((Paulo Abbate continued from What Now?))
He had drive, motivation, but little in the way of direction. Paulo wandered in a fog, sure of a goal but moving for want of a place to accomplish the goal. They had said that Max had bit it near where Rosemary had went, but he wasn't entirely sure where that was.
His trajectory took him through town, to the overpass. Somewhere in his haze he must have decided having a higher vantage point would be an advantage.
But when he got there, he found himself as scarce on direction as before. He could see parts of the island, sure. But nothing worth a fuck.
Paulo leaned on the guardrail flanking one side of the dilapidated bridge, shaking his head.
"Well..." He said, but the sound of his own voice shocked him into silence.
Anger was hard to deal with when there wasn't an object to focus it on. This anger, sans Max, was inelegant, nebulous, confusing. Beyond the boy's grasp, save the inkling he wanted to hit something and didn't have anybody to hit. So Paulo did his best to stifle it while he took up real estate on the bridge, trying and failing to decide what to do.
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((Ian Williams continued from: Blown off Course))
((Placeholder is edited!!! Hallelujah!))
((Placeholder is edited!!! Hallelujah!))
Ian regarded the other boy with thoughtful curiosity for a quiet moment from further down the bridge, following his gaze to nowhere, before turning back again.
Paulo Abbate; a face, a name, and he knew so very little more. The boy had always seemed loud and obnoxious, and so Ian had simply just avoided him back home. It was easier that way, had always seemed to be, and perhaps it really would have been easier to just walk on by now, too.
But there was an odd kind of sympathy at seeing someone who looked almost as lost and directionless as he was, now that his plans had all fallen apart, now that he'd been betrayed by friends three times running, as Bella fled, Hansel killed, and Steven died, now that he was just a scared kid, trying desperately to come up with excuses to put off facing Juhan and Takeshi, and explaining how things had gone so very, very wrong when he wasn't even sure himself, because he didn't dare go to the beach itself.
Really, he just wanted someone to talk to, who he didn't owe an apology of some kind, and the boy didn't seem to have a weapon out, at least. Kinda wanted to know what the boy was looking for, if anything. Just a break in the bitter monotony of his thoughts. Worth a shot, right?
Right, just like Steven and Bella.
He couldn't help it. Even as he'd already started to speak up, words turned into a laugh, bitter and cynical at his own stupidity. Or at least, it would have, if the sound hadn't caught in his throat on the way out, making it difficult to breath, and he wasn't sure if what was coming out really was a laugh, a choke, or a sob.
Oh shit
The 2X4, Paulo's only ally since leaving the two girls behind, had been resting on the guardrail next to him. When the of somone who probably had lost just about all of their shit rang out clearly further down the bridge, the piece of lumber was in his hand as he whirled to face whoever it was, intent on bashing him into fucking powder.
He didn't know the kid that was walking up. Paulo might have tried to sell him on his testicular fortitude at one time or another. It all ran together at this point. Everything did, given the situation. But in any case, he made Paulo nervous. And when Paulo got nervous, Paulo got angry.
"Stay the fuck back, man!" He said, pointing at the kid with the 2X4. He took a step back, setting his weight.
The 2X4, Paulo's only ally since leaving the two girls behind, had been resting on the guardrail next to him. When the of somone who probably had lost just about all of their shit rang out clearly further down the bridge, the piece of lumber was in his hand as he whirled to face whoever it was, intent on bashing him into fucking powder.
He didn't know the kid that was walking up. Paulo might have tried to sell him on his testicular fortitude at one time or another. It all ran together at this point. Everything did, given the situation. But in any case, he made Paulo nervous. And when Paulo got nervous, Paulo got angry.
"Stay the fuck back, man!" He said, pointing at the kid with the 2X4. He took a step back, setting his weight.
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Ian winced at the sound of his shovel clattering against the cement, falling forgotten as he reflexively raised his hands, palm outwards, non-threatening. As it turned out, having the attention of an angry kid was certainly quite sobering, even if there wasn't much else to recommend it.
"Hey, easy! Not looking for trouble."
Deep breath, relax.
Okay, this was not ideal. He hadn't meant to startle the other boy, certainly hadn't meant to find himself confronted with a freaking two-by-four. His voice was level and controlled, but only barely. He was scared, and adrenaline was screaming at him, for once bringing more confusion than clarity as he seethed at his momentary loss of control.
Deep breath, relax.
He had to stay calm, had to stop being stupid. This wasn't great, but it might still be salvageable; Paulo was clearly more startled than aggressive, if the fact that he'd taken that step back meant anything. Better than towards him, at least.
