Myles wanted to retort that no, it didn't mean anything at all if Garren believed him. Unfortunately, it did. Garren had one-half of their supplies right now since Ivy had run off, and even if that was precious little, it wasn't stuff that Myles wanted to lose. He leaned back, letting his head thunk against the wall and rubbing the back of his arm across his face. His hair was sticking to his face now thanks to a combination of sweat and tears, and he haphazardly combed it back with his fingers.
"I want to go home," he mumbled, not at Garren so much as the world at large. To go back before all of this, God, yes. That was what he wanted.
But Myles couldn't have that, so he had to take the next best thing.
He hadn't really thought about it before now, just what killing Declyn meant for him. He'd known what he had to do. He'd agonized over who it had to be. In the moment, he'd just been upset that it was someone he cared about. But... he didn't have to do anything else now.
If anyone came after him, he could run and hide. If that wasn't an option, he had the means to fight back now. Myles didn't have to go out of his way to do anything other than stay safe and deal with problems as they came, now. There were still problems in the future, big ones, but he didn't have to go and make more for himself.
His stomach growled, reminding him that he did still have to eat even if he didn't have much of an appetite. It was as good a distraction as any; he could think about things later.
Myles sighed and finally shifted the bag off his lap so that he could crawl over to the food bar he'd thrown. After retrieving it, he returned to the bag, sitting criss-cross applesauce with his back against the wall again.
"Thanks, I guess," he said as he finally unwrapped the bar. "For believing me." He didn't know if it was just because Garren was still desperate, or because he had ideas about what Myles might do if he argued, but it didn't really matter. As long as Garren was on his side when Ivy calmed down and came back to hear his side of the story, things would be fine.
Right Now, I Feel No Pain
Morning of Day 8, open once we get through the announcement in here
"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."
“Me fucking too, dude.”
He didn’t know whether Myles could hear him, as the other boy shifted his bag and crawled across to his discarded food bar. It didn’t really matter if he did or not. It was little more than white noise, words spouted solely to fill an empty space. He wasn’t special for wanting this. Neither was Myles. Everybody out here wanted to get off this stupid fucking island, and return to wherever ‘home’ was for them.
Which, of course, was the genius simplicity of it all. Everybody wanted to go home. Everybody wanted to leave. There was one single life preserver available, and even someone as math-deficient as Garren knew that one divided by over 100 didn’t work out too well. So you could survive for as long as you liked without hurting, without maiming, without killing. But when it came down to just you and one other scared, frightened, homesick teenager, both staring hungrily down at that life preserver, could you do it? Would you be so desperate to get back home, get back to safety, get back to your life, that you’d end somebody else’s?
It was yet another goddamn impossible question that Garren was being forced to answer, and he knew he couldn’t keep putting them all off. Not even for much longer. He could put it off for maybe the rest of the day, make it Future Garren’s problem, but after that? It was all on his shoulders.
“Course,” he said, shrugging in response to Myle’s begrudging thanks. His right hand slowly, idly drew in the dust by his side, tracing out aimless shapes and lines, criss-crossing over each other, abstract pieces created and destroyed in an instant.
“Not like you’ve got much reason to lie to a meat shield, after all.”
He chuckled, then froze, looking up at Myles, eyes wide as he stammered out the words.
“Not, uh… Not that you’d… shit, fuck, sorry. That wasn’t meant to be, like, a dig at you or anything, just, I mean…”
He sighed, scratching at the back of his neck, ruffling his hair, fingers tangling into his greasy, grown-out locks.
“I know what my role is, right now. I’m not much more than a glorified coatrack, or fuckin’ bullet repository, and I know that, cause I pretty much volunteered for it. And you didn’t have to let me in, you could’ve just turned me away, fuck, you’d have been justified totally if you had. But you didn’t. You gave me a second chance at living. I, uh… I don’t think I’ve really thanked you for that yet, so…”
Garren attempted a smile in Myles’ direction.
“Thanks. And, uh, shit. You put your trust in me back then. So I’m gonna put my trust in you now.”
He didn’t know whether Myles could hear him, as the other boy shifted his bag and crawled across to his discarded food bar. It didn’t really matter if he did or not. It was little more than white noise, words spouted solely to fill an empty space. He wasn’t special for wanting this. Neither was Myles. Everybody out here wanted to get off this stupid fucking island, and return to wherever ‘home’ was for them.
Which, of course, was the genius simplicity of it all. Everybody wanted to go home. Everybody wanted to leave. There was one single life preserver available, and even someone as math-deficient as Garren knew that one divided by over 100 didn’t work out too well. So you could survive for as long as you liked without hurting, without maiming, without killing. But when it came down to just you and one other scared, frightened, homesick teenager, both staring hungrily down at that life preserver, could you do it? Would you be so desperate to get back home, get back to safety, get back to your life, that you’d end somebody else’s?
