Moon Palace
So I have just posted this over at my journal and figured this would probably be the community where it should go.
READ THE WARNINGS! Please, guys.
Title: Moon Palace
Author: Raven
Characters: Elliott Smith, Conor Oberst, Gerard and Mikey Way
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: angst, swearing, child-abuse, violence and more angst.
POV: 3rd person
Summary: Home wasn’t even a concept that he understood if he was really honest about it.
Disclaimer: no, seriously, it's not true. Title belongs to Paul Auster.
Chapter 1
He arrived late in the afternoon with nothing but a backpack and a teddy bear and he looked so pathetic that, despite all of his intentions to hate the kid, Elliott couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him. He should have known better even back then. Sympathy is seriously out of place in foster homes and if you happen to be the one who got there first, you make sure to put the new kid in his place before he gets any ideas. You depend on these people to feel sorry for you and if someone younger and cuter comes along, you fight them to maintain your position in the food chain, no matter what. Elliott couldn’t help it though; the kid looked terrified and lost already, holding on to a fucking stuffed animal for comfort. Their mom made a huge fuss, she had a cake ready and she’d done her hair up in a far too complicated do and her hands just fluttered around the place aimlessly. She wasn’t their real mom, of course, but she wasn’t bad, all things considered. She was happy with the kids just calling her Lucy. He knew that she knew he still had a mother out there somewhere. He knew that Lucy sometimes looked at him, wondering if his mom would come to take him back at some point. Elliott suspected that was one of the reasons the new kid had ended up here, but he also knew there was no chance in hell his folks would ever even try to track him down.
The new kid was called Conor and he was definitely younger and cuter, he’d just turned 8, so he was still in an age group that you could place with foster families easily. Elliott had turned 12 in the summer and he knew this was his last chance of having a family. No one picked a teenager and if they did, they had serious problems. Elliott wasn’t gonna go down that route if he could help it, shacking up with some old perv who posted his nude pictures on the net or whatever. He needed Lucy and the creep to work out, they were the best shot at having parents he’d get. If the kid was gonna be his little brother, he might as well deal with it, he told himself. Better to share the little bit of something with some random kid then having nothing all to himself.
He managed a lop-sided grin at Conor and nodded briefly before disappearing into the house to set the table. The Creep hadn’t shown up for the occasion and the mood was a lot lighter for it. It wasn’t that he was scared of the creep. After Charlie, he hadn’t really been scared of anyone. It was just that the guy waswell, creepy. He’d sometimes freak out for almost no reason whatsoever and you never really got it. You just kinda shrugged it off and moved on. The Conor kid was gonna share his bedroom, but since neither of them really had any stuff, it wasn’t a big deal to fit both of them into the cramped space. When they had finished their cake, Conor still hadn’t said a word, but Lucy sent them upstairs to “unpack”, whatever that was supposed to mean. Maybe she just needed a cigarette to get her hands to stop moving restlessly.
Elliott took the lead and showed the kid into the room, flopping down on his own bed and gesturing towards the other, empty one. “Yours. There’s some space in the drawers and...well, that’s kinda it.” Conor nodded and put the bear on the pillow. Then he just stood there, in the middle of the room, staring holes into his shoes. “Do you...uhm...wanna sit down or something?” Elliott scooted over on the bed a little bit, but Conor didn’t move. Tears were pooling in his eyes but not making their way down his cheeks. Elliott sighed. “Dude, it’s cool, okay? I’ve been there. This place isn’t so bad.” As fast as the tears had appeared in Conor’s eyes, they vanished. He stared at Elliott just briefly, his expression inscrutable. “It’s not that. I just...I miss my mom. I can’t help that.” His tone was almost defiant. “Oh. Right. I didn’t...I thought they’d brought you from the orphanage. I didn’t know that...you know...this was new,” Elliott mumbled, feeling like an ass. If he was a first timer, this was obviously pretty tough. If he’d had like real parents before.
“Don’t feel sorry for me. I’m...I’m good.” Elliott choked back a laugh and managed to almost disguise it as a fit of coughing. He’d lied so much in his life he could spot a fake a mile off. He racked his brain if there was something he could say or do to make the kid think about other things, but he couldn’t come up with anything. The kid had spotted the guitar in the corner, though, so he didn’t really need to try. “Is that...is it yours?” “Yeah. Lucy and the cr...aehm....Matt got it for me after...for my birthday.” He paused for a moment, but when the kid made no move to grab it, he shrugged. “You can touch it if you want to. Just...break a string and I’ll fucking murder you.” Conor’s eyes widened and he shrunk back into his corner of the room. “No, no, it’s...it’s okay. Thanks.” “You know, I wasn’t really gonna murder you,” Elliott grumbled after a couple of minutes when the kid still hadn’t stopped shaking. “I know. It’s just...it’s yours. And I just got here and you’re kinda stuck with me now and...” He shook his head, clearly frustrated by how childish and incoherent he sounded. Elliott couldn’t help taking pity on him. “Dude. Conor? Right, Conor. It’s cool, okay? They’re not my real parents. They took me in like two years ago, just as they’re taking you in now. I don’t mind.”
“Oh. Okay. Thanks?” When Elliott still hadn’t made a move to strangle him, he looked up shyly. “What...What happened? To your parents, I mean. I mean, if you don’t mind me asking. Mine died in a car crash and people kept asking me and it really, I dunno, I really didn’t wanna remember it or talk about it, so...you know, you don’t have to but...” Elliott had had that kid pegged for autistic or something, but apparently once he started rambling you needed to jump right into his sentence if you were ever gonna see him breathe. “They’re...my mom got sick.” It was as close to the truth as he was gonna take it and it would just have to do. His mom had gotten sick. Of him, he added silently, but he didn’t voice the thought. A door was banging downstairs and he sat up, tense all of a sudden.
“That’s...that’s Matt. Just...you know, try to shut the fuck up around him.” The kid stared at him again. “Why? Doesn’t he like us?” He was so fucking naive Elliott almost grinned. “No. He doesn’t. He likes us not making noise and not getting into trouble.” When they were called to dinner, they almost ate in silence, except for Lucy, who was still fussing way too much. Elliott kept his eyes on Matt. He seemed okay. When he was getting mad, you could sense it a mile off, he’d grind his teeth so hard you could hear it and his knuckles turned white clutching the cutlery. Right now, everything was fine. They went upstairs after dinner and took turns in the shower before getting their PJs on. “You want something to read? I haven’t got much, but maybe...I read this a while back.” Elliott dug out a battered paperback and threw it in the general direction of Conor’s bed. “Moon Palace?” “It’s...it’s about this guy who is homeless and then he finds his millionaire uncle who is dying from cancer. And then they go give money to people in the street, just randomly...it’s pretty cool.” Conor didn’t even listen. “Moon Palace”, he repeated and Elliott turned round while Conor was punching his pillow into shape.
