thank you Wyndmir for the review and to all who've been reading! i hope you've enjoyed it!
and yay! may i now introduce the ever-interesting and endearing Tawny! (his last name is pronounced like "co-yell", if you wonder.) and he has some asshole! moments.
here goes...
-----g-i-m-m-e---d-a-n-g-e-r---l-i-t-t-l-e---s-t-r-a-n-g-e-r-----
Chapter Three: Painful Memories ("Friends Like These")
Tawny Koyel had to be one of the most interesting people Curt had ever had the chance of meeting, befriending, falling for.
That first day of waking up in that cold, sterile room of white would forever be in Curt Wild's mind. He had not long after that been strapped down to the bed by thick leather and metal restraints and something was put in his mouth -- "It's all to keep you from hurting yourself, sweetie," the nurse had told him in that sickly-sweet tone. And then he had been wheeled down the hall to the ECT suite and into a room. His family had been there -- Dad, Ma, Arik, and cousins Lucy, Mark, and Billy, who had been living with them since their own mother had been sent to the loony bin. Arik had been right at the foot of his bed. Right before they had switched on the machine, Arik had winked at him.
To avoid the comments from the neighbours like, "Hey, man. Heard your boy was a fag," Nick Wild drove his son to the crazy house at night. Curt had fallen asleep during the long drive there, so all he remembered was getting into his father's battered four-door, the thick and acrid feel of hate permeating the stale air, and then waking up in a hospital room, shivering and alone.
Scourleigh wasn't top-notch -- the Wilds were from the trash trailer parks of Detroit; they could barely afford to eat each day; they couldn't imagine being able to afford the best, really -- but it did what it was there for. The prescribed treatment to try and "cure" Curt's "illness" was ECT, electroconvulsive treatment -- or just shock treatment in laymen's terms. They said it shouldn't hurt; he sure as hell thought it did. The shocks usually, as the name described, sent him into convulsions and then, after a long while, he'd go unconscious. He'd wake up feeling drained and nervy.
One day, not long after his arrival, Curt sat listlessly in the common room. The TV was on, but he couldn't concentrate or process anything on it. Somebody plunked down on the couch beside him.
"G'day there!" the person said brightly. Reluctantly, Curt turned his head and looked to see who this person was.
The first thing he noticed were the red lips -- ruby red. His eyes widened. Was he hallucinating from the stupid shocks? The morphine sometimes made things go funny, but... Damn, this was worse than he'd imagined in his wildest dreams if he was.
"Shh!" the...boy? Curt was pretty sure it was a boy -- said quickly. "Me sister slipped it in for me -- don't tell!" He pressed a finger to his lips. When he drew it away, Curt saw the colour upon his lips in the centre where his finger had been was smudged and there was a red smear on the finger. Curt relaxed some: he wasn't hallucinating; it was just lipstick.
"The name's Talbert Koyel," the boy introduced himself in his jaunty accent that was rather unfamiliar to Curt's ears. "But I go by Tawny -- on account of me hair, right?"
Curt looked at this Tawny fully for the first time, noting minute details. The face was rather androgynous. The lipstick was a bright red in colour and a stark contrast to his rather fair skin. There were freckles all across his face upon his cheeks and over his nose, a pale brown in colour. Then there was his hair: a wild tangle of long golden-brown hair. Oddly, it intrigued Curt. It looked like it would be soft to the touch despite its intimidating unruliness. Piercing clear grey-hazel eyes looked back at Curt. He didn't really think about it -- Curt just reached out and touched Tawny's hair. Tawny smiled. Curt rubbed the silky strands between his fingers. It was really soft.
"Nice, eh? So," said Tawny, "how long 'ave you been here, mate?"
"Um...a week, about, I think," Curt replied, dropping his hand away.
"You look like you couldn't be more than ten..."
"Curt. My name's Curt Wild. And I'm thirteen."