It was yet another goddamn impossible question that Garren was being forced to answer, and he knew he couldn’t keep putting them all off. Not even for much longer. He could put it off for maybe the rest of the day, make it Future Garren’s problem, but after that? It was all on his shoulders.
“Course,” he said, shrugging in response to Myle’s begrudging thanks. His right hand slowly, idly drew in the dust by his side, tracing out aimless shapes and lines, criss-crossing over each other, abstract pieces created and destroyed in an instant.
“Not like you’ve got much reason to lie to a meat shield, after all.”
He chuckled, then froze, looking up at Myles, eyes wide as he stammered out the words.
“Not, uh… Not that you’d… shit, fuck, sorry. That wasn’t meant to be, like, a dig at you or anything, just, I mean…”
He sighed, scratching at the back of his neck, ruffling his hair, fingers tangling into his greasy, grown-out locks.
“I know what my role is, right now. I’m not much more than a glorified coatrack, or fuckin’ bullet repository, and I know that, cause I pretty much volunteered for it. And you didn’t have to let me in, you could’ve just turned me away, fuck, you’d have been justified totally if you had. But you didn’t. You gave me a second chance at living. I, uh… I don’t think I’ve really thanked you for that yet, so…”
Garren attempted a smile in Myles’ direction.
“Thanks. And, uh, shit. You put your trust in me back then. So I’m gonna put my trust in you now.”
"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 chewed while Garren spoke, sparing them both from any responses to Garren's tripping all over himself once again. The bars didn't taste any better over a week in, in case anybody had been wondering. It always left Myles's mouth feeling dry and chalky, and somehow that was still better than the prospect of starvation when they ran out in the near future.
He washed his mouth out with a small gulp of water. That was running low too. The rain had been annoying several days ago, but now it would be a welcome relief from the heat and their vanishing supplies.
"You don't have to make it sound like a big deal," he murmured once he'd finished. "That's what anyone would do, right?"
Maybe that sounded humble. It wasn't.
Garren knew that he was expendable, but he still made it sound like Myles and Ivy had made some grand gesture by letting him tag along. Like making him carry their bags was out of the goodness of their hearts and the power of friendship, or whatever.
This wasn't some anime about how unlikely friendships would overcome evil. Anyone smart would have taken the free help once Garren proved himself to not be a threat. He wasn't hanging around because of pity or kindness on either his end or theirs; he was there until he was useful, and once he stopped being useful, he was probably dead. He made it sound like he understood that, but then he turned around and pledged his trust. If Myles had been in Garren's position, he wouldn't have been thanking the person most likely to trip him into a killer's path.
With his pitiful meal finished, Myles sighed and reached for the bag again. He wondered if Garren would freak out if he pulled the gun out. Or the other knife, which he'd planned vaguely to give to Ivy, but then she had to go and have a fit and run off all alone.
"What's taking her so long?" He wondered aloud. A second later, his stomach dropped as he realized all of the many things both mundane and disastrous that could be keeping her.
He washed his mouth out with a small gulp of water. That was running low too. The rain had been annoying several days ago, but now it would be a welcome relief from the heat and their vanishing supplies.
"You don't have to make it sound like a big deal," he murmured once he'd finished. "That's what anyone would do, right?"
Maybe that sounded humble. It wasn't.
Garren knew that he was expendable, but he still made it sound like Myles and Ivy had made some grand gesture by letting him tag along. Like making him carry their bags was out of the goodness of their hearts and the power of friendship, or whatever.
This wasn't some anime about how unlikely friendships would overcome evil. Anyone smart would have taken the free help once Garren proved himself to not be a threat. He wasn't hanging around because of pity or kindness on either his end or theirs; he was there until he was useful, and once he stopped being useful, he was probably dead. He made it sound like he understood that, but then he turned around and pledged his trust. If Myles had been in Garren's position, he wouldn't have been thanking the person most likely to trip him into a killer's path.
With his pitiful meal finished, Myles sighed and reached for the bag again. He wondered if Garren would freak out if he pulled the gun out. Or the other knife, which he'd planned vaguely to give to Ivy, but then she had to go and have a fit and run off all alone.
"What's taking her so long?" He wondered aloud. A second later, his stomach dropped as he realized all of the many things both mundane and disastrous that could be keeping her.
"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."
The sound of a door opening can be heard from outside the room.
It closes. There's the sound of a lock being twisted into place.
