Chapter 8
To Blue Feather Pegasus: Don't say that about the Mafia yet, y'all don't know everything yet. Also, yes, you were correct about the whooping.
To TheAngelicPyro: Yes, that is really fucked up, that was the overall goal. I'm also glad to see that you also dislike Max's 'creators', they are rather shit.
To Guest(1): At some point yeah, probably. Can't say who tho.
To Hegemone: Same. Also, how do you pronounce your name, I have a couple of different versions in my head. My favourite is "hedge-ee-mone-ay".
To Guest(2): Thanks, I also think this is awesome, and that's only with a little bit of bias. I hope this update was quick enough.
To Cam: I'm also happy with the twist, it's been fairly well received on here and on AO3. I pondered the idea of having it be the Wood-Scouts briefly but thought that this would be way too severe for something like a hostile rivalry. Stealing a teddy-bear is one thing, assault and optical murder is a completely different school of fish. Also, I don't yet know about Max regaining sight at any point. Leave it with me.
To Wellimherenow: I'm glad you think this is well written. I'm also glad that I'm being fairly realistic with this. If you don't mind, could you tell me what I'm doing wrong in regards to portraying a blind character? I don't know any blind people to ask myself and I'd be very grateful.
To Sage: Thanks a lot! I hope this update was timely enough for you ;)
When Max woke up the first thing he felt was the pain. It was a deep, sharp pain that stung and ached to the point that merely waking nearly drove him to tears again. It was across his back, his ass, his legs, arms and even his hands and feet.
The woman's warning didn't go unfulfilled. Her husband did take the belt to him, long and hard. It started almost immediately after the maybe-Russian man, Emile, left. He felt his arm get pulled and could tell what was going to happen, as angry as he was, but he didn't make it easy. He kicked and punched and shouted curses. He even bit the man when he tried to pull his hoodie off. That earned him a solid smack to the jaw. He could feel one of his teeth wobble after that, but he was pretty sure it was a baby-tooth, so it didn't bother him that much.
He didn't care that he was stripped, he was too pissed to care, even when the leather bit into him, he just kept yelling insults and curses at the man.
"Fucking cunt" and "Stupid bastard" were his choruses.
Even when the belt started to bleed him, he didn't let up. Neither of them did. Max used the pain, it fuelled him, made him angrier and angrier until he was certain his head would burst from how much he wanted to kill the man. It was good, it was what he needed. He needed to feel angry. He didn't know what else he could feel right now.
When it finally stopped Max was even more furious than before. The pain and wetness of his own blood made him growl and curse long after there was no-one there to hear him. He didn't move. His body wouldn't let him even if he wanted to. He let the blood clump into scabs, and his piss soak the mattress. He didn't care.
He didn't plan on moving, not for hours, not for days, maybe even years. He'd waste away on that bed long before his mood sweetened. It was only when an idea came to him did he find the will to stand.
Every part of him begged for him to stop, to lie down and be content with rest. He wouldn't listen to them. He needed to do this, if he didn't then he wouldn't be able to live with himself.
The carpet in the hall felt softer on his feet than the stuff in his room. This was new, and he was certain that his room hadn't been the least bit updated since before he was born. That didn't matter though. The only thing that was important was his plan.
The kitchen tiles were cold, but they were good, so very good. He bumped into the table, then the fridge, then the oven. Yes, this was exactly where he wanted to be. The cutlery drawer was next to the oven, if he remembered right, and the light jingle that sounded out when he pulled the handle told him so.
He felt around the cold steel, looking for something sharp, something long. He felt around the sides, and felt a long, thick piece of metal between his fingers. He squeezed it, just to make sure it was good for what he needed to do. His broken skin told him it was. He gripped the handle and pulled it out, causing a clanking ruckus as he did. Good, he wanted them to know he was coming.
He felt the new hallway carpet on his feet, walked past his own bedroom, past the bathroom, and up to the door he knew was theirs. The knob was in the same spot as his own. Their carpet felt as old as his did, but a bit thicker.
