Without Guilt
In sight…
Chapter XXV: Out of Reach
Otis hadn't returned here since he'd killed William.
His own blood was still visible on the stairs, dark and dry but engraved into the stone as a permanent reminder of what happened here. Another story that would never be told again, another ghost that haunted this building's concrete walls.
He carefully unwrapped his bandaged hand at the reminder of the injury, wincing as the bloodied gauze came away, revealing the stump underneath. It didn't look too bad, just a little irritation. He'd make sure to give it a thorough wash in the shower, the cold had settled deep in his bones from wandering around in wet clothes for hours.
Everything hurt.
He sighed as he reached the landing, fidgeting in his pockets for the keys only to pause as he realised he wasn't alone.
Mason was sitting right beside the door, currently asleep with a half empty bottle of drink.
Otis frowned, moving around him and pushing the key in to unlock the door. He debated leaving him out there until he was sober, he was honestly too exerted to deal with another drunken fit from the man.
Still… Mason had sat him down and given him something warm to drink when he'd shown up exhausted on his doorstep.
He hesitated for a moment, only a moment, before deciding to lightly kick the man awake. "Oi. Don't sleep there."
Mason jolted awake with a start, looking around in a bit of a haze. "T?"
"Well, you're on my fucking doorstep. Who else is it going to be?" Otis replied, snatching the bottle of booze from him. "Enough of this already." He threw the bottle down the stairs, the glass shattering loudly on impact and splashing its contents everywhere.
"Hey! I bought that!" Mason complained, scrambling to get to his feet unsteadily. He was still drunk.
Otis wrinkled his nose at him in disgust, taking the water bottle from his backpack and throwing it at him.
Mason failed to catch it, the plastic clattering to the floor unceremoniously. "Why are you so mad for? I was waiting for you to come back." He probably had an inkling as to why Otis would be angry at him, but he couldn't help it.
"What for?" Otis demanded to know, tossing his bag inside and clutching his hand close to his body.
His gaze pinned Mason in place, the chubby man taking a few moments to rub the sleep from his face and really take him in. "Wanted to see you… y'know. Make sure you're okay."
Otis didn't seem to accept that answer, but he would let it go. He turned to head inside but Mason grabbed at him.
Mason didn't need a bloody hatchet pointed at him to know why he shouldn't have done that, but he found himself staring down the stained metal anyway. He immediately released Otis, holding his hands up. "Sorry, didn't mean to grab you. I'm just… I want to talk."
Otis slowly lowered the weapon. "Don't you fucking show up on my doorstep drunk off your ass again. You fucking hear me?" He hissed lowly.
Mason nodded dumbly, whispering another apology. He found it easier to breathe when the man retreated, hesitating as he realised the door had been left open for him.
Otis removed his jacket slowly, hanging it up to dry before pulling his footwear off.
Scarlett and Pier had done an impeccable job of cleaning and tidying the place. Most of the furniture had been replaced with second hand but far better looking items, a basket of fresh laundry also sat by the bedroom door with a note from Scarlett.
Otis picked it up, turning the paper over to read it.
'Thanks for everything.' Was written in neat, small letters. A short message but the gesture was greatly appreciated.
"Wow. This place actually looks good now." Mason observed as he investigated the living room.
All of William's things had been thrown out.
"Woman's touch, huh. Magical thing." He tried to joke lightly as he made himself comfortable on the couch.
Otis took some clothes from the basket and a towel, draping them over his good arm. "Don't move from there." He warned.
"Where you going?" Mason asked, glimpsing him in the hallway as he passed by.
"Shower." Otis replied shortly, the bathroom door being heard as it closed after him.
Mason woke up about an hour later, not entirely certain when he'd fallen asleep. The couch was comfortable and something smelled good.
He inhaled deeply before exhaling, rubbing at his eyes.
His head was pounding and he felt awful.
"T?" He called hoarsely, briefly taking note of a glass of water set on the coffee table nearby. It was covered and near it was a pill. "Aw, man, service." He smiled faintly to himself as he took the water and painkiller, downing the entire thing easily to nourish his throat before following his nose to the kitchen.
He stopped in the doorway, simply admiring the structure of his Adonis' back.
Otis was at the stove, lazily slouched and obviously bone-tired. He rubbed his neck with a soft groan that did more things to Mason than he would ever admit out loud.
