South Park © Matt & Trey.
This is pretty experimental and odd and drunk. I was in a weird state of mind when I wrote this.
I've never written anything like it before. The story is somewhat inspired by Dorian Gray and the 2011 film Sleeping Beauty. It's been a while since I wrote tragedy~ I was going to make this five chapters, but the chapters were so short I decided to squeeze it all into one chapter. So, here it is – a story about "waking up".
Pairings: Kenny/Craig and a tiny bit of Clyde/Craig if you squint
Thanks to Nolotica for reading this over for me c:
1.
"Open up," the woman in the white coat instructed.
Craig Tucker obeyed, opening his mouth wider as she inserted a tube down his throat. He gagged slightly, closing his eyes until she finished. After receiving an envelope, he left the medical research laboratory without another word.
Outside, he greeted the cool, mountain air with a long sigh. When he turned his head, he saw a familiar face standing in front of a parked car.
"Kenny McCormick," he said in a facetious simper, approaching the tall, blond man. "You came to pick me up? How nice."
He simply grinned in response, holding up a hand. "So, what do you do in there?" he pried as they settled in the car. "Are you some sort of guinea pig?"
"Something like that," Craig responded vaguely. He wasn't one for sharing.
"Is that even legal?"
"In this town, who knows…?"
South Park had always been notorious for thinking itself above the law and its citizens never hesitated to take advantage of the absent-minded police force that overran the mountain town.
"What's in the envelope?" the blond pries. "You're clutching it awfully tight."
"Money…" Craig told him. "My payment."
"How'd you get the money?" Kenny asked.
"Just another odd job," Craig said with a shrug. He didn't like going into detail.
"You have a lot of odd jobs," Kenny pointed out.
"So?"
"So, it's not normal. You're only twenty-one. Go to school."
"You're not in school, either," Craig reminded the blond, who simply smiled in return. After that, the conversation melted away. "I don't have parents," Craig continued. "I need this money. I'll do what I can to get it, even if it's unpleasant."
"Don't think like that," Kenny warned, keeping his eyes on the road. "People who think things like that always end up going too far and losing their damn souls."
"Worried?" Craig asked coyly, eying the blond from his peripheral vision.
"You're a zombie," Kenny stated. "You've been that way ever since your parents bit the dust. I get it, really, I do… but you need to wake up, Craig. This isn't healthy. This isn't living."
Craig smiled facetiously. "I am awake."
"No, you're not."
Craig sneered. "You don't know me. Stop pretending you do."
"I don't know you because you won't let me," Kenny said. "I want to, but you push and push and push. You make it impossible."
As much as Craig wanted to, he couldn't deny it. "Whatever," he responded cattily. "Why don't you deal with your own shit before trying to tell me how to deal with mine? You're going to fucking die soon, junky."
"Yeah, some nights I think my depression might win," Kenny said with a shrug, "but at least I'm livin' it up until then."
A girl named Bebe Stevens told Craig about a place kids could go if they were in trouble. She said it didn't hurt and she said paid well, but you had to pass the interview. They were selective. You needed to be just right for the job. Craig wasn't particularly charming, but his appearance was his strongest asset. He intended to use it.
So, he made the call and he set up an interview. He took a taxi out into the middle of nowhere. When he arrived, he came face to face with a large, stone building surrounded by acres of trees. It seemed to be the only building within miles. He didn't let that scare him. Nothing scared him. He stepped out of the taxi after paying the driver and began slowly approaching the front doors.
He reached for the knocker and pulled it back before slapping it against the door one, two, three times. Mere moments later, a woman answered. She was slender and old, with greying hair that was tied up in a neat bun. Still, Craig found something elegant about her stature and the way she seemed to carry herself. Her expression was stern and she was dressed in a pencil suit.
"Can I help you?" she asked in a voice as smooth as syrup.
"Hi," Craig greeted her, mirroring her tone. "I'm here for an interview… I'm Craig Tucker."
A sudden smile spread across her face as she looked him up and down. "Of course you are," she finally said, allowing him to step inside. "Come in."
After stepping through the threshold, Craig surveyed his surroundings. The hallways were quiet and bare. The only décor was the paintings on the walls. Craig stared up at the paintings – arrays of men and women lying on fainting sofas. They all looked like they were sleeping.
"The wall of sleeping beauties," the old woman said upon noticing him staring.
Craig found it eerie. Every model was in the exact same room and in the exact same position. Everything was the same expect for the subject. All had very different hair colors and eye colors and skin tones, but all were beautiful.
The old woman walked him to an office and asked, "Are you familiar with this kind of work? I assume whoever referred you here told you."
"Yes," he lied.
"And you understand how the interview will go?"
"Yes."
"Then please remove your clothing," she requested.
Craig's eyebrows drew together, though he wasn't entirely surprised. He half expected the interview to go like this. So, he tentatively reached for the zipper on his jacket and slid it down. He tossed it to the floor carelessly before reaching for the edge of his t-shirt and lifting it off. Next he reached for the button on his jeans before pushing them below his hips. They pooled around his feet and he stepped out of them, standing in front of the old woman in a simple pair of tight, black boxer briefs.
She moved behind her desk and pressed a button on the phone before speaking into it. "He's here," is all she said and a mere minute later the door swung open. A man entered. He was tall, with a long face and more hair on above his lip than on his head. Craig assumed he was perhaps in his late fifties or early sixties – a little older than the woman, but not by much.
Craig stood still and obedient, waiting for further instruction.
The man touched Craig, poking and prodding and pinching. Calloused thumbs brushed past his nipples and moved down his chest. Hands stroked his thighs, feeling smooth skin. "Slim, but not scrawny," he noted, almost as if he were speaking solely to himself. "No blemishes, no scars, no tattoos, no piercings…" He slipped a finger beneath the rim of Craig's waistband, pulling it back and examining his genitalia. Craig remained calm, maintaining eye contact with the woman the entire time and not once shuddering. He didn't blush or budge. He just stayed quiet.
"What do you think, dear?" she asked.
"He's perfect," the man decided.
The woman smiled once more before returning her attention to Craig. "You have the job. You may redress. Once modest, I'll show you to the room so you can get acquainted and ready for a test to see if this is a job you can handle."
Craig simply nodded, picking up his discarded clothing and putting them back on. His movements were brisk, yet calm. Once decent, they left the office. She led Craig back down the hallway and up a flight of stairs. Soon, they stopped in front of a door.
"This will be your room once a week," she said, opening the door to reveal a lavish looking set up. "For the duration of your stay, I'll be tending to you. You may call me Mother or Madame, whichever you prefer. During your stays, I'll be taking care of you."
