((Myles Roux continued from Énouement))
Everything after leaving the lake was a blur.
They wandered. They found their way to the village again, and even though it didn't really have good memories for any of them, they were tired and they decided to stop for the day and night. They settled down on the trashier side of town. Ivy tried to talk to Myles a bit, but he couldn't respond properly.
He'd brush it off. He'd be fine. He had done a favor to someone who desperately needed it, and it was better that Declyn had someone who actually cared about him to do it. It was basically a good thing.
If he told himself enough of that, something would eventually stick.
Myles still didn't want anyone touching him, but Ivy curled up against him like usual when nighttime crept up, and he couldn't make himself push her away. She wouldn't understand why. It should have been comforting to have her there like that.
He didn't remember falling asleep, but then he was waking up and it was early morning. He got up, wandered the dingy, dirty little house they had picked out because it might be crap, but at least it didn't have any dead bodies in it. He kept his bag close the whole time. He finally sat down with it in his lap and opened it up, slipping a food bar out with a quick glance at Ivy and Garren to be sure they didn't see what else was inside. He had intended to eat the bar, but he had no appetite, so instead he just sat holding it, still wrapped.
He should say something before the announcement came on. He couldn't.
Right Now, I Feel No Pain
Morning of Day 8, open once we get through the announcement in here
Right Now, I Feel No Pain
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
>> Ivy Langley continued from Énouement
It didn't work.
She'd waited, and waited, and kept quiet the whole time they walked, only speaking to ask for a few breaks to rest her injured rib. He'd led them to the village and she didn't complain, even then, even though she'd never wanted to come back. Even though the stench of decay that she'd caught occasionally on breezes on their way hung over the whole place like a thick, heavy cloud. It smelled like the infirmary. She could get used to it, she guessed. She had once already.
They settled into a pile of moldy planks that vaguely resembled a house and she waited some more. Any moment Myles would pull her outside or into the other room and they'd talk and she'd understand, then, any moment. She ducked away herself for a few minutes to change, back into the lavender dress she'd worn a few days earlier; the heat was overwhelming and it was the lightest thing she owned. She cut a strip of fabric off the hem of the dress with the scissors in her first aid kit, used it to tie up her hair. The relief of having it off her neck was overwhelming.
Still, she waited.
The sun went down.
When she tried to talk she was careful, steering away from the topic she badly wanted to center on, but there was nothing else to talk about, and any attempts at meaningless small talk got her one-word answers, terse, uncomfortable. She hated it. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Not with Myles, not ever. She wanted to grab his shoulders and scream but she didn't, she wouldn't, she trusted him. She waited.
What had happened? What had hurt him so badly he couldn't speak the words?
When she curled up to him that night, at least, he didn't abandon her. That had to be enough.
She closed her eyes. She waited.
Ivy slept better than she'd expected to, overwhelmed by exhaustion as she was, but her eyes fluttered open the moment Myles moved away. She watched his feet with bleary eyes, not knowing what she was hoping for. He sat down with an energy bar. She just looked at him. He was looking at nothing in particular. It felt like she was holding her breath.
The speaker crackled to life. She bit her lip. What did she have left to lose? What was there left to be afraid of? Myles was barely looking at her but at least he was alive.
Ace had killed someone, and maybe she should have been surprised or horrified or whatever. Maybe a little surprised, he was such a dork, he'd had no real weapon last time she'd seen him, but his girlfriend was dead and right, Parker, she knew that name now. He'd been the thief Garren was talking about. He'd probably tried to take Ace's stuff or something, which would make it his own fault. It didn't really matter. Ace didn't really matter to her. Right?
Adonis, Cecil, Emmett. Filling in some of the blanks on what they'd seen the day before. She wondered if Myles had already known, if Declyn had told him.
Blaise again. She thought she saw Myles's expression twitch for a moment. She might have imagined it.
Max—
Max. She couldn't do it. She couldn't bury anyone else. She had to not think about it. She had to—
Ivy sat up, slowly, as though in a daze. Her eyes hadn't moved. He still wasn't looking at her.
"Myles?"
It didn't work.
She'd waited, and waited, and kept quiet the whole time they walked, only speaking to ask for a few breaks to rest her injured rib. He'd led them to the village and she didn't complain, even then, even though she'd never wanted to come back. Even though the stench of decay that she'd caught occasionally on breezes on their way hung over the whole place like a thick, heavy cloud. It smelled like the infirmary. She could get used to it, she guessed. She had once already.
They settled into a pile of moldy planks that vaguely resembled a house and she waited some more. Any moment Myles would pull her outside or into the other room and they'd talk and she'd understand, then, any moment. She ducked away herself for a few minutes to change, back into the lavender dress she'd worn a few days earlier; the heat was overwhelming and it was the lightest thing she owned. She cut a strip of fabric off the hem of the dress with the scissors in her first aid kit, used it to tie up her hair. The relief of having it off her neck was overwhelming.
Still, she waited.
The sun went down.
