It seems like forever before Jack finally stops screaming.
Lee stands frozen through the whole ordeal, thorny roots twining themselves around his sneakered feet and pinning him to the weathered ground. He tries---so desperately, to move, to run over to Jack and drag him out of the same nightmare that still consumes the back of Lee's brain ever so often. But he can't. He can't do it. He stands, stock-still, a tangled mess of atrophied limbs and misplaced muscle and phantom pain. Ice wraps itself around his golden skin, and as Jack's haunting shrieks ebb into quiet, halting sobs, Lee wants to scream too. He wants to plunge back into the abyss that had swallowed him all those years ago and join Jack in his new darkness. He wants to feel him, revel in their now-common agony.
But he can't. So he stands, aural cruelty blooming up his toes and his calves and his thighs. On the outside, he's a living doll, porcelain and still. On the inside, he's a howling, crying storm.
Lee wishes he can't imagine the pain that Jack's feeling right now, but he can, because he'd felt it three years back, and he'd screamed until his lungs were raw, and his vision had flickered bright red, and...
Danny and his gang saunter past Lee's unmoving form, laughing and jostling like all's right in the universe without sparing him a second glance. Lee lets them. He's a little ashamed of himself for that.
Lee doesn't unfreeze until Jack's soft sobs are almost too much to bear, a particularly loud whimper shattering his trance. Even then, his feet move like they're on autopilot, jellied legs shuffling over to the all-too-familiar wall. In front of it, Jack's curled in a fetal position, quivers wracking his prone body, and Lee feels his own heart snap in half.
At the sound of Lee's approaching footsteps, Jack lifts his head ever so slightly, and Lee didn't think his heart could break any more, but he's proven wrong at the sight of the crystal puddles pooling in Jack's eyes and rolling down his cheeks.
Rivulets of blood trickle down Jack's canines, bottom lip splitting around the visible clench of his teeth. He's obviously trying to hold his tears back, all hard grit and taut misery. One hand's clamped to the side of his neck, collar pulled askew, tie hanging off his throat in a wide loop. The other's wrapped around his stomach, as if hugging himself will make the pain stop.
(It never really stops. Lee's learnt that the hard way.)
"I suppose you're going to say I told you so now," Jack forces out through teary eyes and gritted teeth, every syllable flecked with blood.
Lee doesn't. Instead, he kneels down next to Jack and folds his starched collar back, gently yanking his hand away from his throat. Jack offers none of his usual resistance, making the last shards of Lee's heart fall to the floor.
The side of Jack's neck is all flame-red skin and crumbling ash, smoke still lightly curling off it. But what catches Lee's eye is the small, circular ring of black, stark against Jack's pale skin. He doesn't have to touch it to feel the blistering skin underneath, crimson and raw. He doesn't have to look at it to know it'll scar.
"I'm sorry," Lee says quietly, one hand still clutching Jack's trembling palm, holding him softly, gently, delicately---as if he'll break if he squeezes, even a little. Never again, he'd declared, once upon a time, vowing to stay out of Jack Sang's personal problems when he'd interfered and paid the price. But now, staring at the lucid remnants left behind by the smoky mouth of a cigarette, he feels his vision flicker. Burn.
Jack lets out a tormented hiss. "Shit," he mutters, hand rolling off his middle helplessly. "That hurts like a motherfucker." Lee knows him well---well enough to know that he's trying to play the tough guy for Lee's sake. Keeping up appearances, as his father would call it. So he waits until Jack's cracked lips part in the inevitable, defeated, "You were---right," small gasps of agony punctuating his words.
"I'm sorry."
"What's there to be sorry about? I said you were---fuck---right."
I'm sorry I didn't protect you this time. "I mean, I guess it doesn't really matter now." Lee begins rifling around in the pocket of his trousers. Fuck, no tissues. "Does it hurt?"
"Of course it fucking does---dickwad." Jack grimaces. "What do you think?"
"Yeah, I can tell by how much you're swearing. I was just making sure you're still alive."
"I wish I was dead right now."
"Been there, felt that," Lee remarks, and maybe he sounds a little too cheerful, but he can't help it---he knows he'll cry if he lets down his facade for even a second. He blames it on the trauma, all the lost memories that never quite seem to fade, the fact that he's staring a mirror of his past in the face. Excuses, excuses, excuses.
Jack scowls. "Bastard."
"Mom and Dad were already married when they had me, dumbass." Lee chuckles, if only to hide the crushed thing splintering in his ribcage. He'd tried so hard to prevent this the last time---and it had all been for nothing. "Do you still live in the same house?"