"All right," Craig responded softly, taking his first glance around the Victorian-styled room. It was coloured in a rich red. The drapes, carpets and bedding were all the exact same shade. The furniture was a deep, chestnut brown. There was a canopy bed, twin nightstands, a bureau and a rocking chair in the corner. Without asking for permission, he moved towards the opposite side of the room and opened the curtains to reveal a wall-lengthed window. It overlooked the yard's picturesque greenery. "Just like a Monet," Craig murmured.
The old woman smiled, but it was void of emotion. "Yes, like a Monet." She neared Craig, standing behind him and looking over his shoulder. "Do you know why the rooms are red?" she asked.
"No," Craig admitted, turning around to face her.
"Because blood is red," she explained, "and blood is life, proof of life. During much of your stay, you will be asleep. Don't be afraid. The men who come into your room won't be allowed to harm you or penetrate you. They can look and touch, but nothing more. Before each visit, you will meet me for tea. Think of the tea as a sleep aid. After finishing your cup, you will return to your room and lie down. The tea will help you fall asleep. When you wake up, your client will be gone and the appointment will be over. You'll be groggy, weak and a little unaware, but you will feel normal in a matter of hours."
"I won't know what happened?" Craig asked.
"No," she said. "It's easier this way – for you, for me and for your clients. Some things are best left unknown. This also promises anonymity to our clients. To ensure that no rules are broken, cameras are set up in the room and visits will be monitored. Is this all right?"
"Yes," Craig agreed.
"Good," the woman said. "Before your visits, you will wash and shave the hair off your body. Is this all right?"
"Yes," Craig agreed again.
"You will start tonight," she continued. "I will take care of the clients. You will get receive payment when you wake up. You receive fifty percent of the fee clients pay. Is this all right?"
"Yes," Craig agreed for a third time. He wanted to ask exactly how much money he would be getting, but in the end it didn't matter. He was desperate and Bebe said it was a lot. He knew that whatever it was, it would be worth it.
"Good," she said with finality. "There is a bathroom across the hallway. Wash and shave yourself. When you are finished, put on the robe hanging on the door. I'll send the maid to wait for you. She will bring you to me afterward and we will have tea."
Craig nodded his head. He knew he should have felt anxious or nervous, but he felt neither. He felt nothing.
When the woman left, Craig crossed the hallway and moved into the bathroom. It was just as lavish as the rest of the house. He turned on the shower taps and stepped inside, washing himself thoroughly before picking up the razor. He used it cautiously, careful not to nick his skin.
Once finished, he dried off and reached for the robe. It was black silk and it felt smooth between his fingers. He slipped it on, tying the knot and leaving the room. He found the maid across the hall. She was middle aged and robust, wearing a classic maid's uniform. With a polite smile, she led him into a new room. Craig simply followed.
In the parlour room, Madame was sitting on a floral patterned sofa. She held up a hand upon spotting Craig, wordlessly inviting him inside.
Craig did so, standing by her side and silently wondering what her name was. It felt too strange to call another woman Mother and it felt foreign to call her Madame. Something told Craig that he'd never learn her name. Perhaps it was safer that way.
"Bring the tea," she said before waving the maid off.
"Yes, ma'am."
Craig watched with a curious look.
"You washed and shaved?" Madame asked. When Craig nodded, she responded with, "Come here. Show me."
Craig stood in front of her and untied the robe, removing it as the woman's hands circled him. She put a palm on his backside, sliding it between his cheeks. "You're not shy, are you?" she asked, grazing his inner thighs, checking for stubble.
"No. I'm used to this."
"You're not a virgin?" she wondered.
"Not for a long time," he admitted.
She nodded. "For all intents are purposes, you will pretend otherwise when you are here. If clients ask, we will tell them you are a virgin. It's a matter of purity."
Craig didn't quite understand it. He didn't like the thought of himself being seen as dirty, but he didn't protest. He didn't want to ruin his chance.
When Craig put his robe back on, she invited him to sit down. Craig sat in the chair across from where she was seated and then it was silent – uncomfortably so. Craig decided to start conversation to try and eradicate the tense atmosphere. "Is this your home?" he asked out of the blue, wondering if the woman was running some sort of illegal operation. He was curious about the motive, but he didn't want to overstep his bounds.
"Yes," she answered. "Why do you ask?"
"No reason in particular," Craig said. "It's beautiful."
"I put a lot of work into this house," she mused. "We put a lot of work into this house – my husband and I."
"Was he the man I met during the interview?"
"Yes," she answered with a nod.
"Did you have children?"
"No," she said, "but I like to think of every young man and woman who enters this house as my child." Before Craig could ask any more questions, she changed the subject. "Let's not talk about me. You are the guest. Tell me about yourself, Mr. Tucker. Are you a student? I get a lot of young students looking to help pay their way through school."
"I'm not," he admitted, "but I do need money."
"Of course you do," she said knowingly. "Everyone does. Now, tell me the reason for you being here."
"I have to take care of my sister," he told her.
The maid reappeared with a trey. On it was a teapot and a single teacup. She placed it on the coffee table in the center of the room and then asked, "Is there anything else, Ma'am?"
"No, that's fine."
With that, she left.
Craig stared as Madame reached for the teapot. She poured Craig's cup and then offered it to him. "Drink," she instructed.
Craig did. The liquid was hot and it burned, but he didn't complain. He endured.
"Tell me about your sister," Mother requested. "Do you have any parents?"
"They died," Craig explained vaguely.
"How sad to leave a lovely boy like you behind," she said piteously. "I myself could never have children, but how I wanted a baby of my own…"
Unsure of how to respond, Craig simply added, "It's just me and Ruby. She's only fifteen – too young to work."
"So, you're doing this all for her?" she wondered aloud. "What a good older brother you are… Quick, quick, finish your tea. I've already set up your appointment for tonight."
"Why do people come here?" Craig asked, unable to soothe his curiosity. "If they can't fuck me, then how is it worth it? What are these men paying for?"
The woman looked bemused. "Imagine this," she started softly. "You are very old and you are very alone… You crave human contact, but you have no one to share it with. You could buy a whore, but what you crave isn't necessarily sexual contact – just the simplest kind of touch. Here, our workers are rare beauties. Any man would be lucky to spend a night and complete anonymity comes with the cost. We mainly have girls, but boys are desired by some of our clients as well."
"I see," Craig murmured. He continued sipping on the tea until it was finished. He wanted to ask what was in it, but he knew he wouldn't get a definite answer. He would get more vague words.
Madame led him back to his room and he lied in the center of the bed, closing his eyes. He felt sleep take him with force and he welcomed it.
The following morning, Craig woke up and felt groggy and weak. It took effort to sit up straight. Madame was sitting in the far corner of the room in the rocking chair. When she noticed him, she stood up.
"I'll retrieve your clothing," she said.
