((Diego Larrosa continues from The Gang Goes Out For Breakfast))
He was lost, now.
He'd had his little crying session, by himself, off in some nook of the woods a few meters away from one of the paths, and no one had seen him, come by him, and he wasn't happy, really, he wasn't sure he would be for a while, but, no one had come upon him, and that was fine with him. No one asked him what, who he was crying about, so Diego would not have to answer, expose himself once more, and that was fine. He could keep his secrets to himself, for a while longer.
The tears and sobs stopped coming after five, ten minutes. He didn't really count, he felt depleted by the end of it. He remembered, again, that he was shirtless, that even the clothes on his back had been stolen, and he tried to imagine a third party walking by, seeing some half-naked boy curled up, crying, and it was almost funny enough for him to laugh at himself, but he remembered that the joke was at his own expense, and so he didn't laugh. He thought he'd get used to it at some point, but he hadn't. He wrapped his arms around himself, hooked his fingers in his shoulders to remember the feeling of something on his back, but he felt even more naked, so he stopped, walked with his arms at his sides.
He thought he'd taken good note of the foliage around him. He remembered seeing a tree with three main branches instead of two, and when he'd seen one after he'd finished crying, he'd thought he was on his way back to Cam and Theo, but the five minutes he'd spent walking turned into half an hour. The realization had set in slowly. It was taking awfully long to find them. He thought they'd been around this tree. Or maybe that tree. There were ferns around this tree, this was where Diego had gotten his fern earlier that morning. It's fucking hot here, he fanned himself with his hand, he accomplished nothing. Maybe they were around these ferns. But they weren't here. The path he was on was well-trodden, there was no way to tell whether the footsteps he was following were theirs or others long passed by. He didn't know where they were.
He was lost.
He was lost, and he had literally nothing, no one with him, only the jeans and shoes he wore, and he was lost.
He almost went off to some other nook to cry again, but the realization had set in slowly enough for the self-pity to be replaced by a certain panic. If he didn't find them soon, immediately, he'd be dead. He didn't have the luxury to cry, anyways, he knew that he hadn't deserved to cry, and yet he did it, and he was paying for it. The island was big, wide, he hadn't seen all of it, he didn't know if he'd find them again, but not finding them was not an option. And so, despite the thirst and the sweat and the hunger gnawing at him, he walked consistently at a brisk pace, hoping for some sign of Cam and Theo in the distance.
He walked, and, he felt too light. It wasn't just the fact that he didn't have a shirt to wear, it was the fact that his bags were gone too. There was no weight on his back. His bag at school usually weighed around twenty pounds or so, he brought his textbooks with him, Mom had said it would give him scoliosis, he didn't listen. He liked having lots of things in his bags, even if half the things were papers and notes from previous semesters he'd almost certainly never use again except in the rare event that they had to recap topics from previous years and he'd be prepared if those topics did come up. He liked being prepared.
There was literally no weight on his back, he was as unready for whatever came next as he'd ever been. He had to find Cam and Theo. He had to.
Up on a hill was a wooden building, and a plot of land next to it, a set of potted plants, what one might generously call a garden. The path he was on brought him here, snaked its way inside. If Cam and Theo were anywhere, they'd be here. They had to be.
He headed towards it.
Untrust Us
Day 7, mid-day, private
((Tyrell Lahti continued from Dude! FO(U)RTIFIED!!! Pt. 4: A New Hope))
If there were names on the memorial, they were long gone. So was anyone who might’ve remembered them, at least gone from this place.
Maybe someone escaped. Maybe when the broadcast went out, that lone survivor of whatever new age cult ran this place would pinpoint the location, make it easier to find the island, scour it for anything the AT left behind.
There had been six other islands, six different forgotten corners of the world to run all of this. Ty didn’t know anything about them. At least in the case of this one, he had a feeling there was a sort of continuity in what was happening to them, and what had happened here before.
Fate seemed to want to make itself known in his life. Things seemed to line up a bit too perfectly so that he’d find himself here. Before he languished in the idea that he was supposed to suffer, that his whole life had been a few light moments in between long stretches of misery.
This changed that, it defied all expectation of where he’d end up. There wasn’t really a good way to react to the realization that he’d killed his best friend and was now working to kill the person he thought he loved most in the world, and that he had good reasons for doing so. All he could do was bear witness, and hope for a way out somewhere on the horizon. Maybe he’d walk there. Maybe it wasn’t somewhere you needed to walk to.
It wasn’t really worth making a judgement on it. It just was. Almost comforting, to not struggle so much against his place in the world. Maybe it would end in some quiet corner, a place where peace could be found. Could be a name on a wall, somewhere. A better memorial than whatever this was.
Almost in response to his musings, fate crossed his path once again. Someone he hadn’t seen since the first day, when Chris died. When he killed her.
“Diego.” Ty called out, sat on a small stone bench amidst the odd collection of potted plants and miscellania. He rested his hands on the crowbar, set between his legs. Almost a facsimile of an old man sat at a park bench, weathered hands resting on the crook of a cane. An eerie calm pervaded him, standing in stark contrast to his bare chest and his collection of injuries.
Strangely enough, Diego wasn’t wearing a shirt either. With a chuckle, Ty drew attention to that fact.
“I guess we’re on the same team, then? I didn’t think SOTF did shirts versus skins.”
If there were names on the memorial, they were long gone. So was anyone who might’ve remembered them, at least gone from this place.
Maybe someone escaped. Maybe when the broadcast went out, that lone survivor of whatever new age cult ran this place would pinpoint the location, make it easier to find the island, scour it for anything the AT left behind.
There had been six other islands, six different forgotten corners of the world to run all of this. Ty didn’t know anything about them. At least in the case of this one, he had a feeling there was a sort of continuity in what was happening to them, and what had happened here before.
Fate seemed to want to make itself known in his life. Things seemed to line up a bit too perfectly so that he’d find himself here. Before he languished in the idea that he was supposed to suffer, that his whole life had been a few light moments in between long stretches of misery.
This changed that, it defied all expectation of where he’d end up. There wasn’t really a good way to react to the realization that he’d killed his best friend and was now working to kill the person he thought he loved most in the world, and that he had good reasons for doing so. All he could do was bear witness, and hope for a way out somewhere on the horizon. Maybe he’d walk there. Maybe it wasn’t somewhere you needed to walk to.
It wasn’t really worth making a judgement on it. It just was. Almost comforting, to not struggle so much against his place in the world. Maybe it would end in some quiet corner, a place where peace could be found. Could be a name on a wall, somewhere. A better memorial than whatever this was.
Almost in response to his musings, fate crossed his path once again. Someone he hadn’t seen since the first day, when Chris died. When he killed her.
“Diego.” Ty called out, sat on a small stone bench amidst the odd collection of potted plants and miscellania. He rested his hands on the crowbar, set between his legs. Almost a facsimile of an old man sat at a park bench, weathered hands resting on the crook of a cane. An eerie calm pervaded him, standing in stark contrast to his bare chest and his collection of injuries.
Strangely enough, Diego wasn’t wearing a shirt either. With a chuckle, Ty drew attention to that fact.
“I guess we’re on the same team, then? I didn’t think SOTF did shirts versus skins.”
The funny thing about this plot of land was that, for a garden, it felt rather bare, compared to the rest of the island. It took a few seconds for Diego to place why, and then it came to him. There were sculptures, stakes interspersed among the potted plants. There was ample space between each object, which contributed to the sparseness of the garden. In front of a few of the plants and stakes were objects rusted and decayed. Most were unrecognizable, but he could discern a watch, a necklace. Closest to Diego was a toy car and a half-rotted plush doll laid before a small wire sculpture, the shape of which was humanoid, curled into itself.
Fear did not immediately grip Diego. He'd seen death up close already, this was just a decades-old trace of it. But, regardless, he stepped away from the memorial. It felt like the only right decision.
