A/N Slash.
He spluttered as his vomit splashed up at him, and rested his head against the seat. Imprisoned by hope, but bored by no creative bones in his body. He needed to practice do the push ups, press, ups, jogs on spot, the squats, the star jumps. He needed to be fast, be furious, agile, quiet victorious then rich. Just another couple of days and daddy would pick him up. He stood up and wiped the toilet water from his jaw it was time for a late night sprint, if anyone asked questions he'd take a map and say that he was lost. After changing into a navy blue jumper and green slacks that had moth bites, he ran out into infected midnight air, as much as he liked the dark, he hated the city life. Noisy and pushy, horns and sirens waking him up, owned by parasites who couldn't even remember their children's names. He was lucky. Being his daddy's only child was almost an achievement. His legs began to ache and he stopped as muscles seized up in agony. Daddy wouldn't mind if he sat on a bench relaxed for a second caught a little oxygen. As he checked a bench for pigeon shit he heard the laughter of more than two people. He could barely sit as he stood back up only to get shoulder nudged but a couple of rude drunks.
"Fucking tramp" One of them leered, but to their surprised he answered back, a little quiet, but the atittude was there. "Fuck you" "Say that again" A younger man he assumed was his friend said in misty eyed disbelief. Two against one and he had no chance. A shove in the road later a clumsy van hit the brakes too late. The driver got out to meet roadkill, srcambling to get out of the road. "Here let me help, I'm sorry you just came out" He reached down, to grab the man by the shoulder, his face confused, his hands wide open. "Leave me alone" "You gotta get to hospital...Matt!" He called out, and another man got out of the car, chucking a sandwich wrapper out onto the pavement. "Honestly Jack, can't leave you for one minute" They dragged him to the front seat. He could feel the waves of pain that swelled below the knee. "Matt" got dropped off and he was left with the good samaritian or rather, the deaf one that couldn't mind his own business.
Leaning on him to walk into the hospital, he knew his daddy would have killed him. "Rely on no-one" was his motto, but for some reason, he didn't want to reject his help. "Umm thanks" He muttered as coffee and banadges were sipped and clipped around his leg with a plaster. Hobbling strong from the coffee, the man insisted on driving him home. It was the least he could do, except he didn't want this stranger knowing that his home had been ripped out. "Look umm..." "Jackson" The stranger answered. "I'll won't come in it's just you shouldn't walk" Arguing in the wind wasn't going to help. He made this "Jackson" park at what looked like a closed building, he knew he'd be confused, but he had to get back. Without so much as a look back, he got out of the car and slammed the door. He didn't care what "Jackson" thought. The less he thought about him the better. He walked in through the back of the building. Took his slacks off and was about to get the basin for a wash when he noticed the tape recorder on the shelf. "Shit" He whispered. He lifted the tape recorder and played it waiting for his daddy's voice to take him to a better place than here.
"Clay...I've waited for you. One minute too long. I told you not to test me. Now I'll have to test you. Bye"
Clay sat on the sofa grasping the tape recorder in his hand. It was his fault, going out running, fighting with assholes, getting knocked over like a stray dog in the street. He'd let daddy down again and it would take months to make it up to him. "No, no, no" He murmured leaning sideways on the sofa and closing his eyes, only to be woken up by a freaked out figure. "Mate, you live here?...you can't do that..." Jackson lingered in the entrance way looking at this depressed injuried shadow clutching a square thing in a sweaty jumper, dirty shorts and a new bandage already filthy. "Get out" "Clay is it?...you can't squat, I mean look at this place, it's a dump" "Your point?" "Here" Jackson took out notes and put them held them out. Clay straightened up and eyed his arm like it was a knife. "Go away. You ran me over. You've done enough"
"No I haven't, it was my fault, I just wanted to check on you" Jackson said folding his arms.
"Daddy does that. Now fuck off"
"It's just...your poor leg..." Jackson knelt down running the knuckle of his index finger softly down the bandage. Clay kept his leg still, quickly grabbing Jackson's arm and lifting his sleeve up to his elbow. He rotated his arms to see nothing but frozen hairs striking out from his pores. No tattoos, piercings, scars... burns. "What are you doing?" Jackson asked. He saw Jackson looking at him in confusion, to catch him off guard Clay was satisfied enough to make a suggestion. "Nothing. Can I...check the rest of you?" He asked, sliding along the sofa to give him space. Clay's pulse paused as Jackson sat down. Clay ran a shaky inexperienced hand up his shirt then pulled down his collar to stroke his neck. "I don't...you know...I'm not like that" Jackson began sheepishly.
"But since I forced you to get checked out, I guess you can do the same to me"
Clay nodded, trying to remain calm but the offer, the suggestions that he pictured in his head were making him feel giddy. He'd have to remember every expression of Jackson's face, every mode of the way this guy moved. He needed to pick "Jack" out of a crowd so he could find him, again and again and again. Failing that, he could pull Daddy's signature trick and memorise his credit card providing Jackson didn't keep him up all night.
These last few hours had to be well spent. Clay could be Jackson's new shadow but he couldn't be ghost in this hell-hole anymore.