When she tried to talk she was careful, steering away from the topic she badly wanted to center on, but there was nothing else to talk about, and any attempts at meaningless small talk got her one-word answers, terse, uncomfortable. She hated it. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Not with Myles, not ever. She wanted to grab his shoulders and scream but she didn't, she wouldn't, she trusted him. She waited.
What had happened? What had hurt him so badly he couldn't speak the words?
When she curled up to him that night, at least, he didn't abandon her. That had to be enough.
She closed her eyes. She waited.
Ivy slept better than she'd expected to, overwhelmed by exhaustion as she was, but her eyes fluttered open the moment Myles moved away. She watched his feet with bleary eyes, not knowing what she was hoping for. He sat down with an energy bar. She just looked at him. He was looking at nothing in particular. It felt like she was holding her breath.
The speaker crackled to life. She bit her lip. What did she have left to lose? What was there left to be afraid of? Myles was barely looking at her but at least he was alive.
Ace had killed someone, and maybe she should have been surprised or horrified or whatever. Maybe a little surprised, he was such a dork, he'd had no real weapon last time she'd seen him, but his girlfriend was dead and right, Parker, she knew that name now. He'd been the thief Garren was talking about. He'd probably tried to take Ace's stuff or something, which would make it his own fault. It didn't really matter. Ace didn't really matter to her. Right?
Adonis, Cecil, Emmett. Filling in some of the blanks on what they'd seen the day before. She wondered if Myles had already known, if Declyn had told him.
Blaise again. She thought she saw Myles's expression twitch for a moment. She might have imagined it.
Max—
Max. She couldn't do it. She couldn't bury anyone else. She had to not think about it. She had to—
Ivy sat up, slowly, as though in a daze. Her eyes hadn't moved. He still wasn't looking at her.
"Myles?"
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
((Garren Mortimer continued from Énouement))
He’d been allowed to sleep, this time.
Which, y’know, was pretty fucking swell of them. His back still ached, and every single joint in his legs felt like they’d been run over with a steamroller, and while a night sleeping on the hard wooden floor of a rundown house was definitely not what the doctor ordered, it was still preferable to, y’know, falling asleep on a log and waking up twisted into a pretzel. He was also pretty damn grateful to where they’d ended up resting for the night. He’d realised, as they’d filed into the house, slinging bags across the dusty floor and preparing to nod off immediately, that he hadn’t actually slept in shelter since… well, at all. He wasn’t counting the ramshackle bunker back at the art exhibition, that was a trap of Parker’s design. It was a nice change of pace, having a roof and four walls, no matter how flimsy.
He willed himself to ignore the fact they’d probably just stopped off at the first place that provided cover, that they hadn’t told him to keep watch because they’d had other things to preoccupy their minds. He forced himself to do this, because maintaining the status quo right now was the only thing he could think of that might help.
He blinked, stretched, and yawned, Myles’ footsteps waking him from his slumber. Garren rubbed his eyes, watching from the corner of the room where he’d fallen asleep, looking over the other two as Ivy stayed still and Myles gripped tight to his energy bar like it’d disappear if he let go. Garren could feel a crick in his neck, and his back still fucking caned like mad, but he felt oddly refreshed, all that aside. More than he thought he would, at least.
More than enough for the announcements to hit him loud and clear.
It came all at once, a rush of realisation and a hollow pang in his soul, as soon as the first few names filled the room. He’d almost forgotten about Catherine. The girl from the Subway, the girl he’d looked down from on the roof on the very first day out here. The girl he’d caught glances at across the classroom every now and then, thought about maybes and other universes, and he didn’t know whether her name caused his heart to hurt just because it was familiar or whether he actually truly thought he liked her, because he didn’t know what that was supposed to feel like, because he’d spent so many years stamping his emotions down and refusing to grow, just to chase some surface level attention.
And Parker was gone too. The dude had robbed him blind, taken everything bar the clothes off of Garren’s back, and look what it had gotten him; a bag of clothes and a couple of days. Garren could say with pretty damn certainty that he hated him. He felt pretty fucking justified in hating him. He couldn’t see how anybody, if they knew what Parker had done, couldn’t hate him, choosing not to kill in person but by proxy.
He wondered, if Parker was Wyatt, who his Ivy was.
The ringing in Garren’s ears, of Catherine and Parker’s names repeated over and over, was starting to fade. He heard Danya reach the end of his spiel, realised that he’d missed countless names while lost in his own head.
And then, there it was. Clear as day. The truth of what had happened between Declyn and Myles.
Ivy had already spoken. Garren didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to; all he could say would just be a repeat. That single question, condensed into a single word, asked everything that needed to be known. Garren stared up at Myles, letting him feel the second set of eyes burning through him.
He’d been allowed to sleep, this time.
