Warnings: Adult themes. Suicide Idealization. Suicide. Self-blaming/loathing. Addictions. Neglect. Mental illness and disabilities. Self-doubt. Regretful Past Bullying, trying to make amends.
A/N: This has been an outlet for my own self-hatred, my own depression, and my own struggles. For those that relate, may this help you as it's helped me. Here is a song to pair with this if you want: Misanthropic Drunken Loner By Days N Daze.
Interpretations
By JacklynnFrost
Beta'd by RabidFangirl03
Chapter One: Wrath
The boy hunches over his school desk to finalize his suicide plan.
The rubber end of his government-issued #2 pencil hit his teeth in the opposite rhythm of his leg bounces. His hand raises from the edge of his notebook rings, all bent oblong from too many shoves into his overfull backpack, to weave through his chaotic hair. No matter how many times he finger-combs his locks, they stay in disarray.
With blank green eyes, weary beyond their years, Meliodas looks over his list. If there is one thing this boy knows- it's his sins. His chest grows tight, reading over the names of those he's wronged and he wonders if what he's done is forgivable. The first name is his greatest sin and he knows this one will be hardest.
He speculates to this day, this very hour, that she transferred schools because of him. Meliodas had been a very angry child. Although that anger still lives inside him, after what happened last year it's mellowed. No longer is it a burning uncontrollable fire but a deep sea of wrath. To this boy, the unpleasant feelings just under the surface of him seem inescapable outside of death.
Elizabeth.
The other names on his list are more possible, easier to handle without his chest seizing and throat closing. Vaguely he thinks if he can't find her he will have to put off his plans. Making amends to her is tantamount to his quest of removing his cruel stains. 'All of these people would have been better off without me in their lives and if I don't stop myself who's to say the list won't grow?'
With this boy's abundant rage, his plan of death more resembles a murder of himself, than a suicide.
He reads the first name over again, his eyebrow twitches and his palms become slick with sweat. The pencil is put down, his leg stops it's anxious movement as he rubs his hands over the thighs of his worn jeans. On the left pant leg, his finger slips into the torn hole from the motion and he is careful to retract it without causing more damage to the tear. The faded t-shirt with the fraying collar adds to the 'look' as if it is intentional, but anyone who cares to see Meliodas for more than a moment will know his caregivers obviously aren't involved.
Meliodas isn't one to take the easy route though. Others blame their sins on their upbringing, on the neglect or abuse but this boy is different. He hates himself for giving in to the urges, he refuses to give himself an ounce of slack and his plan guarantees he will never go back to being like his father. He vows to himself that as soon as he is redeemed, he will expunge his blackness from the earth and kill the man he fears he will inevitably become. His mind loops back to a thought that both eases him and does not, 'cut away the rot.'
Mr. Hawk stops the class as a knock sounds at the classroom door. Meliodas' head perks, more because of the disruption to the monotonous background noise than the knock, and the round teacher accepts a white piece of paper from the messenger. Other students buzz, heads tilting together and their own notes passing between hands as if the lot of them had been awaiting the chance to come alive. Mr. Hawk reads the missive and his eyes roam over the students as he speaks.
"A new student, Elizabeth Liones, will be joining us next week and has been assigned our homeroom." The heart inside Meliodas races, his eyes grow wide as he realizes even fate wants him to atone, that his actions and plans are being rewarded. This drives Meliodas into a deep belief that his suicide plan is approved by divine providence.
Mr. Hawk, a round man with overly pink cheeks, is the most oblivious man Meliodas has ever met and now is no exception. Every student that knew Meliodas from elementary school, the ones who had been there, turn in their chairs to look at him. A few have cruel smiles, others look weary, and Meliodas scowls at the lot of them, knowing he deserves every severe gaze.
If any of them offer a lashing for penance, Meliodas would take the pain with a smile. He has been allowing beatings to last as long as he can stretch them whenever violence arose in his life. The boy views himself as a whipping post, and after each bout, his guilt eases for a blissful night where he can sleep.
From exhaustion or true redemption? The thought plagues him but he thinks it's all he can do while this new plan is forming. He believes he should suffer and if anyone disagrees they simply don't know enough about him. Mr. Hawk's short, snout-like nose snorts as he holds up the paper. The teacher inhales once, twice, and holds in a sneeze as he wraps his elbow over his face, the paper cracks loud with the move.
"So you lot are familiar with her? Good, the transition will go easier." This teacher cares about education more than anything, with the exception of food, which Mr. Hawk looks forward to and thinks about almost every fifteen minutes. In spite of Mr. Hawks teacher status, Meliodas likes him, which makes him special as Meliodas does not seem to like anyone. Mr. Hawk gathers himself, rubs his belly and addresses the class again.
"I need a volunteer to take extra notes and guide her through classes when she needs the help. It's a minimally paid position, and since this is her homeroom you lot get first dibs." Mr. Hawk gives a snorting laugh. "Easy money." The man finishes as if dangling a carrot only to find those before him too lazy to reach out and accept the free food.
Meliodas' still black ocean of rage churns. The class is silent, scratching their pencils on papers and looking to their friends with meaningful expressions. The blonde boy sat up in his chair, his brows furrow and he wonders if any of them have grown up at all since childhood? If anyone here has faced themselves with a good hard look to see who they really are!
