You're going to have to forgive me if this chapter is completely unrealistic. I've no personal experiences of performing these actions myself, nor watching these sort of films, so it's all just me bullshitting…
XOXOXOXOXX
There's blood. There's so much of it that for a moment it's all Brendan can see. His mind can process nothing else but the violent red of death and destruction and he's reeling with it and could be stood there with head spinning and stomach churning for hours for all he knows.
But the panic and trauma fades, like a silver cloud… and there's Steven… alive. He's clean of the blood. It's not him. The death, the disaster… it hasn't seeped from his veins.
Brendan exhales a breath of relief… despair… terror…
He falls to his knees beside his lover… who hasn't even broken from his trance.
"Steven," Brendan breathes.
He reaches for Ste's face, touches it between two hands. Ste is ghostly white. His skin is ice cold… how long has he been sat out here in the frozen winded back alley? How long has he sat and watched his ex-boyfriend bleed dry? Because Andy's here too, unconscious and drenched from head to toe in that deep, deep, deadly red.
"What's happened?!" Brendan chokes.
"I killed 'im."
He says it faintly… but steadily. Like he's had hours to reach this conclusive fact, but he hasn't yet truly processed it. "I killed 'im Brendan…"
"Okay…" Brendan's voice trembles slightly. He's never seen Steven like this. "Okay… yeah… it's okay…"
Shit.
Fucking shit.
No, this is not okay.
Brendan reaches to Andy's blood-stewn body. He touches the stained skin of his neck.
There's a faint salvation of a pulse shuddering lightly under his fingertips.
"Ffffucck." Brendan breathes, a long painful exhale, a faint of hope. He's not letting Steven suffer for this. It's going to be okay. He's going to fix it.
Fuck. What the fuck was he thinking going away for the night?!
How the hell has this happened?!
"Right. Okay. Yeah. Okay."
Pull yourself together, Brendan.
"Okay. Get up."
Brendan stands and pulls Ste with him, away from the mess.
"Is it on ye?" Brendan asks, "You okay?!"
He holds Ste's face between his palms, checks him over. He searches his eyes first which are blank, but that's better than hysterical – for now anyway. He scans over Ste's hands and clothes – bloodstained. His skin – bruised. His neck and arms wear faint purple finger-prints.
"He hurt ye?" Brendan breathes.
"N…no, I hurt him."
Not enough, Brendan thinks. But now's not the time to get hysterical. Now's the time to be calm – to be in control.
"Did anyone see ye? Was anyone else here?"
"His mates…"
Fuck.
"Go inside." Brendan says, and pushes Ste firmly back through the door, "Get dressed. Put some other clothes on – kay? Then bring those ones back. Quick Steven."
Ste hovers in the door for a moment… and the blankness in his eyes is fading… simmering with something else that wavers on fear. That's not good – that's too near hysterical, and that's not what Brendan needs.
"I said go."
Brendan turns him, shoves him forcefully but Ste fights back… won't budge…
"No – w…what are you doin'?!" He asks fearfully.
"I'm gonna clean up out here."
"No! No, I don't want you gettin' involved! I told ya, I'm not lettin' ya go down again!"
"So what are you gonna do, huh?!" Brendan demands, "Sit out here till the evidence rots away?! Hey! Get a fucking grip! Go upstairs – come back here in five minutes."
"If you're gone, it's over." Ste says, as though their fucking relationship is the main issue they need to be working on right now.
Brendan has nothing to say to that shit. If he wants to take off with the body, drop it at the police station and take full responsibility then he fucking well will.
They stare each other out; a war of seething, testing glares – who's the most serious here? Before Brendan pushes shut the fire-exit, shutting Steven inside. He stands there for a second… maybe two… listening to Steven do the exact same on the other side of the door. He can practically hear the younger man's breaths… his brain ticking… his heart aching in pain and worry. And then he hears Ste shuffle away… taking a chance and following Brendan's instructions.
Brendan exhales a breath he didn't realise he was holding.
Five minutes. Maybe less. That's all he has.
He turns to Andy's bloodstained body. He presses his fingers to the neck again… and that pulse is still there. It's faint, but it's revivable… it's still contaminating this earth with the man's sick existence.
Brendan should have rid Ste of this problem a long time ago.
"What did I tell ye, Andrew?" He sighs, his voice echoing eerily through the silent, cold back alley.
