"Now, I want you all to make sure that you annotate your passages well. Partner with other students to make sure that you do so as you can add notations where you could have missed-," Mr. Lancer's voice halted at the sight of him, and the smell of him, too, a familiar youth stumbling stiffly through the door as he handed the older man his late slip, the fourth one that week. The fourth time that he has had to come in, and each and every one of their eyes were one him, Staring as he tried his best to hide the way that he limped, that he tried to coil away from the students as they leaned back, taken aback by his smell.
Of course, he had tried to cover it with cologne, his father's heavy scent that choked him, even as he sat down, hoping against hope that no one would notice it, but he knew that they could. They always seemed to no matter how hard he tried to mask the air of filth that lingered around him at all times, though it would have been made worse if they' looked at his face for any more than a moment or two, and thank goodness they hadn't, see, because even with the makeup, and the placid hood that had been drawn tight with drawstrings, no one would have been able to miss the dark splotches that stuck to his face like loud, ringing bells that just begged to be noticed.
'Someone will notice, you know.'
'They're looking at you, staring at your ugly, stupid face.'
'You look real stupid right now, you know.'
'You smell horrible. I bet someone is gonna vomit from just being around you, you dirty whore.'
'Whore.'
'Slut.'
Shuffling to his seat, Dash hardly noticed Kwan and the others staring at him, or maybe he had and just didn't have it in him to say anything, barely managing to say hello before attempting to sit down, nearly screaming in pain, but jut barely holding it together, as he eased into the seat, as well as trying to keep his backside, or really anything, from touching more surfaces than necessary, finding it nearly impossible to stay still as the pain grew, and grew, spreading like wildfires across his entire body and back end, but he made no mention of it. None at all as he laid his head done upon the desk the best way he could, feeling the tight grip of fatigue glower at him over the voice of the class, the mention of his presence slowly dying down around him until things returned to normal.
Almost as if he were never even there.
Eventually, even Kwan and the others gave up trying to get his attention, the youth settling (or the best he could manage to) in a sort of lulled silence as the class dragged on, and on, and on, and through none of it, Dash couldn't be bothered listen, even if he had half a mind to.
He was tired, terribly tired, too tired to even consider the strange looks that would occasionally get thrown his way, or the odd stare of Lancer that had persisted on him, watching as his eyes slid shut and he was cast in the dark again, just as he had last night.
-(Flashback) --
Through his blurred, tired vision, he could spot it, the ceiling fan, whirring around and around as if observing the mess from above, its distinct squeal more akin to laughter, or cackling, than the harmless signs of age it should have been as it watched him try again and again to peel himself off of the mattress, but to no avail, the boy stiffening and falling still as a rush of agony washed over the whole of his boy, centered in delicate areas that he tried his best to scrub from his mind, but even in the soft blanket of emptiness couldn't shield him from the memories, the thoughts, the...pain.
The disgust he felt with himself every time he woke up like...this.
Covered in dirt, sweat, blood...his father's...
Retching at the thought, and the feeling of the evidence clinging in thick, dried clumps upon his thighs, he tried to sit up again.
Another stunning failure.
He tried a third time.
This time he didn't move.
Not an inch as soft, exhausted sob sang in tandem with the ceiling fan's voice, his own song wheeling along without pause as he tried again and again to get up on his own, to leave the room before he was seen, before he have to give his father another reason to be angry at him, but it didn't work.
Nothing was working.
Why couldn't he do anything right?
It was only after what felt like an eternity did he finally manage to pry his battered body from the worn, dirty mattress, stumbling to his feet as a few drops of fresh blood trickled down his thighs and from his backside, but didn't have time to inspect it, not that he could, he figured, knowing the only mirror that would be big enough to do so lying in the last place that he would want to be.
His parents' room.
'You should go in there. Say you're sorry for making them so mad you in the first place.'
'Don't you know that it's your own fault for causing so much trouble?'
'Why can't you just do what you're supposed to?'
'I...I don't know. I d-don't mean to make them mad. I don't know, I don't...' Stepping forward on wobbly, tired legs, looking forward with tired eyes, he'd made it to the sink again, just like he always did, grabbed the paper towels just like he always did, scrubbed with water the best way he could, just like he always did.
It was always the same.
Always...the same.
The way his body trembled with horrible strain as he tried to reach and wash away the touches, but they never left. The way he bit his lip to stop from waking up his parents, but it didn't stop him from choking down a sob, gripping the counter so tightly that he was afraid that he'd break it, but then the thought left him, knowing full well that he wasn't strong enough to.
But he would have liked to have been.
Strong enough to take this.
Strong enough to like when his father would hit him.
Strong enough that when they...when they touched him, he wouldn't cry anymore.
That he would be strong enough to like it when they did.
That would make them happy.
It would make it easier to deal with.
He was supposed to like it, right?
Right?
Surely other kids felt the same way.
So why?
Why did it hurt?
Why didn't he like it?
Why did he want it to...stop?
'No! I'm...I'm supposed to want this! I'm supposed to love it, and want it to happen. That's what Dad said. I deserve this. I deserve everything I get because I'm worthless. So...fucking...stupid.' All the while, he hadn't realized at he had been scratching his legs, noting the stinging pain as his nails gripped his thin skin, flinching away from his own touch as blood dripped from the wounds.
'You're right, you know.'
'Why do you bother with living, anyway?'
'You know, you'd be doing everyone a favor if you just-'
Turning the faucet off, he tried not to focus on it.
The urge.
Looking at his bandages, or what was left of them, he could spot them, the many wounds that had long since stopped bleeding, they were still inflamed, angry and red and indignant as they seemed to call him to them, as if begging to be torn open and picked at.
...
No, he shouldn't.
...
Could he?
...
It would be so easy to just...rip it open.
