So maybe not the most Cheerful Christmas story, but hey, another chapter! And to Janazza - I've begun to question my sanity on this one too, but it's too fun to write. Wait, is that really okay? Ah well, it's interesting to see where this story takes me because even I don't know exactly how it's all going to play out. There really is so much that can be done. Hope it satisfies!
Carl was mourning, for whom, he didn't know. The anonymity of who was on the paper plate made it almost bearable when Gareth had pulled it back towards himself, picked up the meat, "Waste not, want not," and bit into it. Carl had hurled once more, his body heaving as his stomach desperately tried to force more than yellow, bitter tasting bile up. Gareth had recoiled.
"Woah," he'd given Carl a look of disgust, "Trying to eat here, kid."
Carl would have snapped back at him if he wasn't still dry heaving, stomach muscles convulsing as nothing but spit came out. He could feel a string of his own saliva gripping his chin; he wiped at it with the back of his sleeve.
His breath came out in sharp gasps, "You're… a… monster."
Gareth didn't bat an eyelash at the insult, "Maybe so, but I'd much rather be a monster than a victim."
"I'll make you pay." Carl swore, never letting his gaze waver from Gareth's.
Gareth whistled, "That's a big threat coming from a kid who pissed himself not too long ago."
Carl felt his cheeks flush, partly in embarrassment, but mostly in anger, "I mean it, you're going to pay."
"And whose going to do the collecting, you? That girl over there? …Your dad?" He asked, making a point to glance down at the barbecue still in his hand.
Carl didn't answer; he didn't have one, not yet. Gareth spoke in his place, "That's what I thought."
He put the meat back on the plate. Carl averted his gaze as Gareth wiped his fingers on his shirt and then reached into his pants. He pulled out another full water bottle and placed it in front of Carl, "Do you at least want the peas?"
"No!" He almost yelled. Gareth nodded, "Fine, suit yourself." He closed the door to the kennel, locked him in, stood, and rounded on the girl, "Now as for you missy, who told you to butt in like that?"
Gareth wasn't expecting a reply, but that didn't stop him from talking, "That was a bad, bad girl. Looks like you've forgotten your manners." Carl didn't like the way he was leering at the girl, his heart raced, anticipating what Gareth was planning to do next. He had an idea of what it would be, but he hoped he was wrong.
He wasn't. Gareth lay the plate down, discarding the grotesque meal in favor of sauntering up to the girl's cage. He knelt down in front of it, "Bad little boys and girls have to be punished."
He was opening the kennel. "Leave her alone!" Carl barked. Gareth ignored him, "Now here's what's going to happen, you're going to come out, no fuss, no fighting. If you don't," he glanced at Carl, "I'll just have him take your place. After all, it is still rude to turn down your host's food, but I'm willing to overlook that if you cooperate."
Don't use me as an excuse, Carl thought resentfully. The girl gave a small, curt nod. She was willing to cooperate. "Wait; don't listen to him," his mind panicked as she moved forward, towards Gareth, "Hey! Don't do it!"
Both Gareth and the girl disregarded his pleas. She wasn't looking at Carl at all. Ignoring the dread pooling in his stomach he feverishly called out, "I'll take her place!" He was desperate enough to want to stop her from suffering because of him, that he really was willing to take her place.
Gareth acknowledged him then, "That's very sweet of you Carl, but today it's her turn. She's had it good since you've arrived, but I'm a sucker for old favorites."
He ushered the girl out of the kennel and chuckled, "Look at you being all docile."
Gareth nodded to the Walker, "Haven't seen you so well behaved since she was still alive."
The girl stiffened again at the mention of the Walker; Carl figured they really had been friends. She allowed herself to be pulled free of the kennel by Gareth. She teetered as she stood. Gareth supported her thin frame by wrapping an arm around her waist, "Steady now."
With Gareth's arm around her Carl thought she looked dangerously skinny… and fragile, like one soft wind could knock her over and shatter her.
"Don't go with him, please," he begged. She was still wobbly on her feet, clutching onto Gareth's jacket, when she lifted her face to Carl. Her hair fell back and he saw her, really saw her, for the first time.
She was pale, gaunt, and had probably been a very pretty girl before she'd become so malnourished and dirty. No, he thought, she was still pretty, just sickly looking. Her chapped, full lips curled upwards into a tight, encouraging smile.
"Don't," his voice broke, "Not for me. I'm not worth it."
She shook her head at his words, an almost bemused expression on her face. She was telling him that he was worth it and Carl wanted to shake her and tell her all of the horrible things he'd ever done, including that one time he'd licked Carla Swanson's cupcake in first grade, out of spite, when she'd called him a fat-head.
"Let's go, you know the drill by now," Gareth said, pulling her towards the door. She stumbled along, but didn't take her eyes off of Carl until they were I front of him. She still had that unwavering smile of reassurance. It's not okay, he wanted to holler at her. You don't deserve this because of me, he almost shouted.
