"I had forgotten. Disgust shadows desire. Another life is never safely envied." -Robert Wells
chapter 32
It's a normal game of soccer that Jazz and his God are playing with everyone their age-- every couple pair against themselves, and making sure Viv and her twin weren't on the same team to avoid that absolute chaos-- when Castor took off his shirt.
And yeah, he was attractive and had a very nice body.
But it was covered in scars.
Jazz was used to seeing scars; his papa was covered in remains of abuse and self-harm, his mama's marks of being a kidnap victim, his sister's marks from surviving a car crash and suicide attempts, his Tios harsh lines from harassment and different traumatizing events, and the many of his cousin's that have suffered through harsh years that left unforgettable and unremovable remains behind.
He knew what different scars looked like, felt like, were caused by.
And Castors? His were self-harm, but he was also covered-- covered-- in scars that spelt out SPAZ and FREAK and there weren't seven inches that the musician's eyes could travel without getting interrupted by harsh, white lines.
It... it was heartbreaking.
How could someone do that?
How could someone look at Castor-- or anyone else, for that matter-- and think they deserve to be hurt, to think or desire to be the one to hurt them? How could someone do that? How?
It-- god, it felt like someone ripped his whole heart to pieces.
He knew his celestial had trauma-- had bullies and bad experiences but he didn't understand how truly horrible people had been to him.
It wasn't fair.
None of it was fair.
Why were cruel people allowed to be cruel?
Where, along the line of society, did that become acceptable, become expected?
And-- and Castor just continues to jog up to Fly, acting like nothing just happened, because he doesn't know that Jazz's heart just shattered in his chest; that he was choking on emotions and his skin felt too tight to hold them all in.
He talked to the blondie, and his whole body became blurry-- a mess of white lines, tan skin, and green.
Jazz is crying.
And he can't stop it.
He knows that he wasn't there, he knows that he can't feel the ghost of pain of when those scars were made, he knows that he doesn't even know how they were made but... but his whole body hurt like it did.
It hurt like he had been jolted into a whole new reality, a whole new body where he didn't even know how to breathe.
Limp arms take a moment to work, his mind replaying the images of a scarred god as his hands slowly raise to hide his eyes and tear-stained cheeks and he chokes on a sob. Everything felt numb-- felt heavy.
Castor had been hurt-- he used to get hurt a lot.
Nyx is the first one to notice that Jazz was frozen in place, then he feels the shift in her song as soon as she realizes he's crying, her calloused hands immediately trying to get him to look at him.
"Little J?" She murmurs, voice soft but worried. "Are you hurt?"
He choked out a noise that even he couldn't make out-- which he knew only made his older sister's concern worse because her hands tightened around his wrists.
"Jazz, come on," Nyx tries again. "Let me see your face. Did something happen?"
This he doesn't even bother replying to because yes, yes something did but how can he even begin to describe it when it feels like his entire body doesn't want to cooperate with him?
Then that familiar, warm song is washing over him and a tint of green is coming through his clasped hands and Castor is gently holding onto one of his forearms and asking, "Jitterbug? What's wrong?"
"I want... to f-fight." Is all he can make out, body shaking to his core as he breathes shakily.
He wants to fight whoever hurt his god; to make sure he's okay, to protect him from everyone and anything even if he feels too weak, to make him feel beautiful and wanted, to make sure he never gets another spaz or harsh line of abuse again, to keep him safe with no exception.
But they don't understand any of that-- how could they?
So Nyx asks why he wants to fight, and Castor asks if he wants a hug.
And, of course he does, because he doesn't feel safe and he doesn't feel like his god is safe either and he needs to hold him before his lungs decide to give out or his knees do. Not hesitating, Jazz wraps his arms around him and pulls him to his chest, head bowed to the celestial's shoulder as I he rose slightly on his toes to match their height.
Trying again, Jazz sniffles and is unhelpfully able to get out, "It's 'cause... Castor..."
"What did I do wrong?"
"You want to fight Cas?"
Once again, Casor and his older sister ask these at the same time, words mixing and going in two opposite trains of thought. It isn't confusing, but it makes his anxiety go up and for him to feel like crying all the harder.
He doesn't want to fight Castor.
He doesn't want the celestial getting hurt ever again, let alone by him.
Not wanting to be looked at and feeling rather pathetic for breaking down like he did, Jazz tucks himself closer to his boyfriend.
But then the bad thoughts come in-- he's full to the brim with sorrow but underneath all that sadness was a pool of rage boiling up towards the surface, wanting his hands to no longer be gentle, making his knuckles itch and muscles tense.