The round teacher adjusts his belt, coughing uncomfortably. It's at this moment that Meliodas knows what he must do. Her name is on the top of his list. His chest grows tight, his teeth grind as he spies the mocking smiles of his peers as they face one another and a whisper from behind of "the retarded girl from elementary?" reaches his ears.
"I'll do it," Meliodas growls, his voice tense and biting. Mr. Hawk's beady eyes grow wide, his round face going impossibly sallow. If Meliodas thought the looks from the other students at hearing her name had been bad, his perception changes as these new ones are of horror. "Isn't he the one who-" a girl a desk over hisses to the girl farther down their row as a boy in front of him hushes "-but everyone knows he shouldn't be near her." and those whispers open up a swarm of others as the room buzzes with soft tones.
The boy sags, shoulders droop and his chaotic hair, in desperate need of a cut, falls around his skull to obscure his face. He likes to hide when he feels anything more than a scratch at the door of his insides, especially at his past. His eyes well with unshed tears as he knows the truth, he shouldn't. But no one volunteers, others are already talking about her just for being different and he thinks 'this way, for once in my goddamn life, I can protect her. I'll guard her against the same pain I caused.'
His unshed tears dry up with the sound of one laugh that echoes in the room, it is loud over the 'insects' hum "Back at it, Melio? Too juicy a temptation?" Chandler is a bulky boy, dirty blond and he proudly sports a patchy half-mustache, the best the pubescent boy can grow. Where Meliodas is worn, Chandler is crisp and wearing a new letterman jacket over his shoulders in spite of it being warm in the classroom.
Meliodas' shoulders rear up, his hand pushes his hair back from his forehead and the dingy boy wishes with all his being that his look will kill. Meliodas knows feeling so much anger toward Chandler is pointless, a reaction is what the rich boy wants, it's why he tormented Meliodas in elementary school. Meliodas' murderous stare cracks as he sags back into his seat, picking up his pencil again to tap the end on his cut lip. He likes that the rubber thuds cause a tingling ache to jolt down his chin as he inflames the wound.
"Eh, Meliodas." Mr. Hawk interrupts what the boy is thinking, and it is a good thing as the still sea of wrath shook inside more fierce than it has in some time. Meliodas struggles to contain it. His face is set in hard stone, blank but his jaw clenches, his molars hurt from the pressure. Mr. Hawk is inspecting his student this time, he knows what it's like to be an angry teenage and hopes he's doing the right thing as he tells his student, "Just, see me after class, we'll need to get your notes together." The round teacher claps his sausage fingers together, making muffled slaps, getting the students attention to return to their task.
Meliodas' hair cascades down around him as he thinks, 'gather my notes? I need to start taking them, immediately.' and he does, for the rest of class. His notebook pages fill with lecture, a pleasant change to use the paper as it is intended. For her, to make it up to her, he starts to push his plans back until after graduation. The rest of his short life will be dedicated to safeguarding her through high school. The cruelty here from elementary school is not gone, he knows this first hand, it has evolved. 'I'll earn her forgiveness. No matter how hard it gets. No matter what I have to face or fight.'
To Meliodas, a person who preys on the weak, anyone who exploits another for their own gain, they are his enemy. He hates that he himself is his enemy, but as he takes his notes, being extra careful to write what Mr. Hawk emphasizes, Meliodas' resolve grows stronger. If he is required to chip at the scabs of himself to absolve his sins to Elizabeth, he will tear them open and let himself bleed.
He hopes she's cruel to him, he believes he is well deserving of it, and pain from her is what he thinks he needs to fix what he thinks is broken.
When the bell rings and school is over, Mr. Hawk remembers and calls out to Meliodas as he shoves his notebook in his bag slightly more careful than normal. The boy takes his time, lets the last of the students trickle out while laughing together. No one waits for Meliodas, no one likes him enough to even look back but he knows what they chatter about in their groups. Him, and now that Elizabeth is returning, her.
The boy pulls the heavy sack to his back, he is strong, used to carrying all of his valuables on his person wherever he goes. Meliodas doesn't have to walk to the teacher's desk as this English instructor comes to him. Mr. Hawk's round rump sits on the desk in front of Meliodas' assigned seat and the metal legs give a groaning protest. The teacher ignores the sound as he outlines his concerns, directly, as this teacher knows it works best when talking to Meliodas.
Meliodas tenses, expecting a blow and Mr. Hawk sighs. "I'm not deaf, I heard some of those nitwits chatter when I asked for a volunteer so I put two and two together, but I'm asking you-" The hit Meliodas expects, to have to confess what he's done, doesn't come. "-Will you help her?"
The boy is so surprised at the question, his scabbed lip drops with a little smack noise as it separates from his upper lip. Mr. Hawk is not taking his chance from him. A swell of gratitude in Meliodas loosens the tightness squeezing at his throat. "Yeah." The student breaths out in a rushing exhale. "I want to be better."
Although Meliodas did not mean for those words to be spoken out loud, they are what Mr. Hawk needs to hear. The large teacher's nose twitches and itches, but he ignores the pinching sensation behind his beady eyes as he looks into the weary green ones before him. "You already are." Mr. Hawk tells the boy. As Meliodas's words had been exactly right, Mr. Hawk's are exactly wrong.
