Author's note: Sorry if that took immeasurably long, I just had a hectic week with the freshmen elections, plus the country's central business district just closed down because of a coup where some 200 military men rigged an entire mall with C4. Got to love this country. Oh, the police found blueprints, plans, and a stockpile of high-caliber rifles in one of the deposed president's condominium units, but he went ahead and alleged the government of framing him. Plus, his men aren't saying that they're "Power Grabbing", no, they're just saying that they want the top officials to resign. Somebody just fucking shoot them in the head, please.
Hotaru: Agony indeed.
Kate: Okay, though I'm only three years older than you, why not?
Frenchy: Didn't want to bore you to death with the explanation, so big on the bleh.
Orion's Shadow: By the way, to answer your question, I was watching a DVD of Buffy for five hours straight.
Chapter 6: "Drop dead"
"It doesn't matter." Her mother whispered, arguably an eternity after the words escaped Derrick's trembling lips. Light poured down onto the atrium, with Derrick standing in the company of the family he had lost to darkness past. The vision was angelic, almost surreal, but the young man, clad in a brown shirt and black denim pants, felt it enough to be real. His mother wore a white blouse, and pants of the sane color as his. Barry, who stood on both feet, wore a red turtleneck and a pair of cream slacks. A heavy white light coated all of them.
"…" His mother stood up, and quickly gave him a soft hug, even though the look of disbelief in her face was something still clear in Derrick's memory. The young man could feel a soft tear run down the side of his cheek from his mother's acceptance, but it was not enough to lift the veil of dread over what his father's reaction would be.
"Dad?" he asked weakly, his mind numbed with fear. His father was a ghostly vision, a man who stood upright when he needed to. In one single moment, all time stopped, and then, slowly, sweetly, Barry smiled. Then Derrick's eyes opened.
Thirty minutes before five in the morning, Derrick quietly excused himself from his boyfriend's arms. He didn't want to have to shower there and borrow Alex's clothes as well, feeling that it would be embarrassing to his boyfriend. Derrick fixed himself up just as he stood, turning to gaze at Alex's sleeping state. Another day was ahead of them, another day to set their destinies, or their downfall."…" Derrick took a warm shower in his own unit, not wanting to think about the day ahead, not wanting to dread about the fact that he would soon disclose his most guarded secret.
He felt disappointed when the realization finally hit him that the angelic scenario was just a dream, concocted by all the trepidation bouncing off the inside of his head. It was a beautiful dream, one that he wanted to live out. He also admitted that it was too good to be true.
After a good ten minutes of relishing the warm water, he dried himself with a white towel and began to dress. A red, silk Armani shirt glided smoothly over his body; the price tag was worth it. One pair of black, denim pants and a brown jacket later and he soon was on his way to the rooftop. Beige tiles lined the floor the moment he walked into the deck, with a good number of plants lining the wall. To the right was a set of stairs, five steps, leading to an inclined plane that was made of wood. A good number of chairs and tables were there, neatly arranged. Farther off was a small swimming pool, while another right meant an air-conditioned, dining area.
It was beautiful, but it was not the reason that Derrick went up there early each morning. The sky was painted in violet and blue, with streaks of white clouds slashed across the sky. Up there the wind was stronger, but still comforting. Derrick's shoes creaked as he made his way up the short set of steps, so he could get a better view of Stoneville. Sure, the area was closed off that hour, but the staff still lets him go there. Streetlights were still open, lining the streets with a comforting glow. A few cars were already roaming about, heading off into their professions in so early an hour.
"Derrick." A feminine voice interrupted. The young man turned to find his mother making her way to him; sleeplessness was clearly evident in her eyes. She was wearing a black blazer to cover her red top. She also sported a pair of brown pants. Arms crossed, Hallie made her way to her son, who stood there in muted surprise. "Is something wrong?" he asked, clearly noticing her mortified expression.
"You tell me." She responded in a soft voice, taking out a brown paper bag and handing it to him.