He... shouldn't be holding onto Castor like he is when there's a voice in his head telling him to be anything but kind.
Jazz isn't someone who speaks violence fluently; he's someone who, when violence comes crashing and screaming he doesn't just listen to it but he lets it speak for him.
And right now he's burning up, ready to let loose.
Castor is right there though-- right in his arms.
What is he supposed to do? He can't hurt him. He can't.
"Jazz," It's Axel, and he sounds serious for once. His song washes over the musician's back and he can't help but to snap--
"Too close." He tenses. "You're too close."
There's no shake in his voice this time. It was firm and authoritative and nothing short of cold anger and hurt.
"Jazz?" Nyx said cautiously.
Without saying a thing, he bent down and scooped his god over his shoulder-- ignoring the strange look he got from his sister and the incredulous shout that Castor gave-- and started to walk back towards their cabin.
How dare someone hurt him?
How could they hurt him?
What kind of person had a heart that rotten?
"Jasper?"
"No," He gruffs out, hold tightening on Castor's thigh. He knows it's not painful-- he was closely watching the celestial's song for any signs of pain. Everything about his body felt at a distance, like he was watching all of this happen outside of it, but it was also hypersensitive and focusing on his boyfriend's reaction.
"What do you mean, no?" Castor asked back.
"I..." Jazz could barely hold a conversation, the anger almost frightening as it crawls up his throat, wanting to stain his tongue, wanting him to ask who and where and when. "Just no. I can't."
For whatever reason, that made basil shoot through the god, his fear pulsing through the air, dizzying and loud, "Can't?" His voice shook.
Now up to the door of their cabin, Jazz doesn't reply as he opens it and goes right to the couch. He sets the star onto his feet then sits down, opening his arms to show Castor that he wants him to sit there but his boyfriend just looks at his face with wide lightning-strike eyes.
He closes his eyes, jaw clenching as he takes a deep breath before opening them again, "Star, I am very angry right now. Can-- I just need to hold you. Can I?"
Hesitating for only a second, Castor moves himself to sit on Jazz's lap-- it wasn't close enough, though, and the musician moved him to straddle his thighs before pulling him forward, wrapping his arms around his waist as he rested his head on his shoulder and took a shuddering breath.
The god was a little tenser than usual-- and he assumed it was confusion, before the olive started to sprout next to the basil, moss present but more of a fear reaction than anything else.
"Castor," Jazz pulled back to make eye contact with his boyfriend. "Stop it. Stop being mean to yourself. You didn't-- you didn't do anything wrong."
"You're angry because-- in Eden!-- of my scars," Castor dunked his head down, shoulders tensing as he squeaks three times in a row. "That I didn't tell you about them."
Jazz made a noise of surprise, then nuzzled his head against his neck until he raised his head again and he moved back to make sure his boyfriend was looking at him, "You're beautiful, Star. All of you, your eyes, your personality, your palms, your laughter, your scars are no different. You're my god, and you're a beautiful God. Nothing will change my mind about that."
Castor said nothing, but there were tears in his eyes.
"The scars on your body don't make you any less beautiful," Jazz softly told him, cupping one of his cheeks, brushing his thumb under his eyes.
"My mind's a-- in Eden-- mess too." He replied, song sad and heavy.
The musician presses a delicate kiss onto his lips, "Mess or not, you're the most beautiful person I know, Castor. It... it makes me so angry that someone did this to you-- that someone hurt you. But I'm not mad at you, I'm not upset that you didn't tell me about the scars or anything like that."
The god stares again, before something seems to switch in his song and he shudders out a breath, "Can... I'll tell you about how-- Christmas lights-- I got them?"
"Of course," Jazz is a little surprised but he's also, despite his anger, always willing to listen to what Castor had to say and be the support he needs in any way the musician can give. "I won't judge you, but I can't... I-I can't promise I won't get any angrier, Star. I'll try hard, though. I don't like being angry around you."
"Anger is fine," Castor says, resting against Jazz's chest, cuddling himself underneath his chin, which he just responded by pulling him closer and holding his arms around him. "I get angry, too."
"No offense, but your anger... seems less destructive than what I've done before."
This makes the god pause. "What do you mean?"
"K-Keres isn't the only person I've hurt," Jazz replies softly, ashamed. "I just... there's reasons a lot of people in my town are scared of me, and none of them are good. I'm a big guy, and I know how to fight really, really well. It's not good for others when I snap."
"Did they deserve it?"
"Yes. They were horrible people, but violence is never an answer when things can be solved in calmer, less bloodier ways."
