Cliffton Fanfiction: Make Him Pay - Chapter 1
Cliffton fanfic! This is the first chapter in a new story. Of course, it's from Devin's POV -- orginally, I kinda wanted to do it from Brendan's POV, but Devin eats fic. Om nom nom. Since the squicktastic Morgan is important in this one, warnings for [click]sexual assault and harassment and, since it's Devin, also a warning for [click]fairly graphic self-harm.
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Good thing workout clothes come with long fucking sleeves. Don’t need Brendan to see what I did -- don’t need to think about it. Don’t need to think about why I did it, either. I’ll be fine, even if it kinda hurts to move.
Come on, keep it together. Can’t be too fucking stiff. That’d look weird. No reason to look weird -- just gonna work out, like everything’s normal. Because everything is fucking normal. Take a deep breath. In. Out. Cross my arms over my chest. Grab my arms, which hurts. Pain’s fucking grounding. Kinda need that right now.
Make my way to the basement, step by fucking step. Takes forever, but I get there. Knock on the door, wait for Brendan to let me in. Uncross my arms, try to look like everything’s fine. Because it is.
“Hey, Devin. You okay?” Brendan gives me a funny look.
“I’m fine,” I mutter. Cross my arms over my chest again. No reason I wouldn’t be fucking fine.
Dude’s still got that funny fucking look. Don’t say anything as I walk to the weights. That takes forever, too. Legs hurt. Feet hurt. Chest hurts. Arms hurt. Everything fucking hurts.
Brendan follows me, sets up the weights so they’re where I can lift them. Stand there, waiting for him, even though it hurts to stand. Keep my arms crossed over my chest and squeeze my arms again. Fucking need that pain, now. Fucking grounding.
Finishes setting up the weights. Steps back. “They’re ready,” he says.
Nod. Can see that. Gotta sit down now and get onto the bench. That should be easy. Can fucking do that. Take my time, try to ignore how it hurts to bend my knees. How it hurts to sit down and get myself into position. Feel Brendan’s eyes burn into me, fucking searing. The fuck is his problem?
Grab the weights. Dude spots me. Start lifting. Up. Down. Fucking simple. Should be fucking simple, but it hurts. More than it should. Stiff from last night. Muscles burn as I lift. Let the pain fill me. Up. Down. Fucking simple.
Go to lift the weights again. Dude puts his hand on the weights so I can’t lift them. “Stop,” he mutters.
The fuck?
Glare up at him. “You’re bleeding,” he says.
Sit up, cross my arms over my chest. Fucking hurts. “Not fucking bleeding,” I mutter.
Dude gives me a look. Moves his eyes to the floor.
Follow his eyes. See the puddles, dripping from the bench to the floor. Look at my sleeves, drenched in fucking blood. Heart stops.
“You should, uh, get yourself cleaned up,” Brendan says. Looks uncomfortable. Won’t meet my eyes. Fucking fine by me.
Stand up. Take my time. Room is fucking tense. Hard to stand. Everything hurts worse now. Can feel the dude’s eyes on me, even if he won’t meet mine. Don’t need that concern. Will be fucking fine.
Gotta get myself cleaned up. That’s all.
* * *
Take a long shower, try not to think about how red the fucking water runs. Don’t like the sight of blood. Lean against the side of the shower, shaking.
Don’t know how long I take. Know it’s a long fucking time -- I like long showers, okay? Mirror’s fogged up from all the hot water. Whole fucking room is fogged up. Clear the mirror off. Get myself dried off and dressed. Make sure every hair is in its fucking place. Not that I’m gonna be showing my face to anyone. No need to go back downstairs and see Brendan and his face again.
Everything’s fucking fine.
Sitting on my bed when I hear a knock on my door. The fuck? Ignore it -- don’t wanna talk to anyone. Knock doesn’t stop.
“Go away,” I mutter.
“Uh, Devin? We kind of need to talk.” Fucking Brendan.
“Go away,” I mutter again. Don’t get up from the bed.
“I’m not going away,” he says.
Get up from the bed. “I’m fucking fine,” I hiss as I walk towards the door.
“If you say that you’re fine just one more time...” Dude trails off.
Don’t wanna fucking deal with this. Crack the door open, keep one hand on the doorknob. Glare at Brendan’s concerned face. “The fuck is your problem?” I say.
“I’m not the one who has a problem,” he says. Shakes his head.
Give him my best death glare. Dude doesn’t move an inch. Just stares back at me, still with that fucking concerned look on his face. Keep glaring at him -- gotta leave sometime, right?
Doesn’t fucking leave. Pushes the door open and walks right into my room.
Step back so the door doesn’t fucking hit me in the face. “The fuck?” I mutter. Cross my arms over my chest. Feel my body start to shake. Glare at Brendan again.