"I'll just go my way, you go yours, okay?"
It wasn't what he'd intended, but by now, it was obvious that his original plan had been stupid, hadn't been based in anything remotely resembling reality. He'd let himself forget where he was, let himself forget that some things were luxeries the island wouldn't afford, and that was both foolish and dangerous. Maybe it was cowardly, maybe it was just polite - not to mention intelligent - but he wouldn't push his luck further.
"Hey, easy! Not looking for trouble."
Deep breath, relax.
Okay, this was not ideal. He hadn't meant to startle the other boy, certainly hadn't meant to find himself confronted with a freaking two-by-four. His voice was level and controlled, but only barely. He was scared, and adrenaline was screaming at him, for once bringing more confusion than clarity as he seethed at his momentary loss of control.
Deep breath, relax.
He had to stay calm, had to stop being stupid. This wasn't great, but it might still be salvageable; Paulo was clearly more startled than aggressive, if the fact that he'd taken that step back meant anything. Better than towards him, at least.
"I'll just go my way, you go yours, okay?"
It wasn't what he'd intended, but by now, it was obvious that his original plan had been stupid, hadn't been based in anything remotely resembling reality. He'd let himself forget where he was, let himself forget that some things were luxeries the island wouldn't afford, and that was both foolish and dangerous. Maybe it was cowardly, maybe it was just polite - not to mention intelligent - but he wouldn't push his luck further.
Paulo had developed a little bit since seeing people die in front of him. But there's only so much a few days can breed out of a kid with a chip on his shoulder. This, coupled with Paulo's less than optimal state, is what led to his next move.
His chest puffed out, and a little of the "bad motherfucker" that used to wander the halls out of Aurora High school came back. The 2X4 fell as his ego rose.
"Thats right. Go your motherfucking way. Don't wanna fuck with me right now, homeboy."
His chest puffed out, and a little of the "bad motherfucker" that used to wander the halls out of Aurora High school came back. The 2X4 fell as his ego rose.
"Thats right. Go your motherfucking way. Don't wanna fuck with me right now, homeboy."
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"Right." It was more an acknowledgment than a response, as relief quickly faded into chagrin, and Ian bit back other, sharper replies that came to mind as thoughts turned bitter once more.
It's funny how much the little things can get to you, sometimes. It had been one thing to accept that he'd made a mistake, even as his frustration turned inwards, and he began tearing himself apart once again. But it was quite another to watch the idiot puff and preen as he taunted him, adding insult to every single injury that had festered over the last five days. As if he hadn't been freaking out a moment ago, too.
Ian seethed and fumed as he reached for his shovel, as adrenaline crashed around without a purpose, and what was meant to be a deep, steadying breath became instead a small and bitter sigh. He didn't even try to hide the tired contempt for the moron's posturing in his voice as he turned to walk away, couldn't resist getting one last dig in.
"Sure, kid."
What a waste of time this had been.
It's funny how much the little things can get to you, sometimes. It had been one thing to accept that he'd made a mistake, even as his frustration turned inwards, and he began tearing himself apart once again. But it was quite another to watch the idiot puff and preen as he taunted him, adding insult to every single injury that had festered over the last five days. As if he hadn't been freaking out a moment ago, too.
Ian seethed and fumed as he reached for his shovel, as adrenaline crashed around without a purpose, and what was meant to be a deep, steadying breath became instead a small and bitter sigh. He didn't even try to hide the tired contempt for the moron's posturing in his voice as he turned to walk away, couldn't resist getting one last dig in.
"Sure, kid."
What a waste of time this had been.
Paulo had started to turn when his territorial dance seemed to be respected. But then the kid talked again.
Normal circumstances, if this was an Aurora hallway, if everything was normal and Paulo was just heading to class (or planning to skip class) he would have kept walking, his alpha-male satisfied.
But he had been through some shit. And shit had a way of sticking.
Paulo turned back.
"Fuck did you say, puto?" He said. He moved closer to the boy, within striking range. He stuck a hand out, and jabbed his finger right into his sternum. It would the first of many mistakes that would cost Paulo his life.
Normal circumstances, if this was an Aurora hallway, if everything was normal and Paulo was just heading to class (or planning to skip class) he would have kept walking, his alpha-male satisfied.
But he had been through some shit. And shit had a way of sticking.
Paulo turned back.
"Fuck did you say, puto?" He said. He moved closer to the boy, within striking range. He stuck a hand out, and jabbed his finger right into his sternum. It would the first of many mistakes that would cost Paulo his life.