"What is…this?" his mind stopped, and so did his heart, the moment he saw the magazines in the bag. Magazines directed to the coupling of the same sex, the very magazines that he did not find in his bed just a few moments ago. Magazines that he owned. "Holy shit." He thought.
"I followed you up here…" she said, offering a quick explanation to a question that he would no doubt ask. One subject change cannot be longer used.
"What are these?" Derrick asked, acting innocent. He always played out some routine sin his mind if ever got caught with incriminating evidence. Turns out he stuttered more when it came to the real thing. Turns out that being a member of the Harlequin Theater Guild had its merits, as he still came off a bit believable.
"I found those on your bed." His mother responded sternly, not wanting to waste any time with BS. "…Did you show them to dad?" Derrick asked weakly. He thought that his mother would be more understanding, but it really didn't turn out that way from the looks of things. He'd hate to think of what his father would say. "He didn't want to talk about it." She responded. Her voice was grim, menacing. It was a side of her that Derrick has never before seen.
"I…needed them for my…" the young man stuttered. He thought of a half-baked excuse on how he needed it for his report in Sociology. His mother's brow arched up, her patience getting thin.
"You've denied it before when I went digging in the history pages about a month ago. Remember?"
"…"
"I have never seen the girlfriend that you claim to have."
"…"
"Tell me the truth."
"…Mom…I'm…"
The wind cracked and the skies dimmed as the afternoon rolled in. Barry sat once again on the porch, uncaring of the kraken breeze that pounded at him. Chris, Jill and the rest of the survivors, even Sherry who was now twenty-seven years old, were rallying somewhere for a grand strike against one of the new players. They asked Barry to join them in the upcoming war, but he respectfully declined. In the distance, he watched as his wife's Cadillac came up the driveway. The images of his wife in a tantrum played over in his mind, something he admittedly was not accustomed to.
Alex sat in silence as he watched Derrick lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. It was five thirty in the afternoon, a good twelve hours since his mother apparently turned away from him in absolute disgust. He could still feel the woman's spirit fade at his words, as if she truly did give up her fight for him. "She didn't say anything?" Alex asked, with Derrick's reply coming in the form of silence. It meant yes. "I still think you should have at least gone to class." Alex commented, but it still didn't incur any response from his boyfriend. He didn't admit to being slightly irritated at the fact that he cut all his classes as well just to be with Derrick, even though he didn't feel the slightest bit of appreciation for his act.
"…Things are going to get better." Alex reminded, still trying his best to uplift Derrick's devastated self. "Just give it time." He followed. Derrick nodded, though he still did not utter a word, it was still a relief for Alex.
Night fell on Stoneville City, with varying effects. Some people come in, others come out. It was an evening that Derrick decided to take a walk, grab some fresh air from the claustrophobic feeling that he had from his condominium. He had a brown, seersucker jacket on, covering a black shirt and a pair of pants that were of the same color. Domestic issues or not, he knew how to dress well. It was a quarter past eleven in the evening, with only a few people left chatting in the darkened streets.
Even though the building he just exited was yet another pinnacle of luxury, the cold, concrete sidewalk had much left to desire. A slew of second hand establishments the size of a room each lined the sidewalk, complementing a University Mall where the students spent time for a little more liberal recreation. As grainy as the UM was, the rich and powerful elite of the school a few feet away did not mind spending their time there. Counter-Strike was still the top rented game.
A passing vendor, one who held a cabinet full of cigarettes and junk food in his hands, quickly got Derrick's attention. He was a dirty middle-aged, balding man who had a faded denim jacket to cover a stained white shirt. The young man signaled for a smoke by pressing his middle and index fingers together and placing them near his mouth. With a nod, the vendor obliged, not really caring about the law that smoking was prohibited in public areas. No one really did.
"Really late, kid." The vendor commented as he helped the young man light the stick.
"Slept the whole day, anyway." Derrick responded, feeling more open to a stranger than to his own significant other. "You're the kid in the mobile phone commercial aren't you?" the vendor asked.
"No. But I know the guy; he's one batch up from me. People say we look alike."
