Happy Birthday
Original Fiction
Word Count: 2,268
Warnings: Mentioned Abuse, Brief Suicidal Ideation
TC: Happy birthday dude! 🎂 🎉
IC: thanks
TC: Are you working?
IC: No. I missed my shift
TC: That sucks. Everything ok?
IC: yeah i just got locked out
TC: Of your house?
IC: yeah. I think my dad changed the locks cuz my key doesn’t fit anymore
And he’s not home so
TC: You’re outside right now? Are you okay?
IC: yeah
Just fucking cold
There’s snow everywhere
I went over to that one corner store but they kicked me out for loitering so
Ngl i kinda wanna die right now lol
TC: where are you?
IC: the park across from my house
TC: me and my mom are pretty close by. We’re going to come pick you up
IC: ok
~~~
Ian couldn’t feel his fingers anymore.
They’d skated past the miserably cold stage about an hour ago, and settled into the slightly numb and painful stage. Now he couldn’t feel them at all, and they were like clumsy icicles stuck to his hands than actual digits as he used them to scroll through his texts and see if Taylor had responded to him.
Nothing yet. Ian clicked the lock button and shoved his phone and his hand back into his coat pocket. The battery was at 12%. Probably a good idea not to waste it.
At least the wind had stopped blowing. Ian had swept the snow off of the park bench he’d taken shelter on before sitting down on it, but he could still feel his jeans and the back of his coat getting soaked through. He’d pulled his legs up to his chest to conserve warmth, but at this point it was no longer doing any good.
Maybe his dad really did want him to freeze to death.
Today was Ian’s birthday, but that did not change in the slightest the fact that it was a bad fucking day.
It hadn’t even started out right. He’d woken up this morning (or rather, dragged himself out of bed, semi-conscious and uncertain if he’d gotten anything restful enough to be called “sleep”) feeling sick, but gotten ready for school anyways and jogged out the door barely on time. He hadn’t ridden his bike, because he could hear Dad talking to someone out in the garage from the hallway, and he really didn’t want to go in there and interrupt whatever was going on, so he grabbed his coat and his earbuds and resigned himself to being late.
One of his fucking ear buds broke on the walk there, so there was that. So much for carefully arranging the balance settings in stereo for the best amount of bass versus treble versus mids, because all he could fucking hear now was treble.
He walked in to find out he had enough tardies to equal an unexcused absence, and that admin would be sending his dad a letter and a request to schedule a parent-teacher meeting about attendance. Fan-fucking-tastic.
He missed a quiz first period, used fourth period to scribble down homework he’d completely forgotten, and spent lunch sleeping in the corner of the shop classroom. By the time he headed home to grab his bike for work, his head was throbbing and his sore throat and sniffles were definitely turning into a full-blown cold.
And then he was locked out. He called his dad twice, then texted him a few times after that, but no response. It wasn’t like he was expecting one anyways. He found his manager’s number on his phone and called out.
Then he wandered around for a bit, got kicked out of the corner store, and ended up on the park bench with his school backpack and a dying phone, freezing to death in slow motion.
He felt like his organs were going to rattle apart with how violently he was shivering now. He should probably stand up a bit, move around, get his blood pumping and stomp his feet a little to ward the frostbite off his toes. He didn’t want to. Instead, he buried himself a little deeper into his coat, rested his forehead on his knees, and closed his eyes.
He didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want to go to school tomorrow. He didn’t want to try to explain to his manager why he called out again, and he didn’t want to have to deal with his dad. He didn’t want to think anymore. He just wanted everything to stop.
Everything was bullshit and he was so, so tired.
His phone buzzed and he pulled it out to glance at the screen.
TC: You still there?
We’re right in front, by your house
Ian tapped back a quick “k” and uncurled himself, pushing to his feet and grabbing his bag. The movement and a gust of cold air made his stomach lurch and sent fresh stabs through his skull, but he closed his eyes for a second until it passed, then shouldered his bag and headed toward the front of the park.
Lauren Conroy drove a small silver SUV that was just old enough to look like a mom car. Ian saw the puff of exhaust from the tailpipe and the glow of the headlights cutting through the dimness the second he crested the hill, and something in him gave a little sigh, collapsing into tired relief.
He shuffled down toward them, shoes scuffing and sliding against the icy sidewalk, and then he was there, frigid fingers bumping clumsily against the handle of the back passenger side door, pulling it open, shoving his backpack and then himself inside. Lauren was in the driver’s seat and Taylor was in the back, pulling his backpack out of the way, stabbing the buttons that turned up the heat.
“Good god. Taylor, grab that blanket in the back and give it to him.”
Before he could react, Taylor was reaching past him and dragging the lengths of a soft, heavy comforter from behind the seats. Lauren twisted in her seat, dragging it around and over him as far as she could reach, and directing Taylor to do the same.
“How long have you been out there?” she asked, an edge in her voice.
Ian pulled the rest of the blanket over him so that it covered everything but his head. “Since four-ish.”
Lauren froze and stared back at him. “Since four?”
Ian nodded.
Lauren muttered something under her breath that he couldn’t hear. “Have you eaten?” she asked, louder.
“Not yet.” The words slurred a little, Ian’s lips and tongue stiff from the cold.
“Christ.” Lauren’s expression was lethal. She took the car out of park and pulled into the street, heading towards the edge of the neighborhood. “Taylor, my phone. Look up an Ihop or something. Someplace we can eat inside.”
“Got it.”
The car was so warm it almost hurt. The heater was blowing at full strength now, deafening, and the seat warmers were on full blast. Ian sank into the seat and pulled the blanket as tightly around him as he could, still shivering and sniffling so that his nose wouldn’t start running from the heat.