“I’m -- not leaving until you tell me what’s going on,” he says. Shuts the door. Stands in front of it so I can’t fucking leave. Dude’s huge -- no way to get around him.
“I’m fine,” I say. Know I don’t sound fine, not with how my voice fucking cracks.
Leans against the door. “You’re not fine, and you know it. Just what happened?” he says.
Shaking enough it’s hard to fucking stand. Sit down on my bed, still with my arms crossed. Hug myself tighter, grab my arms as hard as I can. Need the pain right now. Need the distraction from how my chest is too fucking tight. From how it’s hard to breathe.
Try to ignore how his eyes burn into me like fucking lasers. Good thing he doesn’t have laser eyes. Not like Calla does. Wish she’d had those when -- don’t wanna think about that. Not after what I did to Brendan. Same thing Morgan did to her. Makes me no better than he is -- no wonder Calla thinks I’m scum of the fucking Earth.
“Fucking Morgan,” I mutter.
“You know about Morgan?” he murmurs. Dude gives me another look, one I can’t fucking read. Sits down on the bed beside me.
Scoot away from him. Too fucking close.
Nod my head. “Know about fucking Morgan. Calla -- told me what that bastard did. Couldn’t stand hearing about it,” I mutter.
Air’s heavy. Breathing’s hard. Don’t wanna talk about this.
“I can’t believe he got away with all that. The little shit...” Brendan says. Dude’s got his eyes narrowed, like he wishes he could go after Morgan himself. Kinda wish I could go after him.
Don’t say anything -- not sure what there is to fucking say. Not like we can find Morgan and kick his ass -- right?
“If I could track him down, I would make him regret ever touching her,” he mutters, fists balling at his sides.
“Not like we can track the dude,” I say. Whole body’s tense -- the idea of finding Morgan and making him regret what he did’s fucking tempting. “Can’t hire a tracker. Like any of them would fucking help.”
Chest gets a little less tight. Can’t hire a tracker, but we have something better -- Wes. Dude’s family runs a fancy security company. Can find fucking anybody.
“Wes,” I murmur.
He looks at me, fucking confused.
“Wes -- family’s a bunch of security bigshots, right? Gotta have fucking epic surveillance equipment. He could find Morgan,” I say. Uncross my arms. Feel fucking light.
Brendan’s eyes widen. “You really want to go after him?” he breathes.
Nod. “Yeah, I fucking do.”
“Me too,” he mutters. “The little shit needs to feel sorry for what he did.”
“He does.” Nod again.
“So, it’s agreed? We’re...really going to find Morgan?” he asks. Looks fucking hopeful. Excited.
“Yeah, we’re gonna go after him,” I mutter.
And make him fucking pay.
---------
Good thing workout clothes come with long fucking sleeves. Don’t need Brendan to see what I did -- don’t need to think about it. Don’t need to think about why I did it, either. I’ll be fine, even if it kinda hurts to move.
Come on, keep it together. Can’t be too fucking stiff. That’d look weird. No reason to look weird -- just gonna work out, like everything’s normal. Because everything is fucking normal. Take a deep breath. In. Out. Cross my arms over my chest. Grab my arms, which hurts. Pain’s fucking grounding. Kinda need that right now.
Make my way to the basement, step by fucking step. Takes forever, but I get there. Knock on the door, wait for Brendan to let me in. Uncross my arms, try to look like everything’s fine. Because it is.
“Hey, Devin. You okay?” Brendan gives me a funny look.
“I’m fine,” I mutter. Cross my arms over my chest again. No reason I wouldn’t be fucking fine.
Dude’s still got that funny fucking look. Don’t say anything as I walk to the weights. That takes forever, too. Legs hurt. Feet hurt. Chest hurts. Arms hurt. Everything fucking hurts.
Brendan follows me, sets up the weights so they’re where I can lift them. Stand there, waiting for him, even though it hurts to stand. Keep my arms crossed over my chest and squeeze my arms again. Fucking need that pain, now. Fucking grounding.
Finishes setting up the weights. Steps back. “They’re ready,” he says.
Nod. Can see that. Gotta sit down now and get onto the bench. That should be easy. Can fucking do that. Take my time, try to ignore how it hurts to bend my knees. How it hurts to sit down and get myself into position. Feel Brendan’s eyes burn into me, fucking searing. The fuck is his problem?
Grab the weights. Dude spots me. Start lifting. Up. Down. Fucking simple. Should be fucking simple, but it hurts. More than it should. Stiff from last night. Muscles burn as I lift. Let the pain fill me. Up. Down. Fucking simple.
Go to lift the weights again. Dude puts his hand on the weights so I can’t lift them. “Stop,” he mutters.
The fuck?
Glare up at him. “You’re bleeding,” he says.
Sit up, cross my arms over my chest. Fucking hurts. “Not fucking bleeding,” I mutter.
Dude gives me a look. Moves his eyes to the floor.