Craig waited and when she returned, he got dressed. He forced his limbs to work and when he was decent, the woman helped him stand.
Outside, a taxi was waiting for him. The maid carried his bag and put it in the trunk while Craig was helped into the backseat.
"Same time next week," Madame said before handing him an envelope and sending him off.
Craig didn't bother looking inside. Not yet. He simply pocketed the envelope and put on his seatbelt.
"Where to?" the driver asked.
"South Park," Craig responded, resting his head against the glass of the window. He watched the scenery and didn't bother making small talk with the driver. He wasn't one for small talk. He found it pointless and trivial.
The ride home felt much shorter than the ride there. Soon enough, the car was parked in front his apartment complex.
"How much do I owe?" Craig asked.
"It's been paid for," the driver said. "Have a good day, kid."
With a hazy nod, Craig got out of the car and grabbed his bag from the trunk. He swung it over his shoulder and made his way inside. He felt like he was ready to collapse. The trip to his apartment seemed to take forever.
By the time he reached his door, he had his key ready. He stuck it in the lock, jiggling it before it finally worked. He swung the door open and kicked his shoes off. Inside, he found Ruby asleep on the sofa. There were a few too many empty beer cans on the coffee table and Craig couldn't help but assume she had a few friends over the night before. Craig wanted to wake her up and chastise her, but if he did that would make him a hypocrite. At her age, he was doing much worse things than drinking. So, instead, he simply turned into his bedroom. He put his bag down and turned on the light, welcoming the sight of his familiar sanctuary. It was tidy and barren, with very little signs of life… but it was Craig's. It was where he spent most of his time. It was where he felt most at ease.
The room itself was plain. There were no paintings or pictures hung up on the wall. There was a single bed in the farthest corner of the room with a nightstand. On the opposite side of the room was a closet that held most of his clothes and personal items. On the floor against the wall there were mountainous stacks of books. Craig didn't enjoy many things, but he did enjoy a good book.
After taking in the familiarity, he sank into the comfort of his own bed. He wasn't tired in mind, but his body was still exhausted. He reached for his nightstand, grabbing his phone. He didn't take it with him. He knew it would only be a bother.
"Twelve missed messages," he murmured aloud, scrolling through them. They were all from Kenny, Bebe and his friend, Clyde Donovan, who he hadn't seen in weeks. Craig didn't bother responding to any of them yet. Instead, he simply let things sit. He put his phone back on the nightstand and a split second later, his door creaked open.
Ruby stood in the doorway and stared at him. "You were gone," she stated.
"I told you I was leaving town for the night," he reminded her.
"Oh…" she murmured. "I don't remember… Maybe I was drunk." A pause. "Where did you go?"
"Out for a job," he told her vaguely.
She nodded her head slowly, but she didn't pry. Part of her wanted to, but the more dominant part knew that most things involving her brother were best left kept in the dark. So, instead of asking more questions, she said, "Bebe will want to see you. She kept calling. It was annoying."
"You can call her and tell her I'm back," Craig said.
Ruby simply nodded her head. With that, she was gone.
Craig finally reached into his pocket and took out the envelope. He opened it and saw a large stack of crisp bills.
Yes, it was worth it.
Late in the evening, Craig made dinner. They ate in silence and then Bebe came over. She watched Craig wash the dishes and when he was finished, they moved into his bedroom. Craig knew she was dying to ask how it went and he didn't want his little sister to hear about it.
"Did you go?" Bebe immediately questioned.
"Yes," Craig confessed.
"Was it strange?"
"Yes," Craig repeated himself. "The interview was incredibly invasive. An old woman groped my privates to make sure I got rid of all my pubic hair. I don't remember the parts I wished I would, but I know it's because I'm not supposed to. Still, I'm curious. I want to see what people do to me when I'm unaware."
"Ignorance is bliss," Bebe offered. "Do you think it makes a difference?" she wondered. "Do you think the men would do the same things if we were awake?"
"I don't know," Craig admitted.
"I only went a few times," Bebe admitted. "I couldn't really bring myself to go back. The whole experience was too unsettling. I felt the life being slowly sucked out of me. Do you think you'll go back?"
"Yeah, probably."
"The old lady… there's something off about her," Bebe added. "It's like, she gets obsessed with you. She treats you like you belong to her. I think it's 'cause she couldn't have any kids. She wanted to paint a portrait of me, but I refused. After that, I didn't go back."
Craig raised an eyebrow at that, but then shrugged it off.
Bebe smiled a small, sad smile. "You know, Clyde misses you," she said offhandedly.
"Yeah, I know," Craig responded simply.
2.
The weeks continued to pass and Craig found himself getting used to his new work. He had more free time, no longer having to worry about other odd jobs since his pay was so high.
"Do you have anything?" Craig asked. He met up with the familiar blond drug dealer. With nothing to do, he wanted a little bit of entertainment – the dangerous kind. That was Kenny's speciality.
"Yeah," Kenny said. "What are you looking for?"
"Whatever…" Craig shrugged. "Something that will make me feel like I'm on air."
Kenny smirked and turned away, digging into his nightstand drawer. "Here," he said, fetching a little baggy with a strange pill inside.
Craig thanked him and, with that, he was gone.
Late in the night, Craig was on cloud nine. He was at a bar, playing coy as he became the center of every man's attention. He wasn't one for attention, but this kind of attention was something he was fond of. He talked and teased and when he got bored, he left. He drove home drunk and high, but he didn't crash. After a poor parking job, he stumbled into his apartment and come morning, he felt ill from the prior night's excitement. He stayed in bed and allowed Ruby to tend to him.
"Where do you work?" she asked out of the blue, setting a glass of water down on the nightstand.
"Construction," he said. It was the first thing he could think of, though it was the last thing he'd ever be caught doing.
Ruby laughed, seeing right through the fib. "Liar! You're too damn small and prissy for that. You don't like getting dirty."
"I suppose," Craig relented, but he still wouldn't tell her the truth.
Nonetheless, part of Ruby knew. She knew her brother was doing things he shouldn't have been doing. He always was and so was she.
At work the following week, Craig was called in early for a special job.
"I paint and my husband likes to have his portraits of his best workers," Madame explained after Craig was showered and clean shaven.
"Is that what the photos in the hallway are?" Craig asked, recalling the paintings he saw when he first arrived. He found them strange and unsettling. This is what Bebe had warned him about, but Craig paid it little mind.
"Yes," she confirmed. "They are portraits of the most beautiful men and women we've hosted throughout the years."
"How long have you been doing this?" Craig pried since there were so many portraits hung in the hallway.
"For a long time," she said vaguely and Craig could tell that was the only answer he'd get. "Now undress."
Craig nodded, slowly reaching for the tie on his robe and undoing it. He exposed himself, shrugging out of the fabric and letting it pool at his feet. "Where do you want me?"