Footsteps.
It closes. There's the sound of a lock being twisted into place.
Footsteps.
There were a whole lot of things that could be holding Ivy up right now. Best case scenario, she was still just really fucking steamed, and was going for a fuckin’ lap around the island to clear her head and get some fresh air. Which… would be pretty understandable, really. Her bestie had killed someone and broken down in front of her when confronted about it. It’d probably take more than a couple hours to properly get over something like that.
Course, best case scenarios were few and far between out here. It was just as likely that Ivy had decided that enough was enough, and that she’d gone ahead and ditched the murderer and the unshowered loser. Or that she couldn’t take this shit any longer, and that she’d flung herself off of the closest cliff. Or that she’d fallen foul of one of the island’s many players, and was bleeding out somewhere far from shelter.
Garren didn’t vocalise any of these wonderful possibilities, of course. It was a depressing enough experience just having them in his head, he didn’t need to lower the morale in the room any further by saying them out loud.
No doubt Myles had already considered every last one of them anyway.
That did mean, though, that he didn’t really have any answer to Myles’ question, but Lady Luck seemed to be willing to hand him the tiniest, most fragmented little bit of good fortune. There was the sound of a door creaking open and shut. Footsteps on wooden flooring.
“Ivy?” Garren called out, picking himself up off of the floor and unsteadily finding his footing. “‘s that you?”
There was a flurry of movement.
Course, best case scenarios were few and far between out here. It was just as likely that Ivy had decided that enough was enough, and that she’d gone ahead and ditched the murderer and the unshowered loser. Or that she couldn’t take this shit any longer, and that she’d flung herself off of the closest cliff. Or that she’d fallen foul of one of the island’s many players, and was bleeding out somewhere far from shelter.
Garren didn’t vocalise any of these wonderful possibilities, of course. It was a depressing enough experience just having them in his head, he didn’t need to lower the morale in the room any further by saying them out loud.
No doubt Myles had already considered every last one of them anyway.
That did mean, though, that he didn’t really have any answer to Myles’ question, but Lady Luck seemed to be willing to hand him the tiniest, most fragmented little bit of good fortune. There was the sound of a door creaking open and shut. Footsteps on wooden flooring.
“Ivy?” Garren called out, picking himself up off of the floor and unsteadily finding his footing. “‘s that you?”
There was a flurry of movement.
"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 wasn't Ivy.
Myles knew, instinctively, as soon as he heard the footsteps. Too heavy, too slow. He understood it on a more conscious level when there was no immediate answer to Garren's question.
Door closed. Lock turned. Footsteps. It didn't matter who it was, because it wasn't Ivy.
With a faint sense of déjà vu, Myles flung the strap of his bag over his shoulder and scrambled to his feet, bolting for the window.
Myles knew, instinctively, as soon as he heard the footsteps. Too heavy, too slow. He understood it on a more conscious level when there was no immediate answer to Garren's question.
Door closed. Lock turned. Footsteps. It didn't matter who it was, because it wasn't Ivy.
With a faint sense of déjà vu, Myles flung the strap of his bag over his shoulder and scrambled to his feet, bolting for the window.
"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."
As Emmett sensed the mood change, he picked up the pace, scrambling for the doorway.
They were ready for him now, and that was fine by him. If they fought back, that’d just make it easier in the end. He still had a long way to go from here anyways.
He knew who they were, and to be honest, he was thankful for that. Garren was a creep, and Emmett had always hated Myles. It helped they murdered Declyn when he was alone too. If he could bring himself to kill Adonis, then these two wouldn’t be that much more, if any, weight in his shoulders. Didn’t matter anyways, we all had to die, but at least Emmett didn’t have to feel as bad about it.
He kicked his way through the doorway, weapon raised. He hesitated to choose his target.
They were ready for him now, and that was fine by him. If they fought back, that’d just make it easier in the end. He still had a long way to go from here anyways.
He knew who they were, and to be honest, he was thankful for that. Garren was a creep, and Emmett had always hated Myles. It helped they murdered Declyn when he was alone too. If he could bring himself to kill Adonis, then these two wouldn’t be that much more, if any, weight in his shoulders. Didn’t matter anyways, we all had to die, but at least Emmett didn’t have to feel as bad about it.
He kicked his way through the doorway, weapon raised. He hesitated to choose his target.
If Myles scrambling backwards and rushing for the window hadn’t been the tip-off Garren needed to figure out that it definitely wasn’t Ivy in the house, the door being booted open and swinging violently on its hinges definitely was.
Oh, and the fact that Emmett was now standing there in the doorway holding a goddamn gun, that was a fucking Blue’s Clues level hint as well.