And then, a gravelly, almost monotonous voice called out his name. In the moment between hearing and recognizing, Diego looked. Ice ran through Diego's veins.
He wanted to run. He wanted to scream. He wanted to disappear. He wanted to cry. He had nothing. He had nothing with him. Run. Nothing to defend himself with. Not even a stick. Run. A lunge, blood on the pier, a girl's movements lessening. Ice freezing Diego from the inside-out. Run. A screech, he remembered, day one, whose it was he didn't know. A girl stilled. Run. A long-haired boy running, the aftermath left behind for Diego to deal with. Run. He was too small, too slow, too powerless. His feet, roots in the ground, laid like a foundation. Another sculpture in the gardens.
He stayed. He had no choice.
He turned fully towards the boy, shirtless too. Ty pointed out the fact, an attempt at a joke perhaps, and all that meant was that they both knew how little Diego had. He wondered, for a moment, if Ty's shirt had been too bloodied by Chris to wear, and then he pushed the thought away. Or maybe it was Lorenzo that had bloodied the shirt.
Right. Ty had done that, too. Diego found more reason to stay.
"I guess, we are, yeah," followed by a hollow attempt at laughter. The idea of them being on the same team repulsed Diego, to be honest, even if it was true in a few ways.
A few seconds of silence followed.
"Why are you talking to me? Like, what do you want? Small talk, or...?"
Fear did not immediately grip Diego. He'd seen death up close already, this was just a decades-old trace of it. But, regardless, he stepped away from the memorial. It felt like the only right decision.
And then, a gravelly, almost monotonous voice called out his name. In the moment between hearing and recognizing, Diego looked. Ice ran through Diego's veins.
He wanted to run. He wanted to scream. He wanted to disappear. He wanted to cry. He had nothing. He had nothing with him. Run. Nothing to defend himself with. Not even a stick. Run. A lunge, blood on the pier, a girl's movements lessening. Ice freezing Diego from the inside-out. Run. A screech, he remembered, day one, whose it was he didn't know. A girl stilled. Run. A long-haired boy running, the aftermath left behind for Diego to deal with. Run. He was too small, too slow, too powerless. His feet, roots in the ground, laid like a foundation. Another sculpture in the gardens.
He stayed. He had no choice.
He turned fully towards the boy, shirtless too. Ty pointed out the fact, an attempt at a joke perhaps, and all that meant was that they both knew how little Diego had. He wondered, for a moment, if Ty's shirt had been too bloodied by Chris to wear, and then he pushed the thought away. Or maybe it was Lorenzo that had bloodied the shirt.
Right. Ty had done that, too. Diego found more reason to stay.
"I guess, we are, yeah," followed by a hollow attempt at laughter. The idea of them being on the same team repulsed Diego, to be honest, even if it was true in a few ways.
A few seconds of silence followed.
"Why are you talking to me? Like, what do you want? Small talk, or...?"
Ty couldn’t help but let his eyes sink to the ground, away from Diego. The last time he’d seen Tyrell was after seeing something he probably never wanted to remember. No doubt it was on his mind as he saw him, if the way he reacted was any indication.
Still, a lot had no doubt happened between then and now. Apparently, Diego had blood on his hands as well. There was no trusting Danya’s words past which names he announced together. Diego had done something similar. A neck was involved, he could remember that much. Regardless, Ty found it difficult to conceive of Diego as much of a threat.
Not that he couldn’t threaten him - but that there wasn’t much left of him to threaten. Not much else Ty cared about losing.
So, he shrugged.
“No, not small talk. I figure we’ve got to catch up, considering where we last saw each other. Yeah?”
Idly scratching the top of the crowbar with a nail, he noticed some of the orange paint had begun to flake off. As he spoke, he gently picked it away.
“Unless you just want me dead. It’s not a terrible idea, though I don’t think the kids in the temple would be too happy about it. Plus I’m not sure there’s a whole lot left of me to kill. I lost myself at the pier. What that led to, I didn’t walk away from. Not really. And the best parts of me, they died with all of my friends. This is all that’s left. So I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to finish the job.”
He looked up from the crowbar, from the flakes of paint under his fingernail up to the trees, and smiled. It was hard not to just welcome it.
After a moment spent waiting for some weapon or malice to appear, Ty shuffled sideways on the stone bench, making a space next to him for Diego to sit. It was easier to imagine some kind of confrontation arising out of their encounter. Now that didn’t seem to be the case, Ty seemed uncharacteristically timid.
“I’m - I’m not sure where to start.”
Still, a lot had no doubt happened between then and now. Apparently, Diego had blood on his hands as well. There was no trusting Danya’s words past which names he announced together. Diego had done something similar. A neck was involved, he could remember that much. Regardless, Ty found it difficult to conceive of Diego as much of a threat.
Not that he couldn’t threaten him - but that there wasn’t much left of him to threaten. Not much else Ty cared about losing.
So, he shrugged.
“No, not small talk. I figure we’ve got to catch up, considering where we last saw each other. Yeah?”
Idly scratching the top of the crowbar with a nail, he noticed some of the orange paint had begun to flake off. As he spoke, he gently picked it away.
“Unless you just want me dead. It’s not a terrible idea, though I don’t think the kids in the temple would be too happy about it. Plus I’m not sure there’s a whole lot left of me to kill. I lost myself at the pier. What that led to, I didn’t walk away from. Not really. And the best parts of me, they died with all of my friends. This is all that’s left. So I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to finish the job.”
He looked up from the crowbar, from the flakes of paint under his fingernail up to the trees, and smiled. It was hard not to just welcome it.
After a moment spent waiting for some weapon or malice to appear, Ty shuffled sideways on the stone bench, making a space next to him for Diego to sit. It was easier to imagine some kind of confrontation arising out of their encounter. Now that didn’t seem to be the case, Ty seemed uncharacteristically timid.
“I’m - I’m not sure where to start.”
Diego looked at Ty for more than four seconds. Not out of attraction, really, though he didn't look bad. It was the scars. He was already familiar with the jagged line running down the right side of Ty's face. It was his distinguishing feature, really, something that kept Ty's face, name distinct from the rest of their classmates, even if Ty and Diego weren't close. But there were several other wounds, old and new, running up and down his body. Some of them surely from before the island. Ty typically wore long-sleeved shirts back at school, so this was Diego's first look at his arms.
Staring was rude, he remembered, but manners didn't really matter here. And, he couldn't really stop looking. Medusa-like. Or, maybe it was those statues from Doctor Who he was thinking of, the ones that would kill you if you looked away.
Ty spoke, Diego blinked, took a few seconds to register the first sentence.
"...catch up."
Diego said the words unsurely, like tasting something for the first time. It occurred to him that it sounded vaguely like catsup, but the thought was irrelevant, so he let it pass. But catsup, catch up, both words sounded equally off for a situation like this. Catch up, as if they had met by chance, five years after graduation. Not that there was much difference. Entire lives had been formed, extinguished in the past week, so what was five years in comparison to that?
Ty talked about being partially dead. He mentioned the pier, Diego's eyes dilated, he came back and realized his shoulders were tense, his entire body felt tense. He focused on the partially dead part, it was safer that way. And, he noted that it felt inaccurate, being partially dead. He could see where the metaphor came from, what would motivate such a phrase, something about the loss of innocence, youth, whatever, but Diego felt as alive as he had been on day one. Changed, yes. A worse person, yes. But alive, too.
And then, Ty mentioned something about finishing him off. Diego almost laughed, actually, but he caught himself partially, pretended he was coughing. He couldn't imagine a single scenario with Diego and Ty fighting where he came on top. Even though Ty was seated, he still felt so incredibly small right now. He thought of David and Goliath, for a moment, but David had been fighting for God, for the Israelites, if he remembered his Bible study classes correctly. David and Diego were incomparable, in the worst of ways.