Jack rolls over and groans. "You know we can't---afford to move."
"Great. Can you walk?"
"No," Jack deadpans. "I'm crippled for life."
"It's fine, then! I'll just carry you!"
"Fuck no. Of course I can walk. What the hell are you---shit---doing now?"
"Taking you home."
Jack grimaces, reaching one hand to the side of his scorched neck. Lee instantly slaps his fingers away. Seeming to finally understand the risk of infection, Jack lets his palm fall to the ground. "You don't have to do that. Actually, don't do that. I'm not going to risk being indebted to you for life."
"Don't worry, I wouldn't ask you to do much in return. Probably just a blowjob or something," Lee replies airily.
"I'd rather die."
"You're going to if I just leave you here, you weak dumbass." Lee rips the rolled-up cuff off his left sleeve with some effort, revelling in the way Jack's watery brown eyes widen. "And before you give me that crock about not damaging the school uniform, I'm rich. Daddy could buy the school if I wanted it." He slips the starched fabric into Jack's still-shaking palm---a clear indication of his physical agony. "Here. Put this over your burn. That should keep it from getting infected until we get your mom to patch it up."
For a moment, Lee's afraid Jack will resist again. To his relief, Jack complies, pressing the ragged square flush against the ebony ring, and the fresh tears that struggle to break free at the excruciatingly slow action make Lee want to scream again. "You really don't need to---"
"Hey, Pref. Shut up and accept my love." Lee draws back before diving back in, softer this time---gentler, as if taming a hurt animal. (In more ways than one, it's weirdly fitting.) "Listen, let me just do nice shit for you, okay? I'm sorry. I didn't protect you this time, and I'm sorry. I know it's not my fault, and no one can hold it against me, but I feel guilty anyway. Think of this as me trying to ease my own conscience. Okay?"
Jack hesitates---though maybe that's because of the pain. "Okay." Then, as he's pushing---or at least, trying to---himself up on his elbows and wincing at every jolt, "Wait, what do you mean by this time?"
Lee pretends not to hear him.
٩( ᐛ )و
When Jack drops back into a fetal position after managing to get to his knees, Lee gives up on letting him walk by himself and hoists him along the rest of the way. And although he doesn't call it dragging, for the sake of Jack's already-destroyed pride, the walk to Lee's car can only be described as that.
"You have a Camaro?" Jack exclaims when Lee's car---one of the last few left in the deserted parking lot---comes into view. "You fucking trust fund baby. When did you even get a car?"
"Eighteenth birthday present. And it's actually one of the cheapest sports cars out there," Lee wisps as he bundles a cursing Jack into the passenger seat, careful not to dislodge the fabric pressed against his wound.
"Who gives an eighteen year old a sports car?"
"Daddy dearest, apparently. Fuck it. I don't care. It's got a nice engine. I like to waste petrol and Daddy's money while polluting our planet at the same time."
"Fuck the turtles, am I right? Jeez. Your new best friend would have a cow if he saw you driving this thing."
"Jon vapes, so he has literally no right to talk." Lee snaps his own seatbelt into place.
"Really? I thought Cory was asthmatic. And since they're best friends---"
A lot more than just best friends, apparently. "Only when he's anxious." Lee steps on the gas, relishing the way Jack grimaces at the heavy whirr of the engine. (Personally, he likes it. It's calming. Or maybe he's just overly happy about wasting his father's money.) "How's your neck?"
"Still hurts like shit, but it's kind of numb now. I think I'm in shock. But I'll live."
"Good. I'd hate to fuck a corpse."
Jack snorts. "In your dreams, you horny bastard. I'm going to get myself cremated."
"Then I'll just stick my dick into your urn." Lee grins. "Modern problems require modern solutions."
"I'll haunt you and your maggot-infested dick for the rest of your life."
"Will I still be able to feel you in my ass if you're a ghost?"
"Fucking hell," Jack curses. "If I wasn't in so much pain right now, I'd jump out of the car."
"I'd hate to fuck a corpse."
Jack shoots him a glare that could boil steel.
Lee lifts one hand off the wheel in surrender, laughter bubbling past his lips. "Don't look at me like that, Pref. You know I'm just kidding."
"With you, it's hard to tell," Jack mutters, cradling the side of his neck.
They drive in relative silence for a while, the purr of the engine wrapping itself around Lee's ears like an old friend. The road is a blur of speeding colour, yellow and white etched across cracked black tar. The sun, high above their heads, beats down on the blue-tinted windshield and turns the world gold. Lee's torn sleeve pummels against the steering wheel with a new vengeance.
