ANGELS: She Breathes Flesh To My Bones [1/?] -- R
[title] ANGELS: She Breathes Flesh To My Bones
[author] kissontheneck [a.k.a. fieryrogue]
[beta] clionona, the queen
[pairing] Cookleta
[rating] R
[word count] 2640
[summary] David will always be protected by the ones who love him.
[disclaimer] Surely, I have nothing to do with either of these fine young men, no matter how much I wish I did.
[warnings] Angst. Violence. Abuse. Language.
[author's notes] It started with an innocent idea, a lovely one in fact - too bad it went south after that. Oops. I also feel like I’m wasting this great title on this terrible story.
ANGELS: She Breathes Flesh To My Bones
In panic, David scans his room. Suitcase. Clothes. Jeans, shirts. What else? Bathroom. He dumps toothpaste, toothbrush, hairbrush, deodorant, and hair gel into a small basket.
Hair gel. How stupid at a time like this.
The basket’s contents get dumped into the suitcase too. Dropping the basket, he whirls around. What does he take? Jacket. Scarf. Sara Bareilles CD. The Catcher in the Rye.
What the hell? What the hell does one take with them when they’re fleeing? It’s all important, every scrap.
And then none of it is, either.
The most important things he can’t carry. How could he shoulder that keyboard, for example? Sheet music is everywhere. There’s no time to pick it up. Framed photos, he can get those. Daniel, Jazzy and Amber at the lake. Claudia’s graduation. Mom on an average day. All get tipped into the suitcase too. It’s getting full already.
“David!” His heart stops.
“David,” Jazzy skids around the corner of the doorframe. “David, what’s going on?”
“I have to go, Jazz, I-“ He looks his sister in the eye. She looks frightened. He knows she heard it all. She must have. It all unfolded in the foyer of the house, you can hear anything that happens in there from her room.
“David…” She swallows hard, obviously confused. He hates how young she is, at least right now. He doesn’t want to say anything to her. He doesn’t want to leave her there either. He grabs her in a shaking hug and she chokes back tears.
“David, I heard him yelling at you. He’s angry about Cook, isn’t he?”
“Yes, Jazz, he is.”
“What’s going to happen? Is it true what he said? Are you… are you going to hell, David?” She chokes on her words and squeezes him tighter. David’s mind reels at her question - he has no idea what’s going to happen in the next five seconds, let alone for all of eternity.
“I can’t - I don’t have time right now, Jazz, but I’ll… I’ll call you, I promise.” He can’t look at her, it’s too hard.
“Do you need help?” she asks desperately. “I can… let me help.”
He looks helplessly around the room. “No, Jazz, it’s okay. Just… watch over it, will you?”
“Anything for you, David.” A lone tear escapes her right eye. She doesn’t sweep it away.
David releases his sister and then mechanically hitches up the suitcase and hobbles out of the room, just as familiar feet are clunking down the basement stairs, pointed cowboy boots that flash fire into David’s heart.
“Archie, oh my God.” He’s caught up in Cook’s embrace. Cook’s strong arms are comforting, yet nausea twists in his stomach, because he didn’t want him right here at this very second.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he wails. “I asked you to meet me… out… outside.” His gem-like eyes search his surroundings in fear. “If he sees you here… he’ll kill you, Cook.”
Cook looks down at him, eyes dark, lips pressed together. He says nothing and pries the suitcase from David’s grasp.
“Let’s go.”
David tries to quicken his pace by keeping on Cook’s heels all the way up the stairs. Come on, Cook, he tries to will the words into his companion’s brain, go, go, go, go. Top of the stairs now, down the hall, past the kitchen, almost to the foyer…
“I don’t care, Lupe! It’s wrong and he knows it! He shapes up or - don’t walk away from me!”
David hears his mother say the most foul thing he’s ever heard her say in Spanish, or at least he’s pretty sure what she means seeing as he’s hardly heard those words uttered in English, let alone her mother tongue.
Cook stops suddenly just in view of the living room and David, preoccupied by what he’s heard, runs straight into him. David looks up to Cook’s profile, brow narrowed, jaw firm, lips pursed, and neck craned in the direction of the voices. No, Cook, go, go, go.
