David was pretty sure what he grew up in would be classified as a cult. Not sure which one, but from the sounds of it and after a bit of reading, yeah. Cult seemed like a good name for it. Walls everywhere, sermons, pure agriculture as a past time, not being able to raise objections, and only being allowed to consume things as deemed appropriate by Leader. And people wondered why he had acted out. They tried to make him think there had been something wrong with him⊠but no, he saw the truth eventually. There was only something wrong with him because he refused to accept everything that had been spoon fed to him. But he couldnât understand one thing: if he, a child, could see through them, why couldnât the grown adults? He had grown up in the Community. But people had joined of their own will! They didnât see the trap? Didnât see the oppression, the guilt tripping, the complete skewering of power dynamics⊠anything, really. Honestly, he was the only one who had been thinking straight! How could his parents even consider joining? They had so much freedom, so much contact, so much knowledge. They just gave that up!Â
Once or twice a week, the others passed through Davidâs head. Laurie seemed to be adapting fine, she was just too preoccupied with finding Peter and Emma, the idiot. He didnât know where they were, but to hell with them if they couldnât survive in the real world. A small, genuine smile flickered across Davidâs face. âThanks⊠Yeah, I intend to stay out next time. Guess itâs good that this place has a library.â Ah yes⊠knowledge of the Outside, one of the more important things he had been deprived of during his childhood. David had found the Communityâs reading boring, but all this information⊠he dared to say that heâd enjoy reading now. At the older maleâs offer, David tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. It sounded too good be true⊠and the last time he had worked with others to escape, wellâŠÂ âReally?â he asked, his voice somewhat guarded. His dark brown eyes scanned the other, of course the older male looked genuine, but then again, so had Nathaniel.
The fifteen year old looked at the hand offered to him. A gesture of mutual friendship, or at least acquaintanceship. He returned it, shaking the older manâs hand. âDavid.â
(mentioned: @lauriekeller)
The scepticism in the boy; now known as David, was nearly palpable on Malcomâs tongue. How many times had the boy been wronged for him to react such a way to someone offering their aid? The very thought made the janitorâs blood begin to boil. This anger wasnât directed at the teen however, of course not heâd done nothing wrong. No this rage was targeted toward those in Davidâs life who had made him feel this way, the need to be so guarded and skeptical, to shoot first and ask questions later so to speak. Lord knew how many other people had beaten him down, but still it seemed the boy built himself up instead of cowering to them - it was an endearing trait to have.
âReally.â Malcom affirmed, slight nod of his head causing the shock of dark curls to bounce slightly with the motion. He noted how strong the boyâs grip was, confident and self-assured. It was the handshake Malcom wished heâd had at sixteen as opposed to the limp noodle of a palm he always offered in his teen years. Today his handshake was just as firm, if not firmer than Davidâs but that fact spoke for itself. Where Malcom had with drawn and begun to self loathe this boy was using the bricks of hatred he had to make himself more resilient and for a moment Malcom admired him.
âGood to meet you, David.âÂ
The janitor smiled, features genuine and warm as he looked down at David with opalescent eyes. If he hadnât been sure before he was 100% invested now in aiding this younger. Sure he was going to be sad to see him go eventually but it would be for the best. This place was only going to break his magnificent spirt, beat him down until he saw himself as a victim, unworthy of this brilliant courage and confidence he had swirling within his being. Malcom could never want that for the boy; he didnât deserve it. The outside was rough but if you knew how to survive it was do-able, certainly better than this shit show.
âWeâll start survival lessons tomorrow, itâs kinda late right now - past curfew isnât it?â He asked, slipping a phone from his pocket to check the time. A watch might have been more practical but Malcom could never remember to purchase one let alone wear it - and if he did he would only be more apt to lose it somewhere what with his wrist being unfamiliar with the sensation.