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Ian should have known better, he really should have.
No, strike that, he did know better. He'd realized his mistake even before he'd seen Paulo approaching out of the corner of his eye, had known what he was doing the instant the words had left his mouth. Every rational thought screamed at him to run, every ounce of his own personality told him to apologize, to try and make things right, and maybe it was cowardly, maybe it was just polite, but that apology was already forming on his lips as Paulo came bearing down on him.
And perhaps, if he'd managed to swallow his pride long enough to do so, had accepted that as the price for being stupid, that would have been enough. Perhaps he could have run instead, and there still would have been no real harm done. Ian really had known better.
But shock quickly turned to incredulous anger as he felt Paulo's finger jabbing at him, something seemed to snap as he stumbled back, and for once, just for once, he ignored the part that said it knew better. He was furious, he was scared, and he was so very tired, tired of taking the blame on himself for everything he did, tired of just accepting everything life threw at him, tired of being left helpless as the world fell apart around him, because he was apparently the only reasonable person in existence.
It was almost a relief to finally let go. To let anger drown out bitter thoughts with another sort of pain.
He measured once as Paulo stepped after him, stood quietly still as he let the idiot jab him again, and then his own hand was snaking up behind the other boy's, pinning it his chest with his knuckle. He gave a tight grin as he took a step back, pulling the other boy with him, digging his knuckle in deep, trying to cause pain.
"I think I said, shut up already."
It was only as he let Paulo's hand slip away that the voice of reason started whispering again, and he began to wonder what the heck he'd done.
No, strike that, he did know better. He'd realized his mistake even before he'd seen Paulo approaching out of the corner of his eye, had known what he was doing the instant the words had left his mouth. Every rational thought screamed at him to run, every ounce of his own personality told him to apologize, to try and make things right, and maybe it was cowardly, maybe it was just polite, but that apology was already forming on his lips as Paulo came bearing down on him.
And perhaps, if he'd managed to swallow his pride long enough to do so, had accepted that as the price for being stupid, that would have been enough. Perhaps he could have run instead, and there still would have been no real harm done. Ian really had known better.
But shock quickly turned to incredulous anger as he felt Paulo's finger jabbing at him, something seemed to snap as he stumbled back, and for once, just for once, he ignored the part that said it knew better. He was furious, he was scared, and he was so very tired, tired of taking the blame on himself for everything he did, tired of just accepting everything life threw at him, tired of being left helpless as the world fell apart around him, because he was apparently the only reasonable person in existence.
It was almost a relief to finally let go. To let anger drown out bitter thoughts with another sort of pain.
He measured once as Paulo stepped after him, stood quietly still as he let the idiot jab him again, and then his own hand was snaking up behind the other boy's, pinning it his chest with his knuckle. He gave a tight grin as he took a step back, pulling the other boy with him, digging his knuckle in deep, trying to cause pain.
"I think I said, shut up already."
It was only as he let Paulo's hand slip away that the voice of reason started whispering again, and he began to wonder what the heck he'd done.
Paulo yanked his hand back, teeth clenched. At some point he had lost his weapon. But he still had hands.
The right hand, the one that Ian hadn't grabbed, went sailing through the air, on a violent trajectory.
Paulo opened his mouth to say something, but only snarled.
Terminal velocity had been achieved.
The right hand, the one that Ian hadn't grabbed, went sailing through the air, on a violent trajectory.
Paulo opened his mouth to say something, but only snarled.
Terminal velocity had been achieved.
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There was no time to think, no more chances, only the sound of Ian's breath suddenly disappearing as Paulo struck.
Thoughts blurred and ran together as he stumbled back, flailing, his training almost completely forgotten as panic began to hit. There was no clarity in the wave of adrenaline that followed, no focus. It wasn't a sport, it wasn't a game, there were no rules, and he was losing. He struck, and Paulo hit back harder. He couldn't fight a monster.
He wanted to run, now that the whispering voice had become an all out scream, but he was getting pressed back, was too busy defending himself to even think of anything else. He had no time to set up, to feint, to engage and disengage, to fight like sportsmen should. There was just no time, it was too fast, everything was hurting and he could barely move. It was everything his dad had warned of before, and he was more terrified than he'd ever been in his life.
As the line between thought and action blurred, some of his old training came to fore, and a direct strike to his head was clumsily parried, turning it into a glancing blow instead. His arms shot out, and he tried to grab his attacker in a clinch.
He couldn't fight a monster, but if he could stop him for a moment, could throw a few knees into the mix, maybe he could run, and salvage what little there was that remained to be salvaged.
