The late autumn wind made his skin prickle with goosebumps, but Kevin didn't move away from his position at the edge of the roof. He was only six stories up, but he could look out at all of the Southside. Admittedly, it wasn't much of a view, mostly glowing neon signs, but Kevin didn't come to this part of town for sightseeing, or even out of habit. While he knew it was pathetic, he liked this particular spot because it made him feel closer to Joaquin, even though the latter had fled to San Junipero.
Joaquin had been the one to show him this place, an abandoned hotel that had been scheduled to be demolished before funding fell through.
"I come up here to think," Joaquin had told him as they climbed all six flights of stairs, the elevator long out of service. "It's a good place to get away from it all."
And it was, Kevin decided. Alone up here on the roof, looking out over the town like a superhero about to go crime-fighting, he could pretend that he and Joaquin were still together. That he might drive home and find Joaquin waiting for him, or he could simply call him on the phone, or meet up with him at Pop's.
But as Kevin turned away to climb back down the stairs, the chilly breeze ruffling his hair, he knew it was time to stop playing pretend. It was juvenile to refuse to face the reality that he and Joaquin were permanently finished.
He'd been naïve, Kevin mused as he trekked down the various staircases, to not consider what dating a gang member actually meant. That his boyfriend would be involved with murders and cover-ups. Yes, he had enjoyed his time with Joaquin, but all along, Kevin had been romanticizing him to be someone much different than he actually was.
Still, Kevin continued to care for Joaquin so much that it exhausted him, especially knowing that it was fruitless. But even if they weren't thousands of miles apart from each other, he didn't see how their relationship could survive, not with Kevin was continually caught between his boyfriend and his father.
As he reached the final flight of stairs, Kevin considered where to go next. In keeping with the lies he'd been telling his father lately, he'd told him he was going to sleep over at Betty's house. In truth, Betty rarely had time for him anymore.
"Sorry, Kev," she had said apologetically when he'd invited her to hang out that weekend. "Cheryl's got us in cheerleader training all day Saturday, Ronnie and I are going to brunch together on Sunday, and Jughead and I are going out together on Friday."
"And," Jughead said, walking up to join them and grinning at Betty. "I'm looking forward to it." He grabbed Betty's hand and twirled her into his arms, and she let out a happy squeal in response.
"Some other time, then, maybe," Kevin said politely, trying to quell the rising bitterness he felt, and turned and walked away, leaving the happy couple to it.
If he were being completely honest, he was jealous. Jealous that Betty had Jughead when he and Joaquin had split up, jealous that Betty had less time for him now that she had Jughead and Veronica.
Jughead was an artistic loner who always had a witty comment ready, as well as a wry, sarcastic sense of humor. Veronica was a fallen debutante from New York City who'd lived a life of glitz and glamour and had the experiences to match.
And Kevin? He was Betty's boring friend from some hick town. Nothing about him was particularly impressive.
Kevin sighed as he pushed open the door, exiting the crumbling hotel. Forget about competing with Betty's new crowd for her time and attention. He didn't even make it as a contender.
Too absorbed in his thoughts as he walked out into the alleyway, Kevin didn't see the attack coming. He simply stepped outside, and then a shadow rushed forward. Before he could react, someone's hands were wrapped around his throat, throttling him. In the darkness of the alley, illuminated only by a few dim security lights that valiantly persisted despite the hotel's deterioration, he could only vaguely make out the craggy features of the other person's face.
"Think you can just come here as you please, like it's your own personal playground?" It was a male voice, seething with rage and resentment. His breath was sour with tobacco smoke. "You're just as bad your father."
His assailant let go of his throat, but Kevin didn't even have time to inhale before he was savagely thrown to the ground. He landed on his side, but his attacker wasted no time in pushing him onto his back, straddling him, and then grabbing him roughly by the hair and twice slugging him in the face.
"He thinks he can do whatever he wants to us, treat us like dirt, and then walk away scot-free," the man told him, and in this new position, Kevin could see the faint gleam of a leather jacket and the green of the Southside Serpents patch on the front. "I think it's time both him and you learned a lesson that you can't just do whatever you want."
Desperately, Kevin tried to struggle away, but the Serpent gave his hair another yank and viciously slammed the back of his head into the asphalt—once, twice, three times—leaving him too stunned to move.
As Kevin lay there helplessly, the Serpent unbuckled his belt and pulled down his jeans before shoving him onto his stomach and driving a knee down onto his back to hold him in place.
"I'm going to teach you a lesson," he sneered. "One that you and the sheriff won't ever forget."
Gritting his teeth, Kevin made another attempt to get away, but the Serpent didn't hesitate to give him the same treatment as last time, brutally slamming his head against the pavement. Kevin could feel the skin on his cheeks split open.
But the worst was yet to come.
There was a pull of a zipper and a rustle of fabric, and even though he steeled himself, Kevin wasn't able to stop from crying out at as the Serpent entered him.
"Hurts, doesn't it?" the Serpent taunted as he rammed into him again and again. "But it's not nearly as bad as all the pain the sheriff has caused us over the years. You just lie back and think about that. Think about what your dad did to us."
The Serpent sped up his thrusts then, and Kevin clenched his jaw so tightly that he thought his teeth might shatter and fall down the back of his throat. Pain seared through him, but he wouldn't give the Serpent the satisfaction of crying out again. No, he had to make a plan, make the Serpent pay for what he was doing.