Instead he closed his mouth, pursing his lips together tightly. He knew his words wouldn't stop her. For whatever reason, she had decided that he was worth protecting. Carl was an only child, but he imagined this was what having a big sister would feel like. She gave off that warm, sisterly impression; she had from the start.
The door opened and the two slipped out. Carl watched, eyes growing wet, as the door slowly clamored shut behind them. He didn't want to imagine where they were headed, what would happen to her, but his mind shoved horrible pictures into view. Like a movie, they played out, each one worse than the one before.
Furious at the world, at Gareth, at her for going so easily – furious at himself for not being able to stop it – Carl screamed his frustration. He smacked his palm, then his fist, into the cage walls. He kicked viciously at the kennel door, not that it opened. He was throwing an all-out tantrum and he didn't care.
He kept kicking, punching, and screaming until his knuckles bled and his voice was hoarse. He'd managed to move the cage some, but had changed nothing overall. He did succeed in exhausting himself into an empty sort of quietness. All he could do now was wait and hope that she'd come back, intact.
Would Gareth get carried away? Would he kill her? Would he – his mouth went dry – would he try to feed her to Carl?
He tried not to think, tried to make his mind go blank, but those awful questions kept plaguing him.
It felt like an eternity before the door opened again.
Carl scrambled to the front of his cage, fingers curling around the metal. He held his breath. They were both there; the girl was upright, shuffling along. He was relieved, recalling his own limp body being carried in. Walking, that's a good sign. Or, so he thought, until she came more into the light.
Carl blanched at the fresh wounds littering her arms and legs. There were probably more under the T-shirt, but he didn't know how many or how bad they were.
The ones on her arms and legs looked grotesque and deep against her pale skin. There was one in particular that looked bad. Crimson gushed out from her wrist. Blood dribbled down her hand; a trail of it forming behind them as they came closer.
Her long hair was damp and pushed back from her face. She was staring off, eyes glazed over as if she wasn't really there. Besides the blood, she looked cleaner than she'd left. Carl knew where she'd been taken; it was the same place he had been the day before.
He hated the idea that she'd been under Gareth's watchful eyes as she bathed. He tried to ignore the unwanted memory of Gareth brushing his fingertips against Carl's skin as he'd washed. He did his damndest to forget the mouth hovering over his body before it pressed, unforgivably into his flesh.
He didn't want any of that for her. He didn't want her to feel the way he had. But it had already happened, more times for her, he knew, than he'd endured. It made him sick with anger.
His rage gave way to concern when she mewled at Gareth's rough handling as he pushed her to the cold, concrete floor.
After that, Gareth guided her into the open kennel, more gently than Carl thought he was capable of. The monster in him had been satisfied, it appeared.
She crawled in, resting against the back of the kennel once she was fully inside. She seemed so tired and out of it that Carl worried she'd lost too much blood. Gareth hadn't dressed the wound and it looked like he didn't intend to. He locked her inside. The man didn't speak to either of them as he started whistling.
Carl eyed him wearily as he gathered the discarded paper plate and left them, still whistling a happy tune. He turned his attention back on the girl; the bleeding hadn't stopped. He cleared his throat, "Are… are you okay?"
She came back from wherever her mind had been and focused her attention on Carl. She was looking at him questioningly. Maybe she hadn't heard him so he repeated his question, "Are you okay?"
The girl nodded once, but he didn't believe her. He looked down at his shirt; he could rip it with his teeth and use it as a bandage. He'd already figured out he could move the kennel if he utilized his body weight.
He was quiet for a moment, trying to figure out how best to phrase his next question. Finally he asked, "Um, could… would it be okay if I got closer?"
She was confused, but she nodded her consent. Carl slammed himself against the kennel, pushing it and himself closer to the girl. He repeated the action on until they were touching. It felt awkard to be so close to her, but it was nice too. He lifted the hem of his button down to his mouth and caught the edge of it onto his left, upper canine.
With some effort, Carl managed to poke through the material enough to force a finger into the hole. He pulled at it with all his might, ripping a long piece of cloth off. He shoved it through his cage and into hers, "Use this to bandage your wrist. We need to stop the bleeding."
She took the material and did as she was told, wincing as she pressed it to her wound. When she was done she gave a grateful nod to Carl. For his part, he nodded back, suddenly feeling embarrassed for reasons he didn't fully grasp.
Should I go back now, he wondered as silence hung between them. He was just about to scoot himself back to his original place when she slipped her fingers into his cage. He stared at them dumbly for a moment before realizing what she wanted.
He licked his bottom lip nervously before wrapping his own fingers around hers. Carl peered at her from under his lashes, making sure he'd read her intentions right. Her eyes were close, expression peaceful. He supposed he'd gotten it right; he sighed in relief. That would have been really humiliating if he'd gotten it wrong.
He settled against his own cage, fingers flexing against hers.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, unsure if she'd fallen asleep. She squeezed his fingers, in response; she was awake. "Really sorry," he mumbled again, eliciting the same response. He knew what she was saying; it was okay, she was okay. He wanted to keep apologizing, but he let it drop. Somehow, he'd make it up to her. Somehow.