Ty made room for Diego to sit, but he stayed in place. Being close to guys made him uncomfortable, even under normal circumstances. The idea of any kind of contact terrified him, especially now.
He hated that a response was being asked of him. Ty had been the one to initiate this conversation, he should have been the one to continue it. Diego was better at listening, had always been better at that.
"Uh. If you want- if you want to catch up, like. Last time I saw you was at... the pier, yeah. So, after th- you could start there, maybe?"
Staring was rude, he remembered, but manners didn't really matter here. And, he couldn't really stop looking. Medusa-like. Or, maybe it was those statues from Doctor Who he was thinking of, the ones that would kill you if you looked away.
Ty spoke, Diego blinked, took a few seconds to register the first sentence.
"...catch up."
Diego said the words unsurely, like tasting something for the first time. It occurred to him that it sounded vaguely like catsup, but the thought was irrelevant, so he let it pass. But catsup, catch up, both words sounded equally off for a situation like this. Catch up, as if they had met by chance, five years after graduation. Not that there was much difference. Entire lives had been formed, extinguished in the past week, so what was five years in comparison to that?
Ty talked about being partially dead. He mentioned the pier, Diego's eyes dilated, he came back and realized his shoulders were tense, his entire body felt tense. He focused on the partially dead part, it was safer that way. And, he noted that it felt inaccurate, being partially dead. He could see where the metaphor came from, what would motivate such a phrase, something about the loss of innocence, youth, whatever, but Diego felt as alive as he had been on day one. Changed, yes. A worse person, yes. But alive, too.
And then, Ty mentioned something about finishing him off. Diego almost laughed, actually, but he caught himself partially, pretended he was coughing. He couldn't imagine a single scenario with Diego and Ty fighting where he came on top. Even though Ty was seated, he still felt so incredibly small right now. He thought of David and Goliath, for a moment, but David had been fighting for God, for the Israelites, if he remembered his Bible study classes correctly. David and Diego were incomparable, in the worst of ways.
Ty made room for Diego to sit, but he stayed in place. Being close to guys made him uncomfortable, even under normal circumstances. The idea of any kind of contact terrified him, especially now.
He hated that a response was being asked of him. Ty had been the one to initiate this conversation, he should have been the one to continue it. Diego was better at listening, had always been better at that.
"Uh. If you want- if you want to catch up, like. Last time I saw you was at... the pier, yeah. So, after th- you could start there, maybe?"
Diego wasn’t sitting down, wasn’t coming anywhere near him.
All he knows is what he’s seen and heard. That makes sense. Keep that in mind.
Ty sighed, and absent-mindedly rubbed his neck thinking back to the Pier. In a lot of ways he’d never really stopped thinking about what he’d done. It occupied dreams and idle moments, returned to him every time he tasted blood or felt a surge of adrenaline. There weren’t really words to describe something so extreme, to try and explain why he’d done it in a way that made sense to anyone but himself.
It was easy enough to write off as instinct, as panic and trauma coming back to make him act in a way he never would, otherwise. That was a neatly packaged way to explain biting another person’s neck open.
The other explanation was, that was just who he happened to be at that time. That was his reaction to a threat, a violent resolution to a situation he himself had provoked. That in no way was he not ultimately culpable for what happened, and the effect it had on everyone who knew Chris, everyone who was standing there when it happened, and to him after Erika heard the announcement.
Both things seemed true. Neither were easy to explain. So, he tried not to.
“I was trying to - I wanted to save my girlfriend. I knew the score, I figured I’d try and skew it in her favour. Outlive this place in her memories of me, ‘cause I knew everyone else’s were shit.”
He brushed dust off the stone bench next to him, unable to keep from fidgeting as he spoke. He didn’t look Diego in the eyes.
“Erika didn’t want anything to do with me because of what happened to Chris, and went off on her own. No one to talk her out of playing this game, no one to keep her safe. I failed her, and my friends. Even Lorenzo. That first day I killed anything good in him, way before I actually killed him. What I did on that Pier, I - it ruined everything.”
Ty threw up his hands, unsure of whether any of this even meant anything to Diego.
“I still feel like I need to say something about it, about whatever that was to you. I don’t know if you put it out of your mind. The way you’re looking at me I’m guessing no, you didn’t. I know sorry doesn’t cut it, after what you saw. I am sorry, though. For who I am, and what I let happen. I don’t want to be that person anymore, and I know I could be. I know I’m still that guy. I shouldn’t get a reprieve. I just figured - you should know, I didn't just get to walk away from it.”
All he knows is what he’s seen and heard. That makes sense. Keep that in mind.
Ty sighed, and absent-mindedly rubbed his neck thinking back to the Pier. In a lot of ways he’d never really stopped thinking about what he’d done. It occupied dreams and idle moments, returned to him every time he tasted blood or felt a surge of adrenaline. There weren’t really words to describe something so extreme, to try and explain why he’d done it in a way that made sense to anyone but himself.
It was easy enough to write off as instinct, as panic and trauma coming back to make him act in a way he never would, otherwise. That was a neatly packaged way to explain biting another person’s neck open.
The other explanation was, that was just who he happened to be at that time. That was his reaction to a threat, a violent resolution to a situation he himself had provoked. That in no way was he not ultimately culpable for what happened, and the effect it had on everyone who knew Chris, everyone who was standing there when it happened, and to him after Erika heard the announcement.
Both things seemed true. Neither were easy to explain. So, he tried not to.
“I was trying to - I wanted to save my girlfriend. I knew the score, I figured I’d try and skew it in her favour. Outlive this place in her memories of me, ‘cause I knew everyone else’s were shit.”
He brushed dust off the stone bench next to him, unable to keep from fidgeting as he spoke. He didn’t look Diego in the eyes.
“Erika didn’t want anything to do with me because of what happened to Chris, and went off on her own. No one to talk her out of playing this game, no one to keep her safe. I failed her, and my friends. Even Lorenzo. That first day I killed anything good in him, way before I actually killed him. What I did on that Pier, I - it ruined everything.”
Ty threw up his hands, unsure of whether any of this even meant anything to Diego.
“I still feel like I need to say something about it, about whatever that was to you. I don’t know if you put it out of your mind. The way you’re looking at me I’m guessing no, you didn’t. I know sorry doesn’t cut it, after what you saw. I am sorry, though. For who I am, and what I let happen. I don’t want to be that person anymore, and I know I could be. I know I’m still that guy. I shouldn’t get a reprieve. I just figured - you should know, I didn't just get to walk away from it.”
There was something intriguing about what Ty had said. Outliving this place in someone's memories. Diego hadn't really given any thought to that aspect of it. Even though he had liked to write in his spare time, he found the idea of it a bit too symbolic. People could make statues of him, dedicate a holiday to him, write entire speeches about him, and yet at the end of the day, when he died, he died. He wouldn't be around to see himself be lionized, so what was the point? This entire thought exercise was pointless anyways, because Diego hadn't even made much of an impact in his own school, much less anywhere outside it. No one remembered the background characters when they disappeared from the pages. Maybe at home, maybe among his mother and sister, he'd be missed. He wondered briefly who would miss him on this island.
Cam. Theo.
That was it.
Huh.
An entire minute of discourse lived and died in Diego's mind, as Ty kept on speaking. They both were all the better for it anyways, Diego didn't want to think about it anymore.
And while Ty spoke, Diego continued to go past four seconds. They were in the middle of a conversation, not looking at who you were talking to was rude, it was fine. His eyes were drawn towards Ty's hands now. They were dusting off the seat he'd reserved for Diego, even though he'd made no indications he was planning to sit there. They rubbed together. They kept busy. In the still humid air of the island, it felt like Ty's hands were the only thing moving.
