"…Am I nothing?" says the flower that sits behind the rose whose petals are dark like blood and large only enough to hide this weeping sprout. "Say I am not. Please!"
Well, if that isn't something I just pulled out of my ass.
XXX
Ice
Chapter 4
XXX
For the past two years, running and hiding had been my greatest means of survival. Stealing and running and hiding. Things I had done before, but never for survival. Only for my own selfish need for an adrenaline high. But since that fateful day at the docks, since I tried to stop Kangor from killing anybody with his rifle, my greatest strength had been the fear of human civilization.
After that day, I was no longer looked at as Ferret Harrison, insane Jackass whose anti-violent streak was disrupted some years ago when someone took the life of the boy he loved…more than anything. More than he ever loved Tiffany, more than he ever loved that boy who watched him behind long brown hair, but never even talked to him. He loved him more than he loved the ocean, than he loved California, than he ever loved before or after.
Justin was my one real love, and he was taken from me. By a traitor and the man I knew as Hyde. Killed him. Bashed him. …shot him.
I tried to get there in time. I tried to save him. I tried to be there for him, but they had him cornered. Tristan Dowe, a member of the Greenhouse—a Satanic Gothic stoner gang known from here to there, to New York and California—drafted in, and betrayed us, and killed Justin. Shot him.
I nearly killed Tristan, but I left him within a mere inch of his pathetic life. He died three weeks later after being in a coma.
I remember now. Billy was his brother. But I wasn't the traitor. Tristan was. Tristan betrayed us all. He accepted his place in the Greenhouse, accepted their mark, and accepted who he was to be. He embraced it. They showed him what he had done wrong before he officially became a member. They brought him to his knees and told him to pray, since that's all he ever did that didn't hurt others like us. They made him pray. They made him stay on his knees for hours. He was not to move. Not to look at them. Not to speak anymore than the prayers. Tristan was ridden of his clothes, his respect, his humanity for weeks, for months. He had gone missing for months. They'd broken him down, made him beg, made him scream, made him bleed. In the end, they gave him their mark, and he forever accepted his place. He told them his promise. He gave himself to them. They would use him now. Use him for whatever they felt. He was theirs. He accepted. He embraced. He smiled.
I knew so much that that smile was fake. I knew so much that he was not, and would never be happy. I knew he hated himself. He hated us. He hated us for using him. I though, never used him. Never.
After all those agonizing weeks with the Greenhouse, becoming a satanic fool like them, he came back to that Christian school anew. We walked side by side, smirking our devilish smirks, making our hair and ourselves entirely black as the dark. My smile would match his, my arm would wind around Justin's slim waist, and we'd walk, with Veronica, Justin's Atheist friend, by our side, her black and purple hair held up proudly in messy pigtails, her uniform skirt deliberately cut down even shorter, completely breaking any dress code the school had to offer. Tristan seemed happy. He seemed content. He seemed complicated, just like the rest of the 'house. He mocked his fellow students, he insulted them, he hurt them verbally and he'd kill them with the glaring of his chocolate eyes. We'd walk, lips jutted in pouts, like the seductive bastards we were back then, and we'd scowl, and taunt, and kill with our glares. Piercing others in the hearts with our hate and killing them just so like that. Killing them on the inside. I remember, Tristan was very good at it.
Very good.
XXX
I felt like a sightless animal. I couldn't see past the blue and purple and yellow dots invading my vision. I couldn't recognize the pain in my arms and legs and torso and head. I couldn't comprehend anything around me. One minute, I'm in the very pit of darkness, struggling to breathe and hoping, frantically, that a giant swinging blade wasn't about to come down, swinging side to side, descending dramatically, centimeter by centimeter until it would cut across my chest and rip at my flesh until I could no longer tell reality apart anymore, and die a slow, agonizing death. And then the next minute, I'm blinded by a brilliant flash of light, and I'm struggling to see, rotating around, causing pain for my injured arm, and then, I'm falling. I was falling far down, farther than any pit I had read about. I was falling into oblivion, and then when I opened my eyes, looking fearfully about me, trying desperately to take in what had just happened to me and where I had ended up, I am shocked by the most unlikely of things. A carefree Shiv, rocking back and forth on the bed, staring down at me with a curious eye, smiling a non caring smile, and speaking to me.