Which, y’know, was pretty fucking swell of them. His back still ached, and every single joint in his legs felt like they’d been run over with a steamroller, and while a night sleeping on the hard wooden floor of a rundown house was definitely not what the doctor ordered, it was still preferable to, y’know, falling asleep on a log and waking up twisted into a pretzel. He was also pretty damn grateful to where they’d ended up resting for the night. He’d realised, as they’d filed into the house, slinging bags across the dusty floor and preparing to nod off immediately, that he hadn’t actually slept in shelter since… well, at all. He wasn’t counting the ramshackle bunker back at the art exhibition, that was a trap of Parker’s design. It was a nice change of pace, having a roof and four walls, no matter how flimsy.
He willed himself to ignore the fact they’d probably just stopped off at the first place that provided cover, that they hadn’t told him to keep watch because they’d had other things to preoccupy their minds. He forced himself to do this, because maintaining the status quo right now was the only thing he could think of that might help.
He blinked, stretched, and yawned, Myles’ footsteps waking him from his slumber. Garren rubbed his eyes, watching from the corner of the room where he’d fallen asleep, looking over the other two as Ivy stayed still and Myles gripped tight to his energy bar like it’d disappear if he let go. Garren could feel a crick in his neck, and his back still fucking caned like mad, but he felt oddly refreshed, all that aside. More than he thought he would, at least.
More than enough for the announcements to hit him loud and clear.
It came all at once, a rush of realisation and a hollow pang in his soul, as soon as the first few names filled the room. He’d almost forgotten about Catherine. The girl from the Subway, the girl he’d looked down from on the roof on the very first day out here. The girl he’d caught glances at across the classroom every now and then, thought about maybes and other universes, and he didn’t know whether her name caused his heart to hurt just because it was familiar or whether he actually truly thought he liked her, because he didn’t know what that was supposed to feel like, because he’d spent so many years stamping his emotions down and refusing to grow, just to chase some surface level attention.
And Parker was gone too. The dude had robbed him blind, taken everything bar the clothes off of Garren’s back, and look what it had gotten him; a bag of clothes and a couple of days. Garren could say with pretty damn certainty that he hated him. He felt pretty fucking justified in hating him. He couldn’t see how anybody, if they knew what Parker had done, couldn’t hate him, choosing not to kill in person but by proxy.
He wondered, if Parker was Wyatt, who his Ivy was.
The ringing in Garren’s ears, of Catherine and Parker’s names repeated over and over, was starting to fade. He heard Danya reach the end of his spiel, realised that he’d missed countless names while lost in his own head.
And then, there it was. Clear as day. The truth of what had happened between Declyn and Myles.
Ivy had already spoken. Garren didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to; all he could say would just be a repeat. That single question, condensed into a single word, asked everything that needed to be known. Garren stared up at Myles, letting him feel the second set of eyes burning through him.
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
Myles was sweating again, cold even though the day was already sweltering. The wall his back rested against was maybe the only thing tethering him to reality. He sat starting straight ahead, grip slowly growing tighter on the energy bar in his hand, not noticing as it molded to the shape of his palm and the spaces between his fingers.
Parker was dead, and he didn't care. Parker was a rotten thief who had rifled through Myles's belongings in the hotel and laughed about it behind his back with Bret and Julien.
Megan was dead, and he didn't care. Just another person that Blaise had ruined, and the only difference now was that they had apparently gone back to her to finish the job.
Blaise killed again. He kept waiting for their name to come up on the other side of things, but not today, he guessed.
It took Danya so long to get to the important part that for a few seconds, Myles had the wild thought that maybe it hadn't even really happened.
But that wasn't enough, was it. The universe just had to keep having jokes at Myles's expense. It was a lie. It was a goddamned lie. That wasn't how things happened. He could feel their eyes on him, questioning, already judging, and he hadn't thought that Danya had lied about what had happened when Declyn killed Drew, but of course they were just going to throw Myles under the bus like that. Of course they were! Why wouldn't they, at this point!?
Ivy broke the silence in the aftermath, but Myles couldn't answer. He could barely breathe.
Parker was dead, and he didn't care. Parker was a rotten thief who had rifled through Myles's belongings in the hotel and laughed about it behind his back with Bret and Julien.
Megan was dead, and he didn't care. Just another person that Blaise had ruined, and the only difference now was that they had apparently gone back to her to finish the job.
Blaise killed again. He kept waiting for their name to come up on the other side of things, but not today, he guessed.
It took Danya so long to get to the important part that for a few seconds, Myles had the wild thought that maybe it hadn't even really happened.
But that wasn't enough, was it. The universe just had to keep having jokes at Myles's expense. It was a lie. It was a goddamned lie. That wasn't how things happened. He could feel their eyes on him, questioning, already judging, and he hadn't thought that Danya had lied about what had happened when Declyn killed Drew, but of course they were just going to throw Myles under the bus like that. Of course they were! Why wouldn't they, at this point!?
Ivy broke the silence in the aftermath, but Myles couldn't answer. He could barely breathe.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
"You—"
didn't really do it, did you?
It was a stupid question and it died on her lips. If the announcements could just all be lies then what was the point in them? If it was a lie why hadn't Myles moved the slightest bit since the words had been spoken? Why wasn't he begging them not to believe it, why wasn't he explaining that it was a misunderstanding, a mistake, why wasn't he saying anything. Her lungs felt too small. His eyes looked too empty.