Lauren glanced back through the rearview mirror. “Are you sick?”
“Yeah. A little.”
“You look awful. Taylor, there’s some Tylenol in my purse, and there should be an extra water bottle back there still.”
“Yeah, got it.”
Taylor handed over the water and Tylenol, and Ian took two of them, then enveloped himself in the blanket again. Lauren glanced back at him once, then again.
Then finally, “I can not believe he left you out there.”
Ian half-shrugged. “It’s fine. It’s happened before.”
Wrong thing to say. Lauren looked furious. “This has happened before?”
Ian dropped his gaze, not in the mood to meet her angry stare. “Yeah, once. Wasn’t this cold though.”
“Of course not, because you would have--” she cut herself off and huffed out a breath, tugging on her ponytail.
Would have frozen to death. Ian knew. They all knew.
Lauren didn’t say it, though. When he looked up, there was a misty sheen in her eyes and the muted anger on her face was mixed with regret. “Sorry, kiddo. I’m just--” she broke off again. “Let’s just go get some food in you.”
The car fell silent, and for a moment, the only sound was the gps’s electronic monotone spitting out directions.
Ian didn’t speak up again until the feeling came back into his fingers with a rush of tingling and pain. “Thanks for picking me up,” he said.
“It’s the least I could do, kiddo. The very, very least.”
No one said anything else until they arrived at the restaurant. Lauren sent them both inside to find a booth, saying she had to make a call, so they went ahead without her.
“What even happened?” Taylor asked over his menu, once they’d gotten in and sat down. “Was there a fight or something?”
Ian shrugged. “No. Don’t think so. Guess he was just done.”
“That’s…” Taylor shook his head, struggling for words. “That’s so crazy.”
“Yeah.” Ian didn’t really want to think about it anymore. “Does your mom care what we get?”
“No, get whatever you want.” Taylor watched him over the menu. “You know you can stay at our house if you want to, right?”
Something inside him twisted. “We already talked about that. You guys live too far away from my school.”
“My mom says she might be able to make the drive before work. Me and Fletcher are almost finished saving for a car, so she wouldn’t have to bring us and Jackie to school.”
Ian hesitated, looking at him. He wanted it. He wanted it so badly. Living someplace where he knew he wouldn’t get screamed at for no reason or locked out without warning, where he liked people he lived with and they didn’t wish he was dead--living someplace normal. It sounded good. Too good to be something within his reach. “I… my dad--”
“Hey, boys! We order yet?” Lauren’s voice, bright and cheery, interrupted him as she swept into view. Taylor scooted to the side and she dropped into the booth next to him, picking up the third menu. Her eyes were rimmed in red, but her smile was genuine and almost defiant.
“Not yet,” Taylor said.
“Well? Come on! Ian, order whatever you want, I’m paying. Are we getting milkshakes? I’m getting a milkshake.”
Ian did get a milkshake. And a breakfast skillet. And hashbrowns. And crepes slathered with fruit and whipped cream. And Lauren didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow, just slapped on an order of birthday pancakes and handed back her menu.
Taylor ordered just as much as he did, and Lauren sat back with her milkshake and strawberry French Toast, watching them converse with a satisfied look on her face.
After they’d finished devouring the last of the dessert pancakes, Lauren glanced at her phone. “Sorry to break up the party, but we have to get going if we’re gonna pick you up a toothbrush before we head home. I told your dad you were staying over.”
Ian narrowed his eyes, wary. “What did he say?”
“He said it was fine, of course. You’re staying for the rest of the week, at least.”
The rest of the week? “Wait, really? He was fine with that?”
“Oh, he was more than fine,” Lauren said, glibly.
Ian stared at her, disbelieving. “He was more than fine?”
“I’m guessing he wants me to go easy once the court proceedings are underway.”
Wait. What? “What court proceedings?”
Lauren looked at Taylor. “You didn’t tell him?”
Taylor shrugged. “Didn’t get the chance.”
Ian frowned. “The chance to tell me what?”
Lauren reached into her purse and pulled out a stack of neatly stapled papers, set them on the table, and slid them over. “The reason we were in town.”
Ian picked them up and read the lettering at the top. He suddenly couldn’t breathe. “Petition for... guardianship?” he read aloud, voice tight. “What are-- are you serious?”
Lauren nodded solemnly. “We’ve talked about it enough. You’ve said plenty of times that you wanted to go ahead.”
“Is that why you called me yesterday?”
Lauren’s face softened. “Yeah. And you told me that it was just your--”
“--my dad,” Ian finished. “He’d never agree. How did you…?”
Lauren grinned slightly. “I talked to him last week. I was very convincing. And he knows we have a case. Seems like he doesn’t want trouble.”
Ian stared down at the papers again, clenching his teeth against the lump growing in his throat. “So that’s it? He’s giving me up?”
“That’s what he’s saying right now. But if he changes his mind and we have to fight for it, we will. If you still want it.”
It was all suddenly too much. Ian’s vision blurred and his breath shuddered, and he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes to block the tears that had sprung from nowhere, but then he was gasping and he felt arms around him, holding him tight and warm.
“Do you still want it?” He heard Lauren ask him, voice quiet and full of emotion he couldn’t quantify.
He felt everything inside of him unravel as he nodded, letting her hug him and leaning into the embrace. “Yes,” he said. His voice sounded choked, but he didn’t care. “I want to.”
Her arms tightened around him, every so slightly. “I guess that’s it then. Happy birthday, Ian.”
Taylor’s hand squeezed his shoulder from wherever he was, still across the table. His voice sounded shaky when he spoke too. “Happy birthday, Ian. Welcome home.”
