John twisted his chin labret. The plain stud twisting in his skin, the same condition as it had been in when Bobby gave it to him last year, on the anniversary of the first day of school because he had always refused to say his birthday. He had kept it in perfect condition, free of any nicks or scratches, even though putting it in was the first thing he had done when he came back to Australia. He hadn't removed it since, not even to shower. It was comforting, imagining the metal into Bobby's fingers, sometimes Bobby's tongue.
His pills had run out. Playing with the stud was something to do until he could relax completely and sleep as the air conditioner droned in the background.
His father came in and John jerked into a sitting position. "Stand up." John did, his feet caught in the sheets for a moment. His father stumbled over to the light and pulled the cord; John's eyes burned as they adjusted. He makes his mind blur.
John tried not to vomit, not to stare at the wet spot blooming from the inside on the crotch of his father's jeans. He wrapped his arms around himself. "Dad…what…" His father stared at him and John tried not to cry. He touched his father's shoulder, trying to wake him, to show him who is really there. "Dad- I-" His father punched and John shut up, trying to block his face.
"Are you a queer? You a fucking queer? Is that where you go at night? You go to fuck your friends? Eh? You go and fuck everyone in this town? Let them fuck you? Is that what you do? Is that where you go? You gonna try to fuck me now? You're a fucking faggot? Huh? You a queer? You think you're better? You think you'll leave?" His father's belt came off and made no noise as it cut through the air, not until it hit the wall, chipping pieces out of the paint, his fists making the frames clatter against the walls when he missed.
"No, Dad… I- no…"After his father leaves, John slid to the ground and tried not to cry. He tongued his labret slowly, pushing it out and with his fingers, back in. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. After a long time, John imagined he could feel his heart beat through his fingertips against the metal.
When he woke up the next morning, he was beyond sore, beyond stiff, and at that last place where one is completely and totally numb. He knew without checking his father wasn't there; it wasn't like there was a note on his wall or anything. Just knew. Getting up he decided not to breathe and that he never liked oxygen that much anyway. He began taking the books and binders out of his school bag and hid them in his closet. He grabbed clothing and began to roll them inside one another, shoving them as tightly as he can into the bag.
He managed to walk to the phone, leaning against the stair rail, letting it hold him upright. "Yes?"
"Is Ellis there?"
"Uh, sure, I think he hasn't left yet." There's a few seconds of the 'people who need to run to work and school and don't have quite enough time to get there' symphony (Part One) and then it was Ellis mumbling hello.
"Ellis? It's John. I-"
"Can't this wait till we get to school? Look I'll stop over and we'll walk together but I still got to eat breakfast and-"
"I can't go today. I'm sick. Can you do me a favor and grab a few notebooks from my locker?"
"Yeah mate, what do they look like?"
"Um, all hardcover. Spiral bound. No lines. Two are black, one's blue, and one's gray. Don't forget them ok?"
"Yeah sure Sexy. Drop 'm off on my way home. Feel better."
"Thanks." John hung up the phone and stared off into space for a bit. There was little to do now but wait.
(later)
John stirred on the couch, waking up and searching on the floor for the remote. Someone was knocking on the door; three short, hesitating a beat, then another two. Ellis. He turned off the TV and went to the door. He opened it quickly. "John? What-" Ellis wasn't alone; Angela, a girl from the French class he shared with Ellis, and another boy that John had seen around, George, Greg, something like that.
"Fuck!" He yanked Ellis in and slammed the door. "What the hell were you doing bringing them?"
"What happened to you!" Ellis reached up to touch John's face and he pushed him away.
"Did you bring the notebooks?"
"What happened to you? Have you seen your fucking face man?" John sighed and leaned slowly against the door.
"Keep your voice down. No. I haven't ok? Now did you bring it?" Ellis glared at him and started to open the door. John backed off, into the corner, wondering if he could manage a run, ok he was kidding himself- a brisk walk, if Greg and Angela came in.
"Is John ok?" Angela.
"Yeah. He's in the bathroom. He got a nosebleed right before we knocked and didn't get a chance to clean it up."
"Are you sure? That-" Shut up Greg.
"Why don't you guys, uh, go wait for me in my room? I'll be over in a couple minutes- I just wanna explain to John the French homework."
"Are you sure he's o-"
"He's fine. Just start the project without me." Ellis closed the door and leaned against it, staring at him. "They're leaving." John shrugged. "You wanna tell me what happened?"
"No, Mum, I don't." Ellis sighed and tossed his book bag onto the couch and pulled at John's arm to drag him into the bathroom.