“Hey!” David’s never heard Cook’s voice be so stern, so commanding. He follows Cook’s eyes to see his father gripping his mother’s arm, pulling her back to him. She struggles in resistance. “How ‘bout you let her go, Jeff?”
“Oh, you’re here, are you?” His father’s voice too is something he’s never heard before, like it’s being filtered through a recording studio sound booth. He suddenly feels like he’s on the other side of a glass enclosure at the zoo, able to see everything, but do absolutely nothing.
“I’d thought it’d be obvious,” his father didn’t loosen his grip, “that you wouldn’t be welcome here anymore, David Cook.”
“Apparently, your own son isn’t either,” Cook replied, his voice grating in his throat.
“After what he’s done,” David noted a certain lack of control in his father’s voice now, “what he’s done to this family. What he did with you. It’s unspeakable and completely unacceptable.”
“Jeff, please -" Lupe finally freed her arm and moved away from him, closer to the boys. “He’s our son.”
“He was our son,” Jeff said icily. “And this… this heathen took advantage of him, broke his spirit, Lupe. Tore him away from God.”
David flinched at the word “heathen”, though Cook seemed unmoved. He knew that inside, Cook was raging, but on the outside, Cook was always a pillar of strength, holding his head high.
“I don’t think God would kick David out of His house for loving someone,” Cook said, anger permeating every word, especially punctuating the word “loving”.
Jeff laughed wildly as he stepped closer. David stepped back out of habit, not realizing he was practically hiding behind Cook. “Proof you know nothing about God and His laws. David has little hope now if he doesn’t decide to repent. He can’t come back.”
David felt his throat close up on him. He gasped desperately for air, which suddenly made him the center of attention, as if everyone else had forgotten he was in the room. His lower jaw shook suddenly and a rising panic filled him - he was going to cry and there was no way to stop it.
Jeff glared and practically spat at him, “For God’s sake, David, there you go again crying. You’re always crying. You’re eighteen, for goodness sake!”
The tears sprang to his eyes and streamed down his cheeks. Stop, he thought to himself, stop crying, you baby. Stop it! But he couldn’t stop the tears nor breathe nor move. His father grabbed him by either arm and squeezed so tightly that David thought for sure he’d lose circulation and faint or something.
“Jeff, stop!”
“Let go of him, jackass, you’re hurting him!”
Both Cook and Lupe spoke over one another and Jeff seemed temporarily caught off-guard by their outbursts. David sniffed loudly and his father’s eyes met his as he said again, shaking him now, “Stop crying! Daniel’s more of a man than you are, he doesn’t snivel every time something goes wrong. Stop it!” He shook David again and out of the corner of his eye, David could see Cook moving to grab him. Jeff, possibly in order to avoid Cook’s grasp, let David go with a shove, which caused him to back up harshly against the wall directly behind him, knocking the back of his head with an audible crack.
Fire poured from Cook’s eyes, making him nearly unrecognizable. “You son of a bitch,” he said angrily, voice rising. “You fucking son of a -“ He raised a hand.
“Don’t you dare,” Jeff spat. “Don’t even think about it!”
David couldn’t take it anymore. “Stop it, Dad, please. Please stop it!” The tears kept coming in unending waves. His voice could barely keep up. “Just… please.”
David saw his father’s arm rise and again, out of instinct, he closed his eyes tightly and hoped for the blow he was expecting to be as painless as possible. His tolerance for pain had grown over the years, and he figured he could wince his way through this one last time. Except the blow didn’t come. Rather, he felt a gentle hand grab his arm as he heard a cracking slapping sound overlapping his mother’s sharp cry. His eyes flew open to find his mother standing close to him, one hand on his arm, the other covering her cheek. She had moved to put herself between him and his father.
Jeff looked absolutely shocked. Clearly speechless, he backed up a little.
“Lupe, I didn’t - I didn’t mean -“
He didn’t have time to say what he didn’t mean. Cook lunged at him, grabbing him by the front of the shirt and shoving him against the opposite wall. David couldn’t blink, though he desperately wanted to - wanted to blink it all away. His vision was suddenly obscured by the front of his mother’s blouse as she pulled him to her and squeezed his head into her shoulder.
