Tyrell stared down at the casket, his hand still pressed against the oak. The sun was hiding behind the clouds, making the day appropriately grey. Funerals seemed to demand gloomy weather. A few leaves fell onto the casket, carried near by the wind of the late fall.
What was left of Elliott lay in front of him. They never saw the body. The fall from fourteen stories had apparently caused enough trauma that the mortician recommended against it. It made it difficult for Ty to even really register that he was gone. They'd lower him into the ground as soon as he took his hand off of the casket, as far as he knew. He could see the impeccably-dressed people from the funeral home, waiting for him to make his peace. Bill and Jenna had left already, gotten in the car and headed to Michigan for a few weeks. They needed the space, and it made sense to him. They asked Ty if he wanted to come, and he told them to fuck off before he could think of a better way to put it.
Besides, he wasn't just going to run away from his life just because Elliott decided to end his. That wasn't fair. None of this was fair. A person had to be responsible for who they were, and the life they led. The people in it mattered, whether you loved them or hated them.
You have to be responsible. You can't just run away from this.
Ty had been stoic the whole time. The presence of his father always held back tears, no matter the situation. Sandbags were piled behind the levees in his mind, and Ty wasn't going to let him see a damn thing. He didn't have any interest in this ritual, in joining them in their grief. It was unbearable to join them in doing much of anything, let alone this.
Now, he was the last one to stay. Tyrell, Elliott - and the well-dressed and well-meaning people from the funeral home, standing thirty feet away and only ever speaking in whispers.
The wind whipped at his eyes, making them sting. He wiped at them, noticing they were wet. He'd had the strength to stand there, to carry his brother to his rest with his five best friends. The strength to take all of the hits over the years. He took the time to hold his mother in silence, to listen to hear tears when she habitually sat in Elliott's room in the early hours of the morning. Ty was strong enough to not feel sorry for Bill as he saw him collapse on the floor, screaming, when had first heard the news.
This was where that strength ended. Now he felt his legs give out from under him, and before he could react he found himself knelt next to the casket, his head pressed to the wood.
"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I shouldn't have let you hang up. I should've... I should've-"
There was nothing wrong with Elliott. He wasn't mean, he wasn't impulsive. He never hurt anyone. He never snapped. Never looked down on people. Didn't take them for granted. He was everything Tyrell wasn't. Why did it come to this? Why did someone like him feel they had to die?
One of the junior undertakers couldn't help herself but walk over to him and put a hand on his shoulder as he knelt next to the coffin, uncontrollably weeping.
~
It was a good thing the house was empty, as Tyrell wailed on the heavy bag in the basement like it was filled with everything bad in his life, instead of just sand and rags. He had been in good form lately, before things fell apart. He spared himself the ritual of throwing on gloves, wanting to feel the pain of his hands hitting the fabric.
The pain wasn't enough to get out of his head. It didn't take him away from what he felt, and it seemed like nothing could. It wasn't just Elliott's death. A part of Ty died too. Elliott brought out the best in him, and now that he was gone it was hard to feel like it was worth even trying to be decent anymore. Not if this is how the world repaid him.
A jab from the right. Then a cross. He gritted his teeth. A savage hook followed. The form was sloppy but it lost little of its power.
What did I do to deserve this?
Ty let out a yelp as his next cross sailed straight into the wall behind the bag, punching a sizable hole. His hand came back covered in drywall dust and blood.
This wasn't going to work. He needed to hit something that felt pain and could hit back. It wasn't as satisfying to see a bag rattle from the ceiling as it was to see the look in someone's eyes between the hits, when they knew they were going to lose. Right before the last hopeless attempt to get the better of him, giving Ty the opening to end it. That look made him feel real, if only for a moment.
I just want to feel something other than this. Is that too much to fucking ask?
The pain was good. Sometimes he needed it. A wound, or a loss. The surprise when he found himself on the ground, instead of standing over an opponent. It was a feeling, too. An emotion other than emptiness or rage. Something to embrace instead of suppressing.
His phone started buzzing on the nearby table. A text from a friend, asking if he was making it to a party tonight. It wasn't in poor taste; Ty hadn't told anyone about Elliott, or the funeral. No one needed to know, and he didn't want sympathy or pity. Maybe he deserved it, but he didn't have the energy to go through the motions of being grateful to people who hardly knew him.
"Fuck it."
It didn't take him long to shower and put himself back together. Hand-wraps fit his whole aesthetic and it kept anyone from seeing the marks on his hands. He kept his outfit simple – a light band shirt, a jacket and black jeans - in case anyone ended up taking him up on his nearly all-consuming urge to break something.
~
After downing probably a bit too much of whatever boozy liquid filled the red cups at the party, it felt like he was standing just on the cusp of something other than darkness and rage. Normally Ty never drank, given his father's proclivities. This wasn't a normal day. The alcohol emboldened his sarcastic mean streak, and he tried messing with a few of the jock-types at the party. To his surprise, he was met with sympathy and kindness. It shouldn't have been a surprise, Elliott was kind of a star at the school and at least a few people had older siblings who knew him. They offered a drink to his memory, and Tyrell abandoned his search for someone to beat him unconscious, or vice versa.
He began to think it was okay to just coasted through the rest of the night. The music was loud enough; this rich kid's house was full of people he barely knew, and it was easy enough to get lost in the atmosphere and ritual of the whole thing. People seemed to enjoy his presence. Was it pity? Fuck it, he didn't care.