It made too much sense.
She'd known about the lipstick gun, but that was for an emergency, a worst-case scenario, or at least someone who deserved it. She'd dismissed the thought out of hand when it bubbled into her brain the first time, the day before, because why? Why would it happen? Declyn hugged him. Declyn looked happy. Ivy had hated him for it, for a moment. He'd been happy and he had a gun and he'd murdered someone and Ivy had hated him and Ivy had been afraid and it could have been self-defense but it wasn't. If it was self-defense Myles would have told them. Why wouldn't he?
". . . who then just watched him bleed out."
"Myles." She crawled toward him. Her hands were shaking and so was her voice. "Just—what happened. Tell me what happened. Please."
didn't really do it, did you?
It was a stupid question and it died on her lips. If the announcements could just all be lies then what was the point in them? If it was a lie why hadn't Myles moved the slightest bit since the words had been spoken? Why wasn't he begging them not to believe it, why wasn't he explaining that it was a misunderstanding, a mistake, why wasn't he saying anything. Her lungs felt too small. His eyes looked too empty.
It made too much sense.
She'd known about the lipstick gun, but that was for an emergency, a worst-case scenario, or at least someone who deserved it. She'd dismissed the thought out of hand when it bubbled into her brain the first time, the day before, because why? Why would it happen? Declyn hugged him. Declyn looked happy. Ivy had hated him for it, for a moment. He'd been happy and he had a gun and he'd murdered someone and Ivy had hated him and Ivy had been afraid and it could have been self-defense but it wasn't. If it was self-defense Myles would have told them. Why wouldn't he?
". . . who then just watched him bleed out."
"Myles." She crawled toward him. Her hands were shaking and so was her voice. "Just—what happened. Tell me what happened. Please."
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
Myles had done just what Declyn had asked, hadn't he? Hadn't he done all he could have!? He'd made it as quick and clean as possible, and he'd sat there until it was over, and by the time he left, Declyn had been beyond feeling any pain no matter what Myles might or might not have heard. They had no right to make it sound like he'd shot Declyn in cold blood and then just watched him die. He didn't deserve this.
The words piled up in his throat, desperate to escape. He had to say something, but he still couldn't speak. He couldn't stand Ivy's tone. If anyone had to understand, she did. But he could tell that she was doubting him now, and she probably had been ever since they left the lake, and he couldn't even defend himself because the words wouldn't come out.
It wasn't fair, it wasn't fair, it wasn't fair, it wasn't fair-!
The words piled up in his throat, desperate to escape. He had to say something, but he still couldn't speak. He couldn't stand Ivy's tone. If anyone had to understand, she did. But he could tell that she was doubting him now, and she probably had been ever since they left the lake, and he couldn't even defend himself because the words wouldn't come out.
It wasn't fair, it wasn't fair, it wasn't fair, it wasn't fair-!
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
It was okay. It would be okay. Declyn didn't matter, he was going to die, anyway, it was fine. It had to be fine. Myles could burn her house to the ground and she would forgive him. It didn't matter. None of it did.
But she didn't understand.
"Hey."
Her voice was too high, too tense. He was supposed to tell her everything, he'd always told her everything, he must have known she would forgive him, why? Why was he silent, why had he done it, why wouldn't he talk to her, she would listen, she would nod, she would hold him. It must have hurt him, to do it, so why had he done it, it didn't matter. She didn't even need an explanation, not really, if he just said he'd done it because he wanted to that would be—
It couldn't be that. It wasn't. It was something else. It had to be something else. It didn't matter what it was but it was something. They could talk about it. They had to talk about it. It had to be fine.
"It's okay, just—"
She reached out to touch his shoulder.
"—talk to me, Myley—"
But she didn't understand.
"Hey."
Her voice was too high, too tense. He was supposed to tell her everything, he'd always told her everything, he must have known she would forgive him, why? Why was he silent, why had he done it, why wouldn't he talk to her, she would listen, she would nod, she would hold him. It must have hurt him, to do it, so why had he done it, it didn't matter. She didn't even need an explanation, not really, if he just said he'd done it because he wanted to that would be—
It couldn't be that. It wasn't. It was something else. It had to be something else. It didn't matter what it was but it was something. They could talk about it. They had to talk about it. It had to be fine.
"It's okay, just—"
She reached out to touch his shoulder.
"—talk to me, Myley—"
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
"Shut up," Myles whispered, barely audible. Barely even words, but it was something. Ivy didn't shut up. She just kept talking, and he'd already known he would have to explain it to her and that it would hurt her even if she understood. She didn't have to keep at it. He just needed a minute, if she would just-
Ivy touched his shoulder, and Myles recoiled as though he'd been burned, and he finally found his voice. "Shut up- SHUT UP, don't touch me!"
