Where Did you Sleep Last Night?
Posted: Mon Aug 13, 2018 3:04 am
Tyrell stared down at the casket, his hand still pressed against the oak. The sun was hiding behind the clouds, making the day appropriately grey. Funerals seemed to demand gloomy weather. A few leaves fell onto the casket, carried near by the wind of the late fall.
What was left of Elliott lay in front of him. They never saw the body. The fall from fourteen stories had apparently caused enough trauma that the mortician recommended against it. It made it difficult for Ty to even really register that he was gone. They'd lower him into the ground as soon as he took his hand off of the casket, as far as he knew. He could see the impeccably-dressed people from the funeral home, waiting for him to make his peace. Bill and Jenna had left already, gotten in the car and headed to Michigan for a few weeks. They needed the space, and it made sense to him. They asked Ty if he wanted to come, and he told them to fuck off before he could think of a better way to put it.
Besides, he wasn't just going to run away from his life just because Elliott decided to end his. That wasn't fair. None of this was fair. A person had to be responsible for who they were, and the life they led. The people in it mattered, whether you loved them or hated them.
You have to be responsible. You can't just run away from this.
Ty had been stoic the whole time. The presence of his father always held back tears, no matter the situation. Sandbags were piled behind the levees in his mind, and Ty wasn't going to let him see a damn thing. He didn't have any interest in this ritual, in joining them in their grief. It was unbearable to join them in doing much of anything, let alone this.
Now, he was the last one to stay. Tyrell, Elliott - and the well-dressed and well-meaning people from the funeral home, standing thirty feet away and only ever speaking in whispers.
The wind whipped at his eyes, making them sting. He wiped at them, noticing they were wet. He'd had the strength to stand there, to carry his brother to his rest with his five best friends. The strength to take all of the hits over the years. He took the time to hold his mother in silence, to listen to hear tears when she habitually sat in Elliott's room in the early hours of the morning. Ty was strong enough to not feel sorry for Bill as he saw him collapse on the floor, screaming, when had first heard the news.
This was where that strength ended. Now he felt his legs give out from under him, and before he could react he found himself knelt next to the casket, his head pressed to the wood.
"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I shouldn't have let you hang up. I should've... I should've-"
There was nothing wrong with Elliott. He wasn't mean, he wasn't impulsive. He never hurt anyone. He never snapped. Never looked down on people. Didn't take them for granted. He was everything Tyrell wasn't. Why did it come to this? Why did someone like him feel they had to die?
One of the junior undertakers couldn't help herself but walk over to him and put a hand on his shoulder as he knelt next to the coffin, uncontrollably weeping.
~
It was a good thing the house was empty, as Tyrell wailed on the heavy bag in the basement like it was filled with everything bad in his life, instead of just sand and rags. He had been in good form lately, before things fell apart. He spared himself the ritual of throwing on gloves, wanting to feel the pain of his hands hitting the fabric.
The pain wasn't enough to get out of his head. It didn't take him away from what he felt, and it seemed like nothing could. It wasn't just Elliott's death. A part of Ty died too. Elliott brought out the best in him, and now that he was gone it was hard to feel like it was worth even trying to be decent anymore. Not if this is how the world repaid him.
A jab from the right. Then a cross. He gritted his teeth. A savage hook followed. The form was sloppy but it lost little of its power.
What did I do to deserve this?
Ty let out a yelp as his next cross sailed straight into the wall behind the bag, punching a sizable hole. His hand came back covered in drywall dust and blood.
This wasn't going to work. He needed to hit something that felt pain and could hit back. It wasn't as satisfying to see a bag rattle from the ceiling as it was to see the look in someone's eyes between the hits, when they knew they were going to lose. Right before the last hopeless attempt to get the better of him, giving Ty the opening to end it. That look made him feel real, if only for a moment.
I just want to feel something other than this. Is that too much to fucking ask?