"You got to wash your face. It's covered in blood." John shrugged again and sat on the toilet, staring at his reflection. "I think you need stitches." John didn't answer and Ellis left, ran up the stairs. John continued to stare at himself, rubbing his lighter between his palms. When he'd used the bathroom before he'd made sure not to look in the mirror, and washed his hands in the kitchen sink, the curtains pulled over the window. He probably should have before opening the door.
There was a cut to the side of his left eyebrow, his eyes were blackened and starting to swell, a scabbing gash on his cheek (John remembered the belt clasp striking there) and his lips were cut and cracked. His face was stiff with dried blood and still had makeup smeared on, making his lips into a rosebud colored slash, his eyelids purple, adding to the bruises. Ellis walked back in and wet the washcloth, squeezing it and slowly cleaning John's face. He closed his eye sand tried not to pull away, Ellis's other hand holding the back of his neck. "Done." He opened his eyes.
Ellis stared at him for a few moments and turned. He began to wash the blood out of the washcloth with cold water, the sink starting to stain red. "I'm leaving." Ellis turned again, dropping the cloth.
"Now?"
"I got a ticket for the 6:30 flight to New York. Told 'em there was a death in the family so they put me on the soonest."
"Oh."
"I need you to cover for me. It's a 24 hour flight and…'
"Tell him you're sleeping over." John nodded and Ellis finished washing out the cloth. They walked out of the bathroom, John leaning on him stiffly. "When are you leaving here?"
"Soon."
"I'm going with you."
"No, Ellis… You can't. Your parents-"
"Not to America dumb ass. To the airport."
"What about Greg and Angela?"
"I'll call and tell them you're really sick. That I'm going to stay until your dad gets home."
"And if they tell your mom?" Ellis shrugged.
"Need help packing?"
"No, did it today. You get the-"
'Yeah. They're in my bag." Ellis dug them out and handed them over. John slowly walked up the stairs to his room and slipped them into the knapsack. "Your room is really cold man." John shrugged. "That's it?"
"Ellis, the point of running away is not to bring six suitcases. Christ…."
"How are you gonna get to the airport?"
"Ask McFarland." Ellis nodded and sat on John's bed. He sat next to him, pushing the bag over.
"You're not gonna look up Spencer?"
"It's gonna be kinda hard considering I'm gonna be on the fucking run. So hmm let me think about it, no! Jesus Christ."
"Yeah…. You're so lucky you're not a practicing Catholic anymore."
"Well, it would mean your mum would feel better about me being around."
"No, she still thinks you're an underachiever and too much of a fighter and a bad influence. …I mean it's not like you know where he is."
"London."
"Wait, you actually know?'
"Yeah, looked him up online two years ago. He's working for a production company in London and trying to get enough money together to finance a film. He thinks he might get a backed by this independent company based in France. He's got this online journal I read sometimes."
"B- wa- but- why haven't you called him or anything?"
"Because." John rubbed his lighter between his hands.
"Because? What kind of fuck-wit reason is that? Maybe you could go stay with him! You wouldn't have to run then!"
"No!" John calmed down, feeling the lighter start to go hot in his hands. "I can't." he cut Ellis off. "He made his choice. He doesn't want me around. He could have written, called. He didn't. It's kind of evident he's moved on. And I can't blame him. "
"John-"
"No. I'm not."
"So where are you going?"
"Maybe back to Bobby."
"The boy at that school?"
"Yeah."
"Oh." They sat in silence for a while and Ellis slid his hand on top of John's, entwining his fingers. He said nothing and John twisted his wrist so their palms touched each other's. He put his lighter into his pocket, feeling the metal through the thin fabric of his cargos. "Look, I'm sorry for…"
"For what?"
"Maybe I could've done something… told my parents so you wouldn't…"
"If you had told your parents, I never would have spoken to you again."
"Yeah, but, there wouldn't be this," Ellis motioned to John's face. John shrugged and squeezed their conjoined fist. Ellis squeezed back. "How are your ribs and everything?"
"Couple hurt really bad, maybe they're cracked but I don't exactly have time to go to the doctor. I'll see when I get out there."
After a time, Ellis spoke. "Don't hate me for this, but can I please give you money?"
"No!"
"I just want to make sure you'll be ok!"
"I'll be fine. Christ, I don't need handouts." John hesitated. "Sorry. I know… I just…"
"It's alright."
"Look I'll write, let you guys know I'm ok."
"Good." They sat there and watched the numbers on John's clock change.
"I should call my dad."
"I should call Greg and Angela." They sat there a little longer and John made himself get up, his hand slowly untwisting from Ellis's. He walked slowly to the phone, Ellis following.