As he drifted from room to room, he felt a pair of eyes following his movements.
At first he tried to ignore the feeling. They had a weirdly tall year, but Ty still stood out in a crowd. Intentionally so, though the hand-wraps probably gave people the wrong idea. This didn't seem like the usual curious glance though. Turning away from a conversation that had strayed too far from his interests, he caught her eye again. It was Angie Cortez, to his pleasant surprise. She was hard to miss as well, at least as far as he was concerned. She took very good care of herself, and it showed. It didn't take much to find an excuse to talk to her.
They both had idiosyncratic interests in music, which was the first thing to talk about. Not that they wouldn't have wanted to talk music otherwise, but the reason why they were speaking to each other gave away pretty quickly. He thought she was pretty hot, and without much of a filter found a relatively decent way to say as much. Apparently the feeling was mutual, there was a reason her eyes had been following him the whole night. She didn't smoke, but Ty asked her to come outside with him anyways and keep him company. She did.
They didn't go back inside.
~
Most of the lights were off in the house, and it was now an especially good thing there was no one else home. It really wasn't long after they arrived that their clothes came off, and Ty found himself now completely lost in the feeling of skin on skin. They barely knew each other; they had a few classes together but had never spoken. Now he'd gotten to know just about every inch of her body. This wasn't his first time, not by a long shot, but it was different. Maybe it was the alcohol, or where he was in his life – but he felt a passion that hadn't been there in his previous sexual misadventures.
Where he might've taken some joy in seeing someone go down from a hit, he now completely poured himself into pleasuring her. This was better. He was usually kind of selfish when it came to sex, but he wanted anything but to think about himself right now. The look in her eyes in the faint light of his bedroom, as he did things to her that he could only guess she'd never experienced - it actually made him smile honestly for the first time in what felt like years.
She dug her nails into his back, and he could only chuckle and curse from the pain. He sometimes forgot where his skin ended and hers began. They both ran their fingers through each other's hair; hers was softer, of course. Kissing her body was instinctual. Everything here was. There was no need to curate or process his actions past what felt good, and what he knew felt good to her. The sensations, the sounds they both made – it drove out the darkness. He felt something good again.
She was much smaller than he was, and it was easy to wrap her in his arms. He held her close as he reached his climax, biting into her shoulder as he came. The feeling completely overwhelmed him, though he had just barely presence of mind not to bite too hard. After letting go, he couldn't help but look her in the eyes and smirk, almost finding it hard to believe he'd found himself here after how the day began. She returned his look with one that seemed to ask, "Are we done?"
They were not.
Where Did you Sleep Last Night?
Content Warning
She didn't know it wasn't supposed to hurt. It just felt uncomfortable, like last time, but with less pain. This time, it even started to feel good. She felt him inside of her, and the warmth slowly turned into moans and grunts.
Ty's took a certain time to adjust himself. Changed position, took her differently, in different angles, putting his hands in different places; but he always did it well. He wasn't going soft, if anything he was rough but Angie played with him. She consented to that, she enjoyed it. He grabbed tightly and she dug her fingers in his back. At one point, his movement for faster and faster, pushing himself deeper into Angie. It felt much better than last time, the rush of Lance was painful and clumsy but he was much more experienced, still rough, but still delicate enough to make Angie's heart flutter.
He had one of his hand on her breast, the other playing the piano on her thigh. Her hands were on his back, her lips kissed his scars. She loved kissing them, they felt good against their lips. Kissing was getting harder, she was getting out of breath but her lips still made contact with Ty's face. He tasted good, she liked kissing his neck, nibble on his ears. A hickey on his throat, beside his Adam's apple, tiny bite marks on his ears, his jaw was red from the abuse he faced from Angie's lips. He liked it, she knew it. He did the favor back, biting into her shoulder muscle. It sent electric shocks in her heart, it felt like it was going to explode. His teeth bore deeper into her muscle as she felt him starting to go limp. She wondered if it was over, it was fun while it lasted, she was out of breath. She didn't climax this time either, but it felt good. She assumed it was over.
She felt him leave her body, and they shared a look. He still had lust in his eyes, and so did Angie. She felt the hand that was squeezing her thigh trail up and she realized what he was going to do. She did that sometimes. She was curious about it, the right way to do it. It was innocent curiosity, she did it because it felt good but never really understood why so. She hoped she would understand soon enough now that Tyrell was looking into her eyes, with the same lust as earlier, his body over hers.
He grabbed her hair softly to expose her neck and pushed his lips on her throat. She didn't fight back, she removed one hand from his neck, and grabbed a pillow. Her nail dug in the tissue as Tyrell re-entered her body. He started with one finger, then another one, he was curling them inside of her, making Angie gasp softly. She could feel Tyrell smiling against her neck before continuing.
In that moment, she was happy he had short nails.
~
She assumed what she just had was good sex. It was good, less awkward and less painful than the first time. She couldn't really blame Lance, he told her it was his first time too and that he didn't really know what he was doing. Plus, they were in the back of his car, looking outside the windows, hoping nobody would catch them having sex behind the school. It was bad, leaving a sour taste in her mouth.
Yet, it wasn't the reason she was mad at Lance. Yes, losing her virginity to a boy who called himself a man who couldn't barely last a minute sucked, but she felt truly disappointed when he said she wasn't the right girl. She knew what she was getting into dating him, but she thought they would just drift away or at least spend some more time together, but Lance decided to keep it short and clean, dumping her right after he graduated and she never saw him again. She assumed he had a girlfriend now, that his college degree was going well, and that he totally forgot about Angie Cortez.