The pain was good. Sometimes he needed it. A wound, or a loss. The surprise when he found himself on the ground, instead of standing over an opponent. It was a feeling, too. An emotion other than emptiness or rage. Something to embrace instead of suppressing.
His phone started buzzing on the nearby table. A text from a friend, asking if he was making it to a party tonight. It wasn't in poor taste; Ty hadn't told anyone about Elliott, or the funeral. No one needed to know, and he didn't want sympathy or pity. Maybe he deserved it, but he didn't have the energy to go through the motions of being grateful to people who hardly knew him.
"Fuck it."
It didn't take him long to shower and put himself back together. Hand-wraps fit his whole aesthetic and it kept anyone from seeing the marks on his hands. He kept his outfit simple – a light band shirt, a jacket and black jeans - in case anyone ended up taking him up on his nearly all-consuming urge to break something.
~
After downing probably a bit too much of whatever boozy liquid filled the red cups at the party, it felt like he was standing just on the cusp of something other than darkness and rage. Normally Ty never drank, given his father's proclivities. This wasn't a normal day. The alcohol emboldened his sarcastic mean streak, and he tried messing with a few of the jock-types at the party. To his surprise, he was met with sympathy and kindness. It shouldn't have been a surprise, Elliott was kind of a star at the school and at least a few people had older siblings who knew him. They offered a drink to his memory, and Tyrell abandoned his search for someone to beat him unconscious, or vice versa.
He began to think it was okay to just coasted through the rest of the night. The music was loud enough; this rich kid's house was full of people he barely knew, and it was easy enough to get lost in the atmosphere and ritual of the whole thing. People seemed to enjoy his presence. Was it pity? Fuck it, he didn't care.
As he drifted from room to room, he felt a pair of eyes following his movements.
At first he tried to ignore the feeling. They had a weirdly tall year, but Ty still stood out in a crowd. Intentionally so, though the hand-wraps probably gave people the wrong idea. This didn't seem like the usual curious glance though. Turning away from a conversation that had strayed too far from his interests, he caught her eye again. It was Angie Cortez, to his pleasant surprise. She was hard to miss as well, at least as far as he was concerned. She took very good care of herself, and it showed. It didn't take much to find an excuse to talk to her.
They both had idiosyncratic interests in music, which was the first thing to talk about. Not that they wouldn't have wanted to talk music otherwise, but the reason why they were speaking to each other gave away pretty quickly. He thought she was pretty hot, and without much of a filter found a relatively decent way to say as much. Apparently the feeling was mutual, there was a reason her eyes had been following him the whole night. She didn't smoke, but Ty asked her to come outside with him anyways and keep him company. She did.
They didn't go back inside.
~
Most of the lights were off in the house, and it was now an especially good thing there was no one else home. It really wasn't long after they arrived that their clothes came off, and Ty found himself now completely lost in the feeling of skin on skin. They barely knew each other; they had a few classes together but had never spoken. Now he'd gotten to know just about every inch of her body. This wasn't his first time, not by a long shot, but it was different. Maybe it was the alcohol, or where he was in his life – but he felt a passion that hadn't been there in his previous sexual misadventures.
Where he might've taken some joy in seeing someone go down from a hit, he now completely poured himself into pleasuring her. This was better. He was usually kind of selfish when it came to sex, but he wanted anything but to think about himself right now. The look in her eyes in the faint light of his bedroom, as he did things to her that he could only guess she'd never experienced - it actually made him smile honestly for the first time in what felt like years.
She dug her nails into his back, and he could only chuckle and curse from the pain. He sometimes forgot where his skin ended and hers began. They both ran their fingers through each other's hair; hers was softer, of course. Kissing her body was instinctual. Everything here was. There was no need to curate or process his actions past what felt good, and what he knew felt good to her. The sensations, the sounds they both made – it drove out the darkness. He felt something good again.
She was much smaller than he was, and it was easy to wrap her in his arms. He held her close as he reached his climax, biting into her shoulder as he came. The feeling completely overwhelmed him, though he had just barely presence of mind not to bite too hard. After letting go, he couldn't help but look her in the eyes and smirk, almost finding it hard to believe he'd found himself here after how the day began. She returned his look with one that seemed to ask, "Are we done?"