Meliodas scowls, moving the required steps around the round teacher, hikes his bag up on his back and walks on. "You'll need the paperwork." Mr. Hawk calls out after the boy and his feet stop before the open door, looking out at the chipped blue paint of the lockers along the far wall in the hall. "And a parents signature."
The boy is short for his age, malnutrition is the main culprit, but from his height people underestimate Meliodas. He has the raw strength of a person born into a harsh life, the thought of a fight does not intimidate him anymore and a fight is exactly what comes to mind when Mr. Hawk says 'parents signature'.
"Fine." Meliodas concedes, coming back to collect the papers Mr. Hawk had been given earlier. It lists expectations on the first sheet, the second is recommendations, plus a place for a guardian to sign and he looks it over with a glance before folding it and shoving it in his front jean pocket. "Thanks." He remembers to add as he looks into the brown eyes of one of the only men who has ever taken time for him.
"The school is doing the minimum, I'm trusting you, Meliodas." It's a pass of the baton. From administration to homeroom teacher and now, from Mr. Hawk to this boy. Meliodas nods to him, knowing his teacher is serious and feeling a bit overwhelmed at his words. "You have a week before she starts, be ready." Meliodas turns, leaving with a heavier weight on his shoulders from the knowledge he will see her again.
The halls were clearing, groups chat while making plans together and the lone boy with so much on his mind passes by them. He stops at his locker, using his shoulders to block the view while angling the metal door for privacy. This is one of the only places he could keep things safe. Meliodas pulls a few twenties off his emergency fund cash roll, hoping to buy a signature rather than sacrifice his body for one. He's willing to do either, but he has a preference, wanting his face to be healed before she arrives. Meliodas does not want her to think he's violent.
He remembered she used to be squeamish about blood when she'd been young, when last he knew her. A paper cut of hers dripped once and she had made a squawking noise, had turned white as a sheet, and fainted. He scowls, eyes closing as a memory flashes of a younger, dirtier child with his chaotic hair dumping a jar of red finger paint on her new yellow dress. Meliodas can ever remember the little bunny buttons it had, that her two ponytails had matching bunny clips holding back her bangs. "Blood!" he'd yelled as if screaming would help her understand when she knew the extent of his cruelty... and so much more. Her blue eyes, the part of her he remembers best, had shined with his contemptuous reflection.
Meliodas slams his locker shut, the money joins the paper in his pocket as his tense neck stretches up, his face is angled up to the drab grey drop ceiling of his high school. He wishes with the movement he could physically escape her eyes, in his own memory, the clear open sapphires that bore hope and kindness. Meliodas had hated her for seeing him, he poured his anger in that girl and he saw, in his mind's eyes, the red-stained girl clean up the mess with a smile on her tear stained little face. She'd written the teacher a note, 'it was my fault' and he had thought 'she's an idiot' when her father picked her up, furious that she'd gotten messy when they had somewhere important to be.
'Why did she protect me from the consequences of my own actions?' He thinks, 'if it had been me I would have-' but he stops himself. This is what cuts the good from the bad, Meliodas theorizes, this is why he can not continue on because his automatic response is aggressive and hers is... sweetness. A part of the boy is terrified she will be cruel to him, in spite of his wish for it, because then he will know what he has taken from the world, from her.
If he beat the softness from that innocent child with the wide, knowing, sapphire eyes, his soul would never recover and his sins would never be absolved. To him, irreparably damaging Elizabeth in any way is such an unbearable thought he starts to run. He needs to get away. He dodges around students, bounds for the open double doors and outside, he jumps off the landing, over the stairs and braces to a crouch when he catches himself on the cement. A girl who could have been faceless for all Meliodas cares or notices, yelps as he rushes by, trying to escape himself, his past and the thoughts of chemically induced oblivion. 'Face it!' He demands of himself but his legs pump harder in resistance of his own will.
Meliodas knows this city. Knows the back alleys, the short cuts, and the areas to avoid to keep the memories at bay. Today, he does not have anywhere to be until five and he crosses a street with quick steps when the light changes in his favor. The city is dirty the further in you go, but he goes with a destination in mind. Public School 1909 is from a subset of the city and although the education is supposedly better than other schools in the area, Meliodas has under two years of educational experience outside of this place for comparison. He finds it lacking.
'If this is how 1909 handles Elizabeth, passing the 'problem' to her classmates just like in elementary school. They are setting her up for a repeat of the same issues.' His disdain for the system starts to reach levels on par with Mr. Hawk. The thought helps Meliodas, gives him a rope to climb to repeat his mantras and find solid ground. 'See, it passes. She needs you now, you must be reliable.' The boy thinks as he turns a street corner, avoiding a homeless man's outstretching cup and a stinking food cart. He does not like to run, does not like the pressure that builds in his lungs or the over taut feeling of his calves but he finds himself running often.
The building he approaches looms, more polished than the others around it, but the homeless circle the place like vultures. The bricks of the building are deteriorating, tan cracks and chips, but holding strong. The few stories have grand windows with not a single pane of glass broken. Meliodas is not surprised, as it is a building where anyone could come for help; delinquents do not throw rocks where they were welcome. The rows of steps are daunting after his run so he jogs up the accessibility ramp as it is clear of people. He looks to make sure no one in a wheelchair is approaching.