Madam instructed him to pose just like all the other paintings. "Lie down and close your eyes," she requested. "Get comfortable and pretend you're having a pleasant dream."
The task seemed impossible. Craig hadn't had a good dream in years. Nonetheless, he decided he would try. After all, he had to. Craig draped himself over the familiar sofa and closed his eyes, listening to the brush strokes.
Craig found himself thinking of the people in his life. There was Clyde – his old soul mate who he hadn't seen in so long. There was Bebe, who always stood by Craig's side. There was Kenny, who put Craig's needs and wants above his own. Then there was Ruby, his family.
He tried to think only of fond memories, but they were few and far between. Life was dreary and bitter.
"Beautiful," Madame said as she finished. "Our newest Sleeping Beauty."
Craig got up and approached the woman, staring down at the painting on her easel.
"Wow," he said in awe. "I really look like that?"
The painting was beautiful – too beautiful, in Craig's opinion. He looked ethereal and strange, like something not of this world. It was a completely alien kind of beauty – too striking.
"You do," the old woman said, finally calling the maid in to ready the tea.
When he woke up, Madame was hovering over him. Craig frowned, sitting up. "What?" he asked, reading her concerned expression. Then he paused. The sheets were in disarray and he had an erection.
"Christ…" he muttered, covering himself with the sheets and willing it away.
"Someone broke the rules today," she told him calmly. "I take it you know what that means?"
Craig's jaw tightened. "So, what?" he bit out. "Someone tried to fuck me in my sleep?"
"He didn't get far," she promised, handing him the discarded robe.
Craig scoffed. "Let me see," he said, slipping it on.
"No."
"Yes!" he demanded, needing to know.
She let out a solemn sigh, staring at him with something akin to pity. "If you insist," she relented softly. "Follow me."
Craig did so, feeling stress creeping up on him. They moved into her office and she opened her laptop, bringing up the security system screen. She rewound the tape and Craig watched, not saying a word.
The man rolled Craig over roughly, tearing off the robe. He started touching and rubbing him to the point of erection. He kissed and licked. He pushed Craig's legs back, examining every raw inch of the younger male with meaty fingers. Afterward, he slipped his own erection between Craig's closed thighs. There was panting and grunting and other pleasure sounds – none which came from Craig, who was still unconscious.
From there, it progressed so quickly that Craig could barely keep up with what he was seeing. Roaming hands, probing fingers, parts in places they shouldn't have been. The client was the sort of man Craig wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole if given a choice and his treatment was anything but gentle. Craig stared at the screen, eying his limp, unconscious self. "Disgusting," he whispered aloud as he watched. He wanted to recoil. He wanted to reach into the computer screen and tear the man away from him. For the first time in a long time, he felt overpowering amounts of self-disgust and that self-hatred that Kenny was talking about. It was too great to ignore. The feeling settled deep in his gut and Craig knew it wasn't about to leave.
Bebe was right. Ignorance is bliss.
Soon enough, Madame and her husband appeared on screen and then the horrific video was finished.
After that, Craig took his things, received his payment and then left.
'Is it worth it?' he kept asking himself and the knot in his stomach wouldn't go away.
When he arrived home, he took a thorough shower and his hands wouldn't stop shaking. He stood under the nozzle and let the water cascade. He decided then and there to bury the memory, just like he did with all things painful.
After a long shower, he put on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt before going out. He went to Kenny's townhouse, the home he shared with a few other strange characters. Craig didn't know Kenny's roommates and he didn't want to.
Upon Craig's arrival, Kenny let him in without a word and they moved into the kitchen. "Bad day?" Kenny asked, handing Craig a can of beer from the fridge before getting one for himself.
"Mm…" Craig agreed. It was an understatement, but he didn't bother saying that. "I saw something unpleasant."
Kenny could sense something off about Craig, but he was bad at this sort of thing. "Cry if you need to," he said with a shrug as they settled in the living room.
'I need to,' the other male thought, but he refused to. He took the offer as thoughtless and felt it held no sincerity. If Craig started crying, then he'll never be able to stop and Kenny would have to deal with it. He wouldn't break the dam he put in his head. So, instead, he asked, "Would you still love me if I wasn't attractive?"
"Of course," Kenny insisted. "I'm not shallow… Well, I am a little shallow, but not when it comes to you."
"Everyone thinks I'm so fucking pretty, but when I look in the mirror I don't see anything at all."
"Heavy," Kenny murmured.
"What about me is attractive apart from my appearance?" Craig wondered. "I know it isn't my personality. According to everyone, I don't really have a personality."
"You do, it's just muted," Kenny told him. "And that's okay. Someday, you'll wake up from whatever it is that's weighing you down. You won't try to silence yourself. You'll shout when you're angry. You'll cry when you're sad… You'll do all the normal things."
"I used to think it was because of my parents," Crag murmured offhandedly. "I think everyone thinks that, but I don't know if it's the real reason why I'm like this. I think I've always been too quiet."
"Fire is a pretty terrible way to go," Kenny sympathized. "It would be understandable if it did affect you this way."
Craig nodded his head, trying to stop the memories from pervading but it's too late. He remembered the way the house went up in flames. He remembered hearing screams. Ruby had stayed the night at a friend's house. Craig's door was blocked. He jumped out of the window in a fit of panic and ended up breaking his leg… but he lived, which is more than he can say about his parents. They were dead… and it was simply because something went wrong with their furnace. Something so miniscule had such a huge and fatal consequence.
Craig shook the memory off, trying not to think about it anymore. He knew it would do no good to dwell. He couldn't change anything.
"Where do you go?" Kenny asked out of the blue, trying to change the subject away from things that were too painful.
"What do you mean?" Craig responded.
"Sometimes you're gone at night," Kenny pointed out. "Where do you go?"
"Away," Craig responded vaguely. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want the blond to know the truth. If he found out, there would be more questions and more prying and then there would be sympathy. Craig hated being on the receiving end of sympathy. "So, how are your friends?" he asked. He didn't genuinely care, he just didn't know what else to say.
Kenny shrugged. "They're okay. I can't drink with them anymore, though. Last time we did, Stan drank too much and then had an asthma attack. We were all drunk and screaming. No one knew what to do. We're all a bunch of idiots. He ended up in the hospital. After that, he promised not to drink anymore. That means we can't drink in his presence. If we do, then he's tempted. Plus, it's kind of mean of us to rub it in his face like that y'know?"
"Ah," Craig murmured.
Kenny smiled. "It's not that bad, though. It's probably better that we all drink a little less. It's easy to fall into bad habits and I'm already half way there."
"True," Craig agreed in a murmur.
The way Kenny spoke was miserable. He spoke in a way that showed everyone he had no reason left to live and he was just waiting for his life to be over.