Garren froze for half a second, heart pounding at the speed he would have loved his fucking legs to move at. Of course, of fucking course one of the two bozos from the lake would have found Declyn’s body, and of fucking course they’d be hunting and stalking Myles and every Myles-adjacent person. Why the fuck did this have to be the moment somebody gave an entire shit about him?
That half-second could have been the death of him, in another time, in another place. Emmett was taking his sweet fucking time though, because he fucking could. He was facing a frazzled and frantic twink and a greasy loser of an incel whose weaponry could be listed as his goddamn noodly limbs and the lint in his fucking pocket. He could make this slow. He could afford to.
But it also gave Garren the smallest spot of hope he needed.
His mind stopped spinning, like the wheels on a one-armed bandit, all three images landing on ‘FLIGHT’. He spun on his heel, swiping his bag up as he ran towards Myles, feet pounding on the wooden floor.
“Fuckin’, c’mon, Jesus Christ!”
Garren rammed his hands into the window frame, feeling splinters shoot into his fingertips, the nail on his left ring finger fracturing from the impact. For a brief, heart-stopping second, he thought that they’d picked a goddamn house with the window sealed shut or something, as he strained and pulled at it.
Then it started to shudder. Then it moved. Then there was a small square patch of daylight, and fresh air, and safety.
“Go, fucking go!”
Oh, and the fact that Emmett was now standing there in the doorway holding a goddamn gun, that was a fucking Blue’s Clues level hint as well.
Garren froze for half a second, heart pounding at the speed he would have loved his fucking legs to move at. Of course, of fucking course one of the two bozos from the lake would have found Declyn’s body, and of fucking course they’d be hunting and stalking Myles and every Myles-adjacent person. Why the fuck did this have to be the moment somebody gave an entire shit about him?
That half-second could have been the death of him, in another time, in another place. Emmett was taking his sweet fucking time though, because he fucking could. He was facing a frazzled and frantic twink and a greasy loser of an incel whose weaponry could be listed as his goddamn noodly limbs and the lint in his fucking pocket. He could make this slow. He could afford to.
But it also gave Garren the smallest spot of hope he needed.
His mind stopped spinning, like the wheels on a one-armed bandit, all three images landing on ‘FLIGHT’. He spun on his heel, swiping his bag up as he ran towards Myles, feet pounding on the wooden floor.
“Fuckin’, c’mon, Jesus Christ!”
Garren rammed his hands into the window frame, feeling splinters shoot into his fingertips, the nail on his left ring finger fracturing from the impact. For a brief, heart-stopping second, he thought that they’d picked a goddamn house with the window sealed shut or something, as he strained and pulled at it.
Then it started to shudder. Then it moved. Then there was a small square patch of daylight, and fresh air, and safety.
“Go, fucking go!”
"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 screeched when Emmett entered the room, already anticipating the sound of gunfire, anticipating- he didn't know what. He wasn't sticking around for it.
The window creaked open under his and Garren's combined efforts, and Myles was already clambering through the space before Garren finished speaking. Garren pushed at him from behind, and under literally any other circumstances Myles would have yelled at him for touching his butt, but right now it was only the most fleeting of thoughts before everything was chased out by something more important: where the hell was Ivy?
There was Emmett, Emmett had a gun, they hadn't heard any shots but he had a gun, and Ivy was alone, and they didn't know where she was and how much time had passed, actually-?
All of that ran through Myles's head in the split second before he tumbled to the ground on his hands and knees. The blistered burns on his fingertips took the opportunity to remind him that they were there, stinging from the impact, but he barely cared.
"Ivy-!" He choked out. Where was she, where was she!?
Myles scrambled to his feet and took off in a sprint in the direction that he thought she'd gone.
"IVY!!"
((Myles Roux continued in Never Learn Not To Love))
The window creaked open under his and Garren's combined efforts, and Myles was already clambering through the space before Garren finished speaking. Garren pushed at him from behind, and under literally any other circumstances Myles would have yelled at him for touching his butt, but right now it was only the most fleeting of thoughts before everything was chased out by something more important: where the hell was Ivy?
There was Emmett, Emmett had a gun, they hadn't heard any shots but he had a gun, and Ivy was alone, and they didn't know where she was and how much time had passed, actually-?
All of that ran through Myles's head in the split second before he tumbled to the ground on his hands and knees. The blistered burns on his fingertips took the opportunity to remind him that they were there, stinging from the impact, but he barely cared.
"Ivy-!" He choked out. Where was she, where was she!?
Myles scrambled to his feet and took off in a sprint in the direction that he thought she'd gone.
"IVY!!"