He was wearing a knitted sweater with a wide fold over collar, the sleeves a little long. He looked cozy enough at least, though he seemed to sense that someone was watching him and turned his head to glance at Mason over his shoulder.
"Hey." Mason greeted awkwardly.
Otis clicked his tongue, focusing back on stirring the tomato sauce. "Are you sober?"
Mason sighed. "Yeah."
"Sit." Otis motioned to the dining table that had been relocated near the window, pouring the strained pasta into the sauce to mix it.
"Why are you behaving like an angry house wife?" Mason muttered though moved to sit down nonetheless. He was starving and hadn't really thought about food all day till now.
Otis looked like he might castrate him for his comment but he was calm otherwise. "A real angry housewife would've set your dumb ass straight a long time ago." He countered, setting a plate of pasta in front of him before fixing one for himself.
Mason gulped, taking the fork to dig in. The first bite was slow but he built it up, hungrily devouring his plate. "Man, I didn't know you could cook." He sighed contentedly, sitting back in his chair.
"It's pasta, not science." Otis was barely through half of his plate, using cutlery with his right hand was still a bit different to his left. Though nowhere near as difficult as handling a gun at least. That and he was at a point of exhaustion where he was only eating because he knew he'd be worse off if he didn't.
Still, he sat back, retrieving his cup to drink some water. "Why are you here, Mace?" He asked, his tone a little less demanding.
Mason held a hand up as he dug into his pockets. "I got something that I think is yours- where did I put it now?" He half mumbled to himself, finally managing to extract the pendant he'd taken from Ethan's flat.
Otis stared at him blankly for a few moments until the item was placed on the table where he could clearly see it. "Mason…" He picked up the Firefly pendant to inspect it, thumb delicately brushing over the name engraved into the disc.
"I don't really know who Otto is, but I couldn't find your ring and I thought this probably wasn't a coincidence." Mason felt proud of himself now that he saw the way Otis handled the pendant.
"He was my brother." Otis filled in shortly, closing his hand over it.
"I didn't know you had a brother." Mason felt hopeful that Otis was opening up to him but when the man looked up, his gaze was lacking any warmth. "What's the matter?"
"Mason…" Otis leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. "Where did you get this?"
Mason shifted under his scrutiny, taking great interest in the plaid tablecloth. "Ethan had it."
"I know he had it." Otis replied. "I'm asking you where you got it."
"Does it matter? I just wanted to do something nice." Mason protested, not sure why he was being treated like this.
Otis slipped the pendant into his pocket as he stood up, clearing the table. A long silence stretched uncomfortably, filled only by the sound of the kettle as it was set to boil.
"Otis," Mason turned in his seat to look at him. "I'm serious about you."
"It wouldn't work." Otis dismissed without sparing him a glance as he washed the plates.
Mason felt his chest tighten. "… What?"
Otis inhaled deeply before exhaling. He was getting tired of talking, his throat hurt. "Go home, Mason."
"No! Not until I understand what the hell you're playing at!" Mason was up from his seat, pacing frustratedly. "Why wouldn't we work? I care about you, you obviously care about me. I could do so much for you- are you really happy just sitting here and going through the rest of your life being a drone?"
Otis let him say his piece. There was no point trying to correct him on anything.
"Otis, look at me." Mason requested. "Hey, come on, talk to me. You never talk, you're always in your own head. Why did you kiss me if you weren't serious? Am I joke to you? Thought you'd give guys a go?" He was cut very deeply.
"Tell me how you got the pendant, Mason." Otis questioned again.
"I stole it from Ethan's place, okay?!" Mason huffed in exasperation.
Otis finally turned to look at him, drying his hands. "You burned his fucking place down, Anslow."
"So what? He deserved much worse! Did you not see yourself after what he did to you?!" Mason would have continued yelling but toned down when he realised that he was raising his voice. He took a moment to breathe, holding his hand to his head. "I don't get you."
"You don't understand," Otis stated. "What you did was fucking stupid, Mason. You didn't just burn down Murphy's place, you burned down the whole building. You're lucky no one was hurt."
Mason gave him an incredulous look. "So, what? You now care about other people?"
"If that's what you understood, I don't have more to say." Otis dismissed, bringing a mug down to fix himself some coffee.
"You never once fucking cared about anyone else, Otis." Mason stressed. "Not outside your group. Alright, so I was reckless-"
"You were drunk." Otis corrected.
"I just needed a little bit of encouragement. All any of you do is make me feel stupid for trying!"