"Sorry -- you just seem a bitty thing. I'm sixteen, meself." Tawny leaned back, lounging against his side of the sofa. Curt watched his eyes scan up and down, and was reminded of Arik. But Tawny wasn't like Arik, even if they were near in age. First off, Arik was really quiet. Arik was subtle. Tawny wasn't nearly as guarded or shady as Arik had been. Tawny seemed a very upfront kind of guy. A nice change. Curt decided he liked him. It would be nice to have someone to talk to. And he didn't seem like he was sixteen, but more around Curt's own age.
"What're you in 'ere for, Little Curt?"
"Don't call me little." He had been bugged enough in school over his smallish stature. And Tawny didn't seem to have room to talk -- he wasn't that tall himself.
"Fine. Can I call you 'Joey'?"
"Why the hell d'you wanna call me Joey?"
" 'Cos it means a kid kangaroo." Tawny smiled.
"I think you can just call me Curt."
Tawny shrugged. "Fine, then. What're you in for?"
Curt's face shadowed. For giving my brother a blow job and getting caught this time. He shrugged. " 'Cause I'm a fag, I've been told."
"You, too? That's one of the things I'm in for. Lemme see if I can remember the other terms..." Tawny closed one eye and cocked his head to the side, feigning deep thought. "Can't remember exactly; hell, they're all really long and science-y."
"That's all they use around here is big words."
"Too right. But I did know 'em once, and I decided to educate meself while the white coats wasn't lookin'. I did it awhile back, but I believe it came to I'm a charming, childish, stuck-on-meself kind of bloke with mood swings."
Curt almost gave a little laugh.
"Oh, yeah," Tawny continued. "They've also decided I'm 'borderline psychotic during manic states.' I saw that on my chart the other day -- gotta be quick to catch a glimpse o' those. But yeah. I think it's in reference to how I'm kinda violent during my...happy? -- dunno if you could call 'em that -- states. Or easier: when I'm not feelin' down."
"Wow."
"Yeah, well. I've been a good bloke. Play nice, take me meds -- well, more often than not. I should be out soon." Tawny made a face. "Like next year some time. If that."
"I'm in for a long time." It was a really depressing, daunting prospect, but one he couldn't get out of. "18 months. 72 weeks. 504 days. I did the math on Saturday. That was my first day without the shocks. None today, either. Wednesdays and Saturdays are my free days. I get to sit around here, or in my room. Whoopee."
"Ah. It is sackloads o' fun, ain't it?"
Curt groaned. "You betcha."
"Well, you've only got 496 days left, y'know? It'll drag by and eventually it'll be here."
"Nice philosophy."
"It passes the time."
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The time did drag by, but like Tawny had said, Curt's exit day eventually came about. He had learned to school his answers to appease the "men in white coats." They didn't really monitor him during his replies, and they seemed to believe his every word. And he was lying through his teeth. The shocks hadn't done a damned thing to "cure" him. He hung around Tawny every day, and every day couldn't suppress the urges he felt. Of course, Tawny subtly encouraged him. (They'd snuck a few kisses, a few touches, but nothing much.) Even when Tawny had that one crazy episode because he had tongued his Thorazine for that month and a half, Curt still liked him.
Curt had just been trying to talk, ask Tawny a question, and Tawny had wigged out and started kicking him around -- kicking a lot of things around. Curt hadn't felt more alive since before he came in. There was a thrill that he loved -- it reminded him of dodging Arik's attacks. Finally, security had come -- Curt and Tawny were scuffling on the ground. Something in Curt had snapped after Tawny had said, "Leave the hell off me, you fuckin' fairy!" when Curt tried to stop him from punching someone else.
Tawny had Curt pinned to the floor when security had yanked him up.
"What the fuck? I didn't do anything." Tawny's pretty doe-eyes looked down to Curt, appealing for empathy. "Curt, mate -- help me out. I -- I didn't know what I was doin'. Curt -- Curt, you're me best mate; ya know I wouldn't 'urt ya. C'mon, Curt. Tell them. Tell 'em I didn't mean nothin'." Tawny's eyes were as undeniable as Curt's own.