“Can you imagine if there really was a palace? On the moon, I mean. Somewhere where, I dunno, there’s always that blueish light that you get when the moon’s full and it’s really quiet?” Elliott smiled and slid his bed cover up to his chin. “It’s probably somewhere so remote and quiet that you could hear your own thoughts. Like somewhere they’d actually make sense.” Conor grinned back at him. “Exactly. Because there, they’d just be thoughts. You wouldn’t be afraid of what you’d hear.” Elliott was still smiling when he fell asleep. He’d never had a brother and he wasn’t sure if the kid was gonna be that. But if he could just pull random images out of his head like that, maybe it’d be nice to have him around for a while.
Chapter 2
It took a couple of days before Matt got mad, but Elliott had been waiting for it to happen, hovering almost anxiously around Conor. The kid didn’t talk much, but the problem was that it took him a long time to answer if he was asked a question and Matt just wasn’t patient enough. They were having dinner and Matt had asked about school. Elliott had brushed it off quickly, barely looking up from his plate and managing to keep eye contact for just long enough Matt wouldn’t think he was lying when he said everything was fine. Conor was obviously thinking of how to tell Matt something that had been going on that day and when he finally started the sentence, Matt’s knuckles had already whitened considerably. Elliott wasn’t sure kicking Conor under the table would help. “What’s your problem, are you just stupid or can’t you talk?” he snapped at Conor who blushed and stared down at the table. “I...I’m sorry. It’s...it’s really good.” Matt muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Retard” and pushed his chair back.
“I hope you’re happy now, Lucy. A dimwit and a weirdo all in the same family. You must be so proud”, he sneered and went out to the garage, leaving her fussing with her hair even more then usual. They scrambled up to their bedroom the second they were excused and Elliott found himself glancing over at Conor a couple of times to see if he was upset. The kid just sat on the bed though, a vacant look on his face, his arms round his knees. It didn’t have to mean anything that he was rocking back and forth, did it? “So...that palace of yours”, Elliott finally mumbled, “does it...is it just you in there? Or is it somewhere people meet?” Conor looked up and you could literally see him resurfacing from somewhere deep inside. “It’s...it’s just me. But...I think everyone can maybe have their own palace and maybe sometimes the rooms are close to each other and you can hear other people’s thoughts as well. Not everyone’s allowed in, but maybe sometimes, people you like come and visit and they bring along their stories.”
“You are pretty fucking weird, Conor. Seriously.” Conor almost smiled at the awed tone. “I’m...well. Yeah. I guess.” “It’s kinda cool. You know, I wasn’t sure what I’d do if they stuck me with a little brother who’s into sports and shit.” Conor’s smile evaporated and there was a flash of raw longing and pain in his eyes. “A...a little brother?”, he blurted out. “Well, kinda. If...if that’s okay with you. I know they’re not our parents and I wouldn’t wanna call them that cause I’ve already got parents. Brothers are different, though. I think you can just decide if you wanna be brothers.” “Yeah, maybe. II wouldn’t mind. Having a brother. It’s...it’s like having family.”
Elliott considered the possibility that this kid had really had a family right before he’d come here. He imagined what it would be like to be ripped away from Christmas trees and beach vacations and shit without any warning. His mom hadn’t been well for a long time and Charlieguy definitely hadn’t been well. Elliott had learned not to scream before he could even speak, he’d been so scared of Charlie that he couldn’t even talk right when the guy was around. As much as Elliott hated to admit it, Charlie had been a seriously scary motherfucker. His mom had just stared out of the living room window most of the time. At some point, he’d been taken away. He’d ended up in hospital and they’d seen the bruises and burns and fractured bones, running to social services pretty much screaming. No, Elliott seriously never missed home.
Home wasn’t even a concept that he understood if he was really honest about it. If there was a bed you could sleep in without anyone bothering you, it was good enough while it lasted. Everything else was gravy. He’d slipped into a confused dream, about his mom piling up cigarettes on the kitchen table, forming intricate mazes and patterns, balancing thousands of them and never allowing her temple of cancer sticks to collapse. She was smiling, but you could tell she didn’t even see anything but that strange tower of Babylon. He jerked awake with a start and realized that the kid was standing at the window, staring into the darkness outside. There was no moon that night, just a faint yellow glow from the streetlamps. It was enough to see that his shoulders were shaking and Elliott sighed, running a hand through his tangled hair sleepily and pulling himself up.
“Con?” The kid jumped a foot and Elliott shuffled over awkwardly, his bare feet getting tangled up in the pyjama bottoms that were too long. “Conor? You okay?” “I...yeah. Don’t...Just go back to bed, okay?” His voice sounded too distant. Scared, maybe. It was hard to tell with him, he could talk about his parents in the same voice he’d use to talk about a movie and there was always a certain anxiousness to whatever he was saying, like he was nervous to get the words out. “Nightmare?” “Just go the fuck back to bed, Elliott.” Elliott had never heard him swear and his name at the end of the sentence came out as a choked sob, so he put an arm round Conor’s shoulder. “What is it, dude? Brothers and all?” “I...shit. I had a dream. I don’t even know, it was something about a river and you could hear the water running really loud and when I woke up...this hasn’t happened in...I don’t even know. I’m not some stupid baby!”
Elliott needed a moment to get what the hell the kid was even on about, but he felt his pants getting a little damp from hugging Conor and he got it. “Shit. Okay, don’t freak out, yeah? Shit happens.” His mind was reeling trying to figure out how to keep this from Matt while he was telling the kid everything would be alright. He glanced over at the mattress and nodded, more to himself then to Conor. “Gimme a hand here, okay?” They swapped the mattresses and Elliott was secretly grateful that they were pretty flimsy. “Ok. Come on, get your pants off. I’ve got another pair somewhere. Just...give them here.” He stuffed them under his bed and huddled up close to Conor on his clean mattress. The kid curled up to him almost instantly, hanging on for dear life. “They...Lucy isn’t gonna send me back is she?” “Lucy’s cool”, Elliott mumbled actually believing it. “Matt...don’t worry about Matt. It’ll all be cool. Like I said, shit happens.”