Meliodas opens the door with a flourish, the glass smeared with fingerprints and he avoids touching it for long as he dips into the place. The fluorescent lights shine, illuminating the bodies at the public computers, the empty chairs and rows and rows of books. Meliodas looks over the faces, not seeing anyone he recognizes and sighs in relief. He's been here enough to know where to go and he gives a small wave to the librarian as he heads to the stairs, taking them two at a time and pulling himself forward with heaves at the railing.
Down a few shelves, past a few empty tables and around a homeless man sleeping, Meliodas finds what he's looking for. He picks up two books, a vocabulary index with nice hand illustrations and an introductory how-to. The white clock on the wall shows him he has time to spare but he does not want to linger here without a safety net. With the books under his arm, he returns to the front desk and the kind wrinkled librarian adjusts her glasses from their resting place amid her white tight curls to rest on her nose as she takes his library card and scans the books. "Again, dear?" She asks, her voice rough from years of smoking but he likes the sound of it.
The boy nods, returning her kind smile.
She reaches under her desk and places a travel sized bag of crisps on top of his selections. Meliodas does not argue, taking the offering with a smile as he pulls his backpack off to arrange the new additions among his tattered second-hand textbooks. With a pleasant parting and a thrown over his shoulder "thanks", he leaves the library.
The city is coming alive as the day wears on. Men only a year or two older than Meliodas with dark hoods up and hands in their front pockets look around shiftily. He knew the signs of a person looking to score, the main indicator is overhead hanging electrical wires with shoes dangling from wrapped laces. If this Meliodas were the old one, he'd join the boy in his walk to see who supplies him, scout another source but now he pops open his crisps and takes a meandering stroll toward work.
He will be early, but he wants to get his school work done in peace in the break room and his coworkers always let him dip into the expired food since their manager marks it as a loss before tossing it. Meliodas finishes his crisps, crinkles the foil and pockets it until he passes a trash can.
When he reaches the Grocery-Mart, he ducks in, waves to the sole women checking a customer out and she gives him a smile in greeting. Since he sees it needs to be done, he straightens the carts before he heads to the bathrooms. When Meliodas emerges he had his work polo on with his magnetic badge clipped over his heart. He stocks shelves mainly but fills in whenever there is a gap.
With his backpack, Meliodas enters the breakroom, the pushcart of expired food is full and free to take from so he hits that up first. A person can survive off dried goods and old bread, he knows this for sure. He sits in his usual plastic chair beside the fridge that hums too loud in the little room. Meliodas sheds his backpack and pulls the backlog of homework out of his folder that he should have finished already. He's a clever kid, his grades are slightly above average but with his pending suicide, he had no reason to do this work- or care. Now that he had Elizabeth to think about, he wants his work graded and returned before she arrives so he knows where he struggles to better help her in case she needs it.
He starts his shift on time, stocking and moving displays. Meliodas covers as a cashier for bathroom visits and breaks without any complaints. He assists customers looking for something specific and he returns abandoned items to their proper place. The back room is storage and large shipments that need unpacked and most of his work there is done. The area is clear for deliveries.
When Meliodas' shift is over, he goes to his work cubby and pulls out an outfit. He had enough dirty clothes for a load and bags the lot of it. He clocks out while his manager gives him a stressed 'thank you, god knows I'd drown without you'. On his way home, Meliodas stops at the coin-laundry on the same block as the Grocery-Mart.
The place is dusty in the corners but the folding table is usually clean. A mother is wrestling with a machine far too full to get a good wash while her three kids run around between the units. Meliodas finds an empty top loader, one far from her lot and meticulously checks his clothing pockets before arranging the articles inside. Once the bag from his cubby is empty he opens his backpack to pull free the rest of his clothes. He looks over to the kids climbing up on the folding table as their mother smacks at their ankles with a twisted towel and decides against stripping to his boxers to wash his pants.
He has two other pairs of pants he can alternate between, he thinks as he situates himself on top of his chosen washer. Carefully, Meliodas pulls only the folded paper free of his jeans pocket, his money is still tucked there safely. With a heavy heart, the boy reads the paper carefully. It seems so reasonable to him and he wonders why it had been so hard for him and the other kids of their elementary class? After Meliodas thinks about it, he decides it must be patience. No one back then had wanted to slow down and when she insisted she hadn't realized she had been upsetting everyone. The entire class had turned against her. Meliodas had been the target of the bullies before she had come along to take his place and he hates how he had joined his tormentors when he had known what it felt like to be on the other end.
When the washer stops, Meliodas moves the load to a dryer, going to the coin machine to trade in a dollar. When he starts the dryer he pulls out his library book, sitting in front of this one as the dryers are stacked double up because they front-loaded. The mother and her three loud children leave, the door jingling and for one blissful moment he is alone with the vibrations of the drying at his back. Then the jingle sounds and a big burly man in a purple tank top comes in, his chest hair dark and curly with his beard the same.
Meliodas doesn't mind, he believes he does not deserve nice, peaceful moments. His nose returns to his book and he practices to himself while he waits. A few others come in and the boy's spine straightens as an obvious deal goes down, a shaky man with a fisherman's hat gives the burly man a palm of cash and the burly man gives the man something in return. The buyer tucks his purchase into his inside jacket pocket before leaving.
With a pocket full of cash, he is tempted.