And Curt had felt sorry for him. "He didn't mean it!" Curt had cried. He wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand and smeared the blood from his nose with his shirtsleeve. His head and ribs throbbed. "He didn't mean to do it!"
A young orderly had come up beside him. "Let's get you back to your room, Mr Wild."
"Tawny'll be alright, won't he?"
"Mr Koyel isn't really your concern, now, is he?"
Curt had glared at the orderly. Appease the white coats. About the only rule of survival in the nut house. That and keep it secret. But appeasing the white coats meant you had to appease the underlings as well.
"Guess not."
But Tawny had been good since then, and he was going to be released two weeks after Curt.
"Maybe I'll see you round," Tawny had told him the day before he left.
"Yeah, maybe."
Curt sat quietly in the car on the way home, collecting himself. The memory of Arik winking at him before the first course of voltage through his system was nagging him. He missed the morphine that dulled his senses and mind. He felt too aware, if that was possible. But he wouldn't let it happen again. Arik wouldn't make him do anything. Ever again.
Nick Wild did not say two words to Curt the entire ride home, nor when they got to the trailer. Katya, like any mother, was overly-emotional at her baby's return. Arik was inside on the couch. He looked up as Curt came through the door. Curt shivered, but not because of the winter chill.
"Hiya, Curt. Glad you're back."
"Hi, Arik."
And then his mother was fussing over him again. "What do you want to eat? We've only got pork and beans. Is that alright with you, baby?"
"Y -- yeah, Ma. That -- that's fine. Yeah," Curt replied numbly. He looked back at Arik. His brother, currently engrossed in something on the TV, did not notice. Curt knew he was thinking up something, though. He could just tell.
"Ma -- can I go lie down for a few?"
"Sure, Curt. I'll call you when dinner's ready."
" 'K, Ma." Curt walked past his brother and father and down the back hall to his room, nothing more than a converted hall closet. He had reckoned he had missed it while he was at the crazy house. But as he sat down on his cot, staring rather sightlessly about the small space, fingers tracing one of the many holes in his threadbare blanket, he knew he didn't --hadn't -- wouldn't. The little room was suffocating him. Funny, since there wasn't much in it past his bed, a small lamp at the foot of it on a two-drawer dresser that contained all his clothes, and there used to be some toys, but evidently his father had gotten rid of them all. Or his mother. (All her caring would melt away in a couple of hours and she'd recall what he had done. Her precious baby, gone so wrong.) It wasn't fair, Curt frowned -- getting rid of all his toys. Arik still had toys and stuff.
He's not been found and convicted of being a fag, dumbass.
That made twisted sense. Still wasn't fair.
Curt tossed and turned on his bed for all of five minutes. Damn, it was too quiet back here. Quietly, he stole down the hall about two steps to Arik's room and lifted the electric guitar he knew his brother hid under his camp bed.
As he played upon it, back in his own room, Curt felt a sudden wild freedom in it. He wanted to tear the entire tin can down and give the family a big "fuck you!"
"What the hell're ya doin'?"
Curt jumped at the voice. Arik had opened the bedroom door and was standing in it, his large frame blocking any exit. He had been sent to tell Curt dinner was ready, but the sight of his little brother with his stolen guitar he thought no one knew about had taken top priority.
"Here," Curt said, quickly taking the strap from round his neck. Before he held the guitar out to his brother, Curt had the sudden urge to take it by the neck in both hands and bash Arik in with it. He squashed the idea, giving Arik the guitar. Arik smiled at him. He was hit with a confusing mix of emotions. Part of Curt wanted to still beat Arik with the guitar for ever looking at him like that again. The other part was ready and willing to do whatever Arik wanted.
He hated himself.