The only good part was that Lucy had taken Conor out to buy clothes when Matt got home. Elliott just walked straight up to him. “IMatt, I really don’t even know how it happened, butI wet the bed last night.” Matt freaked, exactly like Elliott thought he would. He screamed and roared and cursed like a mad man and dragged Elliott upstairs roughly, surveying the damage. It was almost a relief when he finally got round to delivering the first hit, the words were harder to take. It didn’t get completely out of hand, either, just a few smacks and punches. Elliott knew the difference between bruising and breaking very well and there wouldn’t be anything to worry about. He wandered around his moon palace throughout the whole thing, just wondering if the thoughts he was hearing were his own or other people’s and who would be allowed to visit his sanctuary anyway. “Next time, I’ll rub your fucking stupid ugly face in it, you little bastard! Now change the fucking sheets and wash them before I take a belt to your useless ass!”
He silently stuffed the sheets into the machine and poured detergent on top of them, sitting with his back to the concrete garage wall listening to the spinning and gurgling noises that penetrated his ears despite a high-pitched tone ringing somewhere in his head after Matt had slapped him with enough force to knock him against the wall. He sat there motionless until the washing was done, thinking about Charlie. The motherfucker would have cut his balls off if he’d pissed his bed, this didn’t even compare. When Conor came back, he didn’t mention what had happened. If the kid noticed the bruises on Elliott’s arm when they changed for bed, he never said so. Sometime in the early morning, Elliott woke up with the kid nestled in his bed, though. He tried not to think about the fact that he was a bit too battered to really enjoy the closeness, but somehow it still felt damn good, regardless of the dull ache.
Chapter 3
Somehow they managed three months without Conor really finding out about anything, but school had that unique way of interrupting a good run like that. Elliott hadn’t really planned to get into a fight, but when it had happened, he’d stood his ground. The teachers weren’t impressed by the fact that he’d broken the nose of a 15 year old and caused at least a little bit of pain on his two henchmen. The principle called Matt at work, musing and wondering in a carefully measured tone that Elliott might have “issues”. He seriously said “issues” and Elliott couldn’t help thinking he’d have a lot more issues once Matt got his hands on him. He didn’t tell Lucy or Conor about the phone call, silently brooding until he heard Matt’s car in the drive-way. He just hoped he could keep most of it from the kid. Matt was glacial when he came in, just giving Elliott one look and spitting “You. In the garage. Now.” Elliott got up without so much as glancing at Conor. He really didn’t want anyone to see his face.
Matt went completely ape shit out there and this time, he really did take the belt to him. When Elliott didn’t even flinch, he turned it over and got him with the buckle end, still screaming. Eventually, he stopped, threaded the belt through the loops of his jeans and stormed out. Elliott needed a minute to figure out it was over for now and another five to compose himself enough to sit up. He wasn’t crying or anything, just cursing a lot and biting down on his lower lip so hard he tasted blood. Motherfucking damn bastard, he thought as he steadied himself, holding onto a pillar. He limped towards the door and sucked in a sharp breath when he straightened up and wiped his face before he walked back to the house. Conor was still staring at the same page of his math homework when he walked in. “Want some help with that?” “No. No, it’s cool. I can do it. I just...” “Okay.” Matt loomed in the doorway of the living room, glaring at Elliott. “No dinner for you tonight. Get upstairs and into bed!” At least he got the chance to put his Pjs on in private, so Conor didn’t have to see any of the welts. Matt had got him pretty good. He lay down gingerly and fell asleep almost immediately. When he woke up again, Conor was sitting right next to him, running a hand over the back of his head repetitively. “You don’t have to pet me, dude. I’m fine.” The hand retreated immediately. “I...I heard.” Elliott sighed. “Yeah well. You fuck up, you pay the price, I guess. I’m alright. Don’t worry about it.” “Does it...did it hurt?” Elliott turned onto his side and didn’t meet Conor’s eyes. “You get used to it. Sort of. I...it used to be a lot worse. Before.” “Oh.” The hand wandered over his arm and down his back, almost not touching, like the caress of a ghost. Elliott figured that was a good thing cause he would have screamed if someone had actually put any pressure on the fresh cuts where the buckle had scraped his skin.
“Do you...do you hate him? Matt?” “He’s alright. He...usually he just lets me be. This kind of thing is pretty rare.” Conor’s eyes gleamed in the bluish moonlight and for a moment, the iris looked jet black. “Right.” “Just go to bed, okay? I promise I’m cool.” “Night.” Conor kissed the back of his head gently and disappeared in the shadows that shrouded his own bed. Elliott’s skin still tingled from the caressing, soothing touches. He’d never had a brother to comfort him before.
Chapter 4
With time, Elliott had come to the conclusion that something about him had to really tick people off. It had been like that with Charlie and once Matt had gotten into the swing of things, it wasn’t much different. On the whole, Elliott still reckoned he’d gotten away with the lesser of two evils. Matt wouldn’t go as far as actually trying to kill him or break his bones, no matter how much he screamed and roared. Conor had the quiet life, but Elliott didn’t even resent him. Beating on that kid would have been like kicking a puppy. A psychic puppy that could set your house on fire with one look out of those dark brown eyes. Elliott hadn’t been kidding, the kid was seriously crazy. Conor wasn’t torching the neighbourhood or anything like that, he hardly even talked when Elliott wasn’t around. There was just a hint of seething, silent anger and desperation that occasionally flashed through the nervous famaking Conor’s childish voice break into a hoarse, pained whisper. He’d been all over the guitar after Elliott had given him permission to play it at least three more times and while he was never going to be an excellent guitarist, he had turned into a damn good songwriter in the two years they had been brothers.
Elliott’s songs exuded an almost otherworldly beauty, with intricate, ethereal patterns of melody, Conor was rough as fuck. He just slammed his lyrics out in moans and yelps and screams like he couldn’t help feeling alive when he played. Like his suffering transformed itself into images that would warp their way into your brain, making you look at the world differently. Elliott never dared to let rip like that, he was afraid he would wake up screaming for the rest of his natural life if he ever let himself feel the pain, so created his own world of perfection and beauty in his songs.