He doesn't really know what he can do with an only-half-dead crack-head psychopath. He doesn't have much of a plan further than a) get him out of this back alley, b) get back in time for Steven not to lose his shit. If they can both keep their heads for the next hour, Brendan can sort this. He's sure he can.
Dragging Andy's body is harder than expected. The sound of the scratching gravel seems so loud against the silent, still surroundings. Andy's weight sits heavily in Brendan's gut; stirring a queasiness in him. This is dead weight. And he'd never wanted to feel dead weight in his hands ever again.
Brendan's car is parked just short of the alley. The car that – only hours ago – Brendan had sat in and smugly, blithely observed Ste's cum on the seats.
"Wanna go for a ride?" Brendan asks his dead-weight friend. He doesn't know why he feels the need to talk, to verbally spit out the rush of pent-up energy. His voice cracks lightly, and he swallows, mentally slaps himself. Keep it together, keep it together, keep it together.
"Brendan?"
Ste's voice echoes uncertainly through the darkness towards him. He's silhouetted against the light from the bar… unmoving from his position in the fire-exit.
"Bren?"
His voice is distinctly more frightened than his comatose state of five minutes ago.
"Yeah." Brendan croaks.
Shit, they have to keep it down. With every noise they make Brendan feels like bedroom-lights are switching on, curtains twitching, eyes peeping.
"What are you doin'?" Ste's voice trembles.
Shut up. For the love of God, keep your voice down.
"C'mere." Brendan says shortly.
Ste's silhouette continues to hover in the fire-exit. Brendan wants to see him… wants to have him near, hold him, calm him. But he can't leave the body just slumped here, near the exposure of the street-lit main road.
"Steven," Brendan says – voice just loud enough for Ste to be able to hear from his fifteen-metre distance. "I need ye to come here… and get in the car."
"Please, can we just go back inside?"
He's crying. He's crying and he's not thinking straight.
Brendan can sense the hysteria now… feel it creeping ever-closer.
And the snap of a twig in the main street tells him they're not as alone as he thought… reminds him that there's a world out there with people… people who could stumble across this at any moment and not understand the turmoil that Steven's gone through to drive him to it.
Nobody ever understands that.
He marches back down the alley; follows the blood-path back to Steven and away from the half-breathing body that he somehow needs to work out what to do with.
"Where are your clothes? You got 'em?" He asks when he reaches Ste. No pandering, no comforting. This is all business because they've got to move fast and they don't have time for breakdowns.
Ste's holding his blood-stained tracksuit in shaky hands. He's changed into some jeans and Brendan's hoody. His half-exposed chest is covered in goose pimples.
Brendan tugs the messed-up clothes from his hands, seizes the nearest bin-bag and shoves them inside – quick as he can. Then he takes Steven by the shoulder, pulls him outside, back into the punishingly cold air. He slams shut the fire-exit and there, there's no way back in now.
He doesn't stop to look at the tears staining Ste's face. He doesn't take notice of the way Ste clings instinctively to the sleeve of Brendan's blazer, desperate for consolation. He just marches back up the alleyway and forces Ste to march with him. He dishes his car-keys from his pocket, thrusts them into Steven's palm and orders, "Get in the car."
"What are we gonna do?"
"Just do what I say, yeah?" I don't know what we're gonna do.
Steven wipes his nose on his… or Brendan's… sleeve. He offers a shaky, frightened nod.
He walks out into the main road, and if Brendan weren't suffering from such severe stress right now, he'd feel proud of the lad. He's brave, is Steven. Always has been. A fighter. Within a few seconds Brendan hears the engine start, and Ste's ready… ready to be the getaway driver or ready for Brendan to tell him to take off into the sunset. Brendan has no idea which yet.
"Fuck." He whispers to himself.
A faint rattling breath emits from his bleeding friend on the floor. A futile attempt at consciousness.
"Shhhh." Brendan breathes, and it sounds deranged but he can't help it. "Shh, shh, shh – it's okay."
He raises his voice and calls lowly, "Steven. Back the car round here for me, yeah?"
And Ste does so without argument.
The low hum of the engine sounds as the car reverses – boot lining up with the alley like Ste's a god damn expert, which perhaps Brendan's making him. Brendan pops open the boot, shoves down the bin-bags and Ste scrambles into the back – pale face staring in terror out of the back-window as Brendan heaves the dead-weight and drops him with a THUD into the car.
"Okay." Brendan breathes as he strides back round to the front of the car, "Now you stay and clean up here – I'll be back in a bit."