Meliodas arranges his backpack, returning his books and papers he had been working on. Then, he opens the bag he had grabbed from the Grocery-Mart and stops the dryer with a few more minutes left on the timer. The boy does not bother with folding. he scoops and shoves his load into the bag before cleaning out his lint from the collection trap. It's dark, the sun long gone but it does not worry Meliodas, he prefers to move in the night regardless of the dangers. He is familiar with it, an old friend that keeps him safe when he needs to hide, and with it blanketing the world Meliodas feels more in control.
At night, the other side of the city is awake. Dark figures running in the alleys, screams in the distance and sirens blare. Meliodas pushes into a trot, heading toward his sublet of the city. His house comes into view when he leaves the industrial district. The chain link fence is busted and sags in the front from the bent support beams.
He hops over the useless metal and dashes across the overgrown grass to creak up the lopsided steps. It's a two story, each window had discolored blankets over the glass to keep peering eyes and any hint of sun out. The siding is missing in some places, cracked and hanging off. Meliodas' mother had inherited the home from her grandfather and has not kept up with any repair or updated anything to code in spite of the warning fines. Her son, Meliodas, knows this but he does not bother with her problems often. He tried, when he'd been younger, at twelve he knew how to rewire electricity and fix leaking roofs but at seventeen he refuses to do a thing for his mother.
He knows where her money goes, he knows her priorities and up until twelve hours ago, he had planned to be gone by the end of the month. Now, he would see Elizabeth through high school and for a fleeting moment Meliodas considers fixing the sagging stairs for the cranky bat he called mother. It depends on how hard it is to get her signature.
Meliodas unlocks the door, tucking his key away as he pulls the wooden door up to slowly push the thing open wide enough to slip through without noise. His efforts are wasted as he knows his father isn't home as soon as he enters the small room, if he were, his mother would not be passed out on the sagging plaid couch as she is. He'd have dragged her ass to the bedroom.
The carpet is threadbare with various stains and cigarette burns but a rug covers most of it, the dark swirling design gives Meliodas a headache when he stares at it but he does admit it is an improvement to what is underneath. The coffee table is strewn with cups, dirty plates and ash trays full of butts and bits of trash. Most of the floor is clear but a stray soiled towel and water bottles are simply part of the decor as Meliodas does not notice them anymore. As if they are decorations so often a part of the scene the brain doesn't register it.
Before he loses his nerve, he climbs the stairs to stash his stuff in his cramped room. His mattress is on the floor, his sheets and blankets twisted up on it. An old alarm clock with block red letters sits on the floor plugged into the wall, its short twisting cord reaches the far wall with ease. The plain fake-wood grain dresser along the wall is missing a drawer from the last fist fight, having cracked the face of it with a stray elbow.
He didn't have clutter as the tiny room does not contain anything else. All of his possessions he keeps in his backpack. Meliodas tosses the bag of clean clothes toward his dresser before sitting the backpack beside his mattress with far more care. The boy pulls the signature requiring paper-free, collecting a pen from his bag and makes sure it works before returning to the living room to try to rouse her. Meliodas knows his mother gets frustrated easily.
"Mom." He says and she pushes at his hand to stop him from shaking her shoulder. Meliodas attempts again, digging in his pocket to pull out and separate his bills, tucking one into his worn shoe, another behind his ear separating them into hiding places on his person.
"Fuck off." Her rough voice mutters, "Lay me out, but let me sleep." She actually parts her legs and Meliodas scowls, pushing rougher on her shoulder before her hazel eyes open and narrow on his face. Instantly, her hands flail to slap and Meliodas accepts a solid hit, hoping to put her in a better mood with the sound of skin-hitting-skin in the air.
"I need you to sign this for school." Meliodas tells her, keeping the paper out of her reach but showing her the line meant for her name. His mother's hair is unwashed, stringy with grease as her hand rubs at the bags under her eyes. Her makeup is smeared but she looked a little less sullen today. 'She must have found something to eat.' His mother groans as she adjusts to sit, clearing her throat with a deep hack as if she were about to spit a loogie.
"Whats'it for?" His mother mutters and Meliodas does not go into detail, simply that Mr. Hawk, his English teacher, needs help with something that requires permission. "Whatdo'I get?" His mother feigns looking for her box of cigarettes and when she thinks her son is focused elsewhere she attempts a snatch at the paper. Meliodas easily moves it out of reach.
"I'll fix the steps." He offers and her mother scoffs, actually trying to find the pack now. "I'll reframe your window to seal the breeze gap." Her answering hiss is low but she finds her pack, flipping it open to remove a stick and a lighter. In a moment she's exhaling putrid smoke, but Meliodas has breathed this since he's been a newborn and the smell didn't bother him. "Just name it already."
"I want hot water." His mother complains.
"A tank costs more than I have." Meliodas is intentional in his phrasing. She catches his fishing hook as her glinting eyes swivel to his face and narrow. "We're both stuck with cold showers until you rack up the dough, you know I'll install it. I hate the three minutes I'm in there too."
"More'an you have? How much'ya have?" She insists and Meliodas holds the pen out to her, shaking the paper he needs to be signed. His mother takes the pen, he has her halfway to agreeing and he starts arranging the clutter on the coffee table to free space for the paper. "You owe'it a'me." His mother insists and Meliodas nods. He did, her name is on his list. He takes the end of his shirt and rubs at the wood tabletop he cleans before setting the page down.