"Remember New Year's 2011?" Kenny asked offhandedly, changing the subject.
"Mm…" Craig mused. "Vaguely. I was pretty drunk."
"Yeah, we were drunk and you were naked," Kenny started. "You were rolling around on the hardwood floor in front of the fireplace at your family home. I took a few pictures of you lying there. You posed. You laughed. You were teasing me. Our alone time was always like that. You showed off, but you wouldn't let me touch you. Your parents returned before midnight. They rang it in with a kiss, but you wouldn't do the same with me. By then you were dressed and you had this polite smile on your face. Your parents never saw through that façade you liked to wear. They thought you were a good boy, but you were so naughty. The night felt incomplete because you wouldn't kiss me in front of your parents."
"Well, they're dead now," Craig said with finality. "So, it doesn't really matter anymore. I'm just glad they died thinking I was a saint and not the sinner I really am."
"I love you, y'know," Kenny confessed, "and it fucking sucks that you don't love me back."
"Sorry," Craig apologized, but it was lackluster and flat. "If you want, you can have sex with me."
"I want you to want it, too…"
"Maybe I do," Craig teased. He was never one for straight answers. It wasn't because he liked mind games, it was simply because he was indecisive. "I care about you and sex is nice if it's with someone you care about, right?"
"My roommates are upstairs," Kenny pointed out.
"I don't mind," Craig said.
Kenny didn't respond. Instead, he simply stared at Craig with a hopeless expression. With a sigh, Craig relented and made the first move. He stood up and sat on the blond's lap, wrapping his arms around his neck.
"Sometimes people ask me why we're not together," Kenny confessed. "I have to tell them it's because you don't love me. Everyone assumes that because I'm so in love with you, then you must be so in love with me. People forget that one doesn't mean the other."
"Sorry," Craig apologized again. He leaned forward, not wanting Kenny to talk anymore. He kissed the blonde once on each cheek and then on the lips. They were innocent kisses, but they grew less innocent. Kenny slipped a finger beneath Craig's shirt and felt the warm, smooth skin. He revelled in it, but at the same time he wondered how many other people Craig let have a taste and a touch. The thought and the potential made him jealous.
When they broke apart, Craig lifted his arms and allowed Kenny to remove his shirt. Next, Kenny reached for the button on his jeans.
"You always treat me like glass," Craig said, "like I'm breakable."
"You are," Kenny responded.
"I suppose…" Craig relented, "but I don't want this kind of treatment. Not now."
"You want me to hurt you?" Kenny asked.
"Yes, hurt me. Just a little bit, though."
Kenny felt a knot in his stomach, but he didn't protest. He wanted it more than anything – to touch Craig, the person he loved more than life itself.
Without further hesitance, the two men were tearing at each other's clothing. It came off with brisk, rough movements that showed impatience. Craig and Kenny both felt that they needed this, though for very different reasons. Craig wanted a distraction and Kenny wanted love.
Craig got on his knees, taking the blond into his mouth. Kenny's hands curled in his hair and he started fucking his face harder and faster with each thrust. Craig choked, gasping for breath and that is when Kenny stopped. It was messy. Kenny was used to seeing Craig look aloof and apathetic, but in that moment he was neither of those things. There was something frantic and pained, both which ran deep.
"I can't do this," Kenny said, pulling out and flopping onto the sofa. "I don't want to hurt you." He stared up at the ceiling and away from Craig – the person he loved and the person he violated.
"I want it," Craig argued. "If I ask for it, then you have no reason to feel bad about it. A lot of people would welcome consensual violence. Why aren't you?"
"Call me a romantic," Kenny snorted. "I just… I want to treat you nice. I want it to mean something."
Craig sighed, grabbing lube from the nightstand and crawling on top of Kenny. "Fine, we'll do it your way." He grabbed the blond's cock and sank down onto his lap, emitting a shuddery moan. Kenny locked an arm around Craig's waist and sat up. They made eye contact and maintained it. Craig grinded his hips against the blond's, letting out breathy moans. He put his arms around Kenny, who drew him closer and closer.
"I've wanted this for so fucking long…" Kenny murmured. He leaned forward and pressed his parted lips against Craig's, sealing them closed like an envelope. Craig kissed him back with just as much vigour.
They kissed, they licked, they caressed. It was gentle. It was safe… and for some reason, Craig felt panicked the entire time. Never before had it been gentle or safe. This was something entirely new and entirely frightening. This wasn't just another simple fuck. This was something more.
When it was over, they lied side by side and soaked up each other's post-sexual warmth.
"Now I can die happy," Kenny said with a chuckle.
"Don't say stupid things," Craig retorted.
"Would you cry if I died?"
"I don't know," Craig admitted honestly.
"You never cry," Kenny pointed out. "You never laugh. You never smile. You're always void of emotion. It's like you're asleep."
"I'm awake," Craig said.
"Not fully," Kenny responded.
Craig scoffed. "Why do you always say that? My eyes are open."
Kenny turned to his side and smiled. "You don't get it, Craig. There's more to it than that. I guess you don't quite get it because you hate yourself so fucking much…"
"I love myself," Craig insisted.
"Ha!" Kenny laughed coldly. "That's a load of horseshit. I've never met someone who hated their self as much as you do."
Craig's eyebrows drew together. "Do I hate myself?" he wondered.
"You fucking torture yourself," Kenny said with exasperation. "I don't know why, but you do and it's hard to watch. You subject yourself to things you hate as a form of self-punishment. I guess I get it, in a vague sense. The world broke you, right? You're hurting because of it. Sometimes I'll think about that and I'll imagine how fucking nice it'd be to be able to save you from some of that pain and whisk you away from all the things you can't deal with… but I can't. The truth is… the only person who can save you is you. I can't. No one else can, either. Just you."
"I don't feel things the way I should," Craig murmured. "I know it's because I don't allow myself to. I'm not sure why… I guess it's easier than grieving over things I've lost and dwelling over things I can't change. If I welcomed emotion, then I'd inevitably welcome that, too."
Kenny smiled piteously, reaching forward and brushing the hair away from Craig's face. "You'll be okay," he said. "You're too damn strong not to be. I guess it's admirable. You don't need anybody. You don't need me, either. I'd like it if you did, though."
"Sorry," Craig apologized yet again.
3.
Craig stared at the painting of himself now hung up in the hallway with the rest. He found it strange to see himself immortalized like that. It gave him a foreign ache that he couldn't quite place.
On his way home, he rode in the same taxi cab with the same taxi driver. Craig wondered if this was a trip he made often.
"You never ask," Craig pointed out. "Why?"
"Not mine to know," the man responded gruffly. "I've been driving kids back and forth from this place for years and, honestly, I don't want to know."
