A slice of Life

Raven

Broken promises lay at Raven Toussaint's feet.

The burnt nubs, damp and soggy against the glistening, twilight-kissed pavement, were the merits of his failure. As he sucked back on another smoke, the bitter fumes filling his lungs in ways oxygen just couldn't satisfy, he held it there, refusing to exhale, even when it swelled within his chest and throat to the brink of physical pain.

He held it. Trapped it. Let it bath him from the inside out. And finally, when he could bear it no longer, when his eyes watered and the fuzziness in his head sent his vision wavy, he released.

The relief was cheap, shadowed by guilt that was drowned out by another puff. The end of the cigarette glowed amber in the nearing dusk, a neon banner to his crime. Rather than stop, he blazed it down to filter, grinding it beneath the heavy soles of his boot once it gave all there was to give.

He promised Ronan he'd stop, but he never could quite manage it. He could go a day. A week. A month. But sooner or later, he always ended up lighting up.

"Fuck it," he breathed, ragging his hand through his hair. It was damp from the light shower of rain that had fallen. He eyeballed the distance between him and his car, the hundred or so yards that separated them, and then turned his attention to the front of his apartment building, at the large, revolving doors that he couldn't quite seem to bring himself to pass.

Each step towards the Hummer felt heavy, anchors tied to his ankles, trying to keep him in place, and when he finally slid behind the wheel, slamming the door shut behind him with unnecessary force, he let his head fall back against the seat.

The breaths that followed, steady and uneven, leveled out, and after a solid five minutes of doing absolutely fuck all, he managed to fish his keys out of his pocket and jam them in the ignition.

There wasn't a precise destination in mind as the thing lurched to life, gravel crunching beneath the wheels as he slid out of the parking lot — it didn't matter. Whether he acknowledged it or not, there was only one place he was going.

There was only one person who understood his heart completely, twisted edges and all. His home when walls failed, his sanctuary when church walls couldn't hold his soul.

He drove blind, auto-pilot engaged, and it was only when he pulled up outside his brother's house, killing the engine, that it dawned on him that there were few details to the journey he could recall.

Raven tried to talk himself out of going there; the longer he dined on his haywired emotions, the more appealing the budding thought of finding a bar and drinking it dry became. He didn't — wasn't sure why, except of course he knew why.

Lord, why were brains so darn complicated.

As he exited the vehicle, he turned his collar to the damp, ducking his head as strode along the narrow stretch of sidewalk that led up to the pretty, suburban home, pausing briefly at the front door before rapping his knuckles against the hardwood.

In the seconds that followed, he prayed for no answer. Pretty stupid, given the car, same model as his, just a different color, centered in the driveway.

When the door pulled inward, Raven mustered all the strength he could manage, framing it into a smile. "Hey, Luci."

Lucien was a small dude. Cute as a button and good for his brother, and over the years, he'd actually grown to adore him. It was hard not to; when he meant so much to his twin, there became a special place for him in their lives. Raven regarded Lucien as precious to him as Ronan, for if anything were to ever happen to him, it was his brother who would bear the cost.