Thoughts blurred and ran together as he stumbled back, flailing, his training almost completely forgotten as panic began to hit. There was no clarity in the wave of adrenaline that followed, no focus. It wasn't a sport, it wasn't a game, there were no rules, and he was losing. He struck, and Paulo hit back harder. He couldn't fight a monster.
He wanted to run, now that the whispering voice had become an all out scream, but he was getting pressed back, was too busy defending himself to even think of anything else. He had no time to set up, to feint, to engage and disengage, to fight like sportsmen should. There was just no time, it was too fast, everything was hurting and he could barely move. It was everything his dad had warned of before, and he was more terrified than he'd ever been in his life.
As the line between thought and action blurred, some of his old training came to fore, and a direct strike to his head was clumsily parried, turning it into a glancing blow instead. His arms shot out, and he tried to grab his attacker in a clinch.
He couldn't fight a monster, but if he could stop him for a moment, could throw a few knees into the mix, maybe he could run, and salvage what little there was that remained to be salvaged.
Kid was playing with fire, grabbing Paulo, and the half-brazilian boy knew it. He would have grinned if he wasn't so fucking mad.
To anyone watching, it was two boys falling clumsily to the ground. In Paulo's mind he was a UFC champion, working a perfect outside trip. As it stood he barely got an ankle behind Ian's leg. The only reason they fell was because both boys failed to retain anything even resembling balance.
Paulo landed in what might have charitably been called a half-guard. Paulo couldn't even think of any sweet submissions or guard passes or whatever he spent his evenings watching on youtube, so absolute was his emotional state. So he settled for hugging Ian's body with his left arm and throwing arcing, short punches into his ribs.
Each punch made him feel like more of a man. Like he was worth something. He hoped his dad was watching.
To anyone watching, it was two boys falling clumsily to the ground. In Paulo's mind he was a UFC champion, working a perfect outside trip. As it stood he barely got an ankle behind Ian's leg. The only reason they fell was because both boys failed to retain anything even resembling balance.
Paulo landed in what might have charitably been called a half-guard. Paulo couldn't even think of any sweet submissions or guard passes or whatever he spent his evenings watching on youtube, so absolute was his emotional state. So he settled for hugging Ian's body with his left arm and throwing arcing, short punches into his ribs.
Each punch made him feel like more of a man. Like he was worth something. He hoped his dad was watching.
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And suddenly the world was spinning, the ground came fast, and the bridge's guard rail came even faster.
Ian felt his head crash against that rail, lights flashed, and he barely had the presence of mind to wrap his arms around to protect his head as Paulo landed on top of him.
This was what one might call not being in top condition.
Funny how inane his thoughts were, as fists pounded against his ribs, and he tried to roll Paulo off to no avail. If his attacker hardly knew what he was doing, Ian didn't know at all, couldn't unlock the rusty memories of his Krav training, and Paulo seemed like a monster that wouldn't be shaken.
He had no right to be shocked at how violent things had gotten, not when he'd done so much to provoke it, but that didn't change the fact that he was. The harder he thrashed, the harder Paulo attacked, and he didn't understand it, didn't understand why, because it was all so stupid. He curled inwards, trying to protect himself from the blows that just rained fiercer, wondering if his dad was looking at this in disgust, disappointment, or horror. He should have known better.
Somewhere in all the pain, he felt himself starting to lose energy, starting to give in, and only will alone kept him going. His brain had no time to process death, only danger, but that was enough. Something seemed to snap back into place, and he suddenly found himself almost eerily calm as he gathered his strength for one last push, lifting his hips off the ground, and finally Paulo came down.
Ian's roll was neither elegant nor precise, but it did the trick, throwing his opponent off and giving him a precious free moment. He found himself laughing, no, wheezing as he pulled himself up on the guard rail, eyes always on his opponent, ribs aching and screaming even through the adrenaline.
He'd scored. Paulo was human after all.
Ian felt his head crash against that rail, lights flashed, and he barely had the presence of mind to wrap his arms around to protect his head as Paulo landed on top of him.
This was what one might call not being in top condition.
Funny how inane his thoughts were, as fists pounded against his ribs, and he tried to roll Paulo off to no avail. If his attacker hardly knew what he was doing, Ian didn't know at all, couldn't unlock the rusty memories of his Krav training, and Paulo seemed like a monster that wouldn't be shaken.
He had no right to be shocked at how violent things had gotten, not when he'd done so much to provoke it, but that didn't change the fact that he was. The harder he thrashed, the harder Paulo attacked, and he didn't understand it, didn't understand why, because it was all so stupid. He curled inwards, trying to protect himself from the blows that just rained fiercer, wondering if his dad was looking at this in disgust, disappointment, or horror. He should have known better.