He couldn't hear them breathing. Maybe there was a god, and it had seen fit to judge them by killing them itself. If that was true, then Max cursed that god with everything he had. They were his to kill and his alone.
He bumped into the bed and held the blade out in front of him. He felt it meet…air. He crawled onto the bed, onto the flat, cold covers and slashed his metal out in front of him. Nothing. Then he remembered something else. This bed would go many nights unused because those two fell unconscious on the couch.
Cunts.
Here they were, doing more stuff they couldn't afford while Max was already suffering because of their old dept. Fuck that bitch especially, trying to kill that growth in her stomach before it could even comprehend itself. At least she was consistent.
He felt the new carpet again, then he found the old stuff that lay in the living room. He felt around for the old couch and found it. Again, he couldn't hear their breathing but as he ran his hand over the couch his hand felt something sticky. He smelled it. It was bitter and stung his fingers. Was this their purchase of the week?
He moved along, his hand touching something cold and small. Realizing that those 2 weren't in the house, he growled and balled his hands into fists. That was a mistake. The cold thing he found on the couch shattered as he pressured it, sending spikes of sharp pain through his already welted fingers. Out of instinct he dropped the knife and brought his hand to his mouth. He tried to suck the sting away, but the shards of small glass were embedded in his skin, and the bitter, sticky substance made his taste buds shrivel in terror.
He screamed. Not out of any great amount of pain, but out of frustration. He'd finally found it in himself to off those 2 fuckers, but it was just his luck that they were out doing god knows what. He hoped they had gone to beg Emile to do something about their dept and got leaded instead.
If not though, he'd better take care of his hand and wait for them, pounce on them and stab them when they didn't expect it. That would be fair, wouldn't it? A life for each eye they took from him.
But it wouldn't be a life for an eye, would it? The bitch was pregnant, so it'd be 3 for his 2 eyes.
No.
That thing probably didn't even have a brain yet, did it? Why should he feel bad for something that couldn't even perceive itself? He would be doing it a favour, ridding it of those 2 sorry excuses for humans that styled themselves with the title 'parents'.
He was saving it years of torment.
This only made him wish that there was someone before him, who would've done him the kindness he was about to do that growth.
The glass punctured his skin, drawing only a few drops of blood. Well, he could consider them additions to what he was already sporting on the backside of his body.
After pulling out the small sharps he went to his knees, feeling around for the steel, but as he did, he felt his fingers drag along the carpet, as if they were falling asleep while the rest of his body stayed awake.
His knees gave out as well, forcing him to lie on his side. He tried to push himself up, but his joints trembled under any pressure. Then it clicked. It must be the sticky stuff he touched on the couch. He'd licked it from his fingers.
He tried to get up again, but it was just as in vain as before.
His eyelids began to droop as well, his mind's eye blurring and the living room beginning to ring like an angelus bell. His body didn't feel like it worked anymore. He could still feel it well and good, but if he tried to move anything, that part of him would then fall apart like jelly.
The carpet was very rough, Max noticed, but not unpleasant. It was like a dog with coarse fur was rubbing up against him. He would rather it stopped but was willing to put up with it because dog. He really liked dogs, though he never owned one.
"It'd be too much fuckin' hassle."
That's what he was told when he asked. He was 6 then and was very jealous of his classmate's big, fluffy German-Shepard. When he promised that he'd look after the dog's every need, pick up his shit, take him for walks, bathe and brush him he was scowled at by the woman.
"You can't do anything by yourself, what makes you think that you'd be able to look after another animal. Besides, you're enough hassle for this house all by yourself."
He'd gone to bed angry that night, angry with his "Mom" for not letting him get a dog, and angry with his classmate for getting to have a dog when he didn't. Even when he came home from school the next day to find his old teddy-bear waiting on his bed, stitched-up, re-stuffed and repaired, he was still angry. When he went to bed he had something to hold on to, and that made things a little better.
He wanted that bear again, he wanted to hold it and bury his face in it. He wanted to stop being angry. But he couldn't do that. He was stuck on the floor, trapped in his own body, left to fester and rot in his own self-sustained pool of emotions.