Now, she had Tyrell. She knew this was just an one time thing, nothing would come out of this. Maybe they would have more sex in the future, maybe he would make her feel whole again and again. He offered her a blunt of weed, but she didn't smoke. She wanted to stay in the same bed as him, feeling his warm body next to her so she irregularly shallowed smoke and let it exit her body. Tyrell still had one hand around her, looping around her back, his hand under her breast. His other hand was handling the blunt, raising it to his lips then to Angie's. She loved that moment. She felt like this was the best part of sex, just letting all the emotion cool down with your partner next to you. She wanted to kiss his scarred cheek again but she wasn't sure if it was acceptable since they weren't having sex. She whispered words to him, nudging her head closing to his neck. Quietly, she told him, her lips barely moving, if she could stay for the night. He smiled and nodded, she took it as a yes. She smiled back.
She raised her right hand, cupping his chin in it. The movement surprised Tyrell, not expecting Angie to do that. Her thumb trailed under his lips, she wanted to kiss them again, but she wasn't sure if she was allowed to. She said what was on her mind for the last whatever time they spent huddled together under the blanket.
"Can I say you were my first time? I want it to be you."
Ty's took a certain time to adjust himself. Changed position, took her differently, in different angles, putting his hands in different places; but he always did it well. He wasn't going soft, if anything he was rough but Angie played with him. She consented to that, she enjoyed it. He grabbed tightly and she dug her fingers in his back. At one point, his movement for faster and faster, pushing himself deeper into Angie. It felt much better than last time, the rush of Lance was painful and clumsy but he was much more experienced, still rough, but still delicate enough to make Angie's heart flutter.
He had one of his hand on her breast, the other playing the piano on her thigh. Her hands were on his back, her lips kissed his scars. She loved kissing them, they felt good against their lips. Kissing was getting harder, she was getting out of breath but her lips still made contact with Ty's face. He tasted good, she liked kissing his neck, nibble on his ears. A hickey on his throat, beside his Adam's apple, tiny bite marks on his ears, his jaw was red from the abuse he faced from Angie's lips. He liked it, she knew it. He did the favor back, biting into her shoulder muscle. It sent electric shocks in her heart, it felt like it was going to explode. His teeth bore deeper into her muscle as she felt him starting to go limp. She wondered if it was over, it was fun while it lasted, she was out of breath. She didn't climax this time either, but it felt good. She assumed it was over.
She felt him leave her body, and they shared a look. He still had lust in his eyes, and so did Angie. She felt the hand that was squeezing her thigh trail up and she realized what he was going to do. She did that sometimes. She was curious about it, the right way to do it. It was innocent curiosity, she did it because it felt good but never really understood why so. She hoped she would understand soon enough now that Tyrell was looking into her eyes, with the same lust as earlier, his body over hers.
He grabbed her hair softly to expose her neck and pushed his lips on her throat. She didn't fight back, she removed one hand from his neck, and grabbed a pillow. Her nail dug in the tissue as Tyrell re-entered her body. He started with one finger, then another one, he was curling them inside of her, making Angie gasp softly. She could feel Tyrell smiling against her neck before continuing.
In that moment, she was happy he had short nails.
~
She assumed what she just had was good sex. It was good, less awkward and less painful than the first time. She couldn't really blame Lance, he told her it was his first time too and that he didn't really know what he was doing. Plus, they were in the back of his car, looking outside the windows, hoping nobody would catch them having sex behind the school. It was bad, leaving a sour taste in her mouth.
Yet, it wasn't the reason she was mad at Lance. Yes, losing her virginity to a boy who called himself a man who couldn't barely last a minute sucked, but she felt truly disappointed when he said she wasn't the right girl. She knew what she was getting into dating him, but she thought they would just drift away or at least spend some more time together, but Lance decided to keep it short and clean, dumping her right after he graduated and she never saw him again. She assumed he had a girlfriend now, that his college degree was going well, and that he totally forgot about Angie Cortez.
Now, she had Tyrell. She knew this was just an one time thing, nothing would come out of this. Maybe they would have more sex in the future, maybe he would make her feel whole again and again. He offered her a blunt of weed, but she didn't smoke. She wanted to stay in the same bed as him, feeling his warm body next to her so she irregularly shallowed smoke and let it exit her body. Tyrell still had one hand around her, looping around her back, his hand under her breast. His other hand was handling the blunt, raising it to his lips then to Angie's. She loved that moment. She felt like this was the best part of sex, just letting all the emotion cool down with your partner next to you. She wanted to kiss his scarred cheek again but she wasn't sure if it was acceptable since they weren't having sex. She whispered words to him, nudging her head closing to his neck. Quietly, she told him, her lips barely moving, if she could stay for the night. He smiled and nodded, she took it as a yes. She smiled back.
She raised her right hand, cupping his chin in it. The movement surprised Tyrell, not expecting Angie to do that. Her thumb trailed under his lips, she wanted to kiss them again, but she wasn't sure if she was allowed to. She said what was on her mind for the last whatever time they spent huddled together under the blanket.
"Can I say you were my first time? I want it to be you."
Tyrell was halfway through exhaling a drag of his joint when she put her hand to his face, and he was glad to have the moment to pause and think about what he was going to say. It certainly wasn't what he expected to hear, though it wasn't at all unwelcome. If she was saying he was her first time, he wasn't. Part of him wanted to ask about the "real" first but the fact that she was presumably not going to tell anyone, told him all he needed to know. He wouldn't ask.