Kevin drove the knowledge of what was happening to him to the back of his mind. Instead, he concentrated on carefully feeling the ground around him, searching for anything he could use as a weapon—a sharp stone, a discarded lighter, a fragment of glass.
What he found was even better.
It was a liquor bottle, glass and entirely intact, probably three-quarters of a liter in size. The neck was long enough for Kevin to get a good grip, and he tightened his fingers around it.
He would only get one chance. He had to make it work.
The Serpent wanted revenge? Well, Kevin would give it to him.
Forcing himself to remain still, he waited for the Serpent to finish. The man's climax was preceded by a long, guttural groan, and a wave of nausea flooded through Kevin as his warm seed spilled inside of him. But he pushed it aside; he had to concentrate.
The moment the Serpent withdrew from inside of him and leaned away, Kevin pulled his leg back and kicked upward, catching the Serpent directly in the groin. The Serpent let out a grunt of pain, lurching away. In the few seconds he was distracted, Kevin pushed himself up onto one arm, twisted back, and swung the liquor bottle directly at his face.
The Serpent let out a howl as the end of the bottle made contact, the bottom of it shattering on his forehead. "You little bitch!" He reeled back, temporarily blinded as blood began to flow down into his eyes, but then lunged forward, coming for Kevin again.
Automatically reacting to defend himself, Kevin swiped at him with the bottle again, the broken edges of the glass glinting in the faint light. This time he made contact with the man's neck, and blood instantly began to flow from the gash he left. He barely registered what was happening before he arced the bottle back the opposite way, cutting across his throat for the second time.
"Motherfucker!" the Serpent choked, his hands reaching for his neck, trying desperately to stop the surge of blood.
With the Serpent preoccupied, Kevin swiftly pulled up his jeans and stood, not bothering with his belt. But he barely had time for even that before the Serpent snarled and rushed at him again, throwing him back against the side of the hotel. The back of Kevin's head connected with the concrete painfully, but again he stabbed forward with the bottle, driving it into the Serpent's neck again and again, blood splashing onto him, until the man fell to the ground and remained there, motionless.
Trembling violently, Kevin leaned up against the wall for support, overcome with dizziness and barely able to realize all that had just transpired. His mind was spinning, and his own blood had intermingled with the Serpent's and was now dripping down his face and staining his clothes.
Gasping for breath, he watched the Serpent warily, waiting for him to stand, to continue his assault, but he didn't move. He merely lay there facedown, blood gushing from the wound on his neck, the Southside Serpents emblem on the back of his jacket just barely visible in the weak light.
With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Kevin realized the Serpent was dead.
Another wave of nausea flooded him, but for a second time, Kevin forced it aside. He couldn't afford to lose himself to panic or distress. He had to focus, had to make a plan, had to act.
What should he do?
His mind raced in response to the query, and he was almost overwhelmed by deluge of thoughts, emotions and worries that flitted through his brain. So much he should do. So much he would have to do, so much he needed to do but couldn't.
Focus. He had to focus. He needed a simpler question.
What else did he need?
A clinic, definitely. He could go there and be anonymous. And he should; he would need to get tested. There was one in Central that was open on Saturdays. He could go there early the next morning and stake his place in line.
Victims' support groups? Never. Kevin had never been particularly good at gaining anyone's sympathy. He was sure that one way or another, the blame for this attack would be placed squarely on his own shoulders.
He would be fine without one. Kevin had always been talented with compartmentalization. Feelings could be pushed away, cast aside, locked up in boxes to be forgotten. It was that simple.
He would be fine. He would be fine.
But he was getting ahead of himself. First, something had to be done about the body.
Kevin quickly weighed his options. He couldn't go to his father. He didn't want to bother him, not when he was already busy, and he knew the situation would agonize him. He had to spare him whatever pain he could. And Betty . . . he couldn't lay this matter at her feet. It was enormously heavy for anyone to handle, and besides, with her being busy with Veronica and Jughead—
Jughead.
Jughead Jones, Betty's boyfriend, who was currently involved with the Serpents.
Could he have known one of his gang was going to attack Kevin?
Could Jughead have arranged it?
A jolt ran through him at the possibility. While Kevin knew it was a paranoid, wild thought, once it took hold in his brain, he couldn't shake it even when he tried to ignore it for the irrational panic that it was.
You're being ridiculous, he told himself. Jughead wouldn't do this to you. You trust him.
Then again, Kevin's judgement hadn't proved stellar lately. He'd trusted Joaquin, and he'd turned out to be involved in a murder cover-up.
Joaquin . . . if he'd been here, Kevin might have been able to go to him.
"I'm so sorry about this, preppie," Joaquin might sigh, wrapping his arms around Kevin comfortingly. "I'll help you with this, I promise."
Kevin bit down on his tongue to hold back the sudden lump in his throat that swelled as he thought of what he knew would never come to be, and he wiped at his eyes, telling himself thewarmth trickling down his face was just more blood.
He was being stupid to think about that. Joaquin wasn't here. He could do nothing for Kevin. And neither could anyone else.
Kevin swallowed, glancing over at the body and growing pool of blood surrounding it.
He would get through this. And he'd do it alone.