"Why'd Danny call you a fag, by the way?" Lee pipes up suddenly, fingers skittering off the wheel like it'll make what he's asking any easier. "I thought I was the only fag here."
Jack doesn't answer. In the blaring quiet, he's vulnerable, naked, raw. The resounding silence curling around his tongue speaks volumes, telling Lee everything he needs to know. It strips Jack bare, laying him out for the universe to see.
Lee turns away. He wants to look, he really does...but something tells him to close his eyes in the face of Jack's exposure. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
"Fuck, it's not that. It's just---" Jack grits his teeth, grip tightening around the ashy fabric in his hand. "Ah, to hell with it. I had a crush on Danny in fourth grade, dumbass I was. Word got out. He's never really given me problems over it until now, though."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Lee scrunches up his nose in confusion, wracking his brain for memories he might have missed. "I was in your class in fourth grade. Why did I never hear about this?"
"Because you weren't listening."
"Touché."
"It was all over the school. I think it was even on the news at some point."
"You don't need to rub it in," Lee complains. He'd thought he'd known Jack---he really had. Maybe he hadn't after all. "I didn't know you liked guys. I mean, you always seemed straight. Not that there's a particular way to look gay, you know, but---I mean. Yeah. I thought you were. You know. No homo inglés."
"Wow."
"Yeah."
"I mean, you never asked."
All the things Lee knows about Jack seem to float out of his head, sprinting over a treadmill of doubt. It's been nearly ten years, and Jack's muscle memory on Lee's heart by now, but---still. There's so much Lee doesn't know. Wants to know. Like his runaway dreams, and the pallour of his thighs, and what it would be like to kiss him---if Lee would drown, or if he would find himself breathing underwater. If his heartbeat races on a lifeline, or if it cruises along at the speed of light. If words spill out of his mouth when he loves, or if he's as silent as the sun, all warm hands and fiery adoration.
Jack exhales loudly, leaning back and tucking his brown locks behind his ear with his free hand. The movement makes him wince, which sends Lee's heart shattering into a million pieces yet again. "I wouldn't say I'm limited to just guys, per say. It's more that I don't particularly care about gender. Guy, girl, whatever. I just like who I like."
"Does that mean I have a chance?"
"I wouldn't date you if you were the last living creature left on Earth."
"Ouch. Rude." Lee leans on the gas a bit more as payback, eliciting a curse from Jack as the sudden burst of speed jerks him forward, hand nearly slipping off his neck. He bites back a chuckle---it's cruel to laugh at the suffering of others, after all.
Jack's next words sober him up immediately, though. "So what did you mean by this time?"
Lee feels his grasp on the steering wheel tighten, knuckles blazing white against the charcoal rubber. He draws his shoulders back, muscles taut, nerves knotting. For a second, the road blurs, and he snaps himself back to reality. Eyes on the road, he thinks to himself, even as panic spiderwebs itself over his vision and the mark on his elbow grows bigger and bigger and swallows him alive.
"Does it have anything to do with your elbow?" Jack questions.
Startled, Lee nearly slams on the brakes, catching himself just in time. He slows down, the engine fading to a hum. "You noticed it?"
"Pretty hard not to." Jack frowns, lifting their makeshift bandage from his neck long enough to stare at the ash and blood coating the ragged fabric. "That's a cigarette burn too, isn't it?"
Lee's hands don't leave the wheel, but his fingers itch to run themselves over his elbow. He stops himself, though, knowing it won't do any good. "I suppose it is."
"How'd you get it?"
"I can't remember." It's a lie, as so much of what he says is. Of course he remembers. He remembers the when: three years back, when he'd been confident and careless and too high for the rest of the world to keep up. He remembers the why: Jack had been getting beat up even then, and when Lee had taken it upon himself to secretly confront the smokers about it, they'd held him down and pressed a lit cigarette to his elbow until he screamed. He remembers the who: Benny Samuels, the ringleader of the gang of three who believed himself more godly than he ever was and transferred schools soon after. And most of all, he remembers the how---how he'd wrapped his fist around Benny's chest and watched as his insides turned to molten gold.
Because Lee had gotten up, reeling, shaking, scarlet-stained from elbow to mind. His vision had pulsed with a million crimson strobe lights, vapid neon flashing over his sanity. Through a murderous haze, he'd pinned Benny to the ground and broken three of his ribs, pounding his fleeing lackeys until his own knuckles split. And then he'd silently promised never to interfere in the fruitless life of Jack Sang again.