His response was good natured, if not a little sarcastic. "That's fine with me, so long as you've got good things to say."
Sitting up next to Angie, his eyes seemed to have finally adjusted to the low light of the room. Quiet conversations after sex were usually this strange combination of heightened emotion and a comfortably clear head. It was a space seemingly far removed from either of their lives. At least, it was removed from Tyrell's. Whenever young adults would tell Tyrell about how high school was supposedly the "best years of his life" and how they envied his "few responsibilities" he couldn't help but focus intently on everything that was so very wrong. His own family life was a bloodstained, broken mirror to everything he'd been told about how a home should be.
This kind of moment felt much more like how things were supposed to be at his age. Coming up from one drug to inhaling another, naked next to someone he'd just met, his mind a buzz of real, actual emotions. It was a place where he felt comfortable actually letting things affect him, because no one was going to see that as a weakness and pounce on it. This was the colourful world that he'd heard about, that he missed being a part of.
Without much thinking about it, Ty leaned in and kissed her. He felt the impulse and let it push him along. Not a long kiss, but one that gave enough of an impression that he was more than okay with the current situation. As he pulled back he mused at the tactile fixation she seemed to have with his scars. He ran a finger down the side of his face, trying to remember which story he'd told at the party when someone had asked him. Some days he'd fallen off a bike, some days he was robbed and got his face slashed with a knife. Other days he quipped "I got it from not minding my own business."
"You don't seem to mind the scars, do you? I try and look after this one but it doesn't really ever seem to fade." If she asked, he'd probably just tell her the truth. If his guard wasn't already down, the weed was probably going to pull it down one way or another. He motioned vaguely in the air, as if towards the situation itself. The joint drew small trails of smoke as he did so. "This... kind of thing?" Tyrell took another drag, and then snuffed it out on a nearby ashtray.
"...Makes it easier to forget how I got 'em. I like that."
His response was good natured, if not a little sarcastic. "That's fine with me, so long as you've got good things to say."
Sitting up next to Angie, his eyes seemed to have finally adjusted to the low light of the room. Quiet conversations after sex were usually this strange combination of heightened emotion and a comfortably clear head. It was a space seemingly far removed from either of their lives. At least, it was removed from Tyrell's. Whenever young adults would tell Tyrell about how high school was supposedly the "best years of his life" and how they envied his "few responsibilities" he couldn't help but focus intently on everything that was so very wrong. His own family life was a bloodstained, broken mirror to everything he'd been told about how a home should be.
This kind of moment felt much more like how things were supposed to be at his age. Coming up from one drug to inhaling another, naked next to someone he'd just met, his mind a buzz of real, actual emotions. It was a place where he felt comfortable actually letting things affect him, because no one was going to see that as a weakness and pounce on it. This was the colourful world that he'd heard about, that he missed being a part of.
Without much thinking about it, Ty leaned in and kissed her. He felt the impulse and let it push him along. Not a long kiss, but one that gave enough of an impression that he was more than okay with the current situation. As he pulled back he mused at the tactile fixation she seemed to have with his scars. He ran a finger down the side of his face, trying to remember which story he'd told at the party when someone had asked him. Some days he'd fallen off a bike, some days he was robbed and got his face slashed with a knife. Other days he quipped "I got it from not minding my own business."
"You don't seem to mind the scars, do you? I try and look after this one but it doesn't really ever seem to fade." If she asked, he'd probably just tell her the truth. If his guard wasn't already down, the weed was probably going to pull it down one way or another. He motioned vaguely in the air, as if towards the situation itself. The joint drew small trails of smoke as he did so. "This... kind of thing?" Tyrell took another drag, and then snuffed it out on a nearby ashtray.
"...Makes it easier to forget how I got 'em. I like that."
Good, she would say future partner that sex was over when they would both finish like her good first time. She smiled, Lance's influence had been erased. She slowly felt him leave her mind. That's a lie she made so she could sleep. She wished it was that easy, but she just wanted to act like that it was.
Looks like Tyrell was thinking the same. His lips touched Angie's, it wasn't a long kiss but a soft one. He tasted the dope he was smoking which she didn't like but could make an exception for now. She returned it with a soft peck on the corner of his smiling lips. She didn't want him to win this trade.
He mentioned his scars, and she noticed she was all over them. Even right now, she was fascinated by what used to be a tear in his skin. She liked touching it, and she assumed he didn't mind because he didn't swat her away. There was something nice about the relief it made on his face. It was something fun to play with, to touch, to kiss. Angie always had a thing with human bodies being different, she didn't like these perfect body with airbrushed skin she'd find when she decided to sin a bit. She preferred real bodies, one knew she could see for real. A flawless body would bore her even if it was the prettiest thing she'd see. She loved the human body with all of its flaws.
But yeah, she reminded, back on Tyrell's scars. No, that was a lie. Angie had her own imperfection she had to mention. She didn't want them on her anymore. For example, her knee had a small bumpy scar. She hated it. She couldn't wear any skirts or shorts. She also had a burn mark on her left ring finger. Her only, constant thought about that burn was to get married as soon as possible. She could hide it behind a ring and never have to look at the burn ever again.