Follow his eyes. See the puddles, dripping from the bench to the floor. Look at my sleeves, drenched in fucking blood. Heart stops.
“You should, uh, get yourself cleaned up,” Brendan says. Looks uncomfortable. Won’t meet my eyes. Fucking fine by me.
Stand up. Take my time. Room is fucking tense. Hard to stand. Everything hurts worse now. Can feel the dude’s eyes on me, even if he won’t meet mine. Don’t need that concern. Will be fucking fine.
Gotta get myself cleaned up. That’s all.
* * *
Take a long shower, try not to think about how red the fucking water runs. Don’t like the sight of blood. Lean against the side of the shower, shaking.
Don’t know how long I take. Know it’s a long fucking time -- I like long showers, okay? Mirror’s fogged up from all the hot water. Whole fucking room is fogged up. Clear the mirror off. Get myself dried off and dressed. Make sure every hair is in its fucking place. Not that I’m gonna be showing my face to anyone. No need to go back downstairs and see Brendan and his face again.
Everything’s fucking fine.
Sitting on my bed when I hear a knock on my door. The fuck? Ignore it -- don’t wanna talk to anyone. Knock doesn’t stop.
“Go away,” I mutter.
“Uh, Devin? We kind of need to talk.” Fucking Brendan.
“Go away,” I mutter again. Don’t get up from the bed.
“I’m not going away,” he says.
Get up from the bed. “I’m fucking fine,” I hiss as I walk towards the door.
“If you say that you’re fine just one more time...” Dude trails off.
Don’t wanna fucking deal with this. Crack the door open, keep one hand on the doorknob. Glare at Brendan’s concerned face. “The fuck is your problem?” I say.
“I’m not the one who has a problem,” he says. Shakes his head.
Give him my best death glare. Dude doesn’t move an inch. Just stares back at me, still with that fucking concerned look on his face. Keep glaring at him -- gotta leave sometime, right?
Doesn’t fucking leave. Pushes the door open and walks right into my room.
Step back so the door doesn’t fucking hit me in the face. “The fuck?” I mutter. Cross my arms over my chest. Feel my body start to shake. Glare at Brendan again.
“I’m -- not leaving until you tell me what’s going on,” he says. Shuts the door. Stands in front of it so I can’t fucking leave. Dude’s huge -- no way to get around him.
“I’m fine,” I say. Know I don’t sound fine, not with how my voice fucking cracks.
Leans against the door. “You’re not fine, and you know it. Just what happened?” he says.
Shaking enough it’s hard to fucking stand. Sit down on my bed, still with my arms crossed. Hug myself tighter, grab my arms as hard as I can. Need the pain right now. Need the distraction from how my chest is too fucking tight. From how it’s hard to breathe.
Try to ignore how his eyes burn into me like fucking lasers. Good thing he doesn’t have laser eyes. Not like Calla does. Wish she’d had those when -- don’t wanna think about that. Not after what I did to Brendan. Same thing Morgan did to her. Makes me no better than he is -- no wonder Calla thinks I’m scum of the fucking Earth.
“Fucking Morgan,” I mutter.
“You know about Morgan?” he murmurs. Dude gives me another look, one I can’t fucking read. Sits down on the bed beside me.
Scoot away from him. Too fucking close.
Nod my head. “Know about fucking Morgan. Calla -- told me what that bastard did. Couldn’t stand hearing about it,” I mutter.
Air’s heavy. Breathing’s hard. Don’t wanna talk about this.
“I can’t believe he got away with all that. The little shit...” Brendan says. Dude’s got his eyes narrowed, like he wishes he could go after Morgan himself. Kinda wish I could go after him.
Don’t say anything -- not sure what there is to fucking say. Not like we can find Morgan and kick his ass -- right?
“If I could track him down, I would make him regret ever touching her,” he mutters, fists balling at his sides.
“Not like we can track the dude,” I say. Whole body’s tense -- the idea of finding Morgan and making him regret what he did’s fucking tempting. “Can’t hire a tracker. Like any of them would fucking help.”
Chest gets a little less tight. Can’t hire a tracker, but we have something better -- Wes. Dude’s family runs a fancy security company. Can find fucking anybody.
“Wes,” I murmur.
He looks at me, fucking confused.
“Wes -- family’s a bunch of security bigshots, right? Gotta have fucking epic surveillance equipment. He could find Morgan,” I say. Uncross my arms. Feel fucking light.
Brendan’s eyes widen. “You really want to go after him?” he breathes.
Nod. “Yeah, I fucking do.”
“Me too,” he mutters. “The little shit needs to feel sorry for what he did.”
“He does.” Nod again.
“So, it’s agreed? We’re...really going to find Morgan?” he asks. Looks fucking hopeful. Excited.
“Yeah, we’re gonna go after him,” I mutter.
And make him fucking pay.