(Just like his father, he's never been very good at keeping his promises.)
"Bullshit," Jack scoffs. "You don't forget things that easily."
"Guess I'm getting old. My memory's going."
"You're literally only nine months older than me."
"Nine months is a lot. How's your neck?"
Jack's silence crawls over Lee's skin and burrows into every pore, the heavy tang of bottled lightning crackling through the air. For a moment, Lee's tangled in his hurricane, wild curiosity and stormy irritation and tangible sardonicism. The chartreuse hues of internal debate flicker over his face, as if contemplating whether to keep up the push and pull between them. He waits, breath suspended between his bones.
"Alright," Jack finally relents. "I'm sorry. I'll drop it."
"Thanks." Lee tries for a grin, but it doesn't come out quite as natural as he wants it to be, all clenched teeth and taut cheeks, artificial luminosity filling the gaps between his molars, the dark things in his head rising in an oceanous swell. A spinning, swirling, endless moon. A revolution of morning to night.
The scar on his knuckles burns like ice.
Lee supposes that as much as he doesn't know Jack, Jack knows him even less. He wonders if he'll ever spill all his secrets to him. If he'll ever be brave enough to let the truth out of its rosewood cage. If he'll ever unbury what's already dead.
(The parents had complained. Hospital bills, they said. Transferring schools, they insisted. Vicious animal, hurting our kids like that. Put him down, they snarled.
And no matter how much Lee repeated himself like a broken record---they started it, I was just defending myself, I was trying to help Jack---he'd received the same answers every time. You shouldn't have interfered. He needs to learn to stand up for himself, then he won't get bullied. Violence is never the answer. You should have told someone instead of taking matters into your own hands. By retaliating, you're giving them what they want.
He'd been expelled.
And his father had immediately broken out his checkbook, covering it in the loopy, scrawling handwriting Lee had inherited from him. "Don't worry about it. I'll handle it. I'll take care of everything," he'd reassured Lee.
The next week, he'd been back in school.
Lee thinks that was probably the last time his father loved him.)
surprise!!! early update because i didn't sleep last night so i wrote this sh!t lmao
the necrophilia jokes are a nod to the comic strip Sexy Losers, namely the threads Shiunji and the Suicide Girl (where the MC is a necrophiliac, but a REALLY funny one) and Kenta's Horny Mom (the episode where Mrs Shibata screws herself with Natsuki's urn. shockingly, that's actually one of the LEAST messed up episodes in that thread.) do i recommend Sexy Losers? yes. it's VERY nsfw and occasionally dives into more controversial topics such as necrophilia and incest (which i do NOT support in real life, btw), but if you've got a sense of humour, you should be fine.
it's honestly one of the funniest comics i've ever read, which was why i decided to pay homage to it with some of the most controversial jokes (in and out of dialogue) that i've written so far. please don't cancel me.
(but also, Dr Kaori Tsudanuma from Scientific Erotican and Anne from Left-Handed Mike are TOTAL babes)
honestly, i seriously meant to keep CB pg. like, more pg than TSP. no sex, no dirty jokes, no implications of bang bang. just swearing. Lee had other ideas. so here we are. thanks a lot, Lee. (the dumbass POS wanted to make more sex jokes. so i gave him necrophilia jokes for his dialogue. he's currently regretting all his life decisions.)
i'm trying a new style of //flashbacking//! cause Lee has a ton of schist to unpack in his past so this book is like free therapy for him. is it too convoluted? does it like flow well while still getting the point across? is the pacing okay? i've never tried this style of slotting in past memories before (i've experimented with it, but never as much of this) and usually rely on dialogue to carry my characters' pasts across. but since i feel like Lee is the kind of person who just //wouldn't// spill fully about his past no matter what, i had to sketch out his past in a different way. lmk whether it's too messy!
Lee's relationship with Jack is based off my relationship with my current crush (although i miscalculated and turns out we've known each other for 11 years instead of 10 lmao) because like why the heck not, Jeong-Soon from TSP was based off my ex after all
anygays, that's all i have to say! i'm quite disappointed with this chapter tbh because i feel like it's more of a filler and an excuse for me to use 10000 metaphors. i was originally planning to introduce Jack's family in this chapter but it was too long so i had to cut it. so we got this boring sh!t. still, lmk what you think of it! i appreciate all your comments and love ❤
(ps. the chapter title is based off gidle's album i burn!)
also go listen to Uncommentary by Alec Benjamin because that album is *chef's kiss*
stay safe and remember to keep yourselves hydrated <333
xoxo, Alex