouble. Remember? We agreed. No one’s getting in trouble,” he coaxes.
You sniffle as he locks you in his arms. His warmth swelters through you and adds to the helplessness that has you jittery. Still, you can’t bring yourself to pull away. You don’t want him to hate you too.
Without your mom, you don’t have anyone else.