He pulls the bill from behind his ear and tosses it to her, she's pleased with the twenty. "You stealin'again?" She asks and he shrugs. "Good." His mother leans toward the sheet, a looping 'M' is written on the line but as she stops, so does Meliodas lungs as his breath catches. Almost. He pulls another from his shoe, less willing to part with it. Her fingers pinch at the bill tugging it free and she adds two more letters of her name before sitting back. "I wanna cut'of what you sell." She insists.
"I don't sell." Meliodas tells her, it's the truth and her eyes narrow. "My supplier ran dry." This isn't the truth but the answer is easier to swallow. Her full first name is there and when she pauses he adds "When I do, I'll cut you in." and it buys him a few more letters of her last name. He skips the bullshit and crumples up another bill and tosses it into her lap, feigning ire to give her the satisfaction of prying the most from him. Her wicked smile twists in the dark as she finishes her name but she's too quick for him, her hands on the page already and she pulls it from the table to hold it between her fingers.
"You think Imma idiot." His mother complains with a fake pout, if she were trying to act pretty her eyelashes would have batted but with her son she plays to different sympathies. Meliodas pulls another bill from his front pocket, gripped between his thumb and pointer knuckle. His mother mirrors the position with the sheet and like yin and yang the two grip the others offered paper. For a moment, neither let go, eyes challenging but the tension eases and in the end, they each get what they want.
"Thanks, Mom." Meliodas murmurs, trying to be polite but his mother doesn't reply, gathering up her bills with glee. That will get her through the next week if she didn't use more than twice a day. He is no longer sure how often it is as he isn't around and she hides her stuff, fearing him taking it unnecessarily or his father using it for himself as he did when it is left out.
He climbs the steps, the paper with his mother's name folded back up. At the top of the stairs, he collects the few bills he had left to add the papers to his backpack. In his room, he locks his door, hoping the little latch will give him a few seconds to escape if he needs it. He has jumped from his window before and as long as he lands nicely he will be okay. The front zipper of the smaller front pocket of his bag didn't work anymore, so his money and permission slip is tucked inside the main pouch pocket where the zipper did work.
Meliodas would not risk his cash or his chance at redemption with Elizabeth.
He sets his alarm, changes into some clean clothes and repacks his work shirt into his backpack before dumping his clothing into the remaining drawers. He semi-sorts it, but in the end, it's just a mass of loose wrinkled clothing. With his backpack angled for an easy grab, he lays on his mattress and loops the blankets around himself, arms stretch over his head as he thinks of the last time he saw Elizabeth.
She'd been crying. Her eyes were like pools they were so clear and he remembers how beautiful they were. 'It's a shame they only sparkled so much from her sorrow'. He thinks as he forces his eyes closed to welcome sleep. It doesn't come, Elizabeth's swirling child eyes leak round tears as she moves her hands to him, trying to tell him something. He'd taken something of hers, her notepad, the papers had been shaped like an ice cream cone... Why had he done it?
Meliodas smacks at his own face, busting open the scab on his lip, and he sucks on the blood as he angrily flops to his stomach. He whispers into the dark, "I'll protect her this time. If it cost me my useless life, I'll give it." Because the boy knows the pain he's caused. He spread his misery, but now that he's looking at himself, now that he sees who he truly is, the boy does not want to go back to who he used to be. He has finally been shown better, he wants to be better, so he will try.
He will face his list, he will confess his crimes and his forgiveness will be in the hands of those he's wronged. 'Fitting', he thinks as the thoughts help calm him into a semi-peaceful rest.
X X X
Days pass. The boy does his work, he takes notes and tries his hand at organization. Mr. Hawk accepts his permission form and the waiting is brutal for Meliodas. Like watching a slow-motion car crash but he does not feel like a driver, he feels as if he is standing between the two cars about to impact around him. Over the course of the days, his sleep is restless, his nails were bitten to the quick and his leg bounces worse than ever.
'What if she runs?' He worries while stacking boxes of cereal at Grocery-Mart.
Days later he worries 'What if she's forgotten me entirely? Would that be good or bad?' while avoiding his father by sleeping over at his brother's place for a night.
The day before she arrives Meliodas can only manage small bites of food or his stomach turns. He returns the library books, glad at least that his face and knuckles were unmarred. His mind plays cruel tricks of replaying memories. He remembers cutting her hair off at the back of her head and tossing the white tresses like confetti into the air, of kicking a ball into the side of her head and of ripping her hearing aids out. He cannot remember what he had done to them after he had them but the sick in his stomach finally erupts at the thought and he upchucks on his floor in the middle of the night. It is mostly white stomach bile but he cleans it, not bothering to be quiet as the music below and loud yells muffle any sounds he makes.
.X X X.
Monday morning, it's silent in the house and he brings his packed bag in the bathroom with him. The toilet is off color but it flushes properly while the sink is cracked down the center and when the knobs twist even a little it drips until the ceiling leaks downstairs. The bathroom is small, the walls are partially tiled but through the years of neglect the blue things have cracked or fallen off leaving the sticky yellow glue stains behind. He takes extra care with himself today.
Downstairs, the boy does not linger in his looks over the naked man on the couch, nor the slew of paraphernalia around. His mother had been too messed up to hide it before she passed out and briefly Meliodas hopes his father does not come home or he'll hurt her. He steps over a few empty bottles, holding his breath as he creeps to the door and slips out into the cold morning air without waking anyone.