To make this all just...go away.
To make the hurt stop...wouldn't it?
Yet he didn't.
He didn't even as he slipped on his soiled, underwear, or his torn, dirty pants, or his sweaty shirt over his welts and cuts and bruises.
No.
No he didn't.
No...he didn't.
- (End of Flashback)-
He didn't know why he hadn't.
He couldn't make sense of it himself.
Even as he jolted awake from Kwan's hand shook his shoulder, twisting as far as he could away from the touch as he face turned to face him, but the boy quickly remembered himself, shielding his face with his arm as he pretended to rub his eyes. Kwan, appearing only a bit disturbed, grinned at him, telling him that the class had ended.
"Oh, u-uh, yeah. Let me just grab my thin-," A wave of nausea came and left just as quickly, moving to stand as he tried to regain his senses, a flicker of his father's touch upon him, a clip of his memory, distorted his vision.
'You're at school. You're at school. GET IT TOGETHER.' Quickly, he snatched up his bag as fast as he could, avoiding Kwan's eyes as the four of them walked (well more like the rest of them walked and Dash limped), but not before Lancer stopped the latter, placing a tentative hand upon his shoulder before ushering the others away, much to Dash's confusion as he kept his head down and watched them leave, all the while feeling every desire to squirm and wiggle away from the touch, anything to make it go away as even the surface of his skin beneath his clothes wriggled with discomfort (this time he not only wore a black pair of sweatpants, the others delightfully soiled, but his hoodie was a darker grey), but he could handle it.
Even when it made him want to vomit, even when he writhed and screamed in beside him, he remained still. Deathly still as he was left there, and only he and Lancer remained.
His thoughts raced, turning like unwieldy cogs that were oiled and primed, pushing unwilling thoughts that he tried to pull from, but he couldn't help the terrible, nervous jitter that ripped through him.
'What did I do?' He couldn't think of anything that he had done wrong. Was it because he came in late?
'Am I in trouble?' He couldn't have been bad. He didn't disrupt the class, he didn't do anything...did he?
'Am I going to be punished? Does he want to punish me?' Maybe he did do something that made him upset. Why else would he have been left behind?
Yes, of course.
That had to be it.
Maybe he had done something he wasn't aware of? That could be it, the boy considered, slumping his shoulders as he looked down at the ground, trying his best to conceal his face from the former.
He was good at that.
That was all that he was good at.
'Yeah. That's all you're good for.'
All he could do was do everything...wrong.
He didn't look up as Lancer's hand rested lower on his arm, resisting the urge to flinch as his larger hand grazed over a larger bruises, clearing his throat as if trying to get the boy's attention, but his head remained hung.
The man didn't seem to mind that though.
"I won't keep you long, Mr. Baxter. I know that your next class is Mr. Falluca's and we both know how...testy that he can be at times, I'm sure." Chuckling lowly, he seemed more comfortable now than Dash had been, his back facing the door, blocking the view from the hallway and into the classroom, obscuring his vision as his large, bulky body filled it. His hand rubbed his shoulder, but still, the boy made no move to back away, not that he'd have anywhere to go.
'Besides,' Dash reminded himself darkly, '...it isn't as if I'd want to leave, right? I...I want this. Whatever he wants...I want, too.' He leaned into the touch, even as his arm began to ache, a particularly large bruise upon his forearm screaming at him as he resisted the wish to eject what little contents of his stomach he had, only vaguely realizing that he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a solid meal.
As a matter of fact, the boy thought with vague discomfort, he was really, really hungry.
But that didn't matter right now.
"I just wanted to let you know that I've noticed a bit of a..." Stopping pull the boy closer to him, his hand traveling to his back where the majority of his marks and welts lied, Dash couldn't help the sharp breath the ripped past his lips, clamping his mouth down as tightly as he could to prevent himself from screaming, and he gripped the sides of his jacket, feeling his hands quake with the desire to claw away from it, the sensation of touch becoming so terribly unbearable that his stomach began to twist and turn with ominous promise, deciding, instead, to try his best to focus on what the man was saying, even when he would make rather crawl out of his own skin, listening to his continue on as he exclaimed, "...difference in your behavior, Mr. Baxter. Now, I don't mean to intrude, not at all, you see."
Stopping, he pulled the boy into a tight hug, practically crushing the thin boy to him, Dash somehow managing to remain perfectly still in his grasp, though tears had begun to fall, trickling down his face as he felt his lip split.
'Is this my punishment? Maybe this is my punishment. Yeah, this has to be it. Why else would it hurt?' Smiling at the thought, he tried to relax his body, even leaning into it a bit.
He had to let him know that he was willing.
That he understood why this happening, that he had earned this.
'That you deserve every bit of this.'
'You deserve to hurt.'
'You need this.'
'You have to be hurt so you can understand.'
It was when the man leaned down into his ear, whispering as lowly as he thought the man could manage, that his words felt different, like slick oil caking his pores as his lips practically brushed against ears, the tender skin prickling under the touch of his breath.
"You know that you can talk to me, yes? Anytime something is bothering you," His hand pushed the boy's head into his body, pressing him close into the crook of his neck, "...you can come tell Mr. Lancer whatever you want, even the more...shameful things." The rubbing became slower, more relaxed, his speech following suit.
Dash felt his breath hitch as his hand grazed the helm of his pants, but it traveled no further, as if just being there, that close, was enough.
Lancer either didn't notice or didn't care about his surprise as he made no mention of it before leaning up, parting ways before allowing the boy to pass him, smiling eerily down at him as he passed.
Dash didn't look up, even then, though he could feel his eyes on him, wide and unblinking, but just as quickly, he was down the hall, standing before Falluca's classroom where he could hear chatter inside.
Turning the knob, he stepped inside, already preparing to feel their eyes on him, too.
