part three
o n e c h o i c e
"Look, let me put it this way:
with me, you're number one and
there isn't even a number two."
– Charles Bukowski –
The Smith & Wesson M&P was heavy in Treyton's hands, as he turned it over and over. He was acting out of anger, setting aside all his careful planning. It was the big scream, the one that had been building in his chest for years now, just waiting for the right moment to emerge. Ever since Treyton found out He had moved in with his new boyfriend, there had been little room for rational thinking, and all the room for reacting.
The anger was overtaken by disdain, when Treyton stared down at the slumped figure on the floor. His mouth was gagged and his hands and legs tied so tight it was a wonder he still had any circulation left in them. His black hair was disheveled, falling onto his forehead. Rivulets of sweat ran down his face, all blotchy and red, and his eyes were so wild and panicked he looked like a rabbit caught in a trap.
"You didn't seriously think Vanity Fair would take interest in you?" Treyton sneered, wiping his own forehead dry with the back of his hand, the one still holding the gun. The weasel, that goddamn parasite, winced when Treyton waved the gun so carelessly. "It's bad enough that Delilah sees potential in you, because I'm the only reason you've gotten so far."
Treyton sat down on the edge of a settee, shifting the gun from one hand to another while he thought about how easy it was to blend in as long as you had the money. For months now Treyton had been stuck with having to suck up to that idiot, to make him feel like there was something special in him, just to gain his trust.
You could bribe even the police to overlook pretty much anything, not to mention what the underground workers specialized in false identities will do with cold money and contacts to powerful people. It's not just something that happens in movies, there's actually a growing need for new identities for people who needed or simply wanted to disappear.
Treyton Holbrook wasn't allowed within 100 yards of Brandon Moore, but Rio Hayes was free to go wherever he wanted. The weasel never questioned where his new photographer had come from, but just blindly believed all his compliments like the self-assured narcissist he was. By then, Treyton was sick of his ugly face and dry jokes.
In some ways, being in the prison had been easier, because he could still convince himself He was out there waiting for him. Treyton gave his head a shake, wondering why he was losing his mind over someone who didn't even care to think about him. How was it fair that He could move on while Treyton was stuck in the past? The weasel had gone quiet, just staring at Treyton with those wild eyes. He probably thought that saving his energy could save him and his boyfriend. Perhaps it would.
Perhaps it wouldn't.
When the elevator button started to glow, Treyton brought a finger to his lips and made his way to the weasel. He was there just in time as the elevator doors slid open, and he pressed the barrel of the gun against the side of the weasel's head. Treyton didn't even consider what he would do if it were someone else and not Him, that would have required way too much rational thinking.
His eyes didn't go up to meet Treyton's, but the ones belonging to that.. that parasite. Anger exploded in Treyton's head, bright and all-consuming like a supernova. He slammed the barrel tighter against the weasel's temple, and He cried out, shaking His head furiously. He took a step forward, faltering when the weasel started thrashing against his restraints.
"No, Trey." His voice held firmness, which was so unlike His tiny, pathetic mouse pleads that Treyton almost dropped the gun right there and then. But who was He to bark commands at Treyton like he was just some ill-mannered cur?
"Come here." Treyton gritted out, pleased when He obeyed without an argument. He kept His eyes locked with the weasel's, calm and intense like He was the one in control.
"Trey.. Treyton, let him go. Okay?" He spoke slowly, lifting His hands like He was indeed trying to appease a wild animal. The weasel didn't agree with the plan, but shook his head and tried to shout something over the gag. "It's me you want, so let him go."
"Shut up, both of you." Treyton shouted, aiming the gun at Him and making Him stumble backwards.
"I just want to talk, I'm not the.." Treyton's voice broke and he cleared his throat so that he could continue. Treyton took in a calming breath, then gestured with his gun for Him to sit down. "I'm not the bad guy here. I want you to admit that you aren't just some innocent victim."
"What do you want me to say?" Still that same appeasing tone, like He was the sane one in the room.
The room faded, transforming into one most frequent in Treyton's nightmares. The cream colored marble of the bathtub, the water overflowing to the floor, that bloated creature which didn't look like their mother anymore. The smell of soap and something foul, rotting. The scream of his sister, only 12 years old and never to utter another word again. Only to be locked into a mental hospital, like the doctors said their mother should have been for a long time ago. And all Treyton could think of was.. She said that she loved me, so how could she leave me?
"Why don't you start with my mother? And the 'always and forever'? How about the fucking pills?" Treyton raged, blinking to keep the tears from falling. Treyton staggered in front of Him and fell to his knees. His hands reached to hold onto Treyton's, all His movements slow and deliberate like He was terrified of setting Treyton off.
"I.. know.." He had to force the words out of His mouth, but He lifted His eyes to gaze into Treyton's. "And I'm sorry. I know what your mom did to you.. and.. I shouldn't have.. done that to you. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry."
"So, you understand why I can't let you go?" Treyton whispered, some of the icy rage melting from his chest, lifting the red haze from fogging his brain. It was like they were back to the bookstore, when He hadn't confessed His lies yet. When Treyton didn't yet feel like their whole relationship was based on a lie.
"Yes." He rushed to agree, squeezing Treyton's hands. He was smiling, and oh, He was the most beautiful man Treyton had ever laid his eyes on. "Steven doesn't mean anything to me anymore. He called me a hermit today and said that loving me makes him pathetic, can you believe that? It's just you and I from now on, okay?"
Treyton let his eyes flutter shut, leaning in to.. do what? Kiss Him? Hug Him? Treyton was forgiven. He wasn't angry, He still only wanted Treyton. Of course He did, and.. Treyton's eyes flew open when he felt a pair of hands trying to yank the gun from him. It clattered on the floor, and He lunged for it, but Treyton was faster and stronger in the end.