His gaze wandered up to Ty's face, for a bit. Ty was looking at the ground, seemingly more preoccupied with making the stone bench clean than talking to Diego. It occurred to him that Ty was afraid of him, somewhat. Or, maybe not afraid, but something along those lines. Ty, the throat biter, afraid of him. For a second, Diego felt the same way he had when he'd pointed the shovel at Gervais. And, that was a name he hadn't thought about it in a while. He was dead, right? He'd been the one to shoot Drew on day one, Cam had told him. He wished he'd returned the favor.
Diego blinked, he pulled back. Shivers ran up his back again, he shook for a moment. He focused on the rest of Ty's words, it was better than getting lost in thought again. Ty's words cut into Diego, somewhat. Lorenzo's name cut into him, as it always did. But he listened all the same.
There was a bit of catharsis that came with his apology. It didn't fully make sense. That apology was supposed to be for Chris, but she wouldn't really be around to hear it, so did it matter? It still felt nice, though, to have some acknowledgement of the hurt that he'd caused, to have Ty himself express regret. Diego felt his eyes getting wet, he blinked the liquid away. Crying in front of someone for the third time in 24 hours was a humiliating prospect.
After Ty finished, the only sound for a while was a shaky breath. Diego swallowed the lump in his throat.
"I. Haven't forgotten, no. I think about it all the time. I... don't know if you should be apologizing to me, but. Thank you."
Diego drummed his fingers against his thigh, looked sideways. A few more seconds of awkward silence passed. He felt scared, all of a sudden. Transparent. Ty didn't know anything about him, as far as he knew, but he felt transparent, he felt like he would know the moment Diego asked what he wanted to ask. But he did it anyways.
"Uh... about Lorenzo. What happened there? I, uh, I thought you two were friends, and all."
He had to know.
Cam. Theo.
That was it.
Huh.
An entire minute of discourse lived and died in Diego's mind, as Ty kept on speaking. They both were all the better for it anyways, Diego didn't want to think about it anymore.
And while Ty spoke, Diego continued to go past four seconds. They were in the middle of a conversation, not looking at who you were talking to was rude, it was fine. His eyes were drawn towards Ty's hands now. They were dusting off the seat he'd reserved for Diego, even though he'd made no indications he was planning to sit there. They rubbed together. They kept busy. In the still humid air of the island, it felt like Ty's hands were the only thing moving.
His gaze wandered up to Ty's face, for a bit. Ty was looking at the ground, seemingly more preoccupied with making the stone bench clean than talking to Diego. It occurred to him that Ty was afraid of him, somewhat. Or, maybe not afraid, but something along those lines. Ty, the throat biter, afraid of him. For a second, Diego felt the same way he had when he'd pointed the shovel at Gervais. And, that was a name he hadn't thought about it in a while. He was dead, right? He'd been the one to shoot Drew on day one, Cam had told him. He wished he'd returned the favor.
Diego blinked, he pulled back. Shivers ran up his back again, he shook for a moment. He focused on the rest of Ty's words, it was better than getting lost in thought again. Ty's words cut into Diego, somewhat. Lorenzo's name cut into him, as it always did. But he listened all the same.
There was a bit of catharsis that came with his apology. It didn't fully make sense. That apology was supposed to be for Chris, but she wouldn't really be around to hear it, so did it matter? It still felt nice, though, to have some acknowledgement of the hurt that he'd caused, to have Ty himself express regret. Diego felt his eyes getting wet, he blinked the liquid away. Crying in front of someone for the third time in 24 hours was a humiliating prospect.
After Ty finished, the only sound for a while was a shaky breath. Diego swallowed the lump in his throat.
"I. Haven't forgotten, no. I think about it all the time. I... don't know if you should be apologizing to me, but. Thank you."
Diego drummed his fingers against his thigh, looked sideways. A few more seconds of awkward silence passed. He felt scared, all of a sudden. Transparent. Ty didn't know anything about him, as far as he knew, but he felt transparent, he felt like he would know the moment Diego asked what he wanted to ask. But he did it anyways.
"Uh... about Lorenzo. What happened there? I, uh, I thought you two were friends, and all."
He had to know.
The question caught him off guard, and stung a little. They were good friends. Right up until the end. What he wasn’t sure of, was where things ended. The balcony, maybe?
Which one?
It seemed wrong to repeat Artem’s name in front of the cameras again, so he didn’t. Even if that wouldn’t undo the damage Ty had caused. The way Diego was asking - he had a stake in the answer, somehow. It wasn’t clear what the relationship might’ve been between them, whether it was friendly or adversarial. Maybe he was glad Lorenzo was dead; maybe they’d been allies.
In the end, it didn’t really matter. There wasn’t any game to play with his answer, no gain to be made from something other than the truth. So Ty gave him the truth, standing up and pacing slowly past the various ornaments strewn about the garden.
“We were. Real good friends, actually. Guy has - had - an impulsive streak. Didn’t think before he acted, a lot. Was really good at convincing himself of bad ideas. Still, I never thought - I mean, I never even considered…”
The truth didn’t come out so easily. What Lorenzo had done seemed trite in contrast to the people they’d both killed, the sheer amount of bodies that now lay cold and rotting on the island. Like that first horrific act was small in comparison. At least Artem would get to live the rest of his life, whatever that would be.
Ty stopped pacing, staring out at the road.
“On the trip, the last few days. Lorenzo confessed to me that he’d raped someone. It was tearing him up inside, he clearly hated himself for it. It should’ve been obvious that he wanted a way out, like some way to make amends or fix the problem. Instead of helping him do that I just - I reacted badly. Made him a proxy for… well, it doesn’t matter. Point is, there was a moment when he could’ve made himself better, and I forced him in the other direction. It felt like a betrayal. Like I was wronged because I didn’t see that side of him early enough. Hmph. I guess that makes me one hell of a narcissist.”
Turning back in Diego’s direction, Ty almost smiled. It was so absurd, so fucking tragic, no emotion seemed to feel like the right one to display. He seethed just as his voice cracked with sorrow.
“I thought a lot about killing him, about what it’d feel like to bury some rapist piece of trash that masqueraded as my best friend. The first day I ran into him, I told the cameras what he’d done. So now, everyone knows. He knew that, and I think - I think that’s why he did what he did.”
The words hung on the tip of his tongue. It wasn’t a confession, it was an explanation. He didn’t know what this was supposed to feel like. His lip curled, almost into a snarl. Everything still hurt, though this was something that wasn’t easy to just soldier on through.
Ty took a breath, looking back at Diego for the first time since he’d begun speaking.
“We fought and I killed him. A monster. And all it felt like was killing my friend.”
Which one?
It seemed wrong to repeat Artem’s name in front of the cameras again, so he didn’t. Even if that wouldn’t undo the damage Ty had caused. The way Diego was asking - he had a stake in the answer, somehow. It wasn’t clear what the relationship might’ve been between them, whether it was friendly or adversarial. Maybe he was glad Lorenzo was dead; maybe they’d been allies.
In the end, it didn’t really matter. There wasn’t any game to play with his answer, no gain to be made from something other than the truth. So Ty gave him the truth, standing up and pacing slowly past the various ornaments strewn about the garden.
“We were. Real good friends, actually. Guy has - had - an impulsive streak. Didn’t think before he acted, a lot. Was really good at convincing himself of bad ideas. Still, I never thought - I mean, I never even considered…”
The truth didn’t come out so easily. What Lorenzo had done seemed trite in contrast to the people they’d both killed, the sheer amount of bodies that now lay cold and rotting on the island. Like that first horrific act was small in comparison. At least Artem would get to live the rest of his life, whatever that would be.
Ty stopped pacing, staring out at the road.