Otis sighed. "Yeah, well… you fucking do stupid things when you're drunk."
Mason's face was hot with anger. "Has Layla been getting into your head?"
Otis looked at him blankly.
"Listen to yourself." Mason huffed. "Suddenly you don't want to hurt nobody and you don't like drinking. She's been preaching to you." He accused. "Bet she doesn't approve of me neither 'cuz I'm a guy.
"This has nothing to do with Layla." Otis didn't have a clue where Mason was coming out with all of these things.
"Then why did you kiss me, Otis?" He kept coming back to the same point.
Otis needed a moment to put his own thoughts into words to really give Mason an answer. "I wasn't messing you 'round, Mace." He promised. "Wasn't trying my luck with you neither." He added, carefully pouring the hot water into the mug and stirring the coffee.
Mason waited impatiently, wanting a reasonable explanation. No explanation could be reasonable enough for breaking his heart though.
"I thought you were sensible, Mason." Otis admitted. "I understood you wrong. You humiliated me though-"
"If this is about that night Kumi stormed in, I didn't exactly invite him." Mason interrupted.
Otis cradled the mug between his hands as he turned to look at him, warming his fingers. "What were you going to do if he didn't walk in?" He asked, the question hanging heavily in the air.
Mason opened his mouth to reply but found that he didn't exactly have anything to say. A lump had formed in his throat. He'd realised that having a certain kind of power over someone as strong as Otis gave him a thrill- that realisation had scared him at the time. "I don't know… I wasn't thinking straight." He concluded weakly. "I was drunk… I'm sorry."
"Oh I know you are." Otis retorted bitterly. "I thought that was a one time thing, thought… hey, Mason's just had a tough time, he didn't mean none of that."
"I didn't. I already told you." Mason protested, but fell quiet as the man walked towards him.
"But you keep crossing a line, Mason." Otis continued, his voice a low rumble as he stopped in front of him. "What you did wasn't for me. I don't ask you or anyone to do anything for me. What you did, Mason, was paint a fucking bright red target on your back. You think if Murphy got to me that he couldn't get to you?"
Mason swallowed the uncomfortable lump in his throat with great difficulty. The scent of Otis' cologne was not helping him calm down though it was a welcome distraction. He couldn't meet his gaze though he focused on his chest since it was closer to his own eye level. "He deserved worse." He still insisted.
Otis clicked his tongue in disappointment. "Wrong answer."
Mason frowned. "You think if we're together he could get some blackmail?" He asked, fishing for reasons other than that his own decision making was not to Otis' liking. He never claimed to be smart, he was just doing things that he hoped would communicate his feelings. "He had a ledger, you know. Of everyone he was blackmailing. I burned that too."
Otis tilted his head, continuing to watch him as he squirmed under the attention. "It ain't gonna change nothing." He emphasised. "You thinking this would make me or anyone happy is lacking foresight, Mason. You're acting on a whim and doing dangerous stuff."
"I'm not acting on a whim, I thought this would make you happy!" Mason complained.
"It's childish!" Otis finally snapped, his voice straining when it was raised.
Mason looked at him with wide eyes, completely stunned. This was the first time he'd ever heard Otis raise his voice.
Otis looked just as surprised, though he was quick to swallow his temper down. He brushed a hand through his dark locks, exhaling a soft breath. "If a relationship… is going to make you do stupid fucking things, I don't want it." He finished quietly.
Mason winced. "But… you kissed me."
"Fuck's sake, Mason. Forget it, okay? Go home." Otis left the kitchen, heading for the bedroom and slamming the door behind him.
He set his coffee mug on the desk nearby, resting back against the door with a heavy draw of breath. Rain pattered gently against the window, a faint warm glow of light seeping into the dark room.
He felt like the walls were caving in on him, pain was a constant companion, but the physical sort he could handle.
It was hard being forced to accommodate for everyone else's feelings.
What kind of world was Mason living in where he thought it would somehow just work out if he did things earnestly? He didn't want to be responsible for the grave Mason was digging himself.
He didn't want Mason to dig a grave.
He clutched his chest as he slowly sunk to the floor, too exhausted to keep standing for a minute longer.
What world was Otis living in where he thought it was okay to consider settling down? People like him didn't settle down.
His grave was already six feet deep and waiting to be filled.
He heard the sound of the front door as it was opened then shut.
Please R&R!