He'd never screamed at her before, even during the times when they fought like siblings. That wasn't how they did things when it was just the two of them. But now Garren was here, sitting, watching, and the eyes of the cameras were fixed on them. Whoever was watching on the other side knew more than Ivy did, and they had still decided to lie about it. Declyn had been tired and hurting, and Myles had done the only thing he could to make it go away, but they had still decided to make it sound like he was just some kind of psychopath who killed one of his only real friends just for the sake of doing it.
"He wanted me to!"
Ivy touched his shoulder, and Myles recoiled as though he'd been burned, and he finally found his voice. "Shut up- SHUT UP, don't touch me!"
He'd never screamed at her before, even during the times when they fought like siblings. That wasn't how they did things when it was just the two of them. But now Garren was here, sitting, watching, and the eyes of the cameras were fixed on them. Whoever was watching on the other side knew more than Ivy did, and they had still decided to lie about it. Declyn had been tired and hurting, and Myles had done the only thing he could to make it go away, but they had still decided to make it sound like he was just some kind of psychopath who killed one of his only real friends just for the sake of doing it.
"He wanted me to!"
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Sixth grade, or seventh, maybe, it was all hazy now, at some party before they knew what parties were. No drugs or sex or alcohol, just cake, music, chaperones wandering. They hadn't needed more than that, anyway. She hadn't really wanted to go because Gaelan would be there, because Gaelan had been avoiding her for weeks now and he was going to ruin her mood, but Myles had encouraged her. She had to talk to him, she'd said, and he was right like he always was. Nothing would change if she didn't talk to him, so she did, and when he looked back at her all she saw was the venom dripping from his mouth. He had cut her to pieces. She had fallen apart.
And there was Myles, right there, like he always was, to save her. Myles wide-eyed and furious, louder than she'd ever heard him, cutting between the two of them, all for her. She had to be the one to pull him away. They'd walked all the way back to her house from there, holding hands, she'd kept crying but she'd laughed, too. "I've never seen you like that," she'd said.
"Nobody ever deserved it before."
She'd loved Gaelan, but she'd been wrong. She had everything she needed right next to her.
Ivy fell backward as though she'd been punched.
She felt fuzzy, suddenly. Untethered. She stared back at Myles through glassy eyes for what felt like an eternity and she recognized nothing and it was wrong, this was all wrong, she was going to be sick.
She barely heard the words. All she heard was you deserve it, too.
"Fine," she whispered. She could barely hear herself, her voice fractured, splintering, she sounded the same. Like a child without an anchor. "Fine."
She scrambled to her feet without thinking, her eyes desperate, pleading for her body to not need to do what it was doing. Her gaze darted toward Garren, paralyzed by the proceedings, she didn't know what she wanted from him, she wanted him not to be there, she wanted him to say something, she wanted to hold Myles, God, all she wanted was to stay. She was trembling so hard her teeth were nearly chattering.
"Don't follow me."
She thought she'd fall on the way out, and he would be there to grab her hand, she thought she'd burst into tears and he'd pull her back. She thought something else, anything else, would happen. But she fixed her eyes on her feet and followed them.
She was gone.
>> Ivy Langley continued in Never Learn Not To Love
And there was Myles, right there, like he always was, to save her. Myles wide-eyed and furious, louder than she'd ever heard him, cutting between the two of them, all for her. She had to be the one to pull him away. They'd walked all the way back to her house from there, holding hands, she'd kept crying but she'd laughed, too. "I've never seen you like that," she'd said.
"Nobody ever deserved it before."
She'd loved Gaelan, but she'd been wrong. She had everything she needed right next to her.
Ivy fell backward as though she'd been punched.
She felt fuzzy, suddenly. Untethered. She stared back at Myles through glassy eyes for what felt like an eternity and she recognized nothing and it was wrong, this was all wrong, she was going to be sick.
She barely heard the words. All she heard was you deserve it, too.
"Fine," she whispered. She could barely hear herself, her voice fractured, splintering, she sounded the same. Like a child without an anchor. "Fine."
She scrambled to her feet without thinking, her eyes desperate, pleading for her body to not need to do what it was doing. Her gaze darted toward Garren, paralyzed by the proceedings, she didn't know what she wanted from him, she wanted him not to be there, she wanted him to say something, she wanted to hold Myles, God, all she wanted was to stay. She was trembling so hard her teeth were nearly chattering.
"Don't follow me."
She thought she'd fall on the way out, and he would be there to grab her hand, she thought she'd burst into tears and he'd pull her back. She thought something else, anything else, would happen. But she fixed her eyes on her feet and followed them.
She was gone.
>> Ivy Langley continued in Never Learn Not To Love
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
"Fine, nobody asked you anyway!" Myles yelled after her, but she was already gone and he wasn't getting up to follow her. Demanding an explanation over and over, and then she ran out before he could even give it. He threw the meal bar he was holding because he didn't know what else to do. It didn't fly far and bounced pathetically off the floor.
He was breathing hard and shallow, and dammit, he was going to cry now too. He'd been holding it in ever since he realized what Declyn wanted from him.