Gwen then popped into his mind. He remembered the time she rescued the bear from the Wood-Scouts and held it out of his reach after he was so close to getting him back. He followed her around, not saying anything just in case she took him away again. Bitch. Then she threw the bear at him, calling him 'Satan' and telling him to eat shit. The worst part was that she revealed that he had a teddy-bear at the age of 10.
Yeah, he was laughed at, but that wasn't the worst of it. He couldn't look at the bear for nearly a week afterwards, so he just left it on the ground where it landed. Through rain, sun and violent camp activities Mr. Honey-Nuts lay on the ground taking all the abuse. He slept uneasily for that week, knowing that if he just went outside and picked him up, he could have his best-friend back. But he couldn't. What if Neil or anyone else saw him with it. He'd never be able to live it down.
It was the morning after when he saw that the bear had been moved, taken or swept away. His gut plummeted. That was it. When the Wood-Scouts took him, he knew that he'd never see him again, but then Gwen brought him back. That wasn't going to happen a second time.
When he went to his tent that night he did so with the knowledge that he would never see his bear again. But he did. Right there on his bed was Mr. Honey-Nuts, fur clean, stitches fresh and solid, an eye still missing but he didn't care, and best of all, a big smile was sewn onto his mouth. He quickly shoved the bear into the chest at the end of his bed, not wanting Neil to know he had it back.
He slept well that night, knowing that Mr. Honey-Nuts was just feet away.
The next day, when everyone else was busy Max snuck back to his tent and took out his bear again, inspecting it for any tears or holes. There were none. Everything was fixed, not a seam out of place. He recognised the stitch-work right away. Nearly everyone had something like it on at least one piece of clothing. It was David's, there was no doubt. The man fixed any tear he came across.
David. Now that was an interesting person. Max quickly became obsessed with trying to break his façade of abject happiness. No-one could possibly be that up-beat all the fucking time. He had to have a breaking point, and Max was determined to find it. But he never did. Even at his worst David was earnest when he spoke. Never lying and always doing what he thought was right. Max couldn't stop testing him though, not until he was certain.
Then camp ended, and he was sure his question was answered. David was the most genuine, good person he had ever met. Yeah, he pushed the man away when he wanted a goodbye hug, but he did give a slight smile. He deserved that at least for how he tried with Max. That was more than he could ever say for his "parents".
David, with his dark-brown hair, and…blue eyes?
That didn't sound right at all, but it was the only image that appeared in Max's mind's eye.
He knew David was tall, tall enough for Max to scale and slap him, and very lanky. But what did he look like? He had the 'hair-floof', that was easy to picture, but what colour was it? Brown, right? It had to be. Yes, he was being stupid, David had brown hair.
He was in that diner again, sitting across from David after abandoning Campbell's show. David's mouth was moving but no words were coming out. Then Gwen came back with the pizza, and when Max blinked, she was gone, and David was speaking again.
This time his words were muffled, as if said through a woollen wall. Gwen came back again, Max blinked, and she was gone.
David's words were clearer now, he could almost make them out. His ears strained. He didn't want to miss a single syllable.
When Gwen came back again, he blinked as before, but his eyes didn't open this time. They didn't open for a long time and David's voice became more and more muffled.
No.
He needed to hear those words! He strained his ears, but the voice went farther and farther away until it sounded like a light gust of wind.
The empty void he shared with the voice collapsed and Max was shaken back into reality, a splitting headache greeting him. The first thing he noticed was the vice-like grip on his upper arm. It was so tight that he thought his arm would break before long. The smells let him know who it was that stirred him. Jack Daniels and tobacco. It was them.
"W-why the hell are-are you passed fuckin' out on the floor you li-little bastard?"
The man's words were slurred, and his breath reeked so bad it made Max's nose cringe.
Then red-hot rage flooded Max's body again, memories finally returning to him.
"Fucking bastard!" He shouted, swinging his arm around to find the knife and do what he meant to. "Stupid cunt!"