"Dude, why'd you fall off the bed?"
Shiv's voice was ringing in my ears. God I wanted more than anything to rip his head off right there. Unfortunately I couldn't. I took in one agonizing breath after another as Shiv just watched me, like some suffering animal. I raised one hand to my eyes, rubbing them and then letting my fingers slide back along through my hair and grasp at my neck. My bruised muzzle scraped against the blood red carpet I'm laying upon, picking up scents I never knew of. I tasted blood on my tongue, and I swallowed it. But only a few trickles escaped through my lips and ran down to my chin. My eyes opened and closed of their own accord, neither afraid, nor fearless of my predicament. I wondered, for a fleeting moment, if I was safe. Was I safe? Was I ok? Could I now rest? I haven't rested in so long…
"Are you ok?" I hear Shiv's voice again, a bit calmer this time as he leans near me, hanging off the bed, his upper half down by me. I see his long fingers slide along the marble steps, one hand on the red carpet that covered up the center of them. I hadn't realized I'd rolled down two steps as well as hit my head on a nightstand. "Dude?" he's repeating himself. He's asking me if I'm ok. I want to slap him. Is he that blind?
A muffled mumble comes from my mouth, allowing yet another slick stream of blood to escape. I don't know where in my mouth I'm bleeding, but the taste doesn't go away. Shiv leant his head in closer, asking for me to repeat myself again. And so I do, but he still did not comprehend. I give up. I can't form speech quite yet, due to my harsh breathing and panicking mind. Eventually, Shiv slides down the rest of the way to sit by my side, prodding my tattooed bicep with a sharp finger. I shrug at it, moaning a curse word at him—though I don't really believe that a word can be cursed—and turn my head the other way, my back facing him now.
Shiv lets out an exasperated breath as he mumbles something about saving my life or some such thing related. I don't really care at the moment. Right now I just want to know where I am, if I'm finally ok.
"Can you at least sign to me, how you feel?" He asked, annoyed.
I raise one hand and slam it on the floor, though it was more or less a tap, since I'm too exhausted to raise it too far.
"Well, that explains everything," Shiv said, sarcastically. He looked down at me, arching an eyebrow in curiosity, before completely changing his mood. "Dude, you're getting blood on my carpet." He raised my head away from the floor, and my brain felt like it was getting bounced around like a pinball. I moaned in discomfort, and with a hint of relief. I'm limp in his hands as he leant me up against him and wiped the blood from my lips with his own arm. He doesn't seem to care that someone else's blood is on his own skin, but apparently, he's more concerned for his carpeting.
He held my face in one hand as I leant up against him, holding my head and gripping at his knee, which for the record I wasn't really aware of. He looked me in the eye, scrutinizing my battered features before letting me go, allowing me to just lean upon his side. "You are fucked up."
I clenched my eyes shut as my breathing slowed enough for me to let out my one simple response to him. "No…shit."
XXX………………………………
We sat there against the bed, my head fallen back against the mattress. "Where am I?" I asked, groggily.
"Gummer's Tomb," Shiv said enthusiastically. "Used to be my late uncle's old crack house, but after he died, we turned it into our teen hangout and now…well, I finally came up with the money to make my own hotel. I'm hopin' I can get this all finished within the next year. Only got three floors done."
I surveyed the room, my eyes wandering slowly due to the extreme headache I was suffering. It was, to be honest, quite an attraction. Let's face it, Shiv was a far more successful dealer than the rest of the drug pushers in the city.
"Yeah. Hotstreak was wondering why I put you in a suite and I'm all like, dude, compared to what this place is gonna be in the future, this room is gonna look like a crappy ho-motel room. And it is." He eyed me, smiling. I just averted my attention to his long-sleeved Shady shirt. I hadn't registered yet that Shiv's arm was around my shoulders, forcing me to be even closer to him. But I caught on eventually and quickly eyed his hand on my right shoulder. He just giggled before reaching over my head to the nightstand where he grabbed a glass of ice water, which was half gone. "Need a drink?"
I took it greedily and all the blood in my mouth seemed to wash away and I felt a fuck load better.
"Jeeze, you musta been through hell huh?"
"You have no idea," I mumbled, setting the glass down lazily.
