Part Five
Legals: Same
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Pietro shuddered a little as he forced the door open, gasping for breath. His entire body hurt. Part of him just wanted to fall over in the middle of the hallway, just die in the hall. Let the others worry about him in the morning. He'd be past all of this. Everything would be nice and simple again. No more fucking agony.
But he had what he needed, a nice roll of bills for Lance, to stop the questions of why he was out so late, and twenty beautiful little vials in his bookbag, calling out to him already. Just a few more minutes. Only a few more. He was almost to the safety of his room. He could do everything there... Just had to remember to lock his door.
Sure enough, Lance was there. Sitting on the couch, watching an infomercial about the burnless grill or something like that. It didn't matter. The television clicked off the moment he looked in the room. Lance sat up, "Sit down."
He didn't bother arguing, just did as he was told, arms crossed over his chest in an almost indignant fashion as he waited for the other boy to begin. But Lance just watched him with steady dark eyes, waiting for something. Pietro fidegted a little in the chair, suddenly anxious. He hated when talks began like this. "What do you want?"
His friend sighed, "I want you to tell me what's wrong."
That was it? What's wrong? *Well, let's see here...I am a herion addict at the ripe old age of sixteen. I also enjoy men, not woman. I don't find them in the least bit sexy. And, as of tonight, I am an under-aged prostitute. Twenty-five bucks for a blow job!* "Nothing's wrong. It's cool."
The dark eyes flashed a little, angry, "You're lying."
"No, I'm not. I'm just tired. I've been working at the Center too much this week." He pulled the wad of bills out from his pocket, ignoring the disgusted feel he had when this kind of money touched his hands. He didn't want to think about how much he'd made that night. He just wanted to go upstairs. "Here."
The older boy watched him put the cash on the table, "Rogue said there's something wrong with you, that you're in some kind of trouble."
"I'm perfectly, absolutely, one-hundred-fucking-percent fine, Alvers." Pietro glared, suddenly very pissed at Rogue. Sure, she was Lance's girlfriend, his perfectly goth and female girlfriend, and sure she'd seen inside his head after Asteroid M and all that bullshit. She still had no right to go and tell Lance anything about him. This was his life to ruin, damnit.
"Pietro...She's worried about you." There was a beat, Lance shifting in his seat on the couch, "We're all worried about you."
"There's nothing to be worried about." He forced himself to close his eyes. One more look at Lance with that...expression, that concern on his face, and the whole story would just tumble out. He'd worked too long and too hard and given up too much to let that happen.
There was another long moment of silence before Alvers stood, "I guess there isn't, is there? Go to bed, Pietro. I'll see you in the morning."
The white-haired mutant nodded, running up the stairs as fast as he could and slammed his bedroom door, grabbing the bag of vials out from the back-pack. He jabbed the needle, then out, and then into his skin, calming as the familiar constricting of tissue and vien hit him, comforting him as he shook, putting the supplies away.
Pietro rested his head against the pillow, still shaking. He would not cry. He would not cry...But memories of the night, the entire horrible night overwhelemed him. He only had the dignity to put the blanket over his head before silent tears leaked down over his face and onto the pillow.
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He leaned against her locker, watching the crowds pass. Rogue had been right; he had to hand it to her. There was something wrong. Pietro never in his entire time working for the center brought home more than thirty bucks. Last night, he'd given Lance nearly a hundred.
"I'm telling you! We can't fight them if they're like that! That's sick!" Evan was carrying on, making motions to Kurt and Rogue about something. Both seemed more than a little disgusted with their friend.
"Vhat I can say is disgusting is dat you seemed to think that ve should treat them different because--"
"He KISSED me!" The hallway went silent, every eye on Evan. Lance snorted a little. Real smooth. That's just the type of thing to go shouting in the middle of a highschool.
Rogue saw him, using it as an excuse to get the hell away from Evan, "Hey."
"Hey."
She spun the knob on her locker, "How is he?"
"Rogue, you have to tell me what's going on with him...Last night...It wasn't Pietro when he came in that door. He looked..." The way to describe the other boy escaped him. All he could clearly remember were his hollow eyes and the defeated, almost dead look to his face.
She stopped, looking at him, "Ah...Lance, he has a problem."
"I'm not blind. I can see that. What is it? Is he anorexic or something? He's stopped eating. Yesterday, I made him eat. You know what he did?"
Rogue bobbed her head, "He threw it up before you left."
"He...How did you know?" He watched her for a moment. She closed her locker, then leaned against it, hugging her books to her chest. He could hear Kurt breathing behind him, watching him as if Lance was actually going to hurt Rogue.
"Aren't you guys going to get to class?" Summers. Wonderful. He ground his teeth, turning away from his "girlfriend" and facing his geeky counterpart.
He frowned at him, "I have better things to do than sit in there and listen to that wonderful psychobabble, thanks."
"Rogue, Kurt, you mind..." Summers waved his hand to the two. Rogue looked at Lance for a moment, and in that moment he hated Scott more than ever. She'd been so close to just saying it. What was bothering Pietro. What was killing him. But no, Summers here had to come and fuck things over. Just like always.
"What do you want? Tell me the joys of going to class or maybe the importance of learning. Which one will it be?"
The shades stared on unchanged, but Lance could almost sense the boy's growing uneasiness as he fought for the right words, "Leave Pietro alone...He's going through something that you wouldn't be able to help him with." That threw him. Why did all the X-freaks know about Pietro's "problems". They didn't come from Rogue. He knew her well enough that the memories she absorbed stayed in her mind, unless they'd been hand picked from her mind.
"You don't know what you're talking about." Lance shoved him a little, trying to get past.
Scott shoved him back, away from Rogue, away from the truth, "Yeah, I do. If he wanted you to know the truth, don't you think he'd let you know?"