He makes good time, walking through a few yards to shorten his distance to PS1909. Meliodas pep talks himself, his worries flitting across his mind in a rush of too many thoughts and his brows crinkle together. His expression is almost as tense as his shoulders which is where he carries his stress. Meliodas hopes to be early, he is to meet her before their first block in the guidance office to explain the four by four block class structure.
Meliodas has practiced what to say but before he tries to explain that, he has so much to apologize for. The graying building comes into view, he hikes up his backpack approaching the front of the dark entranceway. The inner doors will be locked until the office administrators open it but he plans on using the time wisely while waiting. He's early but as he approaches he sees movement inside the first set of doors, pulling at the inner ones.
The boy takes the stairs two at a time, yelling up "They open them at Seven-Thirty," when he reaches the outer doors and pulls, he calls out again "Hey!" He enters the breezeway, looking to the girl with an interest, a rush of desire, he has not felt in himself before and all he gazes at are her legs for a stilled heartbeat. She's lithe in arm and leg but curvy in the rear, so much so that her pants stretch over her round rump nearly skin tight. Her backpack, above her ass, is light blue with dangling mini permanent markers clipped to the hand handle at the top and they clang together as she pulls at the door with a frustrated shake.
"Yo, did you hear me?" Meliodas asks, finally pulling his eyes from her rump. He notes her backpack charms, eyes climbing to see her hair, glowing like moonlight in its paleness and his heart stops. His palm comes up with quick speed as he slams a solid palm hit to his own forward. 'Of course she can't hear you!' he scoffs to himself.
The girl sees movement in the reflection of the glass in the top of the inner doors and she jolts, spinning on her flats over the lino floor. She doesn't make a sound but her dangles on her backpack do. The girl knows this boy, she looks over his messy blonde hair, red mark on his forehead and over the grown face of the little boy she used to spend all her time with. Her hands shake, raising up to hover just over her mouth as she bites her lip, her stomach fluttering with an eruption of butterflies she fears are going to escape from her mouth like a blown dandelion-puff.
"Elizabeth." Meliodas whispers, the name escaping him like prayer as the sight of her face stops his heart. 'She's... stunning' he thinks, noting her round chest from the edges of his vision but resists the urges to drink in her coke-bottle body. Her eyes caught his, the blue deep in their swirling emotions and what he sees confirms one of his worries. 'She's afraid of me.' He does not blame her.
At this moment, they both remember something about the other.
Elizabeth remembers the first time she met Meliodas, many years ago. She can see the small rough-faced boy in the eyes of her mind sitting alone during lunch, a brown sack bag in front of him, rolled shut. She had hoped at the time he would talk with her since he didn't have anyone else to talk to either. When she sat, the boys green weary eyes met hers in shock and when she put her bright character themed lunchbox on the table between them unzipping it, the table moved with a jolt, getting her attention. When she looked up again, he'd been walking away. And he had forgotten his lunch. She picked it up, to return it to him, to chase him down but it was light, too light. Elizabeth remembered opening it, seeing crinkled plastic grocery bags stuffed in the bottom of it and of following after him with her own lunch box in tow.
Meliodas though, he sees that blue orb earring in her ear. When she had been a child, there had been two and she still wears the remaining one. Meliodas wonders 'why' as he remembers how he had taken her hearing aid, it caught on her earring and both had come loose in his hand. The teacher had forced him to return the hearing aid, which he did, but Elizabeth sobbed, the sound of it warbled through her nose as she moved her hands frantically to the teacher. "He gave it back, Elizabeth." The teacher dismissed her, not understanding he stole her jewelry and her round blue eyes pinned to his pleadingly but the child Meliodas had dangled the earring before her in mocking glee. The fear in her eyes then, it's so similar to her eyes now Meliodas would have sworn this full-grown Elizabeth morphs into her nine-year-old self again.
Slowly, Meliodas raises his hands. He points to his chest, forms a fist and places it over his heart to move it in a circle clockwise. "I'm sorry" he conveys using sign language. The girl's eyes grow wide, filling with tears, her hands still in their shaking but her reaction is not what Meliodas wants. He never wants to make her cry again. If he can prevent her from ever shedding another, he will.
"You learned sign language?" She asks with her gestures and Meliodas breathes a sigh in relief that he understands her, finally.
This question is one of the first sign-phrases in the 'ASL for Beginners' book he borrows from the library every few weeks. With a flourish, he raises his hand to show his thumb and pointer finger separated by an inch of space to indicate "a little" before he does the "learning" sign. Meliodas has a long way to be a master at the language but at his answer, Elizabeth's tears fall. They are plump as they slip down her pink apple cheeks and across her tiny pointed chin before falling to plop on the floor at her little feet.
"Please don't cry." He says out loud before signing it, repeating his "I'm sorry" sign and beginning his prepared signs, his speech, of "Before, in elementary, I treated you bad-bad and I want to be a friend, real friends, If I can earn your forgiveness I want to-". The girl steps to him, her hands reach out to him and he freezes as she falls into him, her wet cheek glides across his dry one. He marvels at her smooth skin, like a silk caress, a gentle touch, and the boy is not used to those.
