A/n
For those of you who don't know, the spin-off to Akimbo, THICK AND THIN, is now a published novel. It's out on Amazon (link is in my bio) and it would mean the world to me if you could go support.
It's the story of Drayden and his three best friends (with cameo by our favourite boi Thrill).
I know most of us on Wattpad are broke, so don't feel pressured by this a/n. I completely understand. *facepalm*
Ignatius had dreamt of running ever since he could remember. He couldn't actually do it – he was bad at sports (like at everything else) – but he dreamt of it. It was a little secret tucked within the deepest folds of his heart; one day he would run, run, run, till his lungs couldn't find oxygen anymore, till he finally reached a place where he wasn't... him anymore.
Now, standing in the living room of the Hawthorne Residence, clutching onto his bleeding nose and facing a Drayden who looked downright terrifying, Ignatius felt the desire to run, overpowering and animalistic. But he could neither will his legs to move nor find a direction to run towards.
"Drayden!" Emily, stepmother to the two Hawthorne boys, threw herself between Ignatius and his attacker. "Don't."
Drayden ignored her. "Get out!" he shouted, standing his ground in front of Thrill, as if protecting him from Ignatius. "And don't ever show your fucking face in this house again."
Ignatius did not need to be told twice. Cupping his face with one hand, he turned around and ran out of the house.
It was raining outside, a heavy downpour that seemed to be there only to taunt Ignatius. See, you can't run. You're not strong enough to run in the rain. You'll fall sick, get mobbed or robbed, or fall into a manhole.
But right now, shame won over the fear. Without knowing where exactly he was going, Ignatius ran into the rain, away from the Hawthorne Residence. His alcohol muddled brain numbed down most of the fear he could feel crawling at the edges of his heart. He instead tried to focus on the searing pain coming from his nose and the warm blood spilling down his lips.
How could he be so fucking stupid? Why did he... why did he do that? He had only wanted to apologise to Thrill, make him realise that Ignatius did not actually hate him or find him disgusting. But... the moment he saw Thrill, he was reminded of that boy from the videos telling people about how much he had suffered yet continuing to smile... Ignatius did not want to be the bad guy anymore. He did not want Thrill to hate him. He did not want to hate himself...
Ignatius' lungs were ready to burst. He was breathing through his mouth, tasting the blood on his tongue, and with every gulp of air he swallowed, the pain in his nose seemed to increase.
But he did not stop. He could not.
"Rookwood!" A black sports car slowed down next to him, and from the rolled down window Thrill Hawthorne was peering out at him. "Get in."
Get in? With which face? After what he had done, he would never ever be able to face that boy again.
"You need to see a doctor!" Thrill cried, his car keeping pace with Ignatius'. "Stop running."
Every step Ignatius took was hurting him, but he did not stop.
"For fuck's sake!" The car came to a halt, and a moment later, Ignatius felt a hand around his arm, jolting him to a halt.
Reflexes kicked in and Ignatius snatched his arm away. "Don't touch me."
Thrill raised both his hands, as if in surrender. As if to reassure Ignatius he meant no harm. "Stop running. Let me give you a lift to the hospital."
Ignatius was panting as he stared at the boy. The rain had drenched his hair and the thin t-shirt he was wearing but he didn't seem bothered by it. He returned Ignatius' stare, so defiantly that Ignatius had to look away.
"Come on," Thrill insisted, his voice softer than before.
The rain fell down harder on Ignatius and he felt like he would pass out any moment now. Well, truth be told, he wanted to pass out. "No."
"Come on, don't be annoying. You're bleeding."
Ignatius wished the blood and rain on his lips would wash off the lingering presence of those soft lips on his... "Leave me alone," Ignatius said, his voice pathetically low and cracking at the syllables.
"I'd love to, but I can't have you dying on my doorstep."
Dying? Dying would be really nice right now. Ignatius wouldn't have to face the boy in front of him, or deal with a potentially broken nose or answer to his mother –
Oh fuck! His mother! If what he just did reached his mother's ears, Ignatius would be skinned alive. Or worse.