They were not.
What was left of Elliott lay in front of him. They never saw the body. The fall from fourteen stories had apparently caused enough trauma that the mortician recommended against it. It made it difficult for Ty to even really register that he was gone. They'd lower him into the ground as soon as he took his hand off of the casket, as far as he knew. He could see the impeccably-dressed people from the funeral home, waiting for him to make his peace. Bill and Jenna had left already, gotten in the car and headed to Michigan for a few weeks. They needed the space, and it made sense to him. They asked Ty if he wanted to come, and he told them to fuck off before he could think of a better way to put it.
Besides, he wasn't just going to run away from his life just because Elliott decided to end his. That wasn't fair. None of this was fair. A person had to be responsible for who they were, and the life they led. The people in it mattered, whether you loved them or hated them.
You have to be responsible. You can't just run away from this.
Ty had been stoic the whole time. The presence of his father always held back tears, no matter the situation. Sandbags were piled behind the levees in his mind, and Ty wasn't going to let him see a damn thing. He didn't have any interest in this ritual, in joining them in their grief. It was unbearable to join them in doing much of anything, let alone this.
Now, he was the last one to stay. Tyrell, Elliott - and the well-dressed and well-meaning people from the funeral home, standing thirty feet away and only ever speaking in whispers.
The wind whipped at his eyes, making them sting. He wiped at them, noticing they were wet. He'd had the strength to stand there, to carry his brother to his rest with his five best friends. The strength to take all of the hits over the years. He took the time to hold his mother in silence, to listen to hear tears when she habitually sat in Elliott's room in the early hours of the morning. Ty was strong enough to not feel sorry for Bill as he saw him collapse on the floor, screaming, when had first heard the news.
This was where that strength ended. Now he felt his legs give out from under him, and before he could react he found himself knelt next to the casket, his head pressed to the wood.
"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I shouldn't have let you hang up. I should've... I should've-"
There was nothing wrong with Elliott. He wasn't mean, he wasn't impulsive. He never hurt anyone. He never snapped. Never looked down on people. Didn't take them for granted. He was everything Tyrell wasn't. Why did it come to this? Why did someone like him feel they had to die?
One of the junior undertakers couldn't help herself but walk over to him and put a hand on his shoulder as he knelt next to the coffin, uncontrollably weeping.
~
It was a good thing the house was empty, as Tyrell wailed on the heavy bag in the basement like it was filled with everything bad in his life, instead of just sand and rags. He had been in good form lately, before things fell apart. He spared himself the ritual of throwing on gloves, wanting to feel the pain of his hands hitting the fabric.
The pain wasn't enough to get out of his head. It didn't take him away from what he felt, and it seemed like nothing could. It wasn't just Elliott's death. A part of Ty died too. Elliott brought out the best in him, and now that he was gone it was hard to feel like it was worth even trying to be decent anymore. Not if this is how the world repaid him.
A jab from the right. Then a cross. He gritted his teeth. A savage hook followed. The form was sloppy but it lost little of its power.
What did I do to deserve this?
Ty let out a yelp as his next cross sailed straight into the wall behind the bag, punching a sizable hole. His hand came back covered in drywall dust and blood.
This wasn't going to work. He needed to hit something that felt pain and could hit back. It wasn't as satisfying to see a bag rattle from the ceiling as it was to see the look in someone's eyes between the hits, when they knew they were going to lose. Right before the last hopeless attempt to get the better of him, giving Ty the opening to end it. That look made him feel real, if only for a moment.
I just want to feel something other than this. Is that too much to fucking ask?
The pain was good. Sometimes he needed it. A wound, or a loss. The surprise when he found himself on the ground, instead of standing over an opponent. It was a feeling, too. An emotion other than emptiness or rage. Something to embrace instead of suppressing.