“Mom, Mom I-“
“Shush, David,” she cooed in his ear. “Just… quiet.”
He squeezed his eyes shut and they both jumped at the sound of a vase crashing to the floor from the entryway table. David squirmed against his mother, but she held steady. Shouting, language like he’d never heard before, deathly threats… then silence.
“Come on,” David heard Cook’s voice growl before his hand clamped down onto his own wrist. “Lupe, you’re coming with us.”
There was tugging and David peered out over his mother’s shoulder. His dad was nowhere to be seen.
“David, I can’t - the children.”
Cook’s expression almost seemed angrier at her excuse. Nostrils flared and eyes completely wild, he shoved his hand into his back pocket, flung out his wallet and dug into it. A fistful of cash flashed between Cook’s hands as he counted it.
“A hundred and fifty-six dollars. Lupe, you get those fucking children and get the fucking hell out of here, immediately.” He shoved the money into her shaking hands, though she was reluctant to take it. “And call the goddamn police while you’re at it.”
David looked at his mother and she was absolutely trembling. David never knew if his father hit her too, and at the moment, he had guessed that he hadn’t. He wasn’t even sure about the other children, and in fact there were times when he was almost thankful he was the one because he’d rather it be him than any of them. A strike against him was one not against one of his siblings.
“Come on, David.” Cook took up the suitcase again, grabbed David by the arm. “We’re going now.”
David sputtered. “But, I don’t… but Mom -“
“Go, David,” Lupe insisted, regaining some of the strength in her voice. “We’ll be okay. Vaya con Dios, mi hijo.”
Go with God, my son. His heart leapt into his throat.
He stared after her every last second that he could as Cook dragged him to the front door. “Te amo, Mama,” he called, his voice weak with tears as the screen door clapped closed between them. He couldn’t quite hear her, but he saw her utter the same words back to him before she vanished out of sight.
He tripped up the walk trying to keep up with Cook. The suitcase flew into the back of Cook’s beat-up pickup truck and it was only then that David caught a glimpse of Cook’s face.
“Oh my gosh,” David whimpered, “are you okay?”
“Get in the truck, David.”
“But-“
“Get in the fucking truck, David!” It was like a lion roaring and David did as he was told. However, once they were seated side-by-side in the cab of the truck, he insisted on asking again.
“Are you okay?” David sniffed. Cook’s cheek was flared with redness and starting to swell. A drop of blood streamed from his nose and across his lip and he swiped his sleeve across his mouth to catch it.
“How’s your head?” Cook breathed against his arm as he struggled to pick out his keys with one hand.
It wasn’t until that moment that David really felt the throbbing pain pulsing across his scull and down his neck. His right shoulder was sore too, as if pulled out of joint.
“Fine,” he choked out. “It’s… I’m fine.”
“You’re a fucking liar, but I’ll ignore it for now.” The truck rumbled to life and Cook’s arm came down from his face in order to slam the vehicle into gear. Luckily for the truck, that was how it had to be done on any other given day as well.
David pulled the collar of his shirt up over his brow and pressed the fabric hard against his eyes. Besides sopping up the waterfall that his face had become, he breathed through the fabric as if it were a ventilator, allowing him to breathe again. He suddenly thought of Jazzy then, how he’d told her he would call her. He strained to remember if he knew where Amber and Daniel were.
“Are they going to be okay?” David asked through his soaked shirt.
Cook was slow to answer, but finally said in a voice that was quieter, calmer, but still shaken, “If she does what I told her to do.”
David peered over the top of his collar, staring straight ahead. The familiar street was past them already and he watched dazedly as homes with white picket fences, two car garages and basketball hoops floated by them.
“Will she do it?”
David didn’t budge. “What?” he murmured.
“Will she do what I told her to do?”
David hesitated. “I… I don’t know. I really don’t.” It bothered him immensely that he wasn’t lying now.