Garren was still there, not doing anything to help, and Myles shot him the most venomous look he could manage. "What are you looking at?" He snapped, voice cracking. Then he slumped back against the wall, covered his face, and started to sob.
He was breathing hard and shallow, and dammit, he was going to cry now too. He'd been holding it in ever since he realized what Declyn wanted from him.
Garren was still there, not doing anything to help, and Myles shot him the most venomous look he could manage. "What are you looking at?" He snapped, voice cracking. Then he slumped back against the wall, covered his face, and started to sob.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Christ.
Just. Yeah. Christ. How else was he supposed to react to that? He didn’t even have a clue what to say right now, let alone what to think. There were no words in his throat. No words in his head, aside from the ones Danya had uttered, played on repeat. He just kinda… sat there, in his little corner of the room, staring at Myles as he sobbed into his palms.
It was hard to watch, in its level of pathetic despair. Not exactly something that correlated with a hardened killer.
But he really had no way of knowing, did he?
Myles had yelled at him; fair, understandable. He’d yelled at Ivy too, though, and while that was equally understandable it was just… wrong. Like watching your parents fight. The two were supposed to be joined at the hip, that was their thing. They were together, constantly, obnoxiously so, sharing their opinions that nobody asked for, swanning around school in the gaudiest, most eye-searing clothing known to man.
And now they weren’t.
All logic dictated that going with Ivy, aka the person who hadn’t killed someone right under their noses, was what he should be doing right now. But she’d told them not to. So he wouldn’t. If anybody needed space to clear their head right now, it was her. Garren was having a hard enough time processing all of this. He’d found people who were willing to take him in, to let him tag along, who’d shared food and water and shelter and safety from the killers and players, and now? Now one of those people was potentially the danger they’d been trying to avoid. Now, the entire concept of safety in numbers was moot, because they were carrying a target along with them. Now, Garren’s whole plan of finding more people and bringing them into the group was up in smoke, because who’d want to join a team containing Garren Mortimer and Myles the Murderer?
And yet he still doubted he could ever come close to feeling the way Ivy did right now.
“Did you really, uh… did he…”
He’d started talking without truly realising it. His instincts were screaming bloody murder at him. This was the sort of thing that had gotten Aoi killed. This, he was sure, would only end in tears. He needed to cut his losses and pack his bags and go, and hope and pray he ran into some other group that didn’t have death looming over them.
“Never mind. Sorry. Sorry.”
Just. Yeah. Christ. How else was he supposed to react to that? He didn’t even have a clue what to say right now, let alone what to think. There were no words in his throat. No words in his head, aside from the ones Danya had uttered, played on repeat. He just kinda… sat there, in his little corner of the room, staring at Myles as he sobbed into his palms.
It was hard to watch, in its level of pathetic despair. Not exactly something that correlated with a hardened killer.
But he really had no way of knowing, did he?
Myles had yelled at him; fair, understandable. He’d yelled at Ivy too, though, and while that was equally understandable it was just… wrong. Like watching your parents fight. The two were supposed to be joined at the hip, that was their thing. They were together, constantly, obnoxiously so, sharing their opinions that nobody asked for, swanning around school in the gaudiest, most eye-searing clothing known to man.
And now they weren’t.
All logic dictated that going with Ivy, aka the person who hadn’t killed someone right under their noses, was what he should be doing right now. But she’d told them not to. So he wouldn’t. If anybody needed space to clear their head right now, it was her. Garren was having a hard enough time processing all of this. He’d found people who were willing to take him in, to let him tag along, who’d shared food and water and shelter and safety from the killers and players, and now? Now one of those people was potentially the danger they’d been trying to avoid. Now, the entire concept of safety in numbers was moot, because they were carrying a target along with them. Now, Garren’s whole plan of finding more people and bringing them into the group was up in smoke, because who’d want to join a team containing Garren Mortimer and Myles the Murderer?
And yet he still doubted he could ever come close to feeling the way Ivy did right now.
“Did you really, uh… did he…”
He’d started talking without truly realising it. His instincts were screaming bloody murder at him. This was the sort of thing that had gotten Aoi killed. This, he was sure, would only end in tears. He needed to cut his losses and pack his bags and go, and hope and pray he ran into some other group that didn’t have death looming over them.
“Never mind. Sorry. Sorry.”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
It hurt.
That was the stupidest understatement Myles had ever made, but there was nothing else to say. It hurt, completely regardless of how much he'd tried to make it not hurt. He hadn't cried this hard since the thing with Blaise in junior year. Deep, shaking, chest-rattling sobs that hurt physically as much as anything else.
"Shut up," he tried to say again, but it came out watery and only barely intelligible. "You don't care anyway." What did Garren know? He didn't even have friends. He couldn't understand.
Myles drew his legs up, wrapping his arms around them and the bag now sandwiched between his knees and his chest. He hid his face in the canvas of the bag, trying to muffle the noise that he was making. It was humiliating. He wished Garren had run off too.