They loved listening to each other, but usually no comments were exchanged beyond a brief and shy glance or smile. They both desperately wanted a record player and eventually Conor got one for his 13th birthday. Matt would have killed Elliott for even asking, but Conor was the good kid, so Lucy had a say in the matter. Elliott had started working that summer and all his earnings went into buying 7 inch singles and when things were good even the odd LP. They’d lie on the scratchy carpet in their room together, staring at cracks in the ceiling while they all but breathed Cohen, Dylan or Springsteen on a low volume so Matt wouldn’t pitch a fit. There was no need to talk about the music and Elliott sometimes wondered if all those musicians had taken up residence in his moon palace, if there was no need to explain what any of it meant because it was so fucking close. While the world inside their heads got better, life itself got a lot shittier, at least for Elliott. The idea of hiding what happened between him and Matt had stopped working a long while back and while he still managed to just take whatever he had coming, he had started feeling heavier. His feet wouldn’t carry him out to the garage as quickly anymore and he sometimes looked at Matt, wondering if he could just kick his brain in. He’d grown a lot and he had a job at the gas station down the road which mostly consisted of logging heavy shit around. He had no doubt he could get in a good swing against Matt and cause some harm, but then what?
He’d either wind up in a lot of pain for a considerable period of time or Matt would look for an easier target. He wasn’t gonna throw Conor to the dogs like that if he could help it. If nothing else, Elliott spent a lot of time not being at home what with school and work. His bosses’ kids were around the gas station a lot and if they weren’t exactly friends, they were still people who talked to Elliott and even Conor if there wasn’t any work. They were happy to trade music and talk music and art and moon palaces, so even if they were completely bonkers, it helped. The older one, Gerard, drew and scribbled on any piece of paper he’d get his hands on and Elliott suspected he was pretty stoned most of the time. Mikey was his kid brother and he smiled a lot without saying anything, humming to himself and bumping into any available obstacle. Gerard was big into the meaning of music, the symbolisms in art and all that. He’d just go on about it until you told him to shut the fuck up and Elliott never did. They argued about beauty and realism in lyrics, visions of broader concepts and how you could translate them to the audience and even though Elliott ended up saying “I just wanna play guitar, really” a lot of the time, he loved how Gerard was always interested in the bigger picture.
They never really spent any time away from the shop hanging out, Gerard dwelled in a dark basement drawing things involving a lot of blood, Elliott rushed home to listen to records with Conor or trawl fingers over guitar strings until they started hurting.
Chapter 5
“I guess I’ll have to start picking up the tab at some point,” Conor mumbled when Songs of Love and Hate had faded into silence. “Huh?” Elliott had grumbled, lying on his front and hurting a whole lot more then he cared to admit. Matt hadn’t given him a break in over a week and he couldn’t even blink without being in pain anymore. “Matt. I mean...you must be getting pretty tired of...you know.” Elliott huffed out a laugh that turned into a wince. “No shit.” “Have you ever thought of just getting the fuck out?” Elliott tensed. He didn’t want to have this discussion. “Getting out of here? Sure. At some point. I’ll steal a car and drive to Mexico.” Conor didn’t comment and Elliott shook his head, causing a sharp burst of pain to rush down his spine. “No, okay? I’m not going anywhere. You’re my brother. Stop fucking worrying.” He dragged himself to work ten minutes later, convinced he’d been telling the truth. He was just exhausted, that was all. He’d sleep it all off as soon as Matt would give him a break for a day or two and he’d get it together again. Mikey was minding the shop when he got there, his nose buried in some superhero comic like a six year old. The Ways could be a bit like that sometimes. He gave half a shrug or wave or whatever and took a deep breath at how much that tiny movement hurt. Mikey didn’t even look up. When he was restocking the fridge with soda cans, bending over gingerly to pick them up, Mikey didn’t tear his eyes from the comic, either. He just announced “You’re hurt” in a completely expressionless voice and carried on reading. “I...I’m good. I fell down the stairs when I rushed out in the morning.” Mikey nodded thoughtfully. He had things like that happen a lot. “Maybe you wanna take a break,” he mumbled 15 minutes later and turned over a page. “Gerard is down in the basement. He just got a new Morrissey thing.” “Oh. Aehm...Thanks?” Mikey didn’t reply, so Elliott made his way out back and down the stairs, knocking on Gerard’s door.
He took a muffled groan as the sign to come in and blinked because it was so dark in here. Gerard turned in bed and opened half an eye. “Oh. Hey.” “Hey.” Elliott just stood in the middle of the messy room. There was nowhere to sit or even lean, every available surface was covered in junk, including the floor. Gerard sat up in bed. “Sit down. Sorry bout the mess. I just...” “Yeah.” Elliott lowered himself onto the bed and Gerard roamed around for cigarettes. For some reason, he found them under a pillow and tossed the pack at Elliott. “Thanks.” “So whatssup?”, Gerard drawled, his voice still thick with dreams as he coughed around the first drag on the cigarette. “Mikeytold me to catch a break. He’s reading comic books. I guess working people distract him.” Gerard’s face lit up for a second at the mention of his brother and Elliott wondered if he ever looked like that when someone talked about Conor. “That’s Mikey. It’s the new X men,” Gerard nodded earnestly like he actually got it. He probably did, too. “Yeah well,” Elliott shrugged awkwardly and Gerard took that as his cue to talk about Morrissey instead of the guys in tights. He was flexible like that. Elliott felt Gerard’s voice fade into the background. He was so damn tired. It had been so long since he’d slept for a whole night, Matt had taken to dragging him out of bed at all hours when he’d been drinking. He just wanted to close his eyes and not be there for a moment. “Dude?” He jerked awake and flinched at Gerard’s hand on his shoulder. “You kinda zoned out, man.” “I...sorry. I just...” “Coffee?” Elliott grinned. Gerard wasn’t the guy to wonder why people weren’t with it. He spent like 99 per cent of his life in a daze. “Thanks man. I’ve just been tired.”
“Are you writing much?” Gerard asked as he slouched around the basement making coffee. He was the only kid Elliott knew who actually had a coffee maker in his room but then he was the only kid Elliott knew. Except for Mikey, and Mikey had a collection of “My little pony” figurines on his window sill, so he didn’t count. “Nah. I kinda. I just wanna sleep, you know? Like I just want everything in my head to shut up so I can actually breathe...or whatever”, he added after an awkward pause. Gerard had his back turned on Elliott, but he nodded quickly. “Yeah. But...it’s kinda good the thoughts are there. I mean, it’d suck to be so bombed you couldn’t actually use them anymore. That’s like being dead, only you’re not.” Elliott felt about 30 zombie comics coming on when he heard the carefully evaluating tone Gerard used. Zombies of creativity, feeding on broken chords andshit. Hanging out with Gerard made him more morbid then he felt comfortable with. He wondered if Gerard’s thoughts were ever silenced by all the pills he popped.
