Assignment 10: Beauty Therapy 11: Lip Stain: Write about someone/something that gets under someone's skin.
...
The thing is, it's Malcolm's fault, really.
Or. Well.
It's his own fault; he makes his own decisions, but it's Malcolm who starts it.
Malcolm's an asshole, but somehow he gets under Piers' skin like nobody else can.
And it's stupid. They're roaming around the shopping centre on a Friday night, sharing a flask of whiskey Gordon nicked from his parents. Piers is just the wrong side of tipsy, laughing at nothing.
Malcolm is past that, the liquor clear in his voice. He's rambling about something, but Piers isn't paying attention because half the time when he pays attention to Malcolm he just wants to punch him in the face.
Then Malcolm claps a hand on Piers' shoulder and says, slurring heavily, "He wouldn't do it. He's a pansy."
Piers shoves Malcolm's hand off his shoulder.
"Shut up," he says, too uncaring to be polite.
"See!" Malcolm's voice is too loud, too much. "See, I told you he wouldn't do it. He's too much of a coward to have fun."
"Shove off," Piers says.
"Jesus, Malc," Dudley says, and for a moment Piers thinks Dudley is going to defend him, but all Dudley says is, "Keep it down, will you?"
Malcolm just rolls his eyes, but he does lower his voice just a little.
"Show me, then. Show me you're not just a stuck up pansy with a stick up his arse that only comes out when you want a good fuck."
There's a reason Piers doesn't tell his friends that he's gay. Malcolm's enough of a dick about it without knowing. Piers doesn't even want to imagine if he did.
"What do you even want?" he asks, just pissed off enough to have lost the mild, pleasant buzz he was feeling.
"I want to see you break a damn rule, just once. Pick a shop, any shop, nick something." Malcolm's grin is edging toward cruel.
It's stupid, Piers knows it's stupid, but whatever. He wants to wipe that grin off Malcolm's face. He wants… maybe he just wants to do something stupid.
And he's looking around and he sees the shoe shop and he's thinking of his cousin Max's work shoes, soles worn through. He's thinking about watching Max balancing his checkbook at the kitchen table, hair mussed from stressed fingers. He's thinking about bringing home a new pair and presenting them to Max.
Max is his cousin, but he's also the closest thing Piers has ever had to a father, and as much as Max doesn't want to show it, Piers knows they're struggling.
So yeah. It's stupid, but he's got a lot of reasons.
Except that the security alarm goes off and then there are guards and handcuffs and he's watching Dudley and Malcolm and Gordon melt into the crowd and he catches sight of his own eyes in the shop mirror and they're wild and panicked and fuck, this was a mistake.
…
He's in jail.
He's in jail.
Fuck, Max is going to kill him.
He's done a lot of stupid shit in his life. He knows that. But this… letting Malcolm goad him, giving in to this, this might just take the cake.
They book him. They take him to the station, and then he's in a cell. In jail.
Time is both spinning past him and moving syrupy slow and Piers can't even track how long it is before he's dialing Max's number with his one allowed phone call.
"Hello?" Max says on the other end of the line, and Piers cracks apart at the sound of his voice.
…
They keep him overnight. The cell is tiny and the mattress is so thin it's barely there and Piers can't sleep.
He can still hear Max's voice in his ears, echoing, the soft sad way he said, "Oh, Piers." Not angry, just… disappointed.
Max saved him; Max took him in when his parents died, when no one else would, gave him a home he'd never known before, and this is what Piers has done in repayment.
Then there's a judge and community service and a fine (100 pounds, where are they going to get 100 pounds to spare?) and then he's walking out unable to meet Max's eyes.
"I…" he starts, but his voice falters, stutters to a stop and he's staring at his shoes.
Max sighs. "I know," he says. His voice is still pitched low, and the disappointment resonates in Piers's bones.
"I'm sorry," Piers says, and it's not enough, he knows it's not enough.
But there's nothing else to say.
…
365: mirror
Insane: 654: Always do your best. What you plant now, you will harvest later. Og Mandino
Seasonal:
Days: 12th April: Walk on Your Wild Side Day - Write about doing something wild
Flowers: Daffodil - (object) Mirror
Amanda's: FP Jones - Write a Gang!AU. Alt. Write about someone with criminal past.
WC: Appreciation: Klaus Baudelaire - Write about an orphan / Disney: Mushu - Alt: write about someone making a mistake.