"Can I fight you?" Castor asks, making him laugh softly in surprise.
"No," The reply was instant and paired with a chuckle, and he squirmed slightly underneath the god. "I am not fighting you, nope. You're tiny."
"I am not tiny," The celestial moved up to glare at him. "You're a giant, that's it."
Jazz sighs, "I usually only spar with my papa, Tio Gus, Damien, or Axel. And I know for a fact you're going to be mean to yourself if you bruise me, because you will. I bruise really easily. I don't want to hurt you and I don't want you to get frustrated with yourself."
"Wait, wait, let me get this right," He sat up straight, hands on the musician's chest. "You don't want to spar with me because you're worried about how I will feel and not that you might get hurt?"
"I already know you know how to pull punches," Jazz tilts his head, frowning. "And it's not going to be an honest fight and it's not like you're going to use this as an opportunity to hurt me on purpose or something. So no, I'm not worried. Well, maybe because I'm clumsy, but that's a whole other category of injuries."
"How about this," Castor says, growling a second later. "You spar with Damien-- with, with, with-- or someone else, and I watch. If I think I'll get hurt or our skill sets are too different, I won't ask to fight you again but if I don't then we spar?"
Thinking about it for a second before nodding, Jazz warns, "If I hurt you-- like, honestly hurt you, I'm going to cry."
"That's not fair," He frowns. "I hate it when you cry."
"And I hate it when you get hurt, so..."
"Fair," Castor sighs, then shifts to be sitting up fully while straddling his hips-- which, for whatever reason, seemed to distract him. "Do you really want to have the conversation-- in Eden1-- about my scars?"
"Yes," Jazz nodded again.
"I'm gonna do this as fast as possible," He says. "But also, kind of like a presentation because if I tell you it like it's a traumatic story I have to care about I'll probably cry."
"That's... that's okay," He said. "Whatever makes you most comfortable, Star. Don't push yourself.
Castor takes a deep breath, hands flexing over his shoulders before he speaks, "Both sets of my grandparents are abusive, annoying fucks who have made it their life mission to get 'revenge' on my mother for ruining their lives and 'stealing' my dad away from them. They raised my uncle, who's a police officer. He's a drunk, a nasty one at that. Because of that, he thinks he can do whatever he wants and usually his target is me and my siblings. Out of us, I'm the easiest target." That's horrible. "Eris and Triton haven't met him, it's going to stay that way. Your dad-- I don't think... he shouldn't be around that."
Saying as his papa's dad was an abusive asshole who was also a cop, Jazz fully agreed. He wouldn't want to present a trigger to his kind-hearted, softie to his core papa.
"Once, they called CPS on my parents for some bullshit and during the investigation we all got divided. Because Jonah's a cop, he was able to slow down everything. I lived with Jonah. It... it sucked, I was only there for three weeks." That's... that shouldn't have happened, it really shouldn't have. "Nemesis actually went with Adonis because he acted really fast and petitioned the court for us all, but they only let him take her, so she was only with my grandparents for a few days. Atlas was just about eighteen when it happened, so he got to stay home. Circe and TJ lived with my Uncle Jem, who's fucking amazing by the way. Uncle Kace already had Fly that week but my Aunt Roby and Uncle Keagan have two younger kids, so they took Eris."
Jazz made a face, not liking that they were all separated from each other.
He couldn't imagine that-- having his siblings scattered all over their place just because some horrible people decided to come up with a lie that CPS believed. He knew it was their jobs, but fuck, shouldn't someone have asked the kids who they felt safe around and who didn't?
It was bullshit, the fact that his god got stuck in a house with that drunk, asshole cop for three weeks.
"There were days Jonah just didn't let me go to school, so I got really behind and missed the end of semester exams that made me fail one class. That wasn't fun."
The fuck?
Wasn't that illegal? Not to mention morally bad.
"At school I was... I was the only gay kid in the mess of homophobes on the football team." Castor admits. That's... Jazz can't even begin to understand what that must've been like. "My hockey team didn't care but in that sport, you get beat on anyway. It's actually really fun. But there was this one, this one, this--"
The god begins to shake, his hands tightening and Jazz kisses his forehead, "You're doing really good, Castor, talking about this... it-it's really hard, and I'm proud of you. Do you need your medicine?"
"Fuck," He stutters out a breath, before nodding. "Christmas lights." He growls, head jerking to the side. "Please."
Jazz, not quite wanting to let go of his god just yet, makes sure Castor is close enough to him, and then standing, one arm going under him and one pinning him to his chest-- making him squeak twice before wrapping his legs around the musician's waist to help support his weight.