"What… no! I told ya no, I'm not leavin' ya!"
"Half an hour." Brendan says, keeping his voice quiet and level, and praying it encourages Steven to do the same. "Half an hour and I'll be back."
"No, I'm not lettin' ya take the wrap, right?!" Ste growls aggressively, and snatches the keys from the engine. The ignition dies, forcing the streets back into silence again. Brendan throws himself into the drivers seat, grabs for the keys but Ste keeps them clenched tightly in his fist.
"No, you can't just leave me here!" Ste protests determinedly, voice growing wild with panic, "I'm the one that killed him, I'm the one that did it, I…"
He's cut off by Brendan's hand clamped over his mouth – the sweat of the older mans palm against Ste's lips and skin. Ste's head hits the passenger seat window, his eyes wide with alarm as Brendan restrains him.
"Keep your fuckin' voice down." Brendan hisses, furious, "You wanna go to jail, is that what you want?!"
Ste struggles – pushes and pulls at Brendan's hands, eyes filling with tears of anger and boiling emotion and FUCK – Brendan worries this is it; he's pushed Steven to the brink now, and that hysteria will erupt before they've even got the chance to leave the god damn street.
"Hey," Brendan breathes – continuing his restraints; hand fastened over Ste's mouth, "Hey – listen to me! You need to calm down, okay?! Ye need to get your head together and let me sort this. He's not dead, Steven."
Ste stills.
His breaths come hard and fast, chest rising and falling, hands loosening on Brendan's as he relinquishes his struggles. His eyes are awash with pain and confusion and a glimmer of naïve hope that breaks Brendan's heart.
He's not dead. Except he will be, by the time Brendan's sorted this.
"Give me the keys." Brendan says seriously, making use of Ste's momentary compliance.
A clink of metal sounds. Brendan doesn't break eye contact for a second, and nor does Ste. But Brendan reaches his available hand and feels the keys dropped into his palm. This is Ste relenting… trusting him with something so huge, Brendan doesn't know whether he should feel pleased or angry at the lad for being so unquestioning so quickly. But he knows in this moment that he's back in control and that's what he needs.
He moves his hand, slowly, from Ste's mouth… and is met with only silent submission.
"Okay." Brendan breathes.
"I'm not getting out the car." Ste says steadily.
"I know."
Brendan starts the engine.
Compromise.
That's what he's thinking about – of all things – as the car finally tears away down the street, away from the restaurant. Compromise. That's what they just achieved. Sure, these circumstances are hardly penned as example in the 'Book of Healthy Marriage' but Brendan's sure they just exercised some of the main principles. And that means today has been useful in one sense – proving that the ring on Ste's finger is there for good reason. He almost feels giddy with the relief of it… that they can function together like this.
He lets out a burst of manic laughter. A victorious WHOOP as they speed down the motorway.
"We make a good team, don't we?! Hey, we should do this more often. Just kidding."
But it seems Ste's not sharing Brendan's sense of misplaced triumph. He stares out of the front window, tense and dark expressioned.
"Brendan, where are we going?"
"Haven't decided yet."
"We need to take 'im to a hospital."
Brendan doesn't respond to that.
That's stupid.
That's out of the question.
Andy goes to hospital, Andy lives. Andy lives, Andy talks.
And Brendan's not letting Ste step foot in a prison cell.
"Brendan!"
"I heard ye, Steven."
"Then where are we going?! Look, you said he was alive!"
"Why don't you just let me make the big plans, yeah?" Brendan says calmly. He scans the side of the road for reservoirs… ditches… anything.
"Brendan please." Ste's eyes shine through the darkness with diamond tears, tears that have a habit of ripping Brendan's gut apart. "Please. I know you hate him, but…"
"This isn't about that."
"We can't just let 'im die."
"No? Like what he was gonna do to you, that night when you overdosed?"
Ste is silent and for a moment, Brendan can't bear to look at him. He can't bear to see the horror and disappointment in Ste's expression as he realises Brendan's plainly prepared to let the man in the boot bleed dry on his watch.
"I'm doing what I've gotta do, Steven." He breathes quietly.
"…We could just drop him outside."
"No."
"Please," Ste's voice cracks tearfully, "Bren please I don't wanna kill anyone else, I don't want to! I can't!"
"It's not gonna be you." Brendan says, breathless as his plan falls into place in his head. He's going to have to do it. He's going to have to end this.
