wiped out! - snowbaz

7 - baz

baz is so, so afraid.

he's sat on a pile of cushions, testing the sharp blade of a penknife on the back of his hand, wondering how much pressure he would need to apply to break the skin of his father's gut and finally get rid of him once and for all.

he stands up and glances out of the window to check if his father's jag is still absent from the driveway. it's not the first time he's done that. not the tenth. try fiftieth.

his phone is switched off, buried under a pile of socks and ripped up paper. he doesn't want to turn it on, because there'll be calls from simon and penny and if he answers them he'll end up spilling his guts, and who knows what'll happen then.

so he just sits there.

he's pushed a chest of drawers in front of his bedroom door. so that his father can't get in. because baz's stepmother only just managed to get the blood out of the carpet, she doesn't need him spilling any more.

it dawns on him that the longer he stays here waiting, the longer he'll have to go without food, living in fear of the slightest creak of the floorboards outside his room. and there's always the window.

so baz starts stuffing things into his school bag; the vinyls simon gave him, unplayed in the fear that they'll be stolen from him, some clothes, a toothbrush...

he walks up to the window and drops the backpack out, testing the height. if he can land in the grass, he shouldn't be too badly maimed, winded at most. so he wiggles out feet first, dropping to the ground with a thump. he grabs the backpack and tightens the straps. he pulls up his jeans, runs his hand through his hair.

and then he gets the hell out of there.

-----

it turns out a park bench isn't the most comfortable thing to sit on, and he's bored out of his skull without his phone. baz reads all the bright places two times over, and it still doesn't shut his brain up.

he's run to the other side of the nearest town, just going where his feet take him. it seems like a lifetime ago he was at simon's house, eating his food and listening to his records. now he's starving and homeless in an empty park with the stench of stale beer wafting up the hill from a nearby sleazy-looking pub.

god, it's so bloody depressing.

he gets up from the bench and wanders over to the gate. the ground is littered with cigarette butts and bits of paper. and occasional dog mess. gross.

he feels the energy build up inside his bones. he needs to dance, to sing, to scream, shout, fight, cry, hate and love. and he's stuck in this listless grey town, rucksack on his back and the image of a boy with blue blue eyes and a mole on the back of his neck polluting his worn out brain.

simon snow.

that boy has gotten him in and out of so many disasters over the last month, and he is all baz can think about. go figure.

he follows his own footsteps again, hoping they'll lead him to simon.

-----

there's the bus stop. the one that simon gets on and off at every day. baz knows he's not safe here, but he just wants to stay for a few minutes, see if he can find any sign that he and simon were here together just yesterday. there isn't one. but if he breathes in deep enough, he can almost smell bonfires and dewy grass...

then he gets to a little house with blue curtains. there's a little fence around the front garden. simon's house.

his eyes feel heavy with tears as he continues to walk up the pavement. there's a lump in his throat he can't seem to shift.

why can't he just be happy?

a tear runs down baz's cheek and lands on his hand. he doesn't wipe it away.

-----

baz finds himself in another park, this time on a swing that creaks as he pushes it forward. he needs to stop thinking about simon, and start coming up with a plan- he needs to figure out what to do, where to go... he could go to a payphone and call penny, but he doesn't have any money. or he could ask to borrow someone's mobile. but there's nobody around. the air smells like hope, but baz can't seem to find any in the restless monologue that's crashing against the walls of his skull. who knows, maybe he'll find a five pound note on the ground, just like they do in the movies.

or maybe simon is rounding the corner, detouring to this park on the way home from school, phone in his hand, trying to call baz for what seems like the thousandth time.

baz looks up as the gate opens, hardly daring to believe his eyes. has he fallen asleep?

no. because simon looks up, and blue blue eyes meet washed out grey. simon starts running towards him, mouth open, shouting. baz's world starts to spin. he remembers he hasn't eaten in nearly twenty-four hours.

he stands up, closing his eyes and bracing himself for the hit, for the torrent of angry words that will permanently stain his conscience. but they don't come.

instead, a pair of arms wrap around his torso, and a face presses into his shoulder.

"i was so so worried about you," simon mumbles into the fabric of baz's hoodie.

"i would ask if you're okay but i know you're not. come back to my house, and we can talk. i'll sort this out."

baz stares at the ground next to them, trying not to let the tears fall.

"hey," simon looks up and brushes away a stray tear with his thumb. "we'll get this sorted, okay? it's going to be fine. i promise."

simon takes baz's hand in his own. he doesn't let go until they get to the house.

-----

lucy looks up from her laptop when they walk through the front door, lips pursed, ready to chastise simon for being late home. but then she sees baz standing in the doorway, his pale face tearstained and his jaw mottled with purple bruises, looking so broken and afraid, and she stands up, smiling sadly at them, and then wandering into the kitchen and shutting the door.

"baz, i know you probably don't want to tell me anything, but i can only help you if you let me."

baz's bones scream for him to push simon away, but it's too late. always too late.

so baz tells simon everything- about his mother, his sister, and especially his father. he explains why he ran away from simon that day, showing him the mesh of cuts and bruises that decorate his pale shoulders.

"i'm sorry..." baz whispers.

simon hugs him again, gentler this time. he still smells like summer, even though it's only march.

simon pulls away and brushes a strand of inky hair behind baz's ear.

"i'll be back in a minute."