“Do you...are ever just fed up with shit?” he mumbled, accepting the mug Gerard handed him and scalding his lips and tongue with the steaming coffee. Gerard shrugged. “All the time. But it’s not the same.” Elliott tried to make sense of that, absentmindedly lighting another cigarette. “What do you mean, it’s not the same?” Gerard didn’t meet his eyes and started staring holes into a spot on the wall. “It’s...I mean, yeah, I get sick of...you know, life. But there’s always Mikey and my parents and stuff. So even if everything sucks, I’ve got that. I never completely forget about them, even when I’m completely baked or something.” Elliott didn’t reply. He guessed what Gerard was trying to say was that he had something to hold on to. That the insanity and depression wouldn’t go too far cause there were people who cared. He had a flash of Charlie’s face in his mind’s eye and got it. He’d never felt like that about anyone. “Yeah.” He didn’t really know if he was agreeing with Gerard, but the silence had dragged on too long. “I’d better head back, though. Your dad’s not paying me to have coffee with you.” Gerard grinned. “He would try, I’m pretty sure. You know, if you wanna come back to hang out or anything, it’s cool. I don’t really go out, but...yeah.” “Um. Thanks. Okay.” The rest of the afternoon passed too slowly and when Elliott finally made his way home, it was already dark. Summer had turned into autumn had turned into winter in no more then a month and although it wasn’t snowing yet, you could feel the cold seeping through your clothes and right into your skin. His ribs and kidneys were hurting from the chill and he was hungry and tired. He hadn’t really eaten in a while.
Chapter 6
Matt stepped out on the porch the second he walked up the garden path and Elliott flipped through everything he could have forgotten or fucked up, but nothing came to mind. When Matt dragged him into the garage regardless, he didn’t even put up a struggle. “You’re late! We already had dinner and your mother was worried sick.” Elliott wasn’t sure if that was just a big fat lie, Lucy knew he worked late on Wednesdays, but he didn’t argue. “I’ve had enough, you little piece of shit!” The words didn’t register any more then the first punch that slammed him right into the wall. He was shivering with cold and exhaustion, but he managed to pull himself back up. “Matt, please...” He never begged, but the words were out before he could help it. He just wanted a break. Just one night. Matt grinned and beat on him until he passed out. When he came to, his shirt was stuck to his back, wet and freezing. His shoulder hurt when he moved and his whole body was trembling. “Shit.” He had to cling to the railing to make it up the stairs and collapsed on his bed without even kicking his shoes off. Conor was sitting in a corner playing guitar and he stopped instantly, sighing. “Elliott?” “Mfine.” The taste of blood in his mouth made him feel nauseous, but throwing up seemed too much of an effort, seeing he hadn’t eaten for about two days.
“Elliott?” Conor’s voice didn’t even really make it to his ear, it sounded far away even though Conor’s hands were here somewhere, ghosting along his back and shoulder restlessly. “I just...I’m tired, Conor. I’m so fucking tired.” He passed out again after that, not realizing that Conor remained next to him all night, wiping angry tears from his eyes before they had a chance to spill down his cheeks. When Elliott dragged himself in the shower the next morning, Conor had already gone downstairs. He could have screamed when he ripped the shirt from his back quickly, like an oversized band-aid. Blood had glued it to his skin in places and he shivered as he looked himself over in the mirror. There was barely an inch of him that wasn’t black and blue except for his face. Matt would occasionally backhand him or something, but he wasn’t a complete idiot about it and he rarely left marks. Long white scars were running down his back, covered by angry red welts and a pattern of brown, yellow and purple bruises. The water scalding him made him better and he took a couple of deep breaths before he had to steady himself against the wall because his head was spinning. He barely dried off before stepping into his clothes and swearing under his breath at the new bouts of pain. Conor was having breakfast downstairs, he didn’t even really look up. Elliott was hungry, but the smell of greasy pancakes made his stomach churn, so he just grabbed a cup of acidic black coffee, leaning against the kitchen counter miserably. He looked like a ghost.
“Are you okay?” Conor asked carefully as he put his plate away. “You look like death.” Elliott grinned in spite of the pain. “Yeah, I’m okay. I guess. Why aren’t you at school?” “It’s Saturday, man. I thought you were working.” “Shit. Yeah.” He downed the rest of the coffee. “Come by the station later if you want to. They’ve got a couple of new singles.” “Yeah, maybe.” Even the walk to work was ridiculous, he felt like he’d fall over at the slightest touch or even just a gust of wind and he stopped twice to throw up a little coffee and a lot of bile. When he got to the station, Mikey just glanced at him and shook his head. “Dude. You’re gonna scare the customers off. And what the fuck have you done to your face?” There was just a small scratch on one of his cheeks. He didn’t even remember how he got it. “Ehrm...nothing. Just...aehm. Tripped, ya know?” Mikey shrugged. “Suit yourself. Now get the fuck out of here and down to the basement before my mom sees you like this and calls the cops, seriously.” He stopped dead in his tracks. “Wha...why would she do that?” Mikey raised both eyebrows and shook his head again. “Dude.”, he mumbled, busying himself with his comic books. “I...thanks man. For covering for me, I mean. And...thanks.” He walked off, not bothering to wait for a reply. For once, Gerard was awake and he eyed Elliott suspiciously.
“So...Mikey said you had a problem.” Elliott grimaced, he really wished people would get the fuck off his case. “I’m good. Jesus, what the fuck is this, a crisis intervention?” Gerard lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply before he passed it on to Elliott. “You know, I don’t always notice stuff. I’m too caught in my head to look at people a lot of the time. But right now...fuck, man. What’s going on?” Elliott weighed his options for a second and settled on a half truth. “I had a fight with Matt, that’s all. He’s pissed at me. I haven’t really been sleeping.” “Did he beat you up?” “What the fuck?” Gerard flapped his hands around in what was probably supposed to be a calming way. “I just...Mikey said you were hurt.” “I fell down the stairs!” Gerard actually laughed softly. “Yeah. He said that too. But honestly, I’m around a shit load of people who are prone to accidents. None of them show up looking like they got under a truck. You can’t even fucking breathe!” His breathing was a little shallow at the moment, there was some truth to that. “It’s nothing. Now can we change the fucking subject?” For the first time since he’d known Gerard he saw him getting angry. “We can’t. You need a doctor or something.” “What I need, Gee, is coffee. And just...you know, can’t we just hang out? I’ve got this covered, just trust me.”