“On the trip, the last few days. Lorenzo confessed to me that he’d raped someone. It was tearing him up inside, he clearly hated himself for it. It should’ve been obvious that he wanted a way out, like some way to make amends or fix the problem. Instead of helping him do that I just - I reacted badly. Made him a proxy for… well, it doesn’t matter. Point is, there was a moment when he could’ve made himself better, and I forced him in the other direction. It felt like a betrayal. Like I was wronged because I didn’t see that side of him early enough. Hmph. I guess that makes me one hell of a narcissist.”
Turning back in Diego’s direction, Ty almost smiled. It was so absurd, so fucking tragic, no emotion seemed to feel like the right one to display. He seethed just as his voice cracked with sorrow.
“I thought a lot about killing him, about what it’d feel like to bury some rapist piece of trash that masqueraded as my best friend. The first day I ran into him, I told the cameras what he’d done. So now, everyone knows. He knew that, and I think - I think that’s why he did what he did.”
The words hung on the tip of his tongue. It wasn’t a confession, it was an explanation. He didn’t know what this was supposed to feel like. His lip curled, almost into a snarl. Everything still hurt, though this was something that wasn’t easy to just soldier on through.
Ty took a breath, looking back at Diego for the first time since he’d begun speaking.
“We fought and I killed him. A monster. And all it felt like was killing my friend.”
((CW: Homophobia))
Rapist.
Diego staggered, a bit.
Ty continued speaking, after that word. Diego heard what he said, he thought. Each word pushing a knife in just a millimeter more, each word twisting a knife a millimeter more. But he heard him.
Lorenzo was a rapist piece of trash. Lorenzo was a monster. Ty was hurting, Diego knew, Ty had been friends with him, but
Lorenzo was
Ty stopped speaking, looked back at him. Diego wished he didn't do that.
Diego looked, spoke to the ground.
"Huh."
It was all he could afford to say.
The man he'd followed for an entire day—
—why was it so hard to breathe?—
—was a rapist. The man he'd allied with for a few days after—
—he had to control himself—
—was a rapist. The man he'd watched kill—
—Ty couldn't know, no one could know—
—was a rapist. The man he'd robbed several people with—
—Ty lost a friend, he's the real victim in this, control yourself—
—was a rapist. The man he'd killed for—
—he wanted to cry, he wanted to cry, he wanted to fucking gouge his eyes out—
—was a rapist. The man he'd wanted, the man he'd longed for, the man he'd loved
was a rapist.
He should've listened to every boy in middle school that called him a faggot. He should've listened to every politician that called him unnatural. He should've listened to every priest in church that called him a pervert. They were all right, every single one of them. He had heard them, internalized the fact that he was wrong, but he hadn't done anything with those words. Even after he'd heard them, he had continued looking, he had continued wanting, and he had just gone on and on until it had arrived at this. Diego had allied with, helped, loved a rapist. He had prolonged his life, prolonged the pain of his victim, all because, just because he wanted to spend another second with him, just because he wanted to look another second. He had sinned, he had leaned into his sin, and this was what he got.
He had heard every word of every bully, politician, priest, but knowing you are wrong is not the same thing as correcting said wrong.
He was listening now.
Diego walked past Ty towards the bench. He kneeled in front of it, and slammed his head against the stone again, and again, and again.
Rapist.
Diego staggered, a bit.
Ty continued speaking, after that word. Diego heard what he said, he thought. Each word pushing a knife in just a millimeter more, each word twisting a knife a millimeter more. But he heard him.
Lorenzo was a rapist piece of trash. Lorenzo was a monster. Ty was hurting, Diego knew, Ty had been friends with him, but
Lorenzo was
Ty stopped speaking, looked back at him. Diego wished he didn't do that.
Diego looked, spoke to the ground.
"Huh."
It was all he could afford to say.
The man he'd followed for an entire day—
—why was it so hard to breathe?—
—was a rapist. The man he'd allied with for a few days after—
—he had to control himself—
—was a rapist. The man he'd watched kill—
—Ty couldn't know, no one could know—
—was a rapist. The man he'd robbed several people with—
—Ty lost a friend, he's the real victim in this, control yourself—
—was a rapist. The man he'd killed for—
—he wanted to cry, he wanted to cry, he wanted to fucking gouge his eyes out—
—was a rapist. The man he'd wanted, the man he'd longed for, the man he'd loved
was a rapist.
He should've listened to every boy in middle school that called him a faggot. He should've listened to every politician that called him unnatural. He should've listened to every priest in church that called him a pervert. They were all right, every single one of them. He had heard them, internalized the fact that he was wrong, but he hadn't done anything with those words. Even after he'd heard them, he had continued looking, he had continued wanting, and he had just gone on and on until it had arrived at this. Diego had allied with, helped, loved a rapist. He had prolonged his life, prolonged the pain of his victim, all because, just because he wanted to spend another second with him, just because he wanted to look another second. He had sinned, he had leaned into his sin, and this was what he got.
He had heard every word of every bully, politician, priest, but knowing you are wrong is not the same thing as correcting said wrong.
He was listening now.
Diego walked past Ty towards the bench. He kneeled in front of it, and slammed his head against the stone again, and again, and again.
It seemed to take Diego a second to process that information. The moment the word “rapist” crossed Ty’s lips, the other boy seemed to sink into himself. When Ty turned around and spoke of killing Lorenzo, he could see Diego’s chest rise and fall rapidly as some part of his inner world seemed to implode. The whole time his expression seemed wildly understated. That is, until he walked over to the stone bench and began beating himself against it.
Oh what the fuck? No, you’re not Lucas Brady’ing yourself before I find out why.
“Hey, Diego, what are you - no, stop that. Jesus, what the - what are you doing?”
His reaction reminded him of a Lovecraftian story, where someone found out some cosmic truth they desperately wanted to un-know. Diego acted like Ty just told him about the Great Old Ones - except Lorenzo being a dirtbag wasn’t exactly a grand revelation, he’d murdered four people on the island. Diego had killed someone himself, to boot. There was something different going on here, and that meant Ty had to know what it was.
Some instincts never died. Ty walked over, throwing his crowbar to the dirt as Diego continued.
“Okay, no more of that.”
Knowing his words weren’t going to be enough, he stepped over to Diego and grabbed him by the arm and neck, preventing a third and fourth crack of his head against the stone. Lifting him backwards, Ty tossed Diego back to the dirt and away from the bench.
In the moment he held him, he could feel Diego trembling and the strength leaving his body; he didn’t seem to even fight back, or get up. Ty stood between him and the bench, watching for a moment as Diego curled into a ball and began to sob.
After taking a second to collect himself and suppress the stinging sensations that came from various parts of his torso, Ty threw his hands up halfway and spoke his mind.
“Look, I’m not inclined to stop you if you want to kill yourself. Makes sense given, y’know -”
Ty gestured vaguely at everything.
“-but there are easier ways to do it, there’s a cliff not five minutes that way. That said, if someone’s gonna off themselves ‘cause of something I said I’d sorta like to know why. Lorenzo being a bad dude isn’t exactly news, but your reaction tells me there’s more to it. So, like, what the fuck?”
Oh what the fuck? No, you’re not Lucas Brady’ing yourself before I find out why.
“Hey, Diego, what are you - no, stop that. Jesus, what the - what are you doing?”
His reaction reminded him of a Lovecraftian story, where someone found out some cosmic truth they desperately wanted to un-know. Diego acted like Ty just told him about the Great Old Ones - except Lorenzo being a dirtbag wasn’t exactly a grand revelation, he’d murdered four people on the island. Diego had killed someone himself, to boot. There was something different going on here, and that meant Ty had to know what it was.
Some instincts never died. Ty walked over, throwing his crowbar to the dirt as Diego continued.
“Okay, no more of that.”
Knowing his words weren’t going to be enough, he stepped over to Diego and grabbed him by the arm and neck, preventing a third and fourth crack of his head against the stone. Lifting him backwards, Ty tossed Diego back to the dirt and away from the bench.