Out of the way, she smiled. Something else buried. She close her eyes and mentally swept the thoughts under the brain rug. It was gone. When she opened her eyes, she was looking into Tyrell's. His body still felt good so she was glad she was on it. Her foot dragged on the sheet of the bed, touching daintily the fabric and, sometimes, the boy's leg. Ignoring her gut feeling, her mouth asked a question instead of whispering sweet things in his ear.
"You fell on somethin'?" She smiled softly, "and I don't mind them, the scars, I think they are pretty."
She didn't want to say she thought scars in general were pretty. She didn't feel like creeping him out with her body wrapped around him like a snake. She couldn't unhinge her jaw, yet.
Looks like Tyrell was thinking the same. His lips touched Angie's, it wasn't a long kiss but a soft one. He tasted the dope he was smoking which she didn't like but could make an exception for now. She returned it with a soft peck on the corner of his smiling lips. She didn't want him to win this trade.
He mentioned his scars, and she noticed she was all over them. Even right now, she was fascinated by what used to be a tear in his skin. She liked touching it, and she assumed he didn't mind because he didn't swat her away. There was something nice about the relief it made on his face. It was something fun to play with, to touch, to kiss. Angie always had a thing with human bodies being different, she didn't like these perfect body with airbrushed skin she'd find when she decided to sin a bit. She preferred real bodies, one knew she could see for real. A flawless body would bore her even if it was the prettiest thing she'd see. She loved the human body with all of its flaws.
But yeah, she reminded, back on Tyrell's scars. No, that was a lie. Angie had her own imperfection she had to mention. She didn't want them on her anymore. For example, her knee had a small bumpy scar. She hated it. She couldn't wear any skirts or shorts. She also had a burn mark on her left ring finger. Her only, constant thought about that burn was to get married as soon as possible. She could hide it behind a ring and never have to look at the burn ever again.
Out of the way, she smiled. Something else buried. She close her eyes and mentally swept the thoughts under the brain rug. It was gone. When she opened her eyes, she was looking into Tyrell's. His body still felt good so she was glad she was on it. Her foot dragged on the sheet of the bed, touching daintily the fabric and, sometimes, the boy's leg. Ignoring her gut feeling, her mouth asked a question instead of whispering sweet things in his ear.
"You fell on somethin'?" She smiled softly, "and I don't mind them, the scars, I think they are pretty."
She didn't want to say she thought scars in general were pretty. She didn't feel like creeping him out with her body wrapped around him like a snake. She couldn't unhinge her jaw, yet.
Did he fall on something? Christ, she was dim. How the hell could anyone construe that from the map drawn all over him - especially since she saw more of it than most people ever would? Tyrell found his skin crawl slightly at the notion that this kind of person was so close right now. The feeling didn't last long, however, and he managed to compose himself. At least she liked how they looked, or at least thought she did. It was possible she was just being nice. People often spoke in silly platitudes when they didn't want to offend him, which often ended up having the precise opposite effect.
If she had any idea, she probably wouldn't say it outright to be polite. Still, "did I fall on something"? Fucking really?
No longer feeling reticent about telling her the full story, Ty opted to go down the list of injuries; tell-tale signs of the kind of life he'd had up until this point. He hoped it would make her realize how her question sounded to him. He shuffled into a position where he could expose his chest and point to each scar.
"Well, the round ones on my wrists and hands are from cooking, plus this little nick from when I started working on my knife skills. This nasty looking one further up isn't, though. I had my headphones in and my Dad was trying to get my attention, but I ignored him. He took a long drag of a cigarette and put it out on my arm. I did these-" He pointed to several methodical straight lines on his left bicep; "-when I had a bit of a breakdown in my freshman year. Cut into the meat but not the veins, I used a disposable razor I took apart. I didn't wanna die, I just wanted some pain at the time. It's the same with the marks on my legs, which I switched to because it was easier to hide. This weird looking one near my ribs was when my Dad used to hit me there, and one night he forgot to take off his ring. He usually avoided my face so that people couldn't tell what had been happening, so when I started bleeding after the fourth or fifth hit to the ribs he figured he'd screwed up."
If only he'd figured that out earlier.
"This curved one was kind of recent. I was walking home from the gym and got jumped, a guy tried to stick me with a broken bottle. It's in a rough part of town, but the dude didn't seem to realize that jumping a guy after he came out of a boxing gym was a bad call. Still took me by surprise. Rule of thumb when you fight someone with a knife or something sharp is just – you're going to get cut, no matter how it goes. That's how I got this, this, and this." Tyrell pointed to a few more scars on his arms, some looking quite deep.
"Part of it is I scar easy, most of it is I just keep getting into trouble. The only one I'm really proud of here is this one, that looks like a bite? It is. I messed around with this crazy goth chick back in sophomore, and she was really, really into pain. Liked to play around with knives, ropes, you name it. One night she kind of just dug in and kept going, and I didn't really stop her. I think that's how I figured out I liked bites, but I never had a desire to go that hard." He paused, smiling as he ran his hand over the faint mark on his skin. It was a fond memory. Tyrell felt a pang of nostalgia as he spoke about it. "I didn't hear from her after the summer, she ran away from home last I remember. I think she needed to disappear, had a similar family to mine. Wanted me to go with her but I couldn't, so she just up and left one day."
Moving on from his chest, Ty's hand lingered on the side of his face. His tongue ran across the few teeth he knew weren't his. At least he didn't have to worry about cavities in titanium. It hadn't been too long since it had happened, and that side of his face still felt quite tender. Weed helped keep the lingering soreness at bay, though.