((Myles Roux continued in Never Learn Not To Love))
"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."
Pull the trigger, Emmett. He breathed in. Do it, before they get away! He aimed down the sights even though he really didn’t need to. Kill them like you did Adonis. It’ll be easier. You know it would.
Exhale.
DO IT!
He squeezed the trigger, filling the room with smoke and lead.
Exhale.
DO IT!
He squeezed the trigger, filling the room with smoke and lead.
Y’know, for a twink so goddamn skinny he looked like a stiff gust of wind - or a stiff anything for that matter - Myles was not going through this fucking window anywhere close to fast enough.
Desperation struck, as Garren pressed his hands against Myles, pushing him with what little strength he had, grunting with exertion as the other boy scrabbled through the gap to freedom. Maybe his hands touched the dude’s butt in the process, whatever, he’d take the inevitable verbal blasting afterwards if it meant they both got out of this house unscathed.
Finally, Myles tumbled through the window, yelling Ivy’s name almost as soon as he hit the ground. Garren put his hands on the windowsill, taking one last look back at Emmett before he attempted to crawl through.
Yeah, you know how they tell you not to look down when you’re real high up? So, uh, ‘don’t look at the dude holding a fucking gun’ was just as good advice.
“Oh, fuckin’-”
Fear and adrenaline took over from desperation, as Emmett aimed down the sights, and Garren moved quicker than he ever had in his goddamn life. He managed, thank God, to get his head through the window, before the room filled with fire and smoke. He pushed his hands against the sill, then against the outside walls, clawing at them, pulling him through the window. Splinters dug into his palms, his back and sides scraped against the frame, and there were sudden, hot slashes across his legs and back, but he could barely feel them, like they were trapped under the ice, visible but yet to take hold of him.
It would have been nice, as he scrambled out of the window and tumbled towards the ground, for him to hit the ground running. But life was a cunt, and he fell onto his face in an ungainly heap. He pushed himself up, spitting dirt out of his mouth as he started running, not wasting a second’s breath in case Emmett was already at the window.
“Myles!”
It was easy to follow the other boy. He just had to follow the screaming pastel twink running at a hundred myles per hour.
“Christ, dude, hold up!”
His feet thudded against the ground as he sprinted after the other boy.
((Garren Mortimer continued in Never Learn Not To Love))
Desperation struck, as Garren pressed his hands against Myles, pushing him with what little strength he had, grunting with exertion as the other boy scrabbled through the gap to freedom. Maybe his hands touched the dude’s butt in the process, whatever, he’d take the inevitable verbal blasting afterwards if it meant they both got out of this house unscathed.
Finally, Myles tumbled through the window, yelling Ivy’s name almost as soon as he hit the ground. Garren put his hands on the windowsill, taking one last look back at Emmett before he attempted to crawl through.
Yeah, you know how they tell you not to look down when you’re real high up? So, uh, ‘don’t look at the dude holding a fucking gun’ was just as good advice.
“Oh, fuckin’-”
Fear and adrenaline took over from desperation, as Emmett aimed down the sights, and Garren moved quicker than he ever had in his goddamn life. He managed, thank God, to get his head through the window, before the room filled with fire and smoke. He pushed his hands against the sill, then against the outside walls, clawing at them, pulling him through the window. Splinters dug into his palms, his back and sides scraped against the frame, and there were sudden, hot slashes across his legs and back, but he could barely feel them, like they were trapped under the ice, visible but yet to take hold of him.
It would have been nice, as he scrambled out of the window and tumbled towards the ground, for him to hit the ground running. But life was a cunt, and he fell onto his face in an ungainly heap. He pushed himself up, spitting dirt out of his mouth as he started running, not wasting a second’s breath in case Emmett was already at the window.
“Myles!”
It was easy to follow the other boy. He just had to follow the screaming pastel twink running at a hundred myles per hour.
“Christ, dude, hold up!”
His feet thudded against the ground as he sprinted after the other boy.
((Garren Mortimer continued in Never Learn Not To Love))
"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
Emmett stared at the patch of holes next to the window. He missed.
No, that was a lie. He hit what he was aiming for, he’d just decided not to end them, and to let them run. Why? They murdered Declyn, and they were going to die anyways, so why did he let them live?
Emmett felt sick to his stomach. He had to leave, now.
((Emmett Bunnell continued elsewhere.))
No, that was a lie. He hit what he was aiming for, he’d just decided not to end them, and to let them run. Why? They murdered Declyn, and they were going to die anyways, so why did he let them live?
Emmett felt sick to his stomach. He had to leave, now.
((Emmett Bunnell continued elsewhere.))