He did get his coffee and they slurped in silence. Elliott felt shitty for shutting the only friends he had out like this and Gerard seemed pissed. “Look, I’m sorry. I mean, thanks, okay? But...If you keep asking, I’m just gonna lie.” “Maybe if you talked about it, things would get a bit easier.” Elliott almost hurled the coffee cup against the wall, but he managed to restrain himself.
“What the fuck do you wanna hear? Yes, he did beat on me, damnit. And it hurts. So fucking what?” Gerard scratched his head, putting his cup down. “I’m sorry, E.” “You didn’t beat me up. It’s cool. I just need a bit of time to get my shit back together.” “If you...if you need painkillers or something, I’m your guy, okay? And you can always come round here and just sleep it off or whatever.” He paused briefly, but when Elliott didn’t scream at him, he carried on. “And...you know, just in case you’d want someone to...roughen him up a bit” Elliott burst out laughing until he almost cried. “What the fuck? Don Corleone?” he giggled, choking. Gerard blushed and smiled. “Well. Whatever the fuck. I guess I’m just saying that I’ve got your back. If it helps.” “Thanks. Got a gun?” He almost burst out laughing again when he caught Gerard’s thoughtful expression, but the pain in his chest wasn’t worth it.
There was a knock at the door and Conor came in. “Hey. I...you said to come by? Mikey’s busy, so I thought...” Gerard smiled. “Hey, kid. Come on in.” They decided to get stoned after that. There was only so much emotional shit anyone could take or at least Gerard had decided that had to be the case. He rolled so many joints they lost count and Conor told them that Matt had taken Lucy to the movies, so they actually didn’t have to worry about getting back. He kept casting sidelong glances at Elliott, but he didn’t bring up what had happened. “I need some fucking chocolate. Or pizza. You guys want pizza?” Gerard ordered half the menu anyway and they smoked some more, waiting for the delivery. When the doorbell rang he peeled himself off the bed to accept it. “You okay, Con?” Elliott inquired lazily. “Yeah. High.” They giggled. “I get it.” Gerard came back and they just ate and ate and ate. Elliott couldn’t remember food ever being this good. At nine thirty, they managed to get out of there and it took them another thirty minutes to get home because they ended up collapsing in fits of breathless laughter every couple of steps. When they got into their beds without being caught, Elliott concluded that the universe was on his side for once and he lay awake for a while just feeling stoned and oddly content.
He slipped into a dream involving Gerard and him on a beach somewhere, which was ridiculous because Gerard never left the house and the chances of Elliott taking his shirt off anywhere in public - not likely. Still, there were palm trees in Technicolor and warm air you could feel ghosting over your bodyhe jerked in his sleep and half wondered if Conor had come over at night as he sometimes did when either of them had a nightmare. The touch wasn’t the same, though. He knew even before Matt told him to shut the fuck up in a drunk, slurred whisper. He froze. The guy was feeling him up. Seriously. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt the rough, calloused hand pushing between his legs and bit down on his lips so hard he tasted blood. That was it. Matt left as quietly as he had appeared and Elliott couldn’t move. When he did, he got his clothes on, grabbed the guitar and vanished.
Chapter 7
Even with his face still smushed into the pillow, Conor realized Elliott had gone. Sharing a room for over four years gave you inner radar and even on the few occasions Elliott had actually slept through a whole night like a dead man, there had been some sound, breathing, the ruffling of duvets, anything. A presence, if you really wanted to go as far as calling it that. Somewhere down the line, Elliott had moved into Conor’s moon palace quietly, occupying a room right next to thoughts and feelings no one else had access to. That link worked at night, too. Conor had scooted over into Elliott’s bed at night when he had twisted and turned, murmuring “Charlie” under his breath and jerking so violently he sometimes woke up from the pain he was causing himself.
Conor had pretended he was the one having nightmares, but they both knew he lied. They always knew when the other had lied. Conor got up, wondering briefly how he wasn’t even surprised to find his brother gone and made both of the beds before taking a shower and staring into the fogged up mirror for a long time afterwards. Someone would need to tell the Ways Elliott wasn’t gonna come back to work at the station. He skipped breakfast and lit a cigarette on the way over to their house, inhaling deeply in the cold winter air that cut into his lungs as much as the nicotine. Mikey opened the door, looking as worried as his usually inscrutable face could manage.
“Conor. Come on in, man. Can you fucking believe it, we were robbed last night. Someone came in and took Gerard’s car keys and nothing else. Fucking weird, dude!” Conor bit down on his lower lip. “Ehrm...Mikey, I...Elliott took the car.” Mikey looked thoughtful for a moment and managed an “Oh” and a shrug. “Maybe you wanna talk to Gee, dude. I don’t get it.” Conor walked into the kitchen and accepted the cup of coffee Mikey poured him. Gerard looked oddly awake and with it for this time of day. He also looked pissed beyond belief. “My fucking car, dude. Can you believe it? I mean, it’s a fucking piece of shit!” Conor took a deep breath. “Elliott’s gone. He...Gee, I think he took it.” Gerard stared at him and exchanged a glance with Mikey. Conor wondered if they were even aware they always did that, communicating any thought before actually voicing it. Then he lit a cigarette. Eventually, when Conor was ready to just take any reaction as long as somebody would fucking say something, he started to laugh. “Seriously, man, why the fuck would Elliott take my car?” Gerard asked after he’d collapsed into a helpless coughing fit. “He...he needed to get to Mexico.”
Conor couldn’t help but envision how weird that must have sounded to a normal person. Thankfully, Gerard had never been normal for even an hour of his life. And he had Mikey. “Oh. This is one of those moon palace things, isn’t it?” “Well, I kinda...a while back I wrote a song, and the chorus...it went something like “you stole the car and drove to Mexico”. Elliott had said that to me once when...well, we were listening to Cohen.” Cause that was exactly the kind of thing anyone would say while listening to Cohen, right? He felt like an idiot. “I mean...I don’t even know what I mean. But he’s heading to Mexico. He needed out. So.” He stared down into his coffee cup. “Please don’t call the cops, Gerard?” It came out more terrified then he would have cared for. Gerard looked like he’d slapped him. “The cops? On Elliott? Why the fuck would I do that?” Mikey grinned. “He’s good to go, dude. Don’t worry about it.” “I...Thanks. Thanks, guys.”