He was dropped, falling on the scabbed lines on his ass. He hissed but powered on, feeling around for the steel. Pressure was pushed down onto his back, forcing him onto his stomach and winding him. The rubbery sole of the shoe dragged and tugged at the swollen welts, nearly forcing a groan out of Max.
"Th-this what you're lookin' for?" The man asked.
"I don't fucking know, I can't see it you asshat."
"This st-steak-knife."
Max let out an animal-like growl.
"Wh-what were you go-gon-gonna do with it?" The man burped.
Max knew, he knew beyond a doubt that the truthful answer would get him in deeper shit than he'd ever been in before. The urge to say it, purely to spite the bastard was strong, so strong and so bursting that he sneered a goblin's smile just at the thought.
"Well?"
He hadn't answered for a solid minute. The man's boot on his back lifted and the springs of the couch were strained. Then there was snoring. Max pushed himself up debating whether to try and take the knife back and slit the man's throat. Maybe he'd stab him in the eyes, a poetic ending to this if ever there was one.
A raspy voice broke the silence, startling Max out of his thoughts.
"Go take a shower. You smell like piss." She spoke quietly, and she seemed to be standing on the other side of the room.
Max sneered at her.
"Go fuck yourself. The both of you just go straight to hell."
If she took issue with that she didn't make it known. Even if she did, Max wasn't paying attention as he traced the path back to his room.
She did at least have a point, he did smell of piss. His room did too. Then he remembered, he'd pissed himself during the belting. Or maybe it was after. He didn't care either way. He was still naked too. He didn't care about that either. You get embarrassed if people see you naked. Those 2 don't fit the profile.
He did end up showering, not to please the woman but so he wouldn't hafta put up with the smell. The hot water stung his back and ass, but there was some sort of relief to that pain. He couldn't really tell why, there just was. Later he pulled the sheets from his bed and put them in the small room with the washing machine.
What time was it? Max asked himself. He didn't know how long he'd been out for. For all he knew it was Friday already, and he was missing his classes with Walter. And then his rage ebbed.
Walter, the 'David' of home. He cared, he dedicated his life to helping people like them. Damien too. His thoughts flashed back to Ered's gay dads. He pined for that, just as he did after his last bad belting. They didn't even hafta be 2 gay dads, they could be 2 gay moms, or maybe just one. He could get that, couldn't he? All he had to do was go to the police, or any sane adult, and show them what that man did to him. That'd get him taken away and them put in prison.
But where would he be then? Would Walter and Damien swoop in? Probably not. Who wanted to adopt a 10-year-old at all, let alone one with fucked eyes and the personality of a rotten cat corpse. David was an exception, not the rule. Not everybody would be so quick to try with him like David was. They'd just send him back. That would be his life until he was 18 and he was legally obligated to fend for himself.
But would that be a better fate?
The way it was now this whole thing was going to end one of 3 ways.
One; he'd kill those 2 and be taken away to be analysed and tested for insanity by the government. Two; they kill him, they go to prison. Probably. Three; Emile and his crowd kill those two, and Max goes into the system anyway. Or maybe they'd continue to 'make an example' of him until he was nothing but a brain in a broken jar.
In any case, he was fucked.
That was what Max thought about until the alarm clock went off. He sat up, debating whether to put pants on or not. He did, eventually, and left the house with his cane in hand. He'd throw himself out of the car door if he was trapped in there with the woman.
He knew the route to the school by memory. Down the street, take a left, go on past McDonalds, take a right and go straight down the road, another left and a 5-minute walk and you were there. When he wasn't sure he listened for the gaggling groups of children and congested traffic.
He was there, he knew by the sounds, and followed a voice he vaguely recognised from his class. She was the Irish one, but sounded absolutely nothing like Damien. She was easy to follow, her voice sticking out and piercing to his ears.
Class was a pain in the ass. Literally. The welts had swollen and hurt no matter what way he angled his cheeks. He didn't speak and wasn't called upon once.
The recess bell was the sweetest sound he heard all day. Finally, it was time to see Walter.