The fear that gripped his heart was worse than what he had felt the day he almost drowned. Perhaps, he should have drowned that day.
"Dude, seriously," Thrill said on not receiving any response from Ignatius. "You need help." He took a step closer to Ignatius and with his head downcast, Ignatius noticed something that chilled his bones.
Underneath the sleeve of Thrill's now-drenched t-shirt, Ignatius could see lines of bandages along his lower arm – from the elbow to the wrist. As he looked, he noticed similar bandages on the palm of his right hand. Putting two and two together did not take long. "Are those...?" he said before he could help himself. "Did you...?"
Thrill instantly hid his arm behind his back. "That's none of your business," he hissed, a strange hostility lacing his words.
Of course. It wasn't Ignatius' business. Nothing ever was. He was a poster boy, a prop, made of cosmetics and expensive fabrics. He had no real business regarding anything, ever.
From the corner of his eyes, Ignatius noticed that the road to his left edged out into a steep drop. It was guarded by silver railings. In one impulsive moment, he walked up to the railings and flung his legs over them.
"Oi –" Thrill cried, reaching out to grab Ignatius' arm.
"I'm not going to jump," Ignatius muttered, sitting down atop the railings. I don't have the courage to.
Thrill did not let go of him. "Are you drunk or is something actually wrong with you?"
Ignatius said nothing. The rain had pruned his hands and he got so accustomed to the pain, it did not feel much anymore.
"I've heard people in the Royal Family aren't allowed to see therapists," Thrill continued, very casually, like he was talking to a friend over a meal. "I'm guessing similar politics work at your house too. If you want, I could book you an appointment under my name. It'll be a secret."
Why was that one of the nicest offers anyone had ever made to Ignatius? "I don't need a therapist," he said. But yes, even if he did, his mother would never allow it.
"Okay."
Ignatius was acutely aware of Thrill's fingers wrapped around his arm; they felt warm. "You can let go, I'm not going to jump."
"Knowing you, I'd rather not risk it," was Thrill's reply, casual as always.
Ignatius said nothing. His heart was thundering in his chest, so fast that he feared he was going to get a heart attack.
"Can I... um," Thrill began, hesitantly, "ask why you kissed me?"
There it was. The blow. Ignatius wished he had the strength to jump. "Please don't."
Thrill nodded to himself. "You shouldn't go about kissing people, you know." He shrugged. "You never know when they'll file a sexual harassment case against you."
Ignatius wanted to say something snarky in return, but he had no strength left in his bones. So instead, with his head downcast, he uttered the two words that were the most difficult to utter, "I'm sorry."
Thrill's fingers around Ignatius' arm tightened, very slightly. He said nothing.
Ignatius remembered all the cruelties that people like Thrill had to go through, and he remembered how that girl had asked him to do better. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I'm sorry I called you... that."
Thrill remained silent and Ignatius was too scared to look up to see his reaction. The rain was roaring all around them.
"I didn't think that –"
"Then why'd you do it?" Thrill said, interrupting Ignatius. His tone was harsh and his hold on Ignatius had significantly tightened. "Do you know how much your actions have –" He broke off and let out an audible sigh. He let go of Ignatius' arm. "Whatever."
Ignatius squeezed his eyes shut, unsure if those were tears or rainwater running down his cheeks. "I'm sorry."
"I don't want your sorry, Rookwood" Thrill scoffed.
Something in Ignatius snapped on hearing the name – Rookwood. He looked up and turned towards Thrill. "You think I don't want do more?" he shouted. "You think I like this? You think I like being an asshole? I hate this. I hate everything. I know I hurt you and I'm sorry about that, but you wouldn't possibly understand what it's like to be... me. You wouldn't understand what I have to go through every hour of every day. You don't..." He sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes, facing the sky. "You won't understand," he concluded in a whisper.
His outburst was rewarded by silence and the heavy roar of the rain. After a while, he felt movement beside him and he knew Thrill had walked away.
But when Ignatius finally opened his eyes, he was met with a bandaged hand held out towards him. "Then help me understand?" Thrill said, his voice low and eyes kind.