"So this one came from when my Dad went off drunker than usual. He got fired from his job for groping a few of his interns. The man's a fiend when it comes to women, I don't think he really understands the meaning of the word "consent." Anyways, he was working on his bike in the garage – more staring at it actually. Too drunk to actually know what the hell he was doing. Called me in to get my help with something, which I knew was just an excuse to berate me. I was already feeling like shit because that girl had ran off and I was still trying to wrap my head around why the hell I stayed, and so when he started bitching at me for never being around to help him, I didn't stand and take it like I usually did. I think the last thing I remember was I threatened to kill him if I ever found out he was around a young woman again. He swung around and hit me in the face with the spanner he was holding. Knocked me out cold. Took out a few of my teeth completely, fractured my jaw, and left me with a mild concussion. The claw on the end of the spanner tore right along here. I came to a bit later covered in blood, my brother trying to get me up into the car to go to the hospital. Took six weeks to even get to eat solid food."
At that point Tyrell had probably covered most of them, though there were surely others he had been leaving out. At least they were the most memorable of his scars. A few he'd considered getting covered up with tattoos, but he wasn't sure how much he was willing to shell out for them, money-wise. In a way they probably had more meaning than the perfunctory crap most people applied to their tattoos.
Ty looked back to Angie once more. He hoped it hadn't sounded too irritated, as he'd been in far too decent of a place to deal with conflict right now. When he'd spoken just now it was matter-of-fact, without too much sarcasm or the telling monotony of someone trying to keep anger at bay. Usually if he was displaying those kinds of negative emotions at someone it was either bait or to make a point, as it didn't serve much of a purpose otherwise. Telling her all of this was just to give her a bit more understanding of what she was dealing with. It would be better for both of them.
"So I didn't fall on something. I suppose I'm just real lucky when it comes to violence."
If she had any idea, she probably wouldn't say it outright to be polite. Still, "did I fall on something"? Fucking really?
No longer feeling reticent about telling her the full story, Ty opted to go down the list of injuries; tell-tale signs of the kind of life he'd had up until this point. He hoped it would make her realize how her question sounded to him. He shuffled into a position where he could expose his chest and point to each scar.
"Well, the round ones on my wrists and hands are from cooking, plus this little nick from when I started working on my knife skills. This nasty looking one further up isn't, though. I had my headphones in and my Dad was trying to get my attention, but I ignored him. He took a long drag of a cigarette and put it out on my arm. I did these-" He pointed to several methodical straight lines on his left bicep; "-when I had a bit of a breakdown in my freshman year. Cut into the meat but not the veins, I used a disposable razor I took apart. I didn't wanna die, I just wanted some pain at the time. It's the same with the marks on my legs, which I switched to because it was easier to hide. This weird looking one near my ribs was when my Dad used to hit me there, and one night he forgot to take off his ring. He usually avoided my face so that people couldn't tell what had been happening, so when I started bleeding after the fourth or fifth hit to the ribs he figured he'd screwed up."
If only he'd figured that out earlier.
"This curved one was kind of recent. I was walking home from the gym and got jumped, a guy tried to stick me with a broken bottle. It's in a rough part of town, but the dude didn't seem to realize that jumping a guy after he came out of a boxing gym was a bad call. Still took me by surprise. Rule of thumb when you fight someone with a knife or something sharp is just – you're going to get cut, no matter how it goes. That's how I got this, this, and this." Tyrell pointed to a few more scars on his arms, some looking quite deep.
"Part of it is I scar easy, most of it is I just keep getting into trouble. The only one I'm really proud of here is this one, that looks like a bite? It is. I messed around with this crazy goth chick back in sophomore, and she was really, really into pain. Liked to play around with knives, ropes, you name it. One night she kind of just dug in and kept going, and I didn't really stop her. I think that's how I figured out I liked bites, but I never had a desire to go that hard." He paused, smiling as he ran his hand over the faint mark on his skin. It was a fond memory. Tyrell felt a pang of nostalgia as he spoke about it. "I didn't hear from her after the summer, she ran away from home last I remember. I think she needed to disappear, had a similar family to mine. Wanted me to go with her but I couldn't, so she just up and left one day."
Moving on from his chest, Ty's hand lingered on the side of his face. His tongue ran across the few teeth he knew weren't his. At least he didn't have to worry about cavities in titanium. It hadn't been too long since it had happened, and that side of his face still felt quite tender. Weed helped keep the lingering soreness at bay, though.
"So this one came from when my Dad went off drunker than usual. He got fired from his job for groping a few of his interns. The man's a fiend when it comes to women, I don't think he really understands the meaning of the word "consent." Anyways, he was working on his bike in the garage – more staring at it actually. Too drunk to actually know what the hell he was doing. Called me in to get my help with something, which I knew was just an excuse to berate me. I was already feeling like shit because that girl had ran off and I was still trying to wrap my head around why the hell I stayed, and so when he started bitching at me for never being around to help him, I didn't stand and take it like I usually did. I think the last thing I remember was I threatened to kill him if I ever found out he was around a young woman again. He swung around and hit me in the face with the spanner he was holding. Knocked me out cold. Took out a few of my teeth completely, fractured my jaw, and left me with a mild concussion. The claw on the end of the spanner tore right along here. I came to a bit later covered in blood, my brother trying to get me up into the car to go to the hospital. Took six weeks to even get to eat solid food."
At that point Tyrell had probably covered most of them, though there were surely others he had been leaving out. At least they were the most memorable of his scars. A few he'd considered getting covered up with tattoos, but he wasn't sure how much he was willing to shell out for them, money-wise. In a way they probably had more meaning than the perfunctory crap most people applied to their tattoos.