"Dinner's ready. C'mon," Arik wrapped his arm about his little brother and teased the back of his neck under his dark hair. As they got to the living room, guitar dropped off en route, Arik's hand slipped down to rest on Curt's shoulder and give it a "brotherly" squeeze. And Curt pulled away. He looked at the dinner in the bowl his mother handed him. He felt sick. Curt messed around in it for a few minutes -- even attempted to eat a bite. But then he just put the bowl next to the sink and headed back to his room, hoping fervently that everyone would just leave him alone.
--------------------------
A couple weeks later, it hadn't gotten worse, but it hadn't gotten any better. Curt tromped through the cold woods, mindful of the wolves that ran about and pretty much apathetic to the fact.
He was caught totally off-guard when something -- someone -- ran straight into him, knocking them both to the ground.
"What the bloody hell'd you do that for?" the other person yelled, jumping to their feet. Curt got to his, stammering, "I'm sorry," and then stopped.
"Tawny? Is that you?"
"What the fuck's it to you?"
"It's me -- Curt."
"Curt? Curt, Curt, Curt, Curt. Hey, I remember you! Little handsome fairy! Curt Wild!"
Damn, he's in a crazy state. Curt tried not to let the fairy comment get to him. He wasn't very successful. "I'm not a damned fairy." Tawny shrugged. Curt clenched his teeth, but then he caught sight of Tawny's big grey-hazel doe-eyes in the moonlight and all his anger melted. He sighed.
"So, where are you headin', Tawny?"
"Heading? Well, mate, nowhere. Nope, nowhere. Pa said get out o' his goddamned house -- I said that was bloody fine with me. Tara said don't. Tara's such a sweet sheila." Tawny's voice switched to a high pitch as he mimicked his sister. " 'Don't go, Tawny. He doesn't know mean it. He's just drunk again. Don't go.' " His voice lowered below normal as he mocked his father. He convincingly slurred his words as well. " 'I know bloody well wha' the hell I'm doin'. He's out. Get th' fuck outta my 'ouse, fairy. Don' know whose rat ya are, but ya def'nitely no' mine. Out!' "
Curt thought it sounded like their fathers should be friends. His father had said almost the same exact thing after he had found out about Curt and Arik, and after he had tried to beat him to death. Such wonderful memories of family... Curt watched Tawny pace. The older boy was pacing irregularly -- slower, then faster -- and he spoke very fast. He had currently stopped and seemed to be thinking.
"Tawny --" The thought just struck. " -- are you high?"
"No!" Tawny snapped. He shoved Curt against a tree. "What're ya insinuating, huh?" He slapped him, hard, once. Curt's eyes watered and his cheek stung fiercely. Tawny had him backed hard against the tree, one hand fisted in the front of Curt's shirt, the other in the hair at the nape of his neck.
"Nothin', Tawny. I -- I..."
And then suddenly Curt found Tawny's mouth upon his. Tawny kissed him hard, bruisingly. And Curt found himself in a situation he knew quite well. And one he could never really hate. Only difference was, Tawny was in a crazy mood, and was twice as violent as Arik had ever thought to be. But Curt went along with it. At least Tawny had a reason. At least Tawny would be nice again, soon. Curt stumbled home around one in the morning, bruised, scratched, bloody. His mind was in a state -- defeated, disturbed, elated. He got to his room and spazzed out -- throwing things, screaming.
No one inside cared.
He stayed home the next day...
...only to find himself Arik's toy.
Curt, laying on his bed listlessly afterward, realised that he was trapped in a vicious prison. Life was nothing but a painful circle of recurrent events.
(The lyric in the page break is from "Gimme Danger" by Ewan McGregor and the Wylde Ratttz)
a/n: i realised at one point in this that Curt and Tawny were Winona Ryder and Angelina Jolie, respectively, and in more than one way. interesting prospect. "Boy, Interrupted" ;-)
next chapter won't be nearly as long.