Shove. "Knock it off, Summers. He's got a problem. He needs help."
Scott's fist connected with Lance's stomach, stopping him for a moment, just a moment, "His 'problem' can't be helped. It's just the way he is."
The ground shook only slightly before he launched himself at Summers, fist flying to Scott's jaw. Which was responded to by a kick to the shin, and then an elbow into the stomach, and so forth. The red sunglasses shattered, a force beam singeing Lance's shoulder before he closed his eyes. It was a rotten, nasty thing to do, to take advantage of the fact that Summers could only blindly fight back, but he just didn't care, letting his frustrations out on Scott's body as the other boy only swung back blindly, rarely inflicting any damage.
Some one grabbed his arms, wrenching him away from Scott as another person pulled Summers back. He blinked, trying to calm himself, breath escaping in slow, even breaths before he pushed away from the person who held him, Fred, glaring at Scott and Jean, trying to keep the sneer from his face. "If he dies because of your bullshit, Summers, I'll make sure that you're the one who pays. Got it?"
Scott didn't say anything, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. The other boy tossed him one last glare before stomping away, ignoring the tortured expression on Todd's face.
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The house was quiet when he woke up, raising his head from the pillow. It was later than he'd expected, though he had the strangest dream of Lance coming in and shaking him to get up. Time to go to school. Looking at the clock again, he decided that it couldn't have been a dream. 1:06 and already his day was in hell.
Calendar check. Wednesday. Which meant a lovely little jaunt to the Center for some one on one counselling with that...lady. Great. First he had to get past Lance and Todd and Fred. Then he had to show up, or face the dreaded phone call. And he was pretty sure showing up high wasn't exactly accepted by the shrink lady.
He frowned, rolling his eyes as he forced himself into the bathroom. His hair was sticking up all over the place, free from the confines that his speed usually placed it in. He ran a hand through it, deciding quickly that it was a lost cause unless he planned on running to the center, something that was very likely at this point.
Showering and dressing took him five minutes, a new all time low. There wasn't anything he could do now, especially after filling his blood with a new vile of heroin. Moving any faster than Kitty Pryde did on eight expresso beans made him feel ill. His legs throbbed, sight turned red, and he would collaspe, on the ground. He'd tried it, last night after his final "client". That had been a bad experience that he didn't plan on recreating.
This was something that dug the knife in deeper, twisting as it pushed into his soul. If his powers didn't work, then he really couldn't call himself a mutant. And if he wasn't a mutant, then he couldn't be in the Brotherhood. And if he couldn't be in the Brotherhood... Where could he go? Back to the foster homes? He couldn't...His blood wasn't clean. The bruises on his arms told the social workers all about his activities...
He could afford a place on his own...But only if he kept up...No. That wasn't what the money was for. As long as Magneto and Mystique weren't there, his powers weren't needed. And the money he made... It could go to other things. He hated himself for this. Wanted to die to end it...But that jar on top of the fridge was the emergency cash.
There was an emergency coming. The boy grabbed his jacket as he walked down the stairs, shaking a little as he shoved his arms into it. He was going to be early as hell for his meeting with that lady, or at least, he was pretty sure that he was. How long could walking five miles really take?
For once, a challenge stood in front of him that he was not inclined to try and face.
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He groaned a little as he helped himself out of the car. A birthday party had gone violent while he was being host. Twenty-five little four year olds, screaming at him for more pizza. Demanding tokens and cake and prizes. Then there had been the birthday girl, her arms stuff with barbie dolls. She wanted carrot cake. Chuck E Cheese didn't serve carrot cake. She got pissed. The rest of the kids got pissed. And they attacked with the most deadly weapon of all, Barbie herself.
Sure, she was made of cheap platic, but her hands hurt. They bit into human flesh quickly as demonic children laughed, finding the situation ever so humoress. On the plus side, his boss let him leave at eight with his ticket still running until ten, and he'd gotten an extra fifty bucks out of the parents, who were both just oh-so-sorry.
Lance pushed open the door to a nearly silent house. He could hear Freddy laughing from the living room, the TV murmuring something into the night. Todd's light was on in his room; Pietro's was dark. Sighing, he leapt up the stairs two at a time. Hopefully, the white haired mutant would be alive and willing to talk, though Lance couldn't remember the last time he'd gone to sleep at eight.
He reached for the door knob when her saw Todd's shadowed, "He's not in there."
"What?" He turned, trying not to seem angry. They let him leave? Were they both complete jackasses not to see that Pietro on his own wasn't smart. Not at all.
"Called from the center. He'll be home around eleven..." The younger boy walked forward, putting his clammy hand over Lance's and using both to twist the knob open. "I have to show you something."
"What do you have to show me?" His head began to pound, not all that different from a power headache. Somehow, though, it kept him rooted to the floor as Todd flipped Pietro's light switch, illuminating everything. The once perfectly ordered room was trashed. Pietro's carefully folded wardrobe was strewn about on the floor, his bed an uncovered mattress. Sheets were tucked neatly into a corner.
"You want to help Pietro, right?"
He nodded, uprooting his feet as Todd grabbed a pillow off of Pietro's floor, opening the covering to the stuffing, There was a moment, Lance watching the movements of the younger boys hand, the sound as he grabbed something, a bag that he threw down carelessly onto the bed. Lance didn't say anything as he stared at the syringe, the little vials of liquid. The empty vials of liquid.
He placed one vile in in his hand, staring at the smoothness of it, the almost simple beauty. His fist closed up around the vial, glass cuttig into his palm as it was crushed, "Get Freddy. We're going to have a little talk with Pietro."
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^_^ Any ideas from here? I know how I want this to end, but I don't have anywhere to go other to the end, and I can't just go "talk with pietro, and then **ending omitted**....so, any ideas? R/R