〚 Walls ! 〛
‧͙⁺˚*･ sometimes you need the pain to know it's love ༓☾
❝ i... i'm sorry ❞
BELLAMY KNEW IT HAD TO BE DONE, but he didn't expect it to hurt so much. The thought of no longer seeing the taller brunette boy brought an unfamiliar pang to his heart. Brett and he almost never talked, but he was the first person in years to know so much about Bellamy. He hadn't realized how much he missed being connected with people, friends or otherwise.
After Scott and Stiles' confrontation, he hadn't seen or talked to Brett, leaving his texts unopened. One of them had been a heartful thank you for helping him after the whole Demarco thing, verging into more than friends territory. The others were calm. A few texts asking if he was up, or wanted to hang out. The most recent of which asked if he was alright, or if Brett had done something wrong.
Bellamy was the problem in this situation— in most situations. Brett didn't deserve any of this. Bellamy had seen it at the party, despite Brett's efforts to hide it; Brett cared. He was attached. He was jealous of Lydia since Bellamy had slung an arm around her, not that he'd done it in a romantic way, not even in a friendly way, but telling Brett meant admitting that he felt it too. Telling Brett anything meant admitting that he'd moved on.
Part of him wanted to leave, forget everything about Beacon Hills. His touch on the town, on a large scale, had been minimal. There was hardly proof he'd been there in the first place if it wasn't for the damned list— or as the Scooby Gang called it, the deadpool.
But he couldn't leave. He had to end the list, stop it from spreading past Beacon Hills, if it hadn't already, and figure out how the hell someone figured him out.
So, after a week of avoiding him, Bellamy finally gained the courage to talk to him. Though, gaining courage did not stop him from dragging his feet. He made breakfast for Stiles and his dad, ran errands, finished a sketch for a painting he'd been working on for days, cast a glamor spell to hide his extra set of fangs and yellow eyes (just in case someone knew what a vampire was supposed to look like), and even cleaned the disaster zone that was his bedroom.
Dread filled him, held him back, but he wasn't sure why. Brett was kind and he and Bellamy had fun, but it was nothing more. It shouldn't bother him to think about all the things he'd lose when he ended... his situation with Brett. No more fun nights at Sinema. No more private lacrosse lessons. No more sneaking into the house with someone who knows the layout. No more waking up to that beautiful face. It'd only happened once, but Bellamy would miss it.
He shook that thought away. He needed to do this. Being with Bellamy put Brett in danger. He refused to be responsible for harm... or worse... coming to Brett. No amount of sentiment (and it was nothing more) would stop him.
As he raised his hand to knock, the door opened. He was met with blonde hair and a grin. The girl couldn't be older than fourteen, "Are you Bellamy?" She asked, buzzing with energy.
"I am."
"Good! We need to talk!" Her smile hardened into a glare. Despite only seconds before being ready to jump from her skin, she was intimidating. If Bellamy were human, he might be frightened by the short girl.
"I need to talk to your brother, Lori." Bellamy frowned a little as he thought about what this conversation would entail.
"Nope," she popped the 'p', "I need to give you a talk if you're going to date my—" She was cut off by a hand slamming over her mouth.
"Shut up." Brett yelped as he yanked his hand back, "You bit me!"
"You put your hand near my mouth." She bared her teeth like an animal.
Before Brett could retaliate, an older woman came into view. She didn't look like she could be Brett's mom, but then again, he knew very little about Brett and his family. He only knew Lori's name because he saw it on Brett's phone the first night they met. She scolded them both before her cold eyes landed on Bellamy. They narrowed as they scanned over him. He could see where Lori got her scathing glare from, "Is this your friend, Bellamy?"
"Yeah..." Brett seemed to notice her glare as well.
"Uh, can we talk?" Bellamy asked as he turned his attention to Brett. He hadn't done anything but some light ghosting yet. Brett nodded. He told the woman he would be back soon, waiting until her back was turned to flip off his little sister. Her mouth dropped and before she could return the gesture, the door was shut in her face.
Brett took a seat on the porch swing. It was plush with cushions and pillows, designed for comfort. He could imagine Brett coming out here to think. Or his mother making tea. Bellamy joined him on the swing, taking a moment to think of how he wanted to word what he was going to say.
"What's up?" Brett sounded as though he was trying, and failing, to sound angry.
Bellamy took a deep breath. There was no way to sugarcoat this. No way to make it easier. No way to stop this from hurting. They'd blurred the lines. They cared. And now Bellamy had to reap the seeds he'd sown, but the words were caught in his throat.
"I think we need to stop... whatever it is that we're doing."
Bellamy's heart sank as disappointment and something else crawled into his chest. All he wanted to do was grab Brett and tell him everything. How he wanted to try, wanted to make things work. How he was doing this to keep the brunette boy safe. How he wished he could call Brett his, and protect him.