That was the stupidest understatement Myles had ever made, but there was nothing else to say. It hurt, completely regardless of how much he'd tried to make it not hurt. He hadn't cried this hard since the thing with Blaise in junior year. Deep, shaking, chest-rattling sobs that hurt physically as much as anything else.
"Shut up," he tried to say again, but it came out watery and only barely intelligible. "You don't care anyway." What did Garren know? He didn't even have friends. He couldn't understand.
Myles drew his legs up, wrapping his arms around them and the bag now sandwiched between his knees and his chest. He hid his face in the canvas of the bag, trying to muffle the noise that he was making. It was humiliating. He wished Garren had run off too.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Yeah, that went about as well as Garren was expecting. He winced as Myles blubbered out a retort, practically inaudible through his tears and through his hands covering his face. He was… pretty sure he got the gist, though. Probably. Maybe. He fell quiet again, trying to will his ears to stop working for a bit so he didn’t have the awkward soundtrack of inelegant sobbing to accompany him. Normally if he needed to block out shit he didn’t wanna hear, his brain just played Caramelldansen on loop, but it seemed it wasn’t in the fucking mood today.
He did care, though, no matter what Myles and Ivy thought. If they just thought he was here for a free ride and some easy shelter and that’d jump ship the moment it sprung a leak, well, they were free to think that. And, hey, at the most basic level, maybe the reason he cared was selfish, maybe it was based around self-preservation. As tempting as just packing up and fleeing was, he had to take into consideration that it was, what, day 6? A week? Longer? He couldn’t start over from Square Minus One, no matter the situation he currently found himself in. He had to stick with what he currently had, so the safer and happier they were, the better off he would be.
But dig a little deeper down from the surface, and there was much more reason for him to care. For a start… c’mon. It was hard to look at Myles right now without feeling a pang within his chest. He couldn’t help feeling guilty, or perhaps feeling the echoes of guilt, the same way he had always felt whenever his jabs or insults caused somebody to break down into tears. Here was a guy who had done something he knew would hurt him, that he knew would break down the trust he’d built up between himself and his best friend, that he knew would cause ripples that would come back to haunt him. This was a guy who had made a decision that he couldn’t just make lightly.
This was a guy who had been forced to kill someone he loved. Garren had thought that interacting with anybody who’d wound up on the announcements would be suicidal, and yet he’d been forced to question that belief time and time again. Myles’ interactions with Declyn hadn’t felt forced. The hug had seemed real. Whatever had caused him to do… what he’d done, obviously it was because of something that had happened, or something that had been said between the two of them.
Then again, the last time Garren had been hugged by a non-Declyn, non-family member type person had been fucking never, so he wasn’t exactly an expert on the subject.
“He really, truly asked you to do it?”
Stepping on eggshells would get them nowhere. He’d have to rip the bandaid off and deal with Myles’ reaction, no matter what it was.
That was what trust was, right? Little leaps of faith.
He did care, though, no matter what Myles and Ivy thought. If they just thought he was here for a free ride and some easy shelter and that’d jump ship the moment it sprung a leak, well, they were free to think that. And, hey, at the most basic level, maybe the reason he cared was selfish, maybe it was based around self-preservation. As tempting as just packing up and fleeing was, he had to take into consideration that it was, what, day 6? A week? Longer? He couldn’t start over from Square Minus One, no matter the situation he currently found himself in. He had to stick with what he currently had, so the safer and happier they were, the better off he would be.
But dig a little deeper down from the surface, and there was much more reason for him to care. For a start… c’mon. It was hard to look at Myles right now without feeling a pang within his chest. He couldn’t help feeling guilty, or perhaps feeling the echoes of guilt, the same way he had always felt whenever his jabs or insults caused somebody to break down into tears. Here was a guy who had done something he knew would hurt him, that he knew would break down the trust he’d built up between himself and his best friend, that he knew would cause ripples that would come back to haunt him. This was a guy who had made a decision that he couldn’t just make lightly.
This was a guy who had been forced to kill someone he loved. Garren had thought that interacting with anybody who’d wound up on the announcements would be suicidal, and yet he’d been forced to question that belief time and time again. Myles’ interactions with Declyn hadn’t felt forced. The hug had seemed real. Whatever had caused him to do… what he’d done, obviously it was because of something that had happened, or something that had been said between the two of them.
Then again, the last time Garren had been hugged by a non-Declyn, non-family member type person had been fucking never, so he wasn’t exactly an expert on the subject.
“He really, truly asked you to do it?”
Stepping on eggshells would get them nowhere. He’d have to rip the bandaid off and deal with Myles’ reaction, no matter what it was.
That was what trust was, right? Little leaps of faith.
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
It took several more minutes for Myles to get himself under control - or at least get to where he was not actively crying so hard that it made him want to dry heave. He still felt sick. His chest hurt, his throat was sore, and he didn't even want to lift his face out of the bag because he knew his eyes were going to be all red and puffy and his nose was probably running.
And every time he thought about how it hurt, he was reminded of Declyn coughing and choking on the ground.