"You. Fucking. Liar." Treyton cursed, throwing Him onto His back and wrestling the gun from His hands. Then he slammed his fist into His face and the back of His head bounced to the floor hard enough to make His eyes turn blurry, out of focus. "I was going to let you go."
He was just laying on the floor, and the weasel was screaming his lungs out and twisting and yanking his arms as a futile attempt to break free. He truly was pathetic. Treyton was done playing nice, the time of apologies was over, and from now on he was going to bring out the judgment. His chest filled with ice, steeling his nerves until cold rage was all he could feel.
"Did you know that our whole relationship was based on a lie? His first words to me were lies." Treyton deplored, turning to glare at the weasel. The weasel didn't even spare a glance at him, because he was gaping at Him. Okay, sure, He was struggling to rise onto His elbows, and perhaps it was relatively interesting.
"I.. I was.." He started to say, but then just blinked and fell silent again. For a while He just stared at Treyton with His mouth hanging open and eyebrows knitted together, making Treyton wonder just how hard he had managed to hit Him.
"What? You didn't want me to know how unsophisticated you really are? It's better to be a fool than a liar." Treyton spat, and the wince He gave at his words soothed some wounded part in Treyton's chest. He turned to look at the weasel again, and his next words made the weasel glare at him: "Then I found out I was just a band-aid for Him, because He was still in love with that tattooed manwhore."
He started to shake His head, eyes pressed shut, but instead of trying to object, He scrambled to sit up. Trying to be all so sneaky by inching closer to the weasel. Let Him think He has the upper hand, Treyton thought and felt a smirk spreading on his lips.
"He says He hates His dad, but then He cried for three fucking days after He found out Lucas was dead." Treyton could only laugh at that.
"That's only because he's still my dad and I'm not a monster." He muttered under His breath, so softly Treyton almost didn't catch it.
"Shut the fuck up with that word." Treyton snarled and pointed the gun towards Him until He averted His gaze. Treyton exploded, spitting on his chin as he barked: "You told me you were going to stay forever, that you weren't going to leave me like mother did, that was the biggest lie of all!"
Treyton fumbled for his bag, yanking the zipper open so harshly it ripped from the seam. He pulled out a flask and an orange pill bottle, its contents rattling when he tossed it to Him. The flask Treyton kept to himself, even taking a swig to ice his nerves further.
"Do you still remember what your real pills look like?" Treyton asked then.
He picked up the pill bottle and shook a few pills on His palm. His eyes grew bigger the longer He stared at the pills, then, when He had looked his fill, He balled his fist. His eyes were dark with fury, when He fixed a glare at Treyton.
"You didn't.." He gritted out between clenched teeth, then took another look at the pill bottle. Treyton could almost see smoke coming out His ears, He was just that angry. "Why change them?"
"How does it feel to be lied to?" Treyton shot back. He was curious to know more about the withdrawal symptoms, but he didn't care enough to ask. "You should be thankful to me for helping you off them."
"Thankful?" He hissed, incredulously. "Have you got any idea how dangerous it is to go cold turkey with a med like that?"
"Since when do you care about what's dangerous?" Treyton pointed out, earning a blank stare from Him. Treyton turned to speak to the weasel again, enjoying the pure shock in his eyes when he told him: "He puts himself in danger every time he drinks. You can't mix benzos and alcohol, that shit can kill you."
The weasel began to sob at that. Just full on crying, not giving a shit about who could see him. So, it was news to him then. A liar is always a liar.
"You didn't think about danger when you tried to kill yourself with my pills." Treyton grumbled, sneering at His stupid, shocked face turning red with shame. "You only care about yourself, you just want everyone to think you're some selfless saint. A martyr is what you are, a goddamn hypocrite."
He muttered something so quietly Treyton had to lean closer to hear the rest: "..and a busted leg. I didn't see any other way out, because of you."
Treyton had promised himself he wouldn't turn into those lunatics who said 'if I can't have him, no one can'. He had promised he wouldn't sink that low, but seriously, fuck it. To Hell with them all. He was so tired of being left behind, of being ignored. They had no respect for Treyton, no respect at all.
"You call that forcing your hand?" Treyton asked, keeping his voice deceptively calm. Then he crawled closer, snatching the pill bottle from His unresisting fingers. The haze was all-consuming, a red cloud swimming at his vision. All Treyton had left was this awful rage. "This is what I call forcing your hand."
Treyton wrestled Him to the floor and started cramming a handful of pills into His mouth. He gagged, tried to spit them out, and tossed His head from side to side, as Treyton pinned Him to the floor. He couldn't hear or see anything else but Him, wanting more than anything to see Him suffer, to love Him till the very end.
"I hate you." Treyton spat, staring down at the spit and pills on His face with utter disgust. Treyton tried to make Him eat more pills, but He fought to pry the bottle from Treyton. He fought like He had never fought before, like He actually had something to lose this time. "You've ruined my life. I fucking hate you."
It wasn't supposed to end this way. It was insanity, a raw, broken scream in the dark. Treyton was screaming, for once he was screaming, screaming. He couldn't make it stop. It was at that moment that he too realized what a monster he was. He wanted to stop screaming long enough to say he was sorry, but he just kept screaming.
Then there was a gunshot, loud enough to make his ears ring.
And, then, silence.
×××
Did you guess Hayes was Treyton or did I manage to surprise you?
I don't like guns, so I avoid adding them to my stories. Anyhow, we all know how easy it is to get a gun in America, and as the story is located there, well, it's not so uncommon. This is a new genre for me, so I'm still trying to figure out what works and what doesn't. :)