Meliodas is stunned, so much so he does nothing. His hands are still raised on either side of her thin waist in the middle of his sign. Her hands wrap around his shoulders, her fingers touching his black pack on his back as her chest heaves against his with her silent cries. A deep piece of Meliodas, one cracked and askew, slips back in its proper place. He breathes her in, smelling the sweet scent of her hair as it tickles his nose. Her breasts are soft pillows pressed between them and he loathes that his body reacts to hers with such a simple touch, thinking he doesn't deserve the pleasure from her. The boy moves his face into her tresses and with his shift, she steps away.
The boy is confused. He never dreamed she would ever want to touch him, let alone hug him when she has not watched his full 'signed' confession. Meliodas had wanted her wrath as he is more comfortable with a version of this playing out where she transfers her pain to him through aggression. Instead, he gets a new pain, an ache in his chest that threatens to crack open his ribs from the inside.
'This torture better suits my crimes.'
Her hands move in a fast succession of motions, points, and hand shapes. The boy watches, blankly, her speed too much for him to understand more than a word here and there. Her face tells him more than her hands, and he watches her brows furrow, her mouth forms a circle, her little white teeth bite the pink plumpness before her little tongue darts out, wetting her lips. 'Why does she have to look like this?' He thinks with desperation.
For Meliodas her form is perfection. From her round hips, graceful wrists and of course her ample bosom. He appreciates it all with a longing that borders hopelessness. He truly tries to catch her meanings, her little fist slams into her other palm before her fingers splay out and she points to her own finger telling him something he didn't understand. Meliodas raises his arm and runs his fingers up from his wrist to his elbow "slow" he signs and her cheeks pinken. Meliodas remembers then that she flushed as a kid too. Her hands pause and he stares past them to her chest. Two plump swells of creamy flesh poke just so from the swoop-neck of her shirt, modestly covered with an undershirt of holey lace.
Her hands move again, slower and he knows she's angry about something. Elizabeth's eyes are narrowed and her nose crinkles cutely before her head shakes, her hair dances around her heart-shaped face. Then she signs "I'm sorry" and he waves it away, shaking his head no with a firm purse of his lips.
Elizabeth smiles, hands falling to her side as she looks over the boy who has grown into a man, in her eyes. The fact that he learned sign language without knowing if they will ever meet again, it warms her somber heart. She watches him twist around, his red shirt lifts and she spots a strip of his toned midsection, a pale scar catching her eye on his hip bone that dipped into his jeans.
The boy gathered his backpack from behind, unzipping the top and rummaging around. Other students start to arrive, some sitting on the steps outside the entrance and others finding their meeting places to wait for their friends. Meliodas looks out as steps approach and Elizabeth mirrors him, knowing he must have heard something she obviously can't. The girl looks out at the few others in the front quad, a bus stops out front, idling in the street with fog rolling off it from the morning cold and with her attention to the outside, Meliodas touches her arm with his.
Elizabeth looks to him, sees the outstretched paper and accepts it, reading it over. She understands instantly that he volunteered as her class aide. The girl bites her lip again, worrying that she would be a burden to him.
Her brow furrows in contemplation as she hands it back, signing slowly "Why? I don't think you can help me." Meliodas nods, thinking he understands what she means but he doesn't.
"I'll protect you." He signs, chest swelling with foolish discomfort and a lot of weary, tentative hope. "I will do it right. To make up for before." And this time, Elizabeth thinks she understands, but she doesn't.
Elizabeth meant she is beyond help, too broken to be repaired while Meliodas dismisses her words as self-empowering. And she took his words to mean she is a burden and he only took the job as a pairing to his apology, when he is really talking about their friendship. Meliodas wants to be a real friend to her, as he believes if he would have taken his head out of his own ass back then, the two of them would be... different with one another.
Deep regret splinters in Meliodas as he knows what he wants with Elizabeth, he already broke. He's known it for years and seeing her in all her grown glory simply drives the nail in his upcoming coffin a bit further.
"I've loved you from the day you shared your peanut butter and jelly sandwich with me in the third grade and every single day after. I did not have the emotional maturity to handle the complexity that came with you." He speaks, knowing she cannot hear a word of it, her face tilts and her smile is one of soft confusion. Elizabeth can read lips but with Meliodas' rush of words, his lips moving too fast paired with the fact she is not familiar with him yet, she doesn't understand him. "Not the hearing, that's whatever, but the complex feelings you forced into me back then. I hadn't appreciated them, I had resented them and with them, you. Now, to make up for my sins, I've decided to die. I want to-"
The door opens, the brown tight curls of the office lady bob as she kicks at the little door stopper to keep the inner doors propped open. Metal detectors were on and buzzing just beyond, a guard sitting in his chair unconcerned as he ties his shoe with a large yawn. It's then that the bus doors open and a line of children span across the quad toward the front doors. Meliodas flushes hot as Elizabeth signs "Can you say it again?" and then "can you sign it?"
When he doesn't move she reaches behind her back, pulling a marker from her dangling clip at the top of her pack. From the pocket meant for a water bottle she pulls a thin notepad with a dull rainbow printed on it, she offers them both to him. She wants him to write it, but the outer doors burst open, a stream of bodies bumping and if she could hear, the noise in the little entryway would be deafening.
The moment is lost and Meliodas rubs at the back of his neck as he joins the herd with her, adjusting his backpack and refolding the aid paper to shove in his pocket. 'I'm such an idiot' Meliodas thinks 'that's not the confession she entitled to! For someone like me to even want her, someone so far out of my league we aren't playing the same game... it's grounds for another sin to be tallied against me.'