Myles had done everything he was supposed to. It had been over quick. It hadn't hurt on and on like this. What he had done for Declyn was mercy.
Garren spoke again, and Myles dug his fingers into the side of the bag. He didn't respond right away, squeezing his eyes shut and taking several breaths, as long and deep as he could manage. He had thought that Garren had it figured out that the whole social totem pole didn't completely go away even in a situation like this, but here they were apparently playing Twenty Questions to figure out if Myles was the bad guy here when he obviously wasn't.
God. What did he care if Garren judged him anyway? Garren was just a distraction until Ivy came back.
...But when Ivy came back, she might take them both at their word if Garren was on Myles's side.
"Ugh," Myles groaned into the bag's fabric. He finally lifted his head just enough to glare at Garren again, but it was hard to maintain when he actually started to speak. All that came out at first was a rasp, and he had to clear his throat before he could continue.
"He said he was tired," he muttered. "That he wasn't strong enough. I told him he was, and he said he didn't believe me." And that was all true. He couldn't make that up. Declyn wasn't the kind of person that Myles ever could have imagined just up and wanting to die.
Myles's gaze slid away from Garren, not wanting to meet his eyes anymore. "...He did the same thing for Drew. He couldn't do it anymore."
And every time he thought about how it hurt, he was reminded of Declyn coughing and choking on the ground.
Myles had done everything he was supposed to. It had been over quick. It hadn't hurt on and on like this. What he had done for Declyn was mercy.
Garren spoke again, and Myles dug his fingers into the side of the bag. He didn't respond right away, squeezing his eyes shut and taking several breaths, as long and deep as he could manage. He had thought that Garren had it figured out that the whole social totem pole didn't completely go away even in a situation like this, but here they were apparently playing Twenty Questions to figure out if Myles was the bad guy here when he obviously wasn't.
God. What did he care if Garren judged him anyway? Garren was just a distraction until Ivy came back.
...But when Ivy came back, she might take them both at their word if Garren was on Myles's side.
"Ugh," Myles groaned into the bag's fabric. He finally lifted his head just enough to glare at Garren again, but it was hard to maintain when he actually started to speak. All that came out at first was a rasp, and he had to clear his throat before he could continue.
"He said he was tired," he muttered. "That he wasn't strong enough. I told him he was, and he said he didn't believe me." And that was all true. He couldn't make that up. Declyn wasn't the kind of person that Myles ever could have imagined just up and wanting to die.
Myles's gaze slid away from Garren, not wanting to meet his eyes anymore. "...He did the same thing for Drew. He couldn't do it anymore."
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Garren waited, patiently, as Myles forced his breathing to slow down, and pressed his face hard into his bag to stop the tears from flowing. He listened intently as Myles mumbled out his answer. He nodded, slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on the other boy even as he lowered his gaze and looked away.
He fell silent again, because good fucking Christ what did you say to that?
To go back to an earlier thought, it had been around a week now. Maybe a little more, maybe a little less. Six to eight days having to survive on the barest of bare supplies, dwindling each day, wondering and fearing whether each night would be your last, dreading each and every announcement in case you were told that the person you loved more than anybody else was gone forever, or that your very best friend had gone down a path they couldn’t easily divert from. No wonder it took its toll on people. No wonder they were tired.
No wonder at all that they needed some way to escape.
He supposed he was lucky, in a way. No true friends and no real connections meant no announcements to be fearful of, no names uttered from Danya’s list of the damned to stab him in the heart and twist the knife. Was it worth it? Would he change his past, change his actions, if it all still led up to this point?
In a heartbeat. Oh god, if he was given the choice, he’d take it every single time.
“I’m sorry. I… I really, really am.”
He said, because what more was there to say?
“I… I think you’re telling the truth. If-”
And he almost said ‘if it helps’, but managed to stop himself just in time, because he knew that nothing could help right now, nothing could stem the bleeding just yet. Only slow it.
“For what little that means, coming from me.”
He fell silent again, because good fucking Christ what did you say to that?
To go back to an earlier thought, it had been around a week now. Maybe a little more, maybe a little less. Six to eight days having to survive on the barest of bare supplies, dwindling each day, wondering and fearing whether each night would be your last, dreading each and every announcement in case you were told that the person you loved more than anybody else was gone forever, or that your very best friend had gone down a path they couldn’t easily divert from. No wonder it took its toll on people. No wonder they were tired.
No wonder at all that they needed some way to escape.
He supposed he was lucky, in a way. No true friends and no real connections meant no announcements to be fearful of, no names uttered from Danya’s list of the damned to stab him in the heart and twist the knife. Was it worth it? Would he change his past, change his actions, if it all still led up to this point?
In a heartbeat. Oh god, if he was given the choice, he’d take it every single time.
“I’m sorry. I… I really, really am.”
He said, because what more was there to say?
“I… I think you’re telling the truth. If-”
And he almost said ‘if it helps’, but managed to stop himself just in time, because he knew that nothing could help right now, nothing could stem the bleeding just yet. Only slow it.
“For what little that means, coming from me.”
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017