In the moment he held him, he could feel Diego trembling and the strength leaving his body; he didn’t seem to even fight back, or get up. Ty stood between him and the bench, watching for a moment as Diego curled into a ball and began to sob.
After taking a second to collect himself and suppress the stinging sensations that came from various parts of his torso, Ty threw his hands up halfway and spoke his mind.
“Look, I’m not inclined to stop you if you want to kill yourself. Makes sense given, y’know -”
Ty gestured vaguely at everything.
“-but there are easier ways to do it, there’s a cliff not five minutes that way. That said, if someone’s gonna off themselves ‘cause of something I said I’d sorta like to know why. Lorenzo being a bad dude isn’t exactly news, but your reaction tells me there’s more to it. So, like, what the fuck?”
Diego felt arms wrapping around him. He pushed toward the bench for a second, and then he froze, fell limp. They were so strong, he was so weak, it was futile. He was thrown like a ragdoll onto the ground, the air was forced out of Diego. He looked up, eyes wide, at nothing in particular.
"Don't. Hurt me."
The words came out almost involuntarily, small, quiet whimpers, probably unheard. Air felt difficult to find in this moment, the ribcage around his lungs expanded, pushed his back into the dirt. It felt so, so familiar, he felt so scared. He could hear Lorenzo shouting at him, almost.
His vision shifted, he saw Ty standing above him, bearing witness to all this. Bearing witness to Diego laid bare.
He turned away from Ty, curled sideways into himself, sobbed into his knees, again, like it was all he knew to do. He pulled in tighter. He didn't want to be seen.
Ty spoke to him, acknowledged Diego's presence, what had just happened. He wanted to know more. He knew there was more. He saw through Diego.
He shook for fifteen, thirty more seconds. If he couldn't be granted death, isolation, maybe he could get a little more time to himself, at least.
After that time had passed, Diego relaxed his grip on himself, allowed some light to fall on his face. It felt wet. Something warm, viscous, oozed from his forehead, mixed with his tears. There was a pounding from inside his skull, the sun hurt. He didn't turn to face Ty, it was easier that way. A slight voice came from the ground, muffled.
"I- I'd been... allied with him. I'd"—gasp—"I'd seen him kill. I'd helped him rob. I'd killed for him. I... God. Fuck. I did- I didn't know what he'd done. I just wanted"—gasp—"just wanted to be with him. I didn't know."
Just wanted to be with him.
Wanted to be with him.
He
He hadn't meant to say that.
He'd hidden himself for so long, and then he'd just said it. Like that.
He wrapped his hands around the back of his head, pushed himself against his knees. He hoped his skull would cave in, as if it would happen.
"Don't. Hurt me."
The words came out almost involuntarily, small, quiet whimpers, probably unheard. Air felt difficult to find in this moment, the ribcage around his lungs expanded, pushed his back into the dirt. It felt so, so familiar, he felt so scared. He could hear Lorenzo shouting at him, almost.
His vision shifted, he saw Ty standing above him, bearing witness to all this. Bearing witness to Diego laid bare.
He turned away from Ty, curled sideways into himself, sobbed into his knees, again, like it was all he knew to do. He pulled in tighter. He didn't want to be seen.
Ty spoke to him, acknowledged Diego's presence, what had just happened. He wanted to know more. He knew there was more. He saw through Diego.
He shook for fifteen, thirty more seconds. If he couldn't be granted death, isolation, maybe he could get a little more time to himself, at least.
After that time had passed, Diego relaxed his grip on himself, allowed some light to fall on his face. It felt wet. Something warm, viscous, oozed from his forehead, mixed with his tears. There was a pounding from inside his skull, the sun hurt. He didn't turn to face Ty, it was easier that way. A slight voice came from the ground, muffled.
"I- I'd been... allied with him. I'd"—gasp—"I'd seen him kill. I'd helped him rob. I'd killed for him. I... God. Fuck. I did- I didn't know what he'd done. I just wanted"—gasp—"just wanted to be with him. I didn't know."
Just wanted to be with him.
Wanted to be with him.
He
He hadn't meant to say that.
He'd hidden himself for so long, and then he'd just said it. Like that.
He wrapped his hands around the back of his head, pushed himself against his knees. He hoped his skull would cave in, as if it would happen.
Ty stood over Diego, listening. Not just for what he said, but how he said it. Listening for the things he left out. It became clear enough what had happened, and the realization hit Ty like a sudden breeze. Quietly, he sat back down on the bench and folded his hands.
There had been something there for the two of them, then. Diego wanted to be with him. Companionship for the end times. Knowing Lorenzo, it was probably romantic, definitely sexual. Knowing Lorenzo as he would have been on the island, there was no small chance it was just a way he could use Diego as a loyal meatshield.
There was no way to know for certain if that was the case, and Ty wasn’t going to mention it. Lorenzo was dead; his bad deeds and the hurt he caused ought to die with him, he thought. Sighing, Ty buried his head in his hands.
They all had to go through this before the end. Every last person, even the winner. Settling accounts, recognizing all of their misdeeds, trying to square that with who they were and were supposed to be. It wasn’t entirely clear to Ty what it actually achieved, but he figured it was an instinct at least most of them would share. They were just kids, and most of them never would’ve imagined themselves as malicious or evil.
Maybe it gave off some sort of spiritual release, he supposed. A way to acknowledge what they’d done, see it for what it is, instead of callously rationalizing it. Instead of stowing it away, or using it as a tool for self-harm and self loathing. The most important part of any of this was that they’d done it already. There was no changing the past, or the way it shaped their last days.
So after a few minutes, Ty spoke again.
“You wanted to be with him. Can’t say you couldn’t have known; you didn’t know about the rape but you went along with the murder. You killed Mike for him, right? I used to play guitar with Mike, even jammed at a party once. I liked him. I don’t know the details, I don’t want to.”
Instinctively, he opened and closed his fist. Thinking about Mike was enough of a reason to take this in a different direction, but neither of them needed that right now. That wasn’t who Ty wanted to be, today. A confessor, maybe? He didn’t know. Thinking about it threatened to grow too much of an ego around the idea.
“What you knew and your reasons don’t matter. What you did was wrong and you’ve gotta find a way to square that with yourself, ‘cause here’s no one here who can forgive you. It hurt people and destroyed at least one of them. It hurt you. By the standards of the world we come from, what you’ve done - what I’ve done - is fucking horrific. But...”
Looking back to the Temple, Tyrell thought of the people inside. They’d all been to the brink in one way or another. Each of them had been to the brink in one way or another. Maybe that was why they accepted him the way they did. He turned back to Diego, smiling sadly.
“...but we’re not in that world anymore. You and I and everyone else, we’re kind of starin’ down the end here. This is it. Satan's Waiting Room. We’ve got… days left, maybe, and most of the people we cared about are a world away or dead, or dead to us. No one could blame you for not wanting to be alone in this. Not wanting to face this on your own is a hell of a motivation to do shit you never would’ve done otherwise.”
His words weren’t empty. It didn’t take much searching of Tyrell’s face to see that he knew very well what Diego was feeling.
I can't help it.
In spite of what he was trying to accomplish. In spite of what she’d done. He still felt it, even as he spoke. There wasn’t any way to hide it.
“I get it, what it’s like. To love someone like that. Doesn't make sense, that you could think to do those things for them. It'll never feel right, or okay, and it shouldn't. But for fucks' sake dude, wanting to be with someone through this? That's the last thing you need to be ashamed of.”
There had been something there for the two of them, then. Diego wanted to be with him. Companionship for the end times. Knowing Lorenzo, it was probably romantic, definitely sexual. Knowing Lorenzo as he would have been on the island, there was no small chance it was just a way he could use Diego as a loyal meatshield.