"Yeah, Kangor told us what happened." His eyes seemed to change in emotion when he recalled this, as if he was actually feeling sympathy for me. "Man that is beyond fucking cruel."
"Slow death is crueler," I said lowly, my eyes staring off to nothing, the song Paint it Black from Twisted Metal Black—That was a great game. Don't remember who sang it though—suddenly making itself apparent in my mind. I always thought that song, while good, was still a bit creepy.
"Yeesh, you're morbid," Shiv said, his smile coming back. "Talk like you're from the Greenhouse or something."
I would have mentioned that I was a part of it, but I decided to stay silent. No need to raise heads, right? Especially with a satanic gang like them.
"Can you walk?" Shiv asked.
I took a long breath, blowing it out slowly before putting a hand to the wound in my leg. It'd been mended better, with bandages around it. I felt suddenly, way, way better than I had before. I was safe. I was sure.
I nodded my head, a sudden smirk forming on my lips. There was suddenly an upside.
"Great," Shiv said as he quickly stood up, holding his hand down for me. I hesitated before grasping it, allowing him to pull me to my feet. I was still suffering the after effects of a beat down, a little sore, but I was capable of walking for a while. "Why don't you take a shower then? Then, you can come down for a little breakfast. Plus, we got like, an unlimited supply of painkillers." He started to pull me out of the room. My mind was swimming. How can these people be so lucky? How can they? The emptiness in my chest seemed to fade away, leaving me to feel rather warm and—I'm afraid to say—a little giddy. Finally, I was happy.
XXX
Hot water hitting my face and sore body brought me to Heaven. Once again I mention that place. Maybe I should just say Fiddler's Green from now on, yeah? But it truly was something. I hadn't had this feeling in so long. The shower water washed away the dirt and the blood and the pain. I'd found the reason for my bloody mouth and quickly relieved myself from it. I ran my fingers through my now clean hair and slid them along my ribcage, wincing slightly, but knowing I'd be all good a couple more days. My immunity and natural healing was far stronger than that of the normal human being, even before the Big Bang. I broke my leg one summer over in California, and after the doctor saying it may take a few months, it only took a couple of weeks to heal. I was sure that my body would be good in no time. Ok, I hope.
I'm not always so sure of things anymore. I'm never sure when my next meal will be or where it will come from. I'm never sure whose going to come after me, or whose going to use me, or whose going to kill me. I was no longer sure of hope, sure of life; sure of anything. I was only sure that I was alive and that I was, for a small moment in my life, content. …was I alive? Are we alive now? Are we dead and living in what people call Hell? Great, another theory loose from my head. Now I'll be thinking about that for weeks. Damn.
I sigh, rubbing my bruised torso with my clawed fingertips, smiling as I leant my head up against the tile wall, closing my eyes, wondering when this dream would end, and hoping that it wouldn't.
"Hey!" I yelp in surprise—yet again—and look to my side where the ever eager Shiv is standing, the shower door slid aside. My hand is on my heart for a moment, to make sure it's still beating and that this…dumbass hasn't given me a heat attack before glaring at him, annoyed. That's twice in one hour. "I got ya clean clothes and…stuff." He left me with an eager smile of his and I hung my head in agitation. Was I really happy? Was I going to be? Shiv was not going to ruin my "life in heaven" streak.
When I pulled on a pair of holy blue jeans I caught a glimpse of myself in the full length mirror on the door. I was sick. I don't remember that scar being there before. I trace a finger over it as it runs across the black sun I have tattooed on my chest, the design compliments of my late girlfriend Tiffany Stone. Around it I had my last name. I'm completely blue and purple and black and yellow. I watched myself in the mirror, scrutinizing the marks, my skinniness, my sickly image. I remember that scar on my stomach, from when Tiffany died and I hated myself for it, for apparently not making her happy enough, not loving her enough. …But that was all in the past. No need to bring it up.
I don't want to look at myself any longer and pull on the black Atticus t-shirt Shiv had left me before seeing him once again, not caring to knock and just waltzing right in.
"Ok, you have an MP3 player but no batteries. What is up with that?" he held the player out to me to take it. I'd kept it for a while now. I'd listened to it every time I stole a pack of AAA batteries. I took the MP3 away from him and placed it into my pocket. It was full of songs none of these guys would listen to anyways. "I also found…this." Shiv brought up a small square of green paper. It was a one dollar bill folded beyond recognition. "I can't get it open." He started to fiddle around with it before I swiped that away from him too.