"Oh," is all Craig said. For some reason, knowing that made him want to tell the man. Then again, maybe he simply wanted to tell anyone who would listen.
Back home, he met up with Kenny again and they slept together one more time when the drugs wore off. It made Craig feel guilty that he couldn't give Kenny what he truly wanted.
"How many people have you slept with?" the blond asked when it was over.
"I don't even know…" Craig admitted as they lay side by side. "Probably as many as you."
"How'd you lose your virginity?" Kenny asked.
Craig let out a bitter, callous laugh. "I literally slept with the first guy to call me pretty. I guess I just liked hearing it. I was fifteen and he was, like, forty… I don't even know why I did it." He wrinkled his nose in recollection. "Pretty sure he was just a fuckin' pedophile," he muttered with a snort. "I mean… I was young. He made me wear girl panties and then asked if he could spank me. I said fuck that, but he did it anyway. Then he took off his belt. He went to fuckin' town on my back and ass. Hurt like a bitch. When we fucked I was so turned off and scared I couldn't even get an erection, let alone cum. I was just kind of quiet, stuck in my head and wondering why the fuck I was sleeping with an old man. I called Clyde after that and he came and got me. I thought he'd be angry or disgusted or frustrated with me, but he wasn't any of that… Clyde was always there."
"And now he's not?" Kenny asked expectantly.
"Because I pushed him," Craig admitted.
"Why'd you do that?"
Craig let out a breath, not entirely sure what the reason for it may have been. "I was always so dependent on him," he finally said. "After my parents died, I guess I didn't want to depend on anyone but myself… So, I don't."
"It's not a bad thing to ask for help," Kenny reminded him. "It doesn't mean you weak or hopeless."
"I needed to make it on my own," Craig said decidedly.
"You have, Craig."
Craig began hovering on Clyde's street , but he never made it further than that. He wanted to, but he lacked the courage and lacked the capability to admit he was wrong for pushing.
Instead of righting his wrongs, each night he would return home and Ruby would ask him the same questions she always asked him.
"Where were you?"
He would tell her that he was at work.
"And where do you work?"
That part, he kept a secret.
Tonight was no different. When Craig returned home, Ruby pleaded to know where he was. She wasn't satisfied with the vague answers he kept giving her. She wanted to know the truth and she wanted to know it then and there. She was growing frustrated.
"Don't go back," she pleaded weakly.
"You don't even know where I'm gone when I'm out," he reminded her.
"For good reasons, I'm sure," she whispered. "There's a reason you don't want me to know, Craig… and it's because you're ashamed. If you weren't, then you would tell me… but you won't."
He shrugged his shoulders. "I wouldn't say that… but some things are best left unsaid. It's easier."
"For who?" she asked. "You or me?"
"Both, maybe," he considered.
But she didn't believe a word he said.
"Please don't go back…" she whispered. "Promise me you won't go back…"
"All right," he whispered.
Craig tried to stay away, but he couldn't. It was no longer the money he found so titillating, it was the silence of it all. It was the complete emptiness the experience brought him. It lingered before and after and it lasted days. It was like an addiction. That was the gist of it. Craig was addicted. He hated the work and it made him feel dirty and guilty, but most addictions are like that. Craig wondered if it was the drugs he was being fed, or if it was entirely in his head. He was empty, unknowingly longing for some kind of enlightened transformation.
Ruby began to notice it. "You lied," she said coldly, calling him out weeks later. "You told me you wouldn't go back. You said you would find a real job. You haven't. You lied to me. You're still going there."
He simply stared at her, unable to lie to her face.
"It's sucking the life out of you!" she shouted. "I've lost Mom and I've lost Dad… I don't want to lose you, too…"
"There's not much left in me," he responded. "So, it doesn't really matter."
Ruby sighed, nearing tears, but what could she do? After all, she was only fifteen and she had such little power and absolutely no authority.
So, she did the only thing she could do.
The next time Craig went out, Ruby followed him in a second taxi. She felt guilty about it, but she pushed those feelings of guilt aside and kept reminding herself that this was for the best. She only wanted to keep Craig safe, after all, and if he was hurting himself she wanted to stop him.
"Where do you think they're going?" she asked the taxi driver.
"Couldn't say," the man said, "but there are rumors about this place in the woods – a place kids like to go when they need money. Some old broad and her husband live there. They put the kids to work doing some weird shit."
"What kind of weird shit?" she pried.
"Couldn't say," he said again. "That's 'bout as much as I know. It's probably not legal, though."
Ruby bit her thumb in anticipation. "Probably," she agreed. "Do you think it's, like, a prostitution ring or something?"
The man grumbled. "I don't know, kid. I try to mind my own business. Who did you say we're following? Your brother?"
"Yeah," she murmured. "It honestly wouldn't surprise me…"
"Shame… Small town life tends to kick kids in the ass."
It didn't take much longer for them to arrive. When Craig's taxi drove off, Ruby's taxi pulled up. She hesitated for many long minutes before finally knocking on the front door. She took a deep breath and then waited.
When the door opened, a maid greeted her.
"Hi," Ruby responded. "I need to speak to whoever is in charge here."
"Madame is with someone right now."
"I don't care," Ruby said impatiently. "I'll wait."
The maid looked wary, but she allowed Ruby inside nonetheless. "Wait here," she instructed, walking Ruby to a waiting area.
She sat down obediently and kept quiet, simply glancing around. She watched the clock above the door frame. It went by slowly, but within the hour an older woman entered the room.
"Hi," Ruby greeted her, standing up.
The woman looked Ruby up and down. "We're not hiring right now."
"I'm not here for a job," she said tartly, taking it as an insult to her plain looks. "I'm Ruby Tucker… Craig's sister."
"I'm not sure who you're talking about," the woman said.
"Don't lie to me!" Ruby snapped. "I know he comes here! I followed him! He's in here right now!"
The woman closed her eyes and let out a breath. "Fine," she relented quietly. With that, she turned around after nodding for Ruby to follow.
She was escorted down a hallway full of portraits, pausing when she came across one that felt strangely familiar. "This…" she paused, pointing. "This is Craig…"
"Yes," the woman said. "I painted him."
Ruby eyed the painting, frowning at it. It looked so real, like Craig's entire essence was captured in the portrait. It was lifelike – almost too lifelike. It was like the painting captured his soul, ripping it right out of his body and preserving it. Maybe this was why Craig couldn't stay away.
Ruby tore herself away from the painting and followed the woman down the hallway and into a parlour room.
"This is where I have tea with your brother," the woman said.
"Tea?" Ruby pried. "Why tea?"
"It puts him to sleep," she continued, "because to work, he must be asleep."
Ruby didn't understand what any of that meant. "Is this an experiment?" she asked. "Are you scanning his brain or something?"