But Bellamy couldn't. He'd never kept anyone safe, never kept anyone alive. He was like a merchant of death. It's why he never got close with anyone.
"Whatever game we're playing isn't enough for me," Brett continued after Bellamy stayed silent, "If you want to be more, go on dates, hold my hand, get to know each other, all you have to do it call, but I can't continue to pretend it doesn't suck when you completely disappear from my life. Do you know how worried I was? This shit with Demarco... I thought..." Brett stopped talked as he looked to the ground. His jaw set as he squeezed his knuckles.
In that moment, Bellamy wanted to forget everything. He wished the guilt wasn't threatening to crush him, that he could have a normal life, just for a few months. Then he would hold Brett close, care for him like he deserved, but this wasn't some fairytale. Bellamy was in the real world. He and Brett were done blurring the lines of their relationship. His life would never be normal. Someone would always be searching for a way to kill him, a way to hurt him. He couldn't give them such an obvious weakness, not again.
"I..." Bellamy forced the words to flow as smoothly as he could manage, though, he was unable to look at Brett as the lie came, "I'm sorry. I don't feel the same."
"Think we can be friends?"
Pain ripped into Bellamy as he spoke, "I can't be just your friend." His words hung in the air. Bellamy had experienced enough loss to know he didn't want to experience it again, even if it meant cutting Brett from his life completely. A fact he'd been so sure he was ready to do before seeing him, the sadness etched into him.
"What the fuck does that mean?" Brett stood from the swing, "Either you don't feel the same or you do."
I do! His mind screamed, but his words said something else entirely.
"I told you what you were getting yourself into."
Brett scoffed. A mean scowl replaced the usual happy energy that followed him, "Goodbye, dick."
Bellamy forced himself to stay seated as he watched Brett walk back into his house. He blew out a deep breath as his head tilted back. The fire in his chest multiplied as the wind picked up. He blinked away any tears before they could fall and took a deep breath.
He forced his magic to calm, and as he did, the air stilled.
"That was intense." Scott was stood at the end of Stiles driveway. No telling how long he'd been there, or how much he heard.
"Had to be done," Bellamy's response was cold. He rose to his feet and walked back to the Stilinski home.
"I was just about to grab Stiles to pick his brain about something but..." Scott trailed off, "You need to talk?"
Bellamy scoffed, "I don't care about Brett, Scott. I'm just annoyed I won't have somebody to bring home whenever I want."
Scott looked surprised before his face morphed into thoughtfulness. Bellamy looked at the house, he'd been looking towards Brett's when his face changed, but there was nothing abnormal. He turned back to Scott and his expression was back to normal.
Bellamy used his free period to paint. After the weekend he'd had, he needed it. Plus, the finished sketch was beckoning him to paint it. He compelled the teacher to spend her time in the teacher's lounge so that he could be alone. Any time she saw something he'd drawn or created, she went on a rant about him joining her class.
He didn't need any art lessons, and he didn't enjoy being told what to draw. It was rare for him to get a burst of creative energy, especially one that tied so close to home. He'd sketched a girl— Hope, his twin— sitting on a bench, right next to the compound. And since he was painting from memory, as well as nowhere near done, everything looked a little distorted, a little blurred.
"I thought you said the art room was empty." Bellamy turned to see Lydia and Malia at the door.
"Hello to you to," Bellamy rolled his eyes as he returned to his painting.
"He knows, so it's fine," Malia responded as she pulled supplies out for Lydia. They thankfully quieted as they set up. He did not enjoy the added presence, but at least they were being quiet.
"Please stop hovering!" Or not.
"I'm not hovering. I'm waiting," Malia corrected, "Draw something. Write something. We need to know who's on that list."
"You mean, you need to know if you're on the list," Lydia corrected her. With a loud groan Bellamy began to gather his supplies.
"If someone's coming to take my head off, then, yeah, I'd like to know."
"You're on there." He cleaned the brushes, giving up on his peace and quiet.
"How do you know?" Malia frowned at him as she looked him up and down.
Bellamy placed his painting on the drying rack, "I'm on there." The incessant arguing brought back memories from the Salvatore School. The place he and Hope had to hide who and what they were from the time they were nine. The same place where Hope continually tried to be friends with the headmaster's daughters despite their obvious disinterest in Hope and Bellamy and the constant fighting.
Bellamy left the art room ready to tear into the next creature that annoyed him.
Yes, I know Brett's mother is dead, but Bellamy doesn't, that's why the story mentions her as if she is alive. The default, at least until you're forty or fifty, is to assume both/at least one parent is alive.
I don't love this chapter... even though I wrote and rewrote it four or five times, but I can only keep you guys without an update for so long when I'm not busy.
This is the shortest chapter I will publish, and it's because I began editing and moving things around and the breakup didn't fit in either the chapter before this one or the chapter after... I promise the next one dives into Teen Wolf cannon.