When Max was about to open the door to Walter's office he heard talking on the other side and stayed his hand. He put his ear up against the wood and strained. He heard the Liam Neeson-esque voice that definitely belonged to Damien, along with Walter's more gentle tone.
He pushed the door open, tired of waiting for the two to finish. Damien was the first to greet him.
"Ah, Max. We were wondering when you'd show up."
"Well I made it, didn't I?" He snarked.
"Aye, you did."
"Don't worry Max, he won't be staying long. Right, Damien?" Walter said, using a slightly colder tone to address his husband.
Damien didn't speak for half a heartbeat, but the silence was louder than anything Max had heard all day, besides Maybe the alarm clock.
"Aye, aye I will be. But first, I've something to give you, Max my boy."
"Oh?" Max's curiosity was piqued.
"Here." He felt Damien's body heat as he got closer, and then something cold and hard pushed gently into his free hand. He let the cane fall to the ground and held the thing in both hands. It was small enough, but bigger than both hands. Flat, smooth, rectangular with a pair of buttons on one side.
"It's a…phone?" He guessed, not wanting to presume.
"Tis." Damien answered, a chuckle lightly held behind his words. "Very, very handy. We've installed all the latest software and operating systems to make it optimal for your use. In fact, Walt here has one just like it."
"Mine's a bit older actually, but I know how to use it so-"
"So you're too stubborn to change." Damien offered, chuckling. "Anyway, there's a TalkBack feature on the phone, one of the best out there. Just ask Siri a question and she'll answer it. It's better than the default if nothing else."
Max didn't know what to say. Here he was, being given what was probably a brand-new iPhone by these people he knew for barely a month. Hell, he only met Damien yesterday. What did he say in a situation like this? Of course he wanted the phone, and yeah it would be useful, but it seemed like too much.
"I…"
"Give it a try." Walter urged.
"Um…hey Siri?"
There was a quick double-beep followed by a feminine voice.
"Yes, what can I do for you?"
"Wow." Max said, barely a whisper under his breath.
"You'll want to personalise the settings, Max." Damien said, placing a hand on Max's shoulder.
He tensed, moved away and dropped the phone. For just an instant he thought he was in a dream, and that hand woke him like a bucket of ice-cold water and he was in that man's clutch again. When he felt no change and heard only the 2 men's breathing he knew that he was wrong.
His teeth clenched. How had he been so unnerved so easily, just by a gentle touch to the shoulder. This man was actually being kind to him and was trying to help him and he was repaid with scowls and disrespect.
"Sorry." Max muttered, getting to his knees and feeling around for the phone.
"Don't worry about it." Damien said, putting his hand over Max's and helping him up. The phone was put in his hand again. "I know you can be easily frightened when you're not completely used to feeling your surroundings with everything but your eyes."
"Yeah." Max said, clinging to the excuse. "Thanks, I mean. This wasn't…expensive, was it?"
He heard a guffaw from Walter. "That man over there doesn't even know the meaning of the word. 'Extravagant' is his preferred word."
"Well pardon me, but I didn't hear you complaining when Miguel was rubbing the cricks out of your back when we stopped in Spain on our way home." Damien said, donning a half-defensive tone.
"Not the point." Walter said, huffing, but Max could swear he heard a smile on the man's lips.
"Honestly," Damien directed his voice at Max. "he's turning into my mother."
"Well I hope so, Sarah is a wonderful woman!"
"See, only me Ma would say she's a wonderful woman." Damien laughed, followed shortly by Walter. "Back to your question Max my boy, don't worry about the cost of anything. Our coffers are deep enough."
"Oh, okay." He was still at a loss for words with more than 2 syllables. "Thanks. Again."
"Don't mention it." Damien gave him a lighter touch on the shoulder this time. "Anyway, I'd best be off, leave you two to your lessons." Damien left Max's side, going towards where he heard Walter was.
"I'll see you at dinner?" The Irishman asked in a semi-whisper. There was a pause, but Walter eventually replied.
"Yes."
"Very good!" Then the quick and small sound of a kiss went through the room, and Damien was quickly at the door. "Slán libh."
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