"Am I heavy to you?" Castor asks.
"Not at all," He shakes his head. It was true, the god had muscle on him and, compared to the average person, was tall and strong, but compared to a giant like himself, he was practically a twig.
The celestial huffs, his anxiety still apparent in his song but with a conversation like this, he expected nothing else.
Jazz leaned over the bed, placing Castor on it and waited for his legs to move before straightening up and swiftly getting him his medicine. He took it, and then the two situated themselves to cuddle on the bed, wrapped in each other's arms and the star on top of him again before starting to talk.
He'd like to think that the anger twisting sharply in him had died down by now, but it didn't.
"His name was, it was--" Castor chokes on the words, flinching slightly as he tics a couple times. "--Clark."
Just the name made fear erupt into the space, loud and intense and begging Jazz not to ignore it; so he didn't, and held the god closer, murmuring encouraging words softly.
"He bullies me, but a lot of the time it went a lot farther than that. It's not like he was homophobic or hated people with disabilities, it was just me that he hated. I just seemed to piss him off, somehow. At our school, he was top of the food chain, his dad was on the school board and his mom was the Sheriff, so he could get away with anything."
"That's bullshit." He frowned. "There should've been people who stood up for you and against him. I'm, I'm sorry that they didn't." Jazz would've, back then even if he was scared of everything and anyone, he would've stood up for the celestial.
"Nothing he did, he got consequences for."
This guy needs to get on his ruin this person's life list.
"So he just kept escalating, went from jabs to punches to beatings to using weapons, to things that felt like, like torture. The words, I mean. 'Spaz'. A few 'Freaks' and 'Twitch'." Those were the words that had been, horrifyingly, cut into his skin. "Then it started to be stuff to prove I had Tourette's like my own mouth didn't spew out nonsense proof every few minutes. He always tried to get me to stop, to just stop moving or talking, to stay silent or still, but I can't stop. I can't stop."
How did people not understand that Castor couldn't stop?
That it wasn't his choice?
That it wasn't something that had an on and off switch-- it was just an uncontrollable part of himself?
"That somehow turned into proof I was gay, or able to fight like everyone said. Those two things they don't, they don't mix well."
Jazz knew that.
"He hurt me a lot, in a lot of ways and I can't, I can't, I can't say it. I don't -he just hurt me and it's weird, it's weird that the most damaging things he did are the things I don't have scars from. The shit nobody can tell by looking at my body."
"You don't have to say it, Star," Jazz kept his voice gentle, not judging, but understanding. There's things that Keres did to him that he'll never be able to tell someone, either.
"All he knew how to do was remind me that I'm nothing more than a body, a body that's dysfunctional and useless. I'm just a body."
This... this made him very, very bothered.
"You are so much more than a body," Jazz firmly told him, soft but with no room for arguments, cupping one of his cheeks, brushing his thumb under his lightning-strike eyes. "You're not-- you're not just those words that they called you, you're not just your Tourette's and you're not just a body. That's like saying, because of my synesthesia, all I am is just mixed up, worthless senses. Your body might not listen to you all the time, but it's not useless. It carries your head from room to room, doesn't it? It lets me hold your hands, lets me cuddle with you and kiss you and gives me the best hugs. Nothing about that is worthless."
He presses a kiss onto his forehead, gently stroking his fingers across the base of his neck before continuing speaking, "You have a brilliant, beautiful mind, even if it's mean to you. You're kind and gentle and all your emotions-- they're green and intense and there's no way that those aren't real. Everything about you, Castor, is so much more than a body. Fuck them for saying that, and fuck them for making you believe that."
"It's been a-- in Eden-- couple months--"
"Months?" Jazz's eyes widened. He... he thought that it would've been a year, minimum, since Castor had been hurt by one of his bullies. Not mere months.
That... that's not very long.
The musician knows that-- in regards to bullies and abusers-- it takes a long time and plenty of overthinking and healing to be remotely okay. In one month, it'll be a year since he saw and broke up with Keres.
But the people who hurt the celestial?
It's only been a couple months.
That makes him even angrier.
"I mean that I'm... I'm working on it, not, not a lot, but I am." Castor pauses, looking down. His song is full of shame, and it breaks Jazz's heart. "I haven't been, you know, I haven't--" The god turns over his wrist to show scars to get the point across. "--in months either."
Jazz is grateful for that-- grateful that he hasn't hurt himself for months. He knows how hard breaking that is, how hard it is not to cut when it gives that release, that relief from making the pain not be completely mental any more.