Somewhere in all the pain, he felt himself starting to lose energy, starting to give in, and only will alone kept him going. His brain had no time to process death, only danger, but that was enough. Something seemed to snap back into place, and he suddenly found himself almost eerily calm as he gathered his strength for one last push, lifting his hips off the ground, and finally Paulo came down.
Ian's roll was neither elegant nor precise, but it did the trick, throwing his opponent off and giving him a precious free moment. He found himself laughing, no, wheezing as he pulled himself up on the guard rail, eyes always on his opponent, ribs aching and screaming even through the adrenaline.
He'd scored. Paulo was human after all.
Paulo rolled off. He took a little time crawling to his feet. The exchange had taken a toll on his less-than-stellar cardio. That was cool, though. Paulo saw as he looked back at Ian, slumped against the guardrail, that he was easy pickings.
Here was a problem Paulo could solve. Here was someone he could deal with. Becca had died when he was away. Someone else had died in front of him because of a collar. A fucking collar.
But Ian here? Paulo could beat his ass for a little bit longer and feel better. Regain some of the control that had slipped so readily from him.
Paulo growled and lunged, intending to drive Ian further into the guardrail with his body weight.
Here was a problem Paulo could solve. Here was someone he could deal with. Becca had died when he was away. Someone else had died in front of him because of a collar. A fucking collar.
But Ian here? Paulo could beat his ass for a little bit longer and feel better. Regain some of the control that had slipped so readily from him.
Paulo growled and lunged, intending to drive Ian further into the guardrail with his body weight.
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In that last moment, something seemed to click as Ian braced himself, as Paulo attacked yet again. For an instant, he met his attacker's eyes, and there was a sort of clarity to be found through the pain after all.
In that last moment, Ian understood Paulo, saw his fears and the pride that drove him.
He couldn't have stopped a monster, couldn't have had sympathy for a fool, but Paulo was no longer any of those things.
It took a special kind of empathy to truly know your opponent, to move with them, to think with them. Ian feinted forwards, because he knew the other boy would react to that, because he understood now that the boy would force himself to meet him, because he had to.
And when the other boy struck, fast and hard as Ian knew he would, he was already stepping to the side, adrenaline forcing his aching and screaming body to respond, because that was what he had to do. Because it was easy, because he always picked the path of least resistance.
As the line between thought and action disappeared, as escaping became synonymous with stopping, and stopping became synonymous with anything, one hand caught Paulo's wrist as he stumbled forward, and the other was grabbing his head as Ian twisted his own body in one last burst of strength, aiding the boy's own momentum.
In that final, terrible moment, as he helped Paulo's own momentum carry him sailing over the railing, in the instant he destroyed the other boy, Ian understood him, and part of him was crying inside.
Because he was scared too.
In that last moment, Ian understood Paulo, saw his fears and the pride that drove him.
He couldn't have stopped a monster, couldn't have had sympathy for a fool, but Paulo was no longer any of those things.
It took a special kind of empathy to truly know your opponent, to move with them, to think with them. Ian feinted forwards, because he knew the other boy would react to that, because he understood now that the boy would force himself to meet him, because he had to.
And when the other boy struck, fast and hard as Ian knew he would, he was already stepping to the side, adrenaline forcing his aching and screaming body to respond, because that was what he had to do. Because it was easy, because he always picked the path of least resistance.
As the line between thought and action disappeared, as escaping became synonymous with stopping, and stopping became synonymous with anything, one hand caught Paulo's wrist as he stumbled forward, and the other was grabbing his head as Ian twisted his own body in one last burst of strength, aiding the boy's own momentum.
In that final, terrible moment, as he helped Paulo's own momentum carry him sailing over the railing, in the instant he destroyed the other boy, Ian understood him, and part of him was crying inside.
Because he was scared too.
There was Ian. And then there was no Ian. There was purpose, and then there was nothing. Nothing but hundreds of feet to the ground.
Paulo was thrown over the edge of the bridge so suddenly he didn't have time to scream.
For a life that had been predicated on bluster and dramatics, the end came with relative silence. There was only a thud and a crack as the boy landed.
Paulo Abbate: Deceased
Paulo was thrown over the edge of the bridge so suddenly he didn't have time to scream.
For a life that had been predicated on bluster and dramatics, the end came with relative silence. There was only a thud and a crack as the boy landed.
Paulo Abbate: Deceased