Ty looked back to Angie once more. He hoped it hadn't sounded too irritated, as he'd been in far too decent of a place to deal with conflict right now. When he'd spoken just now it was matter-of-fact, without too much sarcasm or the telling monotony of someone trying to keep anger at bay. Usually if he was displaying those kinds of negative emotions at someone it was either bait or to make a point, as it didn't serve much of a purpose otherwise. Telling her all of this was just to give her a bit more understanding of what she was dealing with. It would be better for both of them.
"So I didn't fall on something. I suppose I'm just real lucky when it comes to violence."
She laughed softly. It was more of a throat giggle. She laid her finger on his face scar, opening her lips softly to reveal what she had meant because obvious Tyrell misunderstood.
"I just meant this one, it looks like you fell face first on a sidewalk, but..." she stopped the quiet, interior snickering and looked at him with her sisterly eyes. She often used them when she looked at her younger siblings when they were in distress. She had the same eyes when Ramsey told her she was gay and when she decided to be a mole for him. They were caring but serious eyes, often combined with some kind of motherly pout. She reopened her lips, grabbing Tyrell softly by her chest. Her own chest was against him, while she was naked and so was Tyrell, this was more of a hug than a grope.
"...your dad hit you?"
She heard about him self-harming, she wasn't deaf. She also heard about the goth girl, she vaguely remembered her. She really had pretty hair, she hoped she was doing fine. Her main concern was Tyrell's dad, she knew he was... somewhere. She didn't know where exactly, probably in jail if whoever was with him during the incident called the police and Tyrell filed the police report. Along with the fact that Tyrell's father was also a known creep at work, it probably led him to get fired. She hoped he was far away, somewhere he couldn't hurt anyone. Not dead, but not really alive.
She couldn't stop herself from thinking about her own dad. Her father hit her a couple of times, but nothing like that. The closest thing he hit her with a weapon was when he knocked her hand with a wooden spoon for talking back. It just sting, none of his violence left physical scars on Angie. If you ignored that, he was a good dad. He apologized to Angie after he hit her, he didn't just look at Angie's tears and decided he would give her another good reason to cry. He did his best despite being, obviously, not the best. Ramsey probably had another story, but he was different. She wished he wasn't sometimes, but there was nothing to be done about it.
She moved her finger from his scar to his chin then put her thumb just below his lips. She felt like kissing him but she still had her motherly pout and sisterly eyes. She softly moved his head toward her face to make direct eye contact with him. She was curious, she barely knew him but she didn't want him to hurt more. Her lips formed a new question.
"Can he still hurt you?"
"I just meant this one, it looks like you fell face first on a sidewalk, but..." she stopped the quiet, interior snickering and looked at him with her sisterly eyes. She often used them when she looked at her younger siblings when they were in distress. She had the same eyes when Ramsey told her she was gay and when she decided to be a mole for him. They were caring but serious eyes, often combined with some kind of motherly pout. She reopened her lips, grabbing Tyrell softly by her chest. Her own chest was against him, while she was naked and so was Tyrell, this was more of a hug than a grope.
"...your dad hit you?"
She heard about him self-harming, she wasn't deaf. She also heard about the goth girl, she vaguely remembered her. She really had pretty hair, she hoped she was doing fine. Her main concern was Tyrell's dad, she knew he was... somewhere. She didn't know where exactly, probably in jail if whoever was with him during the incident called the police and Tyrell filed the police report. Along with the fact that Tyrell's father was also a known creep at work, it probably led him to get fired. She hoped he was far away, somewhere he couldn't hurt anyone. Not dead, but not really alive.
She couldn't stop herself from thinking about her own dad. Her father hit her a couple of times, but nothing like that. The closest thing he hit her with a weapon was when he knocked her hand with a wooden spoon for talking back. It just sting, none of his violence left physical scars on Angie. If you ignored that, he was a good dad. He apologized to Angie after he hit her, he didn't just look at Angie's tears and decided he would give her another good reason to cry. He did his best despite being, obviously, not the best. Ramsey probably had another story, but he was different. She wished he wasn't sometimes, but there was nothing to be done about it.
She moved her finger from his scar to his chin then put her thumb just below his lips. She felt like kissing him but she still had her motherly pout and sisterly eyes. She softly moved his head toward her face to make direct eye contact with him. She was curious, she barely knew him but she didn't want him to hurt more. Her lips formed a new question.
"Can he still hurt you?"
Sending Ty to a boxing gym was supposed to make a man out of him. In a way it did. At the very least he wasn't the boy his father could push around anymore. The last time he'd tried to, Ty raised a fist at him and his father cowered. It seemed that since the incident with the wrench, Ty had made it clear all bets were off. Elliott's death had clearly broken something within the man as well. Now that Ty towered over him the chances of him ever raising a hand to Ty again were nil.
Could he still hurt Tyrell? Good question, Angie. Ty could tell how she was beginning to see him. Something broken that might need fixing. That wasn't the worst thing someone could see him as; it tended to make people look past your faults, or at least excuse them. It wasn't exactly what he was looking for, though he at least was starting to understand why she'd asked. She cared, or at least appeared to. Maybe she'd gone through something similar?
No, not likely. Not many people had. She probably thought she had, or at least thought she knew how to help. It would be a waste of time for both of them, as he didn't need the help. At the very least, he couldn't use whatever she had to give; at least, emotionally. When she looked into his eyes and asked him the question,
Ty couldn't help but break out something of a smile.