It was silent the rest of the ride to Cook’s apartment. Dark was falling over them now, and twinkling stars were peppering across the sky. The truck lurched into its familiar parking space and Cook killed the engine, but didn’t move to get out. David suddenly felt cold and he shivered. He pulled his feet up onto the seat, pushing his knees into his chest and wrapping his arms around them. A sudden wave of emotion coursed through him, starting in his belly and moving upward through his chest, squeezing through his throat before spilling out of his mouth in an anguished, choking wail. Cook’s gaze snapped towards him and he reached out his arm, draping it over David’s folded form and pulling him towards himself.
“Come here,” he whispered and David obliged by half-scooting, half-toppling into Cook, planting his weary face into Cook’s chest, tears soaking into his shirt.
“I’m so scared,” David whispered, barely audible.
“I know you are,” Cook replied, stroking his back in concentric circles. Cook buried his face into David’s matted hair and pressed his lips against the top of his head. “He’s not going to hurt you anymore, okay?”
David hiccupped as a response. “I’m not worried about me,” David said, half-truthfully. “What about them?”
“They’ll be okay,” Cook whispered. “You trust your mother, don’t you?”
David bolted upright and stared Cook down, the intensity of his eyes almost violent.
“More than anyone in the world.”
“She’ll do the right thing,” Cook said, drawing up either of David’s hands. “She’ll protect them. Don’t worry.”
David’s face softened and he sunk his head back into Cook’s shoulder, sighing deeply. Despite everything, he suddenly felt at home. Right here, in this stupid old pick-up truck. Wherever Cook was was home.
“Come on, let’s go in,” Cook said. “I’ll make you some hot chocolate. I know that’s your favorite.”
David mumbled something against Cook’s shoulder that sounded like, “Doohafmarthmulloths?”
Cook couldn’t help but smirk. “What’s that?”
David picked up his head slightly and repeated, “Do you have marshmallows?”
Cook squeezed him tightly against himself and said, “Yes, of course I have marshmallows. It’s a sin not to have marshmallows.”
~~~~~~~~~~ ♥ ~~~~~~~~~~
“And through it all
She offers me protection
A lot of love and affection
Whether I’m right or wrong…”
--David Archuleta, “Angels”
~~~~~~~~~~ ♥ ~~~~~~~~~~
>> Go on to PART TWO: No Good Deed...
[author] kissontheneck [a.k.a. fieryrogue]
[beta] clionona, the queen
[pairing] Cookleta
[rating] R
[word count] 2640
[summary] David will always be protected by the ones who love him.
[disclaimer] Surely, I have nothing to do with either of these fine young men, no matter how much I wish I did.
[warnings] Angst. Violence. Abuse. Language.
[author's notes] It started with an innocent idea, a lovely one in fact - too bad it went south after that. Oops. I also feel like I’m wasting this great title on this terrible story.
ANGELS: She Breathes Flesh To My Bones
In panic, David scans his room. Suitcase. Clothes. Jeans, shirts. What else? Bathroom. He dumps toothpaste, toothbrush, hairbrush, deodorant, and hair gel into a small basket.
Hair gel. How stupid at a time like this.
The basket’s contents get dumped into the suitcase too. Dropping the basket, he whirls around. What does he take? Jacket. Scarf. Sara Bareilles CD. The Catcher in the Rye.
What the hell? What the hell does one take with them when they’re fleeing? It’s all important, every scrap.
And then none of it is, either.
The most important things he can’t carry. How could he shoulder that keyboard, for example? Sheet music is everywhere. There’s no time to pick it up. Framed photos, he can get those. Daniel, Jazzy and Amber at the lake. Claudia’s graduation. Mom on an average day. All get tipped into the suitcase too. It’s getting full already.
“David!” His heart stops.
“David,” Jazzy skids around the corner of the doorframe. “David, what’s going on?”
“I have to go, Jazz, I-“ He looks his sister in the eye. She looks frightened. He knows she heard it all. She must have. It all unfolded in the foyer of the house, you can hear anything that happens in there from her room.
“David…” She swallows hard, obviously confused. He hates how young she is, at least right now. He doesn’t want to say anything to her. He doesn’t want to leave her there either. He grabs her in a shaking hug and she chokes back tears.
“David, I heard him yelling at you. He’s angry about Cook, isn’t he?”
“Yes, Jazz, he is.”