"You're not supposed to."
"Than what's the use having a dollar than if you can't spend it?"
I shrugged, not bothering to answer. There really was no right or wrong answer, but I didn't feel explaining my explanation of why I had an unspent dollar.
"And, whose Tyra Hall?" He pulled out the paper Tyra had given me with her phone number on it. "She a fuck buddy of yours or what?"
I didn't think my hand could move so fast, but it did, and I quickly shoved her number into a pocket, my gaze to the floor before I turned back round to the mirror above the sink, sighing as I saw myself. God, not only was my face covered in bruises and scratches, but it was the fact that it was…how it was. I mean…I looked like a horse. I horse with buck teeth. I covered them with my lips though, looking away, silently cursing myself for ever being so anti-war and trying to stop Kangor. I felt Shiv behind me, felt his eyes on my image in the mirror, of me down on myself over nothing I could prevent. I watched him rest his chin on my shoulder, and I wondered why was Shiv so touchy feely? Maybe he was just like that. But it made me feel uncomfortable, that is, until for some reason, he embraced me. Now, I have never had any kind of relationship with this man. I barely even knew him. All I knew was, he was a drug dealer, he had a nice car, he had a nice bike, and he was very popular. And I was more than sure that he knew anything about me. Then why the fuck were his arms around my body? I didn't know. But then again, one of my friends was the same way. She'd hug anyone. Man, a lot of weird unpredictable things were happening today, weren't they?
"Why are you shaking?"
I hadn't noticed. I was too caught up in my own mind to realize what my body was doing. I suddenly realized, I was liking the feeling of somebody holding me. I wasn't holding any affection for Shiv or anything, but just the feeling was getting me to relax. It was just like when Kangor ran his hands through my hair before. It was comforting.
"You scared or something?" I saw his eyes in the mirror. Yes. I was scared. His eyes alone were sending me into another state of fear. "Come on. It's not like I'd pull a knife on you." He paused, and then, before I knew it, he had created a small blade in his hand and held it up to my throat. "Or would I?"
That did it. I pulled away from him, fear reminding me again of what Shiv could have done. I started out of the room, tripping, and, realizing I had no chance of escaping him, curled into a ball, sobbing into my arms. I wasn't trying to cry, but I just couldn't stop the tears. I covered my head with my arms, hoping that maybe I could dig myself into the floor and disappear. But I couldn't, and when I heard him approaching me, I cowered away.
"Dude, I didn't mean it." He actually sounded sorry. No. I couldn't believe him. Tristan also sounded innocent. He wasn't. Shiv wasn't sorry at all. He wanted to hurt me. He wanted to make me bleed. He wanted to see me dead just like everyone else. "Man, I'm sorry." I almost fell for it.
He put a hand on my shoulder. His eyes no longer looked demonic, but actually sympathetic. Yeah right. He wanted to hurt me. He was just a very good liar. But I couldn't ignore his caresses on my bare skin. I couldn't ignore his innocent looking eyes. And my tears slowed.
"I'm sorry," I said, trying to stop crying. "It's just…shit. I…I don't flipping know. Everyone just wants to…hurt me."
"Ferret." I didn't think he knew my name, or at least could remember it. "It was just a joke. I do it all the time."
"You don't need to." God, I was so angry with him. Maybe he didn't actually try to hurt me, but he sure did hit a very bad spot.
"I didn't try to scare you or anything. I was just…being me?"
"I hate you." I think it was more of a sarcastic comment when I said it. "Just don't ever do it again."
"Look, this place is a safe house. Besides, who would want Ferret Harrison dead? I mean, you're washed up now, but man, you left a mark on the business district."
Well, he did know who I was.
"Come on, anyone who tags up Alva Industries, along with the guy's house, is ok with me. Wouldn't you consider that a good thing?"
He had a point. Being in with one of the best business men in the city was a very great honor…or at least a good thing. "Just don't ever do it again."
"Great." I saw that trademark smile of his once again, that glint back in his eyes. "Now. How bout some breakfast."
That brought my spirits up, and almost made me forget about our little incident.
XXX
Goodbye.