"No," the woman said. "It isn't science we do here."
"Then… what is it?" Ruby asked quietly, suddenly feeling anxious and afraid.
"Intimacy."
Ruby let out a sharp breath, closing her eyes. She couldn't picture Craig like that. She couldn't picture him offering himself to strangers. It was wrong. It was all wrong. "Then, it's true…" she murmured. "He's a hooker?"
"No," the woman said. "This isn't a brothel. It isn't about sex."
"I don't get it…" Ruby murmured.
"It's simple closeness," she continued.
Ruby frowned at that. She still didn't quite understand it. "I don't want him coming back here…"
"That's not for you to decide, is it?" the woman challenged.
"He's doing it for me," Ruby stated. "He's doing it so we'll have money, so he can buy me things I want and need… but he doesn't have to. I don't want him to work himself like this. I just want him to be around… and be safe."
"He's safe here," the woman insisted.
But somehow, Ruby doubted it. "I want to see him."
"He's with a client."
"I'll wait," she bit out. "I'm taking him home and he won't be coming back."
"That's his decision," the woman said.
"No, it's mine!" Ruby shouted, growing angry. "He's my brother! You have no right to be doing this!"
But she had a feeling this old woman didn't care about what was right of fair.
When Craig reappeared he was dressed in his same, old clothes, but something about him was off. He looked out of it – more so than usual.
"Ruby…?" he said in a questioning tone.
"What's wrong with him?" Ruby bit out, staring at the old woman with blatant accusation.
"He's fine," she explained. "He's just coming down from the drug."
Ruby put an arm around Craig's waist and he put an arm around her neck. The two of them walked down the hallway, past the strange paintings and out of the building.
Ruby helped Craig into the taxi before sliding in next to him. She latched onto his arm, leaning her head on his shoulder and sobbing miserably for her brother.
Ruby wanted to take care of things for once in her life. So, she went out on her own. She took a taxi back to the strange mansion in the woods. She knocked on the door and when she was allowed in by the maid, she was told to wait in the lobby.
But Ruby didn't wait. Instead, she moved down the hallway and stared at the wall of paintings until she found Craig's. She took it down and she ran, not looking back.
4.
Craig's experience with loss was far from over.
One night he received a strange call from Kenny. At first, he thought nothing of it, but as the minutes passed he grew anxious for seemingly no just reason. He stepped outside, barely remembering to slip into his shoes. He ran to Kenny's' house on shaky legs and when he arrived he stopped, taking in a deep breath before opening the front door.
"Kenny?" he called, moving throughout the house until he reached the blond's bedroom. He was lying in bed, but when he spotted Craig his head turned to the doorway. "What are you doing?" Craig asked him.
"I took a shit load of pills…" the blond confessed groggily.
Craig's eyes widen. "What?" he asked weakly.
Kenny smiled faintly, closing his eyes. "Yeah… a shit load…"
"Stop!" Craig demanded, though he wasn't entirely sure what he wanted Kenny to stop doing. He reached for his cellphone and dialled 911, pleading with them to hurry because he didn't know what to do. Everything was happening too fast and Craig knew this was truly a matter of life and death. His heart started palpitation so rapidly he was afraid he might choke on it.
He crawled into bed with Kenny, eyes wide as he waited for help. He pressed his ear against Kenny's chest, listening, listening, listening… until there was nothing.
Craig sat up and, in a fit of panic, pushed Kenny's limp body off the bed.
"WAKE UP!" he screamed, standing over him. "I'll… I'll love you," he tried, knowing it was in vain.
Still, nothing. Craig bent down and shook Kenny frantically, but he didn't budge. His head simply lolled back and forth. Craig stood up, in a daze. He moved towards the window and waited, sinking to his knees.
Soon, he finally heard the approaching sound of sirens wailing.
Too late.
Craig,
I'm selfish. I'm obsessed. I let you consume me, but you never intended on it. I'm sorry about that. I'm sorry there were times I acted out and tried to guilt you into loving me. You can't help the way you feel, just like I can't help the way I feel. Love is funny like that. Love is cruel, too, but I'm still glad I got to experience it and I'm glad it was you.
You were the most beautiful thing I've ever experienced. You took hold of all my senses. I tasted you, I felt you, I saw you, I heard you, I fucking breathed you in.
And I'm fucking sorry it had to end like this, but it's not your fault. I wanted to die for a long time. I think you actually helped keep me alive a little while more than I anticipated. I'm glad we were friends. I'm glad we got to share these experiences together. It made me feel a little bit less alone. I hope it made you feel that way, too.
I hope life is good to you from here on, Craig, because I don't want you to end up like me. You deserve the fucking world, so reach for it. Are you awake yet?
Love from beyond,
K. M.
Craig was once again where he started – lonely and dealing with a loss he never expected. He debated on returning to the strange mansion in the woods, but he didn't. In a moment of weakness he tried, but he couldn't find it on his own.
"According to the rumours, the mansion moves," Bebe had once told him.
"How?" Craig wondered.
"Maybe it's magic," she responded lightly.
Craig wasn't sure if she was joking or not. At the time, he dismissed her. He said he simply didn't believe in magic, but now he's not so sure. Nonetheless, he felt like perhaps this was the world's way of telling him to stop. So, he finally relented. He decided he wouldn't go back again. He wouldn't try to look for the mansion in the woods. He didn't need a place like that. He didn't need it. Or, at least that's what he kept telling himself.
Craig had just returned home from another fruitless job hunt when his sister approached him in the foyer. "Craig, you can't keep bottling things in," she said shakily, pleading for him to open up and be honest with her. "Please… just talk to me…"
"About what?" he asked flatly.
"Kenny…" she said softly. "Mom… Dad… your work… Kenny… all the things you think I don't know about, but I do! I'm not an idiot, Craig…"
Craig was once again overcome with guilt – a feeling that wouldn't seem to go away. He closed his eyes and put a hand over his mouth, letting out a rather sudden sob.
Ruby's eyes widened at her brother's uncharacteristic display of emotions. It was something she wasn't used to, but she didn't hesitate to put her arms around him.
Tears come easily now and maybe this is what Kenny was talking about when he said Craig wasn't awake. He wasn't in tune to the world around him. He wasn't in tune to his own emotions. That changed.
The funeral felt long. It was also crowded and it seemed like everyone was crying. Everyone except for Craig. He already cried. The last thing he wanted was to do it in front of a group of people – most of whom didn't matter. Most of them didn't know Kenny the way he did.
And perhaps it would have all ended differently if Craig really did love Kenny. Maybe then he'd still be alive. Then again, maybe not. Sometimes sadness can't be fixed. It's too overwhelming. All the negativity consumes you.