"I don't want you to either. Please. We can just drop him off here and call the ambulance, block the number or somethin'…"
"And then when he wakes up?"
"He won't say anything. He didn't say owt about you hurtin' him, did he? He hates the police."
"So what was he doing at our place tonight then?! Poppin' in for a friendly chat, was it?!" Brendan demands.
He already knows what Andy was doing there.
He'd figured Andy wouldn't let his beating drop… but he'd thought Andy would be man enough to face him rather than Steven. And now those bruises on Ste's neck and arms are growing more purple and Brendan can barely look at them but he needs to. He needs to in order to murder Andy Fischer.
"He'll come back, Steven." He says darkly, "Get his revenge."
"Not if we move away."
"Yeah, and what about the kids? You're just gettin' back into their lives."
"STOP arguin' with me!" Ste moans, voice heavy with tears and pain. "It don't matter now, does it, cos I fucked it up. Now we've gotta fix it, yeah, not make it worse."
Brendan says nothing until he's pulled the car to a halt.
He hasn't managed to find a ditch or reservoir but time is not on his side – he needs to finish the job before Andy dies naturally back there, and the blame falls on Steven's shoulders. Ste's been so busy with his feeble protests he hasn't noticed the sparse surroundings Brendan's driven them to… how they haven't passed a human, house or other car for miles.
Brendan feels his heart hammer punishingly fast and then slow… steady… steeling itself for what he's about to do. His brain relaxes into comatose; dull, aching acceptance.
He turns to Steven's confused, tear-stricken face. He kisses him firmly. You can trust me.
Steven doesn't want to break the kiss. When he feels Brendan pulling away, he grasps at his neck… distressed. Their lips meet again and they're both trying to force feelings onto the other; Brendan trying to calm and Ste trying to reason.
"Please." Ste whispers, hands hot on Brendan's neck, he kisses again. "Please, Brendan. You don't have to do this please."
"I'm just gonna go check…"
"No, don't lie to me." He whines, achingly young-sounding. "We can just… we can just turn around now and go back…"
"That's enough." Brendan says firmly. He pulls Ste's hands from around him. He's detaching now – shutting down in mind, body and heart… like he has to do.
"Stay there!" He says, when Ste starts to get out of the car with him.
And he must say it in such a way that Ste backs down under the command… because somehow, he stays. He stays frozen and rooted to the passenger seat; out of sight where Brendan needs him right now.
Whilst Brendan lifts the car boot and comes face-to-face again with the smell, sense, sight of blood. Blood dying the bin-bag a deep shade of red… Andy's body crumpled in on itself. The fading remains of a drug-dealer, a pimp, a thief, a murderer… and what Brendan hates more than anything… a rapist.
Ste clenches his eyes shut, balls his hands into fists and clamps them over his ears, like a child enduring a parent's fallout. He stays like that, listening only to the hard sounds of his own painful breathing… waiting for Brendan to come back.
And then the car jolts harshly… and he knows it's done.
He knows Andy is dead.
Andy, his partner of three years. Andy, who he shared kisses and men and a roof and a bed with. Andy, who made it easier by never loving him. Andy, who begged him only an hour or so ago… "Help me."
Ste cries. He cries like he's never done before… hard sobs bursting out of him because it's more death, more destruction, further reminder that everybody he associates himself with seems to meet the same dreary, awful end.
He can't tell whether it's minutes or hours before Brendan is back, but Brendan's arms are around him and for the first time he feels like there's nothing to fight him about. He just collapses into Brendan's embrace, feels the tough, intense grip of Brendans hands on his head and back and shoulders. Brendan clasps him so tightly there's bound to be bruises… holds him like a lifeline and that makes everything worse because Brendan shouldn't have to do things like this for him.
"I'm sorry!" Ste chokes out miserably.
Brendan says nothing in reply – like he's lost his voice – and they just rock together for what seems like an eternity. Until it's pitch black, and Ste's throat and eyes are sore, raw and dried up.
He's dead.
Another person, dead.
Another person we killed together.
We're toxic.
When Brendan finally pulls away, he wipes his eyes hastily with the back of his sleeve… but his voice is strong and commanding again as he tells Ste: "Get out of the car."
"Why, what are we doing?" Ste asks weakly.
"Get out."
Ste does as instructed without any further questions or protest… he doesn't have the energy to fight anymore. He's simply numb, spent, as he watches Brendan pull a can of petrol from the back seat and toss the substance all over his Mercedes.