His phone started buzzing on the nearby table. A text from a friend, asking if he was making it to a party tonight. It wasn't in poor taste; Ty hadn't told anyone about Elliott, or the funeral. No one needed to know, and he didn't want sympathy or pity. Maybe he deserved it, but he didn't have the energy to go through the motions of being grateful to people who hardly knew him.
"Fuck it."
It didn't take him long to shower and put himself back together. Hand-wraps fit his whole aesthetic and it kept anyone from seeing the marks on his hands. He kept his outfit simple – a light band shirt, a jacket and black jeans - in case anyone ended up taking him up on his nearly all-consuming urge to break something.
~
After downing probably a bit too much of whatever boozy liquid filled the red cups at the party, it felt like he was standing just on the cusp of something other than darkness and rage. Normally Ty never drank, given his father's proclivities. This wasn't a normal day. The alcohol emboldened his sarcastic mean streak, and he tried messing with a few of the jock-types at the party. To his surprise, he was met with sympathy and kindness. It shouldn't have been a surprise, Elliott was kind of a star at the school and at least a few people had older siblings who knew him. They offered a drink to his memory, and Tyrell abandoned his search for someone to beat him unconscious, or vice versa.
He began to think it was okay to just coasted through the rest of the night. The music was loud enough; this rich kid's house was full of people he barely knew, and it was easy enough to get lost in the atmosphere and ritual of the whole thing. People seemed to enjoy his presence. Was it pity? Fuck it, he didn't care.
As he drifted from room to room, he felt a pair of eyes following his movements.
At first he tried to ignore the feeling. They had a weirdly tall year, but Ty still stood out in a crowd. Intentionally so, though the hand-wraps probably gave people the wrong idea. This didn't seem like the usual curious glance though. Turning away from a conversation that had strayed too far from his interests, he caught her eye again. It was Angie Cortez, to his pleasant surprise. She was hard to miss as well, at least as far as he was concerned. She took very good care of herself, and it showed. It didn't take much to find an excuse to talk to her.
They both had idiosyncratic interests in music, which was the first thing to talk about. Not that they wouldn't have wanted to talk music otherwise, but the reason why they were speaking to each other gave away pretty quickly. He thought she was pretty hot, and without much of a filter found a relatively decent way to say as much. Apparently the feeling was mutual, there was a reason her eyes had been following him the whole night. She didn't smoke, but Ty asked her to come outside with him anyways and keep him company. She did.
They didn't go back inside.
~
Most of the lights were off in the house, and it was now an especially good thing there was no one else home. It really wasn't long after they arrived that their clothes came off, and Ty found himself now completely lost in the feeling of skin on skin. They barely knew each other; they had a few classes together but had never spoken. Now he'd gotten to know just about every inch of her body. This wasn't his first time, not by a long shot, but it was different. Maybe it was the alcohol, or where he was in his life – but he felt a passion that hadn't been there in his previous sexual misadventures.
Where he might've taken some joy in seeing someone go down from a hit, he now completely poured himself into pleasuring her. This was better. He was usually kind of selfish when it came to sex, but he wanted anything but to think about himself right now. The look in her eyes in the faint light of his bedroom, as he did things to her that he could only guess she'd never experienced - it actually made him smile honestly for the first time in what felt like years.
She dug her nails into his back, and he could only chuckle and curse from the pain. He sometimes forgot where his skin ended and hers began. They both ran their fingers through each other's hair; hers was softer, of course. Kissing her body was instinctual. Everything here was. There was no need to curate or process his actions past what felt good, and what he knew felt good to her. The sensations, the sounds they both made – it drove out the darkness. He felt something good again.
She was much smaller than he was, and it was easy to wrap her in his arms. He held her close as he reached his climax, biting into her shoulder as he came. The feeling completely overwhelmed him, though he had just barely presence of mind not to bite too hard. After letting go, he couldn't help but look her in the eyes and smirk, almost finding it hard to believe he'd found himself here after how the day began. She returned his look with one that seemed to ask, "Are we done?"
They were not.