seen from United States
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seen from United States
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seen from United States
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seen from United States
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@cxttonteethviolence
“I remember you. Not all that well. I was more worried about keeping the big boys away from my toys and, you know, whether I was going to see my mother again.”
Two packets of Splenda. Ice cold water. Negligible calories. Gives him something to do with his hands.
“You were a good guy back then. Still are. Uh. I mean. You were good to us kids.”
@crxwfish
“So. You’re a model.”
He’s never been great at conversation. The crowd whirls kaleidoscopic around them; Gideon steadies himself on the table.
“Is that—do you enjoy it, I mean?”
The vodka’s talking. Gideon leans back and listens.
@thundersflower
“So. Uh. About that kid.”
He’s been avoiding her since their last encounter, merely nodding to her as Janice hands the kids over.
“The pudgy white kid with the greasy hair.”
@cxttonteethviolence
His beard’s flecked with white. Behind his glasses Rendell’s eyes are liquid and red-rimmed. In the height of summer he’s wearing several layers.
“God, I’m sorry, Bunny.”
@thundersflower
“You’d be a great mom.”
His reptilian smile is uncannily familiar. Rendell runs a hand through his hair, bleary-eyed, and slumps forward like a collapsing sandcastle.
@fatherfailed
“That was probably an unfortunate metaphor.”
He draws into himself, hunching over, watching the clock to avoid Dr. Locane’s eye.
“I don’t have a self. No backbone. I just take whatever form people put me in.”
@expyy
The blond kid’s back.
Gideon keeps a safe distance as he packs up his biochemistry books; out of the corner of his eye he watches Sullivan.
It’s jarring to realize how normal this is all becoming.
Wake up hung over, stumble to class, sit in the back row and avoid drawing attention. Inevitably end up next to freaky Sullivan with the grunge-weirdo hair and the serene eyes.
“Hey,” he mumbles. It’s almost lost under the hubbub of premeds pouring out of the lecture hall. “Uh. Walter—“
(—don’t you have your own friends?)
“I, uh, I think this might be yours—“
The battered Baggie of quarters is Gideon’s, of course. He holds it out, knuckles white.
He’s seen Sullivan hoarding spare change.
@cxttonteethviolence
Pale and bleary he stares into the shop window. His reflection’s rumpled, gray in the cheeks.
“Kids, I don’t think—“
Gideon blinks, wiping his glasses. A second ago he’d have sworn the place was deserted, a husk of broken glass and urine-eaten linoleum. He could still taste the rot on the air.
The air conditioning hit him like a cool blanket. India and Maddox rushed inside, squealing “ice cream!”
Gideon shuddered as he followed them in. Shuddered—and held his tongue.