"Oh." The vendor nodded, ready for the awkward silence to kick in. Personally, Derrick didn't like being compared to other people, even if he knew that being compared to the person in the commercial was a definite complement. He wanted to be known for who he was. Derrick thanked the vendor and promptly resumed his walking, past a McDonalds, and right by the dimly lighted South gate of his campus. Arched, white concrete hovered over the steel, green gates that covered the entirety of the view within. A steel fence painted green extended up to the next, smaller gate which was just a few feet away, small but practical.
Derrick found it a habit to stay there, much like he did when he was in the summer ambassador program even before the classes started. It was ironic how he grew to be somebody well-known, how the number of people who befriended and trusted him multiplied exponentially, all the while his family was drifting farther and farther apart. He shook his head, and then blew a puff of smoke into the cool night air. No one knew he smoked.
"Derrick Burton?" asked a hooded, middle-aged man who appeared from the shadows. Two other men followed him, all of them quite large. Derrick instantly noticed that they were built, even though their bodies were hidden beneath thick jackets and plaids. Posture, formation, a telltale crew cut on one of the men to his left, Derrick was sure that these people had a military background. Instinct that his father taught him urged him to turn back to his condominium as fast as he could. Apathy told him otherwise.
"Is there a problem?" he calmly asked, indirectly affirming an answer to the question. The three men did not respond, only looked at the young man menacingly. Derrick scoffed and dropped his cigarette, then stomped the small flame out with the instep of his shoe. He had his back to the locked gates, with the three men in an arc in front of him, making walking away a bit of a chore.
"We want to give you a message, freak." The hooded man hissed, as his right hand shot up from his side and slugged Derrick across the jaw. It was so fast, so forceful, that only a muffled grunt escaped Derrick's mouth as he fell down, down to the adjacent point where the hinges of the gate met with the protruding doorway. In an instant, hard boots pounded on him, all the while the wall kept him in a sitting position.
Derrick tried to sway the constant pummeling by shielding himself with his arms, but it was of no avail. Sudden explosions of discomfort filled his body as he slid lower and lower to his back; each kick and punch overwhelming his senses. He wanted to scream, call for help, but the pain wouldn't let him. He heard them taunt him, refer to his sexual orientation. They knew. They hated. They did not stop. A strong boot to the temple cracked his head back, slamming the back of his head on the hard wall. Blood began to trail from there. Two ribs broke in an instant, his elbow got fractured, he even felt as if there was a crack in his skull.
All of a sudden, his mind trailed to the events that led him there, what he said, what he felt, and he also imagined of the things to come. He thought of what his confrontation with his father was going to be like, how his friends would react, everything. Something in the back of his mind told him that now, he would never know. A strong fist then pounded against his forehead, blurring his vision with pain. He was losing his breath with each blow, and the pain was becoming greater and greater without the slightest relent. Alex came to his mind. His touch, his smile, the warmth of his skin.
A small tear fell from Derrick's eye, not from the searing pain that he felt, but rather, it was from the opportunities that he lost. That he could lose. Seconds later, another blow to his head knocked him unconscious, turning him over to the tide of darkness. The hooded man then extended his arms to his sides, as to stop his other two companions from doing further damage. The image of the bloodied man was one to stain their minds as they finished what it was that they set out to do.
Barry watched the rain pour from inside his house, something of an everyday occurrence those times. His wife hasn't said a word to him at all the moment she stormed into the house, as much of an occurrence as the rain, he felt. He wondered why it took her all that time to drive back, but he immediately dismissed it as time spent for reflection. Or anger management. She was sleeping beside him now, while his attention was still half-buried with the book he was reading and with his son. With a loud sigh, he closed the book and turned off his night light, and then proceeded to sleep.
Author's note: Oh dear God, I hope I don't kill anyone again, I'm pretty sick of killing people off. That would have to come later. Well hope you enjoyed silly sweater monkeys, and I hope the ex-president and his cronies (you know who you are you soulless pigs) all get life in prison. I couldn't shop because of your stupid-ass coup.