“What’s going to happen? Is it true what he said? Are you… are you going to hell, David?” She chokes on her words and squeezes him tighter. David’s mind reels at her question - he has no idea what’s going to happen in the next five seconds, let alone for all of eternity.
“I can’t - I don’t have time right now, Jazz, but I’ll… I’ll call you, I promise.” He can’t look at her, it’s too hard.
“Do you need help?” she asks desperately. “I can… let me help.”
He looks helplessly around the room. “No, Jazz, it’s okay. Just… watch over it, will you?”
“Anything for you, David.” A lone tear escapes her right eye. She doesn’t sweep it away.
David releases his sister and then mechanically hitches up the suitcase and hobbles out of the room, just as familiar feet are clunking down the basement stairs, pointed cowboy boots that flash fire into David’s heart.
“Archie, oh my God.” He’s caught up in Cook’s embrace. Cook’s strong arms are comforting, yet nausea twists in his stomach, because he didn’t want him right here at this very second.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he wails. “I asked you to meet me… out… outside.” His gem-like eyes search his surroundings in fear. “If he sees you here… he’ll kill you, Cook.”
Cook looks down at him, eyes dark, lips pressed together. He says nothing and pries the suitcase from David’s grasp.
“Let’s go.”
David tries to quicken his pace by keeping on Cook’s heels all the way up the stairs. Come on, Cook, he tries to will the words into his companion’s brain, go, go, go, go. Top of the stairs now, down the hall, past the kitchen, almost to the foyer…
“I don’t care, Lupe! It’s wrong and he knows it! He shapes up or - don’t walk away from me!”
David hears his mother say the most foul thing he’s ever heard her say in Spanish, or at least he’s pretty sure what she means seeing as he’s hardly heard those words uttered in English, let alone her mother tongue.
Cook stops suddenly just in view of the living room and David, preoccupied by what he’s heard, runs straight into him. David looks up to Cook’s profile, brow narrowed, jaw firm, lips pursed, and neck craned in the direction of the voices. No, Cook, go, go, go.
“Hey!” David’s never heard Cook’s voice be so stern, so commanding. He follows Cook’s eyes to see his father gripping his mother’s arm, pulling her back to him. She struggles in resistance. “How ‘bout you let her go, Jeff?”
“Oh, you’re here, are you?” His father’s voice too is something he’s never heard before, like it’s being filtered through a recording studio sound booth. He suddenly feels like he’s on the other side of a glass enclosure at the zoo, able to see everything, but do absolutely nothing.
“I’d thought it’d be obvious,” his father didn’t loosen his grip, “that you wouldn’t be welcome here anymore, David Cook.”
“Apparently, your own son isn’t either,” Cook replied, his voice grating in his throat.
“After what he’s done,” David noted a certain lack of control in his father’s voice now, “what he’s done to this family. What he did with you. It’s unspeakable and completely unacceptable.”
“Jeff, please -" Lupe finally freed her arm and moved away from him, closer to the boys. “He’s our son.”
“He was our son,” Jeff said icily. “And this… this heathen took advantage of him, broke his spirit, Lupe. Tore him away from God.”
David flinched at the word “heathen”, though Cook seemed unmoved. He knew that inside, Cook was raging, but on the outside, Cook was always a pillar of strength, holding his head high.
“I don’t think God would kick David out of His house for loving someone,” Cook said, anger permeating every word, especially punctuating the word “loving”.
Jeff laughed wildly as he stepped closer. David stepped back out of habit, not realizing he was practically hiding behind Cook. “Proof you know nothing about God and His laws. David has little hope now if he doesn’t decide to repent. He can’t come back.”
David felt his throat close up on him. He gasped desperately for air, which suddenly made him the center of attention, as if everyone else had forgotten he was in the room. His lower jaw shook suddenly and a rising panic filled him - he was going to cry and there was no way to stop it.
Jeff glared and practically spat at him, “For God’s sake, David, there you go again crying. You’re always crying. You’re eighteen, for goodness sake!”