"Ye got a light?" He asks.
Ste nods miserably. There's no point arguing with this – if Brendan's doing it, it's because it's the only thing to do. And Brendan seems so distant – so manically focussed on the task ahead of him – that Ste feels he can't even breathe, or utter a word.
He lights himself a cigarette and hands the lighter into Brendan's sweaty palms.
By the time the car is ablaze… lighting their surroundings with heat and scorching light… Ste's focus is only on his cigarette. Deep inhale in, deep inhale out, deep inhale in, deep inhale out. Don't think about your ex-boyfriend… don't think about his burning dead remains. Deep inhale in, deep inhale out.
Brendan collapses on the ground beside him, hands pressed over his eyes, his own chest rising and falling.
There's nothing to say.
It's all fucked and there's nothing to say and Ste doesn't know how Brendan will ever forgive him.
A second cigarette. Deep inhale in, inhale out, deep inhale in, inhale out. Calm the fuck down.
Brendan's hand flops sideways… falls open-palmed into Ste's lap.
Ste's own hand is trembling when he touches it to his partners. But the feel of Brendan's flesh against his own grounds him… his heartbeat slows… his stomach unfolds just a tiny bit.
Deep inhale in, deep inhale out, deep inhale in. Stub it. Re-light.
Brendan makes no comment about the third cigarette, and that's not good – that means he doesn't care.
Like he can read Ste's mind, Brendan brings their hands up silently and presses his lips to Ste's knuckles.
Ste releases a deep, shaky breath.
Stubs out the cigarette.
And in one sharp movement he lowers himself to meet Brendan's lips with his own, pushes his lips to Brendan's forcefully – love me, please. Please still love me.
"Steven…" Brendan pulls away.
Because how could anyone love Ste after witnessing what he did today?
"Please don't leave me." Ste croaks – and the small remaining part of self-awareness in him loathes himself for being so pathetic, but he can't be left alone now… he can't. He can't cope with this, not anymore. He can't stomach what they've just done and he certainly can't without Brendan with him; his fellow monster.
"Hey," Brendan breathes…
"I'm so sorry." Ste sniffs, "I didn't mean for it to happen – I just… I got scared an'… an' I lost it…"
"Steven."
Brendan silences him.
"You haven't done anything wrong." He says steadily. His voice is low and heavy with fatigue and self-disgust. Ste's heard that tone on him before… the tone of him hating himself, giving up on himself.
"Y… you're not lookin' at me though." Ste whispers shakily. You blame me for this.
Brendan drags his heavy eyelids open.
He looks at Ste straight, firmly in the eyes.
There's no doubt there. No disgust. No nothing – just Brendan. Just the way he's always looked at Ste, with an intensity that's unparalleled by anything Ste's ever experienced. His Brendan Brady, who he knows so explicitly inside and out, and tonight more than ever. The man that loves him so completely, so powerfully, so unconditionally that he'd do anything for him… even this. It's all there, now, in his simple numb expression.
"I'm tired." Brendan confesses breathlessly.
It sounds so earnest on him that it makes him vulnerable.
"Go to sleep then." Ste whispers.
Brendan's eyes falls shut again, chest rising and falling slowly, taking hold of the rest he deserves.
He keeps Ste's hand in his the whole time… his fingers rested on top of the engagement ring.
They're warmed by the heat of the burning car, becoming a mere crisp before their very eyes. As Brendan falls into unconsciousness, Ste sits and listens to the crackling of the flames… the disintegration of his last bit of innocence.
He couldn't sleep if he tried. He doesn't know if he will ever sleep again.
But he zones out. In a zombie-like state, he stares – unblinking – into the destruction of the flames for hours. He only ever stirs when he hears the distant vibrating of a mobile phone.
It flashes from inside Brendan's jeans pocket.
Brendan doesn't even wake as Ste fishes the phone underneath him.
'Cheryl Calling…'
Ste's voice is wrecked and worn-out as he answers… "Hello?"
"Oh, Ste!" Cheryl gasps, "Is Brendan with you?"
"He's sleeping."
"Are you okay? Where are you?"
"At home." He lies.
"A…at home? Are you sure?"
"Yeah… why?"
"The police are here." Cheryl says gravely, "They're looking for Brendan."
XOXOXOXOXO
I know this is relentless, I'm sorry. A lot more was meant to fit into this chapter… I didn't mean for it to end on such an infuriating cliffhanger.