“You realize people are gonna look for him, right?” Gerard asked softly, as though he wasn’t sure Conor had even considered the possibility. “It’s Elliott. He doesn’t want them to find him, they won’t.” It really was that simple, Conor was sure of it. Elliott could do anything, including disappearing without a trace on a cold winter morning. He wondered if it had been snowing when Elliott took off. If the rubber soles of his converse had made a soft crunching sound on the icy top layer or if the tiny crystals had fallen onto his green army jacket, melting with every breath. He wiped a tear from his cheek. “Shit.” Mikey glared at Gerard. “If you ever take off on me like that, I’ll fucking stomp you”, he almost shouted and stormed out of the room. Gerard ran a hand through his hair. “Con? I mean, he might still be back or something, you never know.” Conor looked up at him and the tears dried up as quickly as they’d come. “I hope he won’t. He’she’s stuck it out long enough. I really need to get to school, Gee.” “Sure. Man, if...if you ever wanna come back, just to talk...that’s cool.” “Yeah, thanks. Bye.”
Conor knew he wasn’t going to. It was time he sorted out his shit. Elliott was gone. It was time to get a grip, he had let other people pick up his tab long enough.
Chapter 8
Matt lost his shit in a big way when he found out Elliott had taken off. He freaked out. Conor sat at the dining table silently, willing himself to be invisible. You could almost get the idea Matt had cared. If you’d spent the last couple of years in a bubble, that is. Conor suspected Matt got off treating Elliott like a piece of trash, so maybe Matt was just mad his favourite victim wasn’t around anymore.
When Matt had slapped Conor around because Conor simply refused to say a single word about Elliott, Lucy was the only one who at least managed a gasp of surprise. At least that bought him enough time to retreat to his room and flop down on the bed, carefully running a hand over his jaw. It had hurt more then he had expected, both inside and out. On some level, Matt was still his dad. He’d got used to Matt being the only father he’d get, so even if he was less then ideal, there was some feeling. Some attachment that had been ripped with the sound of Matt’s calloused hand meeting his cheek. Conor remembered how Elliott had only ever referred to Matt as The Creep. He’d kept his distance from day one and he’d obviously had a reason for that. Conor wondered who Charlie was, that creature haunting Elliott’s nightmares. They’d never talked about it. There was so much they hadn’t talked about, so much that had been left unsaid. They’d always figured the other one could just see what was going on and left it at that.
In a way, Conor told himself, nothing had changed at all while he massaged his jaw. Elliott’s inner landscape was as close as it had ever been, just round the back from Conor’s palace. He didn’t even consider that his brother had left him in the shit, not even for a second. Elliott had bought Conor almost 14 years of relative peace, if anyone owed anyone, Conor felt he owed Elliott. His life, potentially. He couldn’t have dealt with this right after the accident, his sanity had been fragile at best for a long time. He hadn’t minded living in his head, but he had known it came at the price of Elliott’s health. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen the marks or heard the screams echoing from the garage. He curled up on the bed, concentrating on drifting off into the delicate, intricate palace somewhere deep inside. Water-fountains had appeared in the gardens that stretched out for ever behind his sanctuary and the grass looked saturated with moisture, gleaming in the faint sun. Brambles and ivy crawled up lush trees so fast you could almost watch them. Conor smiled when he realized Elliott’s landscape had transformed into this secret garden and fell asleep.
He knew he was dreaming when his parents appeared at the door of the palace, but he didn’t mind anymore. It was comforting to at least have them around even though they never said a word and even though they weren’t real. The dreams about them had stopped hurting and he usually awoke from them with nothing but a faint memory of loss and regret.
READ THE WARNINGS! Please, guys.
Title: Moon Palace
Author: Raven
Characters: Elliott Smith, Conor Oberst, Gerard and Mikey Way
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: angst, swearing, child-abuse, violence and more angst.
POV: 3rd person
Summary: Home wasn’t even a concept that he understood if he was really honest about it.
Disclaimer: no, seriously, it's not true. Title belongs to Paul Auster.
Chapter 1
He arrived late in the afternoon with nothing but a backpack and a teddy bear and he looked so pathetic that, despite all of his intentions to hate the kid, Elliott couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him. He should have known better even back then. Sympathy is seriously out of place in foster homes and if you happen to be the one who got there first, you make sure to put the new kid in his place before he gets any ideas. You depend on these people to feel sorry for you and if someone younger and cuter comes along, you fight them to maintain your position in the food chain, no matter what. Elliott couldn’t help it though; the kid looked terrified and lost already, holding on to a fucking stuffed animal for comfort. Their mom made a huge fuss, she had a cake ready and she’d done her hair up in a far too complicated do and her hands just fluttered around the place aimlessly. She wasn’t their real mom, of course, but she wasn’t bad, all things considered. She was happy with the kids just calling her Lucy. He knew that she knew he still had a mother out there somewhere. He knew that Lucy sometimes looked at him, wondering if his mom would come to take him back at some point. Elliott suspected that was one of the reasons the new kid had ended up here, but he also knew there was no chance in hell his folks would ever even try to track him down.
The new kid was called Conor and he was definitely younger and cuter, he’d just turned 8, so he was still in an age group that you could place with foster families easily. Elliott had turned 12 in the summer and he knew this was his last chance of having a family. No one picked a teenager and if they did, they had serious problems. Elliott wasn’t gonna go down that route if he could help it, shacking up with some old perv who posted his nude pictures on the net or whatever. He needed Lucy and the creep to work out, they were the best shot at having parents he’d get. If the kid was gonna be his little brother, he might as well deal with it, he told himself. Better to share the little bit of something with some random kid then having nothing all to himself.
He managed a lop-sided grin at Conor and nodded briefly before disappearing into the house to set the table. The Creep hadn’t shown up for the occasion and the mood was a lot lighter for it. It wasn’t that he was scared of the creep. After Charlie, he hadn’t really been scared of anyone. It was just that the guy waswell, creepy. He’d sometimes freak out for almost no reason whatsoever and you never really got it. You just kinda shrugged it off and moved on. The Conor kid was gonna share his bedroom, but since neither of them really had any stuff, it wasn’t a big deal to fit both of them into the cramped space. When they had finished their cake, Conor still hadn’t said a word, but Lucy sent them upstairs to “unpack”, whatever that was supposed to mean. Maybe she just needed a cigarette to get her hands to stop moving restlessly.