The tears sprang to his eyes and streamed down his cheeks. Stop, he thought to himself, stop crying, you baby. Stop it! But he couldn’t stop the tears nor breathe nor move. His father grabbed him by either arm and squeezed so tightly that David thought for sure he’d lose circulation and faint or something.
“Jeff, stop!”
“Let go of him, jackass, you’re hurting him!”
Both Cook and Lupe spoke over one another and Jeff seemed temporarily caught off-guard by their outbursts. David sniffed loudly and his father’s eyes met his as he said again, shaking him now, “Stop crying! Daniel’s more of a man than you are, he doesn’t snivel every time something goes wrong. Stop it!” He shook David again and out of the corner of his eye, David could see Cook moving to grab him. Jeff, possibly in order to avoid Cook’s grasp, let David go with a shove, which caused him to back up harshly against the wall directly behind him, knocking the back of his head with an audible crack.
Fire poured from Cook’s eyes, making him nearly unrecognizable. “You son of a bitch,” he said angrily, voice rising. “You fucking son of a -“ He raised a hand.
“Don’t you dare,” Jeff spat. “Don’t even think about it!”
David couldn’t take it anymore. “Stop it, Dad, please. Please stop it!” The tears kept coming in unending waves. His voice could barely keep up. “Just… please.”
David saw his father’s arm rise and again, out of instinct, he closed his eyes tightly and hoped for the blow he was expecting to be as painless as possible. His tolerance for pain had grown over the years, and he figured he could wince his way through this one last time. Except the blow didn’t come. Rather, he felt a gentle hand grab his arm as he heard a cracking slapping sound overlapping his mother’s sharp cry. His eyes flew open to find his mother standing close to him, one hand on his arm, the other covering her cheek. She had moved to put herself between him and his father.
Jeff looked absolutely shocked. Clearly speechless, he backed up a little.
“Lupe, I didn’t - I didn’t mean -“
He didn’t have time to say what he didn’t mean. Cook lunged at him, grabbing him by the front of the shirt and shoving him against the opposite wall. David couldn’t blink, though he desperately wanted to - wanted to blink it all away. His vision was suddenly obscured by the front of his mother’s blouse as she pulled him to her and squeezed his head into her shoulder.
“Mom, Mom I-“
“Shush, David,” she cooed in his ear. “Just… quiet.”
He squeezed his eyes shut and they both jumped at the sound of a vase crashing to the floor from the entryway table. David squirmed against his mother, but she held steady. Shouting, language like he’d never heard before, deathly threats… then silence.
“Come on,” David heard Cook’s voice growl before his hand clamped down onto his own wrist. “Lupe, you’re coming with us.”
There was tugging and David peered out over his mother’s shoulder. His dad was nowhere to be seen.
“David, I can’t - the children.”
Cook’s expression almost seemed angrier at her excuse. Nostrils flared and eyes completely wild, he shoved his hand into his back pocket, flung out his wallet and dug into it. A fistful of cash flashed between Cook’s hands as he counted it.
“A hundred and fifty-six dollars. Lupe, you get those fucking children and get the fucking hell out of here, immediately.” He shoved the money into her shaking hands, though she was reluctant to take it. “And call the goddamn police while you’re at it.”
David looked at his mother and she was absolutely trembling. David never knew if his father hit her too, and at the moment, he had guessed that he hadn’t. He wasn’t even sure about the other children, and in fact there were times when he was almost thankful he was the one because he’d rather it be him than any of them. A strike against him was one not against one of his siblings.
“Come on, David.” Cook took up the suitcase again, grabbed David by the arm. “We’re going now.”
David sputtered. “But, I don’t… but Mom -“
“Go, David,” Lupe insisted, regaining some of the strength in her voice. “We’ll be okay. Vaya con Dios, mi hijo.”
Go with God, my son. His heart leapt into his throat.
He stared after her every last second that he could as Cook dragged him to the front door. “Te amo, Mama,” he called, his voice weak with tears as the screen door clapped closed between them. He couldn’t quite hear her, but he saw her utter the same words back to him before she vanished out of sight.
He tripped up the walk trying to keep up with Cook. The suitcase flew into the back of Cook’s beat-up pickup truck and it was only then that David caught a glimpse of Cook’s face.