The body needs to see that it is dying and not only feel the sickness eating away at the brain.
Depression is an illness that holds hands with a silent killer, even when it's victims scream for help in ways that others can't always hear.
Delicately, Jazz holds out one of his hands, fingertips lightly touching the side of his wrist, not touching the god's scars but close, "May I?"
"You... want to touch them?" Castor wrinkles his nose. "Why?"
He shrugs, not quite knowing the answer, and slowly, the god nods.
Keepings his touch light but curious, Jazz runs his hand up to God's arm, fingers tracing the self-harm scars and the other ones now visible to him. He doesn't mind that Castor is watching him, and just concentrates on his soft but marked skin, being gentle as he lets his hand travel up his arm.
There's scars on his biceps and shoulders that were harsh and ragged, like someone just ripped his skin off or cut into him without regard for his health.
Jazz has never wanted to explore someone before, and although he was still worried about touching somewhere he wasn't supposed to, he knew him and the celestial had good communication and he would tell the musician if there was a boundary in place he didn't know about beforehand.
His fingers and hands trailed up Castor's cool skin, the god having sat up to give him access to his torso, and he runs the pad of his thumb over two sharp and red marks over his chest.
He frowns, wondering what made them.
Across his waist was a jagged, deep white line that seemed to wrap completely around him, surrounded by smaller scars and little silver lines. He knew this was made from something sharp-- a knife, glass, switchblade.
There was a spaz to the left of his right hip, and a filth next to his strawberry tattoo on the left one. A twitch on his left bicep and he knew about the self-harm scars covering the front of his ribs, but seeing them didn't make the knowledge any easier.
It wasn't that he never noticed them before, the other ones, because he was unobservant or never cared enough to look at the god's body, but because his skin was so pale that it hid most of the scars-- the tan of being topless at the island having made them pop to life.
But Castor survived it all. He survived his self-harm, his depression, his bullying, he survived everything that Clark and all those other horrible people did to him.
He was strong enough to do that.
That knowledge was beautiful, too.
"I was right," Jazz said, still looking at Castor's body, running one of his hands down his bare side. The skin-to-skin contact was nice, even giving the circumstances. "You are beautiful." Then he sees a newer tattoo, one in roman numerals, just above his strawberry half-hidden by his shorts. He presses his thumb to it, tracing it.
Oh. There's a mint leaf too.
He knows those numbers.
"Dela's birthday?" He tilts his head, missing something. Why would the god have Dela's-- oh fuck, he's stupid. Him and Dela are twins. It's his birthday. He looks up into amused, lightning-strike eyes with his mint ones wide. "I'm an idiot."
Squishing his cheeks together, Castor pecks his lips, "Nah, you're just an oblivious goof. Are... you okay-- bit hot innit-- with them?"
"Yes," Jazz can feel his blush heating his cheeks, nose, and ears. "I'm going to melt."
Groaning deeply, he presses his face into the god's neck, breath fanning over his skin. Under his hands, one on his boyfriend's hip and the other lightly holding onto his arm, he felt goosebumps burst to life and chuckled at the reaction.
He runs his knuckles down Castor's neck and watches as he flushes.
"Hmm..." He hums, letting his tongue come out to play with one of his snakebites and he now takes his time to admire the god above him. "Is your body always this sensitive?"
"It's really- -bit hot innit- -not." Castor sighs, muscles tensing underneath his fingers, prompting him to trail an invisible pattern of his skin. "Just because of you."
"Because of me?" Jazz's smirk speaks for itself. "I'm not doing anything, Star."
"Liar," The god breathes out. "You know exactly what you're doing."
Moving his head down, pressing a warm kiss to his collarbone before moving up his neck, biting the flushed skin there, "I don't think I do, Castor. Maybe you should try explaining it."
Castor's laugh was a bit breathless and strained, "You're so cocky."
Jazz chuckles, placing a kiss below his ear, "I have all the reasons to be. A god is over me, blushing and turned on. Should I not be cocky because of that?" His hands trail down the celestial's side until they brush his hips, thumb pressing down over the mint leaf again.
As if he's been thinking over the matter, Castor says, "There's no way in fuck-- bit hot innit-- that you're just a bottom."
"Well yeah," Jazz laughs, dimples bopping out as he moves his hands up to hold the star's waist. "Gotta switch it up sometimes." He winks.
"Dork," Rolling his eyes, the celestial leans in and gives the musician a burning kiss, making his lips tingle and for warmth to shoot down his spine.
He might be a dork, but he was Castor's dork, and that alone made him happy.