When the casket was lowered, Craig closed his eyes. It all began to sink in. Inside of that fancy, wooden box was Kenny's body – lying still and peaceful with eyes closed and arms folded across his chest.
Craig let out a shuddery breath. He could almost picture it. He could see it in his head – Kenny's body. It was now a memory – one that would never fade away.
"I'm so fucking sick of funerals," he murmured hoarsely once the burial was over. There was a reception being held in the community center, but Craig, Ruby and Karen couldn't bring themselves to go inside. Not yet. Instead, they sat outside. Craig lit a cigarette and Ruby didn't bother chastising him for smoking.
"Me, too," Ruby whispered.
"I'm not surprised," Karen confessed out of the blue. Her eyes were red and swollen with grief nonetheless.
"Why?" Craig pried, glancing at the brunette girl.
She shrugged and sighed. "He always lived life to the fullest, but I think it was mostly because he felt like there wasn't much keeping him here. He was never safe or sane. He was always sporadic, impulsive, fucking crazy… He felt unloved, even though he wasn't. I think if he realized that, then maybe he would have stuck around... I don't know, though. Maybe I'm just bargaining. Apparently that's one of the stages of grief."
Craig lets out a bitter laugh, taking the two girls off guard. "When I found him, I was so fucking desperate I told him I'd love him if he lived… Stupid of me."
"It's not stupid," Karen empathized.
When Craig was finished his cigarette, the three of them finally walked through the doors to the community center.
With the amount of people honouring Kenny's life, there's no doubt that he was loved.
'If only he could see this,' Craig mused to himself. 'He'd probably love this kind of attention.'
5.
Time passed.
When Clyde walked into the coffee shop, the first thing he spotted was Craig Tucker. He looked lost, the way he looked after his parents died… but this time, it was Kenny. Clyde didn't understand the nature of their relationship, but he also didn't hesitate. He approached Craig slowly and greeted him. "Hey. Long time, no see. I didn't really expect to hear from you again. Why'd you call?"
"Because you understand me," Craig responded and Clyde simply smiled. "You smile too much," Craig added stiffly.
Clyde chuckled at that. "How can someone smile too much?" he wondered. "I think it's the opposite. There aren't people that smile too much, but there are people who don't smile enough. Like you." He nodded for the shorter male to follow him and they ordered drinks, taking a seat and sipping quietly.
"How are things?" Craig asked.
"Everything is fine," Clyde responded easily, "but let's not talk about me. Let's talk about you. You want to, right? That's why you called. I'm the only person in this damn world you'll talk to. You're ready now, aren't you?"
Craig knew he was right. "It's been one of the most difficult years of my life," he confessed.
"Because of Kenny?" Clyde asked.
Craig wondered if that was true. "I don't know," he admitted. "It was just difficult… but it was a learning experience. I learned a lot about myself. I learned a lot about the emotions I used to suppress. I learned that it isn't a weakness to feel things. It can be a strength. I've learned that everything is temporary – people included. Lots of them leave. Lots of them die. It's not my fault, so I really shouldn't internalize it the way I have been. It's not fair to anyone. Pain is temporary, too… though some pain lasts longer than other kinds. No one is going to come and save me. Only I can save me. And I will… eventually. I'll try to find happiness and when I do I'll try to soak up as much of it as I can and then see how long it lasts."
"What changed?" Clyde asked, reaching across the table and holding the other man's hands.
"Everything," Craig answered. He allowed the simple contact, staring down at their entwined fingers.
Clyde nodded his head. "I'm glad to hear that."
"I'm awake," Craig finished almost deliriously.
To Clyde, the confession made no sense. Nonetheless, he simply smiled and said, "I know."
"What should I do with this?" Ruby asked, holding up the painting. She was at a loss. She had been hiding it under her bed, but she didn't want to continue keeping it a secret.
"Oh," Craig murmured with distaste. "That."
"What should I do with it?" Ruby asked again.
"Burn it," is all Craig said before retiring to his bedroom.
Ruby stared down at the painting. She felt like it was staring back at her, like his eyes followed her. She found it eerie. She put it in her largest purse and left the apartment. She walked to the McCormick residence where Karen still lived with her parents. After three firm knocks on the door, Karen allowed her inside.
"What's up?" the brunette girl asked.
Ruby held up the painting. "Want to roast some marshmallows?"
Karen smiled faintly, allowing the ginger girl in. She was still grieving and Ruby knew it.
They walked into the kitchen and out the back door, enter the backyard. Karen lit up the fire pit and Ruby tossed the painting in, allowing the flames to consume and destroy it.
"So, before I get the marshmallows, what's the story about the painting?" Karen pried.
"Honestly, I have no fucking idea," Ruby admitted.
With that, they lit a fire.
"Realistic thing, ain't it?" Karen muttered. "It makes me think about a horror story I read in school where the villain was an artist who painted portraits of people that ended up sucking the life out of them. The people just ended up disappearing and there were all these unsolved missing person cases."
"Creepy," Ruby muttered in response.
"I always wonder if shit like that is true," Karen added. "I mean, this world is home to many strange things... and this town is no exception."
Ruby nudged the other girl and shuddered. "Stop freaking me out."
After that, Craig began to feel lighter. Part of a series of burdens had been lifted. He wasn't sure if it truly had anything to do with the painting itself, or if it was simply the meaning behind its destruction. Nonetheless, he felt better.
"Craig," Ruby said the following evening. "I might have found a job for you if you're interested."
"Oh, yeah?" he asked, urging her to tell him the details.
"Um, yeah," she continued. "It's at a book shop." His face remained blank and Ruby let out a sigh. "Fine, fine. You're not into it, right? It's fine. Never mind."
"No, tell me more," he said.
"Really?"
"Yeah, tell me more," he said again, taking a step in the right direction. "I'm interested."
Ruby smiled and her whole face lit up.
.
.
.
Epilogue:
Craig took a job as a bookkeeper at Ruby's insistence. She knew it was a safe place and knowing her brother was there let her breathe a sigh of relief when she wasn't around to watch him.
"How's the job?" Clyde asked, popping in to see Craig during his break. It was something he did often. He found just as much peace as Ruby seeing Craig doing clean work.
"Fine," Craig responded simply. The money was slow in comparison to his last job, but he couldn't complain. His new job didn't come with any baggage. "I'm happy, everyone is happy."
The brunet raised an eyebrow at that. "Are you all right?"
Craig nodded. "Never been better, Clyde."
Clyde simply nodded back. "You seem to be trying, you know."
"I am," he murmured. "I wonder if he'd be proud of me, or if he'd just think I was an idiot."
Clyde smiled, feeling melancholy. "He would be proud of you," he said, because he felt it was true.
So, Craig decided to try. He'd try for Kenny until he could try for himself – no matter how long that would take. At least it was something.
Fin.