"Nah, he couldn't hurt me if he tried. Still lives with us but gives me a wide berth. Don't worry, the place is mine right now, no one's coming by. I dunno if I'm over it psychologically, but physically? To tell you the truth, I don't really know many people who could hurt me if they wanted to."
Ty lingered on that last statement before the uncomfortable realization that she now knew a whole lot more about him than he knew about her. It was enough cause for him to change the subject.
"I don't usually talk this much about myself, mostly because I figure everyone thinks I'm a bit of a sad story. I feel like more than that. I prefer to hear about other people, learn about their lives. I'm always a bit..."
He couldn't help but play with her hair as he thought of what to say. It was always a bit maddening how soft and pleasant long hair on women was.
"...curious, I suppose."
Could he still hurt Tyrell? Good question, Angie. Ty could tell how she was beginning to see him. Something broken that might need fixing. That wasn't the worst thing someone could see him as; it tended to make people look past your faults, or at least excuse them. It wasn't exactly what he was looking for, though he at least was starting to understand why she'd asked. She cared, or at least appeared to. Maybe she'd gone through something similar?
No, not likely. Not many people had. She probably thought she had, or at least thought she knew how to help. It would be a waste of time for both of them, as he didn't need the help. At the very least, he couldn't use whatever she had to give; at least, emotionally. When she looked into his eyes and asked him the question,
Ty couldn't help but break out something of a smile.
"Nah, he couldn't hurt me if he tried. Still lives with us but gives me a wide berth. Don't worry, the place is mine right now, no one's coming by. I dunno if I'm over it psychologically, but physically? To tell you the truth, I don't really know many people who could hurt me if they wanted to."
Ty lingered on that last statement before the uncomfortable realization that she now knew a whole lot more about him than he knew about her. It was enough cause for him to change the subject.
"I don't usually talk this much about myself, mostly because I figure everyone thinks I'm a bit of a sad story. I feel like more than that. I prefer to hear about other people, learn about their lives. I'm always a bit..."
He couldn't help but play with her hair as he thought of what to say. It was always a bit maddening how soft and pleasant long hair on women was.
"...curious, I suppose."
Angie hugged the boy tighter while he spoke. She liked him. It wasn't romantic, or at least she didn't think it was. The boy just felt nice to touch, his body was nice to caress and kiss. There was more though than the physical attraction, he was a sweet boy. Even if he came off a bit as a dick, he wasn't genuinely a bad person. Some people were mean because they chose to, these were the people she couldn't trust, but boys like Tyrell who had to be mean, she was fine with them.
He played with her hair. It felt nice. She liked when boys played with her hair. It was one the things she prefered about intimate physical contact, the feeling of fingers unknotting her hair as she laid her head on someone else's chest. It happened a few time in the past. She had friends who were fine with Angie hugging them, but some of them often wanted to go farther. She wasn't quite ready for that kind of relationship yet. If she wanted a boyfriend, she'd get one. When she wanted a boyfriend, she'd go through the list and ask them out one by one, but right now she needed someone to share a moment.
Tyrell was that boy. He just needed to be there, and he was doing that job well. She listened carefully to his words, he had a pretty smile. The topic changed, she assumed it was a painful one to talk about. If Tyrell had one flaw that Angie noticed during this night was his struggle with talking about himself, and even a bit later he confirmed that. She decided to be the one speaking about herself now. It was easier said than done, she needed to introduce it. She clearly affirmed what she was going to do in a simple question,
"Is that the cue for me to start speaking?"
He played with her hair. It felt nice. She liked when boys played with her hair. It was one the things she prefered about intimate physical contact, the feeling of fingers unknotting her hair as she laid her head on someone else's chest. It happened a few time in the past. She had friends who were fine with Angie hugging them, but some of them often wanted to go farther. She wasn't quite ready for that kind of relationship yet. If she wanted a boyfriend, she'd get one. When she wanted a boyfriend, she'd go through the list and ask them out one by one, but right now she needed someone to share a moment.
Tyrell was that boy. He just needed to be there, and he was doing that job well. She listened carefully to his words, he had a pretty smile. The topic changed, she assumed it was a painful one to talk about. If Tyrell had one flaw that Angie noticed during this night was his struggle with talking about himself, and even a bit later he confirmed that. She decided to be the one speaking about herself now. It was easier said than done, she needed to introduce it. She clearly affirmed what she was going to do in a simple question,
"Is that the cue for me to start speaking?"
((This post is a placeholder for if/when Lore returns.))
Tyrell listened to Angie speak, though his mind began to drift as the night turned to morning. Before long, they had both fallen asleep. By the morning, he had woken Angie and gently asked her to leave, given that it was a work day for him. Ty needed time to get ready, and she seemed like much less of an interesting person to be around by that point. They didn't speak much afterwards; the feeling that had possessed him that night was conspicuously absent the next time he had the opportunity to see her, and so Ty made little effort to do so.
Tyrell listened to Angie speak, though his mind began to drift as the night turned to morning. Before long, they had both fallen asleep. By the morning, he had woken Angie and gently asked her to leave, given that it was a work day for him. Ty needed time to get ready, and she seemed like much less of an interesting person to be around by that point. They didn't speak much afterwards; the feeling that had possessed him that night was conspicuously absent the next time he had the opportunity to see her, and so Ty made little effort to do so.