“Oh my gosh,” David whimpered, “are you okay?”
“Get in the truck, David.”
“But-“
“Get in the fucking truck, David!” It was like a lion roaring and David did as he was told. However, once they were seated side-by-side in the cab of the truck, he insisted on asking again.
“Are you okay?” David sniffed. Cook’s cheek was flared with redness and starting to swell. A drop of blood streamed from his nose and across his lip and he swiped his sleeve across his mouth to catch it.
“How’s your head?” Cook breathed against his arm as he struggled to pick out his keys with one hand.
It wasn’t until that moment that David really felt the throbbing pain pulsing across his scull and down his neck. His right shoulder was sore too, as if pulled out of joint.
“Fine,” he choked out. “It’s… I’m fine.”
“You’re a fucking liar, but I’ll ignore it for now.” The truck rumbled to life and Cook’s arm came down from his face in order to slam the vehicle into gear. Luckily for the truck, that was how it had to be done on any other given day as well.
David pulled the collar of his shirt up over his brow and pressed the fabric hard against his eyes. Besides sopping up the waterfall that his face had become, he breathed through the fabric as if it were a ventilator, allowing him to breathe again. He suddenly thought of Jazzy then, how he’d told her he would call her. He strained to remember if he knew where Amber and Daniel were.
“Are they going to be okay?” David asked through his soaked shirt.
Cook was slow to answer, but finally said in a voice that was quieter, calmer, but still shaken, “If she does what I told her to do.”
David peered over the top of his collar, staring straight ahead. The familiar street was past them already and he watched dazedly as homes with white picket fences, two car garages and basketball hoops floated by them.
“Will she do it?”
David didn’t budge. “What?” he murmured.
“Will she do what I told her to do?”
David hesitated. “I… I don’t know. I really don’t.” It bothered him immensely that he wasn’t lying now.
It was silent the rest of the ride to Cook’s apartment. Dark was falling over them now, and twinkling stars were peppering across the sky. The truck lurched into its familiar parking space and Cook killed the engine, but didn’t move to get out. David suddenly felt cold and he shivered. He pulled his feet up onto the seat, pushing his knees into his chest and wrapping his arms around them. A sudden wave of emotion coursed through him, starting in his belly and moving upward through his chest, squeezing through his throat before spilling out of his mouth in an anguished, choking wail. Cook’s gaze snapped towards him and he reached out his arm, draping it over David’s folded form and pulling him towards himself.
“Come here,” he whispered and David obliged by half-scooting, half-toppling into Cook, planting his weary face into Cook’s chest, tears soaking into his shirt.
“I’m so scared,” David whispered, barely audible.
“I know you are,” Cook replied, stroking his back in concentric circles. Cook buried his face into David’s matted hair and pressed his lips against the top of his head. “He’s not going to hurt you anymore, okay?”
David hiccupped as a response. “I’m not worried about me,” David said, half-truthfully. “What about them?”
“They’ll be okay,” Cook whispered. “You trust your mother, don’t you?”
David bolted upright and stared Cook down, the intensity of his eyes almost violent.
“More than anyone in the world.”
“She’ll do the right thing,” Cook said, drawing up either of David’s hands. “She’ll protect them. Don’t worry.”
David’s face softened and he sunk his head back into Cook’s shoulder, sighing deeply. Despite everything, he suddenly felt at home. Right here, in this stupid old pick-up truck. Wherever Cook was was home.
“Come on, let’s go in,” Cook said. “I’ll make you some hot chocolate. I know that’s your favorite.”
David mumbled something against Cook’s shoulder that sounded like, “Doohafmarthmulloths?”
Cook couldn’t help but smirk. “What’s that?”
David picked up his head slightly and repeated, “Do you have marshmallows?”
Cook squeezed him tightly against himself and said, “Yes, of course I have marshmallows. It’s a sin not to have marshmallows.”
~~~~~~~~~~ ♥ ~~~~~~~~~~
“And through it all
She offers me protection
A lot of love and affection
Whether I’m right or wrong…”
--David Archuleta, “Angels”
~~~~~~~~~~ ♥ ~~~~~~~~~~
>> Go on to PART TWO: No Good Deed...