Elliott took the lead and showed the kid into the room, flopping down on his own bed and gesturing towards the other, empty one. “Yours. There’s some space in the drawers and...well, that’s kinda it.” Conor nodded and put the bear on the pillow. Then he just stood there, in the middle of the room, staring holes into his shoes. “Do you...uhm...wanna sit down or something?” Elliott scooted over on the bed a little bit, but Conor didn’t move. Tears were pooling in his eyes but not making their way down his cheeks. Elliott sighed. “Dude, it’s cool, okay? I’ve been there. This place isn’t so bad.” As fast as the tears had appeared in Conor’s eyes, they vanished. He stared at Elliott just briefly, his expression inscrutable. “It’s not that. I just...I miss my mom. I can’t help that.” His tone was almost defiant. “Oh. Right. I didn’t...I thought they’d brought you from the orphanage. I didn’t know that...you know...this was new,” Elliott mumbled, feeling like an ass. If he was a first timer, this was obviously pretty tough. If he’d had like real parents before.
“Don’t feel sorry for me. I’m...I’m good.” Elliott choked back a laugh and managed to almost disguise it as a fit of coughing. He’d lied so much in his life he could spot a fake a mile off. He racked his brain if there was something he could say or do to make the kid think about other things, but he couldn’t come up with anything. The kid had spotted the guitar in the corner, though, so he didn’t really need to try. “Is that...is it yours?” “Yeah. Lucy and the cr...aehm....Matt got it for me after...for my birthday.” He paused for a moment, but when the kid made no move to grab it, he shrugged. “You can touch it if you want to. Just...break a string and I’ll fucking murder you.” Conor’s eyes widened and he shrunk back into his corner of the room. “No, no, it’s...it’s okay. Thanks.” “You know, I wasn’t really gonna murder you,” Elliott grumbled after a couple of minutes when the kid still hadn’t stopped shaking. “I know. It’s just...it’s yours. And I just got here and you’re kinda stuck with me now and...” He shook his head, clearly frustrated by how childish and incoherent he sounded. Elliott couldn’t help taking pity on him. “Dude. Conor? Right, Conor. It’s cool, okay? They’re not my real parents. They took me in like two years ago, just as they’re taking you in now. I don’t mind.”
“Oh. Okay. Thanks?” When Elliott still hadn’t made a move to strangle him, he looked up shyly. “What...What happened? To your parents, I mean. I mean, if you don’t mind me asking. Mine died in a car crash and people kept asking me and it really, I dunno, I really didn’t wanna remember it or talk about it, so...you know, you don’t have to but...” Elliott had had that kid pegged for autistic or something, but apparently once he started rambling you needed to jump right into his sentence if you were ever gonna see him breathe. “They’re...my mom got sick.” It was as close to the truth as he was gonna take it and it would just have to do. His mom had gotten sick. Of him, he added silently, but he didn’t voice the thought. A door was banging downstairs and he sat up, tense all of a sudden.
“That’s...that’s Matt. Just...you know, try to shut the fuck up around him.” The kid stared at him again. “Why? Doesn’t he like us?” He was so fucking naive Elliott almost grinned. “No. He doesn’t. He likes us not making noise and not getting into trouble.” When they were called to dinner, they almost ate in silence, except for Lucy, who was still fussing way too much. Elliott kept his eyes on Matt. He seemed okay. When he was getting mad, you could sense it a mile off, he’d grind his teeth so hard you could hear it and his knuckles turned white clutching the cutlery. Right now, everything was fine. They went upstairs after dinner and took turns in the shower before getting their PJs on. “You want something to read? I haven’t got much, but maybe...I read this a while back.” Elliott dug out a battered paperback and threw it in the general direction of Conor’s bed. “Moon Palace?” “It’s...it’s about this guy who is homeless and then he finds his millionaire uncle who is dying from cancer. And then they go give money to people in the street, just randomly...it’s pretty cool.” Conor didn’t even listen. “Moon Palace”, he repeated and Elliott turned round while Conor was punching his pillow into shape.
“Can you imagine if there really was a palace? On the moon, I mean. Somewhere where, I dunno, there’s always that blueish light that you get when the moon’s full and it’s really quiet?” Elliott smiled and slid his bed cover up to his chin. “It’s probably somewhere so remote and quiet that you could hear your own thoughts. Like somewhere they’d actually make sense.” Conor grinned back at him. “Exactly. Because there, they’d just be thoughts. You wouldn’t be afraid of what you’d hear.” Elliott was still smiling when he fell asleep. He’d never had a brother and he wasn’t sure if the kid was gonna be that. But if he could just pull random images out of his head like that, maybe it’d be nice to have him around for a while.
Chapter 2
It took a couple of days before Matt got mad, but Elliott had been waiting for it to happen, hovering almost anxiously around Conor. The kid didn’t talk much, but the problem was that it took him a long time to answer if he was asked a question and Matt just wasn’t patient enough. They were having dinner and Matt had asked about school. Elliott had brushed it off quickly, barely looking up from his plate and managing to keep eye contact for just long enough Matt wouldn’t think he was lying when he said everything was fine. Conor was obviously thinking of how to tell Matt something that had been going on that day and when he finally started the sentence, Matt’s knuckles had already whitened considerably. Elliott wasn’t sure kicking Conor under the table would help. “What’s your problem, are you just stupid or can’t you talk?” he snapped at Conor who blushed and stared down at the table. “I...I’m sorry. It’s...it’s really good.” Matt muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Retard” and pushed his chair back.
“I hope you’re happy now, Lucy. A dimwit and a weirdo all in the same family. You must be so proud”, he sneered and went out to the garage, leaving her fussing with her hair even more then usual. They scrambled up to their bedroom the second they were excused and Elliott found himself glancing over at Conor a couple of times to see if he was upset. The kid just sat on the bed though, a vacant look on his face, his arms round his knees. It didn’t have to mean anything that he was rocking back and forth, did it? “So...that palace of yours”, Elliott finally mumbled, “does it...is it just you in there? Or is it somewhere people meet?” Conor looked up and you could literally see him resurfacing from somewhere deep inside. “It’s...it’s just me. But...I think