There was no way to know for certain if that was the case, and Ty wasn’t going to mention it. Lorenzo was dead; his bad deeds and the hurt he caused ought to die with him, he thought. Sighing, Ty buried his head in his hands.
They all had to go through this before the end. Every last person, even the winner. Settling accounts, recognizing all of their misdeeds, trying to square that with who they were and were supposed to be. It wasn’t entirely clear to Ty what it actually achieved, but he figured it was an instinct at least most of them would share. They were just kids, and most of them never would’ve imagined themselves as malicious or evil.
Maybe it gave off some sort of spiritual release, he supposed. A way to acknowledge what they’d done, see it for what it is, instead of callously rationalizing it. Instead of stowing it away, or using it as a tool for self-harm and self loathing. The most important part of any of this was that they’d done it already. There was no changing the past, or the way it shaped their last days.
So after a few minutes, Ty spoke again.
“You wanted to be with him. Can’t say you couldn’t have known; you didn’t know about the rape but you went along with the murder. You killed Mike for him, right? I used to play guitar with Mike, even jammed at a party once. I liked him. I don’t know the details, I don’t want to.”
Instinctively, he opened and closed his fist. Thinking about Mike was enough of a reason to take this in a different direction, but neither of them needed that right now. That wasn’t who Ty wanted to be, today. A confessor, maybe? He didn’t know. Thinking about it threatened to grow too much of an ego around the idea.
“What you knew and your reasons don’t matter. What you did was wrong and you’ve gotta find a way to square that with yourself, ‘cause here’s no one here who can forgive you. It hurt people and destroyed at least one of them. It hurt you. By the standards of the world we come from, what you’ve done - what I’ve done - is fucking horrific. But...”
Looking back to the Temple, Tyrell thought of the people inside. They’d all been to the brink in one way or another. Each of them had been to the brink in one way or another. Maybe that was why they accepted him the way they did. He turned back to Diego, smiling sadly.
“...but we’re not in that world anymore. You and I and everyone else, we’re kind of starin’ down the end here. This is it. Satan's Waiting Room. We’ve got… days left, maybe, and most of the people we cared about are a world away or dead, or dead to us. No one could blame you for not wanting to be alone in this. Not wanting to face this on your own is a hell of a motivation to do shit you never would’ve done otherwise.”
His words weren’t empty. It didn’t take much searching of Tyrell’s face to see that he knew very well what Diego was feeling.
I can't help it.
In spite of what he was trying to accomplish. In spite of what she’d done. He still felt it, even as he spoke. There wasn’t any way to hide it.
“I get it, what it’s like. To love someone like that. Doesn't make sense, that you could think to do those things for them. It'll never feel right, or okay, and it shouldn't. But for fucks' sake dude, wanting to be with someone through this? That's the last thing you need to be ashamed of.”
Diego gave up, after a few seconds. His skull wouldn't cave in. It was too much to ask for. His head hurt too much, the pounding was intensifying. So, he let go of his knees, he laid out flat. The sun still hurt, so he put his right hand over his eyes. It felt tacky, his skin, he wanted to wash it off, but he had nothing to wash it off with. The blood would congeal on his skin, the dirt would stick to him, stain him.
It was better this way, with the light attacking him. It meant he didn't have to look at Ty, it meant he didn't have to look at Ty looking at him.
Ty repeated the phrase, 'wanted to be with him,' and Diego wanted to curl up all over again, but he was too tired. Mike was, had been, a friend of Ty's. There was an edge in his voice when he mentioned that. He anticipated being thrown to the ground once more, maybe many times more, until he was pulverized, thoroughly and completely broken, and he would have deserved it. But, it didn't come. He moved past Mike.
He moved past the implications of that phrase.
What Diego had done, saying that phrase, had been a mistake he had been dreading for roughly half of his life, at this point. It was the foundation of many nightmares. He had kept himself hidden for good reason, and though that self-imposed exile had been torturous, lonely, it was what he had known. The daily routine of looking for four seconds, denying himself, keeping a part of him locked away in the dark for no one to see, had been that, a routine, and in any routine, there was comfort. Being in the closet felt safe.
When he had torn that away from himself, he had expected it to come with more consequences. Repudiation, disgust. Everything that Diego had felt about himself, he expected it to be shouted at him by those he loved.
So, when Ty simply moved past the phrase, talked about reckoning with what you had done, self-acceptance, a foreign word, when he moved past the phrase, it felt anti-climactic. Part of Diego almost demanded more. The culmination of years of fear passed by, just like that. What was a life-changing event for Diego was simply another fact to be considered for Ty.
Ty continued speaking, and Diego realized he was speaking from a position of sympathy. Same team. Both wearing skins, both killers. And, Ty got it. He didn't want to be alone.
Diego removed his hand from his eyes, squinted through the light to look at Ty's face. And, he saw in his face that he knew. He looked like he was missing something. Someone.
What Diego had thought was special to him, something that was his and only his to bear, Ty had just put into words like that. He didn't want to be alone. But, not in the same way Diego didn't want to be alone.
He didn't trust himself to speak, still. He was fighting every instinct of his to speak. But, Ty knew. The world knew. Might as well lean in to it. In for a penny, in for a pound. He spoke to the sky, this time. Felt wrong, looking into his eyes.
"You... have Erika, right?" he asked in a ragged, diminished voice. "Or had. I don't know how you guys are. With everything."
He felt bad, moving past the topic, but he'd been silent for years. He deserved a few minutes to speak.
"I never had that. Or, anything close to that, really. I never will. I just—"
Diego choked.
"I just. I'd looked up to him for so long, Ty. I'd had a crush on him for so long. He was everything I ever wanted to be. Brave, reckless. Unafraid. I wanted his face, I wanted his body, I wanted his boyfriends, I wanted his attitude, I wanted to be him."
He wiped salt from his eyes, smeared blood across his face.
"I never even had a chance with him, before. I just. I wanted to be something to someone. And, I thought I was. I'd slept with... we'd slept in each others' vicinities.
"Not together.
"But, we'd trusted each other enough to not kill each other in our sleep. He saved my life, even. Right before he kicked me out, actually, said I was useless. And, he didn't have to. It would've been easier for him to let me die. I... don't know what I was to him, but I was enough for him to save. And, I liked that. I liked being something. So, it just... fucks me up to know he was like that. That he did that.
"God, I was stupid."
It was better this way, with the light attacking him. It meant he didn't have to look at Ty, it meant he didn't have to look at Ty looking at him.
Ty repeated the phrase, 'wanted to be with him,' and Diego wanted to curl up all over again, but he was too tired. Mike was, had been, a friend of Ty's. There was an edge in his voice when he mentioned that. He anticipated being thrown to the ground once more, maybe many times more, until he was pulverized, thoroughly and completely broken, and he would have deserved it. But, it didn't come. He moved past Mike.
He moved past the implications of that phrase.
What Diego had done, saying that phrase, had been a mistake he had been dreading for roughly half of his life, at this point. It was the foundation of many nightmares. He had kept himself hidden for good reason, and though that self-imposed exile had been torturous, lonely, it was what he had known. The daily routine of looking for four seconds, denying himself, keeping a part of him locked away in the dark for no one to see, had been that, a routine, and in any routine, there was comfort. Being in the closet felt safe.
When he had torn that away from himself, he had expected it to come with more consequences. Repudiation, disgust. Everything that Diego had felt about himself, he expected it to be shouted at him by those he loved.
So, when Ty simply moved past the phrase, talked about reckoning with what you had done, self-acceptance, a foreign word, when he moved past the phrase, it felt anti-climactic. Part of Diego almost demanded more. The culmination of years of fear passed by, just like that. What was a life-changing event for Diego was simply another fact to be considered for Ty.
Ty continued speaking, and Diego realized he was speaking from a position of sympathy. Same team. Both wearing skins, both killers. And, Ty got it. He didn't want to be alone.
Diego removed his hand from his eyes, squinted through the light to look at Ty's face. And, he saw in his face that he knew. He looked like he was missing something. Someone.
What Diego had thought was special to him, something that was his and only his to bear, Ty had just put into words like that. He didn't want to be alone. But, not in the same way Diego didn't want to be alone.
He didn't trust himself to speak, still. He was fighting every instinct of his to speak. But, Ty knew. The world knew. Might as well lean in to it. In for a penny, in for a pound. He spoke to the sky, this time. Felt wrong, looking into his eyes.
"You... have Erika, right?" he asked in a ragged, diminished voice. "Or had. I don't know how you guys are. With everything."
He felt bad, moving past the topic, but he'd been silent for years. He deserved a few minutes to speak.
"I never had that. Or, anything close to that, really. I never will. I just—"
Diego choked.
"I just. I'd looked up to him for so long, Ty. I'd had a crush on him for so long. He was everything I ever wanted to be. Brave, reckless. Unafraid. I wanted his face, I wanted his body, I wanted his boyfriends, I wanted his attitude, I wanted to be him."
He wiped salt from his eyes, smeared blood across his face.
"I never even had a chance with him, before. I just. I wanted to be something to someone. And, I thought I was. I'd slept with... we'd slept in each others' vicinities.
"Not together.
"But, we'd trusted each other enough to not kill each other in our sleep. He saved my life, even. Right before he kicked me out, actually, said I was useless. And, he didn't have to. It would've been easier for him to let me die. I... don't know what I was to him, but I was enough for him to save. And, I liked that. I liked being something. So, it just... fucks me up to know he was like that. That he did that.
"God, I was stupid."
It was hard not to look away when Diego mentioned her. Part of him wanted to somehow snatch the sound out of the air, bury it. He resisted that impulse, and kept his attention focused on Diego and what he said. In listening, Ty found himself hyper-attentive to all of the other boy’s failings and insecurities, just as he always had been, but without any desire to exploit them.
He couldn’t tell if it was genuine altruism or some sort of obsession with the truth, an inability to let someone be mistaken about who they were and what they’d done. Ty spent more energy wondering whether he was even sitting here for a decent reason than he’d ever have wanted to admit.
All told, it just boiled down to the fact that it was kind of hard to just sit here and watch this person hurt themselves for no good reason.
And there are definitely good reasons to want to hurt yourself.
He smirked.
“I knew Ren pretty well. There were good parts. Lots of pain, too. He hid a lot. I dunno if it helps to hear this, but I know he spent a whole lot of time trying to be someone else. Whoever he was, it wasn’t something he could bear too easily. No one parties like he did ‘cause they’re content.”
With a shrug, Ty resumed running his fingers across the lines of his palms, pressing into various points as if that’d stop other parts of him from aching.
“It’s not one or the other, good or bad. One act doesn’t cancel the other out. If he saved you, you meant something to him. It mattered, full stop. The best of him didn’t just stop existing because of what he became; doesn’t excuse it either. It doesn’t make him a monster or whatever ideal you were hoping for. Just Lorenzo.”
Hopefully it was clear enough what he was saying, in the abstract. If the two of them disarmed their collars, built a raft, sailed over to the AT’s headquarters and disemboweled Mr. Danya and his goons, saving everyone - it still couldn’t wash away the stain of what they’d done. It didn’t work that way.
“I killed him, and I guess I mourn him, because of who he was. Liking how you felt about him, that he seemed to care, that’s not stupid. It just means you’re another fucked up, doomed, traumatized teenager. A human being.”
He couldn’t tell if it was genuine altruism or some sort of obsession with the truth, an inability to let someone be mistaken about who they were and what they’d done. Ty spent more energy wondering whether he was even sitting here for a decent reason than he’d ever have wanted to admit.
All told, it just boiled down to the fact that it was kind of hard to just sit here and watch this person hurt themselves for no good reason.
And there are definitely good reasons to want to hurt yourself.
He smirked.
“I knew Ren pretty well. There were good parts. Lots of pain, too. He hid a lot. I dunno if it helps to hear this, but I know he spent a whole lot of time trying to be someone else. Whoever he was, it wasn’t something he could bear too easily. No one parties like he did ‘cause they’re content.”
With a shrug, Ty resumed running his fingers across the lines of his palms, pressing into various points as if that’d stop other parts of him from aching.
“It’s not one or the other, good or bad. One act doesn’t cancel the other out. If he saved you, you meant something to him. It mattered, full stop. The best of him didn’t just stop existing because of what he became; doesn’t excuse it either. It doesn’t make him a monster or whatever ideal you were hoping for. Just Lorenzo.”
Hopefully it was clear enough what he was saying, in the abstract. If the two of them disarmed their collars, built a raft, sailed over to the AT’s headquarters and disemboweled Mr. Danya and his goons, saving everyone - it still couldn’t wash away the stain of what they’d done. It didn’t work that way.
“I killed him, and I guess I mourn him, because of who he was. Liking how you felt about him, that he seemed to care, that’s not stupid. It just means you’re another fucked up, doomed, traumatized teenager. A human being.”
Diego continued looking at the sky as Ty spoke. If he phased out enough, he could pretend the voice came from the sky, from the blue above, but he didn't. That was lending too much power to Ty. It felt uncomfortable.
What Ty said about Lorenzo hurt, in a way. It hurt in the sense the saying 'The grass is always greener on the other side' hurt. See, if the statement held, that meant you would never be on the side with green grass. You could move around the fence over and over and over again, but you would never reach your desired destination. You would never be content.
So, Diego had aspired to nothing but more discontent. Diego's aspirations, desires, had been nothing but a journey in pointlessness. He would never be content.
Ty went on, and, he didn't get it. He didn't get what Diego was saying.
Lorenzo was a multi-faceted person, yes. So was everyone else. Diego knew that. But, most people didn't act on their dark side the way Lorenzo had. And, didn't that mean something, too? The sides weren't independent of one another.
Diego sat up. His head hurt at every slight movement. He rubbed his temple hoping it would stop. It didn't.
He stared into the distance for a while, waiting for the pain to subside, considering his words. Every word felt dangerous, but, he wanted Ty to understand. He wanted someone to understand.
The pain didn't go away, but he looked at Ty anyways.
"It... it fucks me up because, like. One act doesn't cancel the other out, yeah. But, doesn't one act have implications on the other? I... I liked how I felt about- how he felt about me, yeah. It felt good. But, what does it say about me, then? What does it say that someone who did... that wanted to save me? I... I don't know how to feel about that."
What Ty said about Lorenzo hurt, in a way. It hurt in the sense the saying 'The grass is always greener on the other side' hurt. See, if the statement held, that meant you would never be on the side with green grass. You could move around the fence over and over and over again, but you would never reach your desired destination. You would never be content.
So, Diego had aspired to nothing but more discontent. Diego's aspirations, desires, had been nothing but a journey in pointlessness. He would never be content.
Ty went on, and, he didn't get it. He didn't get what Diego was saying.
Lorenzo was a multi-faceted person, yes. So was everyone else. Diego knew that. But, most people didn't act on their dark side the way Lorenzo had. And, didn't that mean something, too? The sides weren't independent of one another.
Diego sat up. His head hurt at every slight movement. He rubbed his temple hoping it would stop. It didn't.
He stared into the distance for a while, waiting for the pain to subside, considering his words. Every word felt dangerous, but, he wanted Ty to understand. He wanted someone to understand.
The pain didn't go away, but he looked at Ty anyways.
"It... it fucks me up because, like. One act doesn't cancel the other out, yeah. But, doesn't one act have implications on the other? I... I liked how I felt about- how he felt about me, yeah. It felt good. But, what does it say about me, then? What does it say that someone who did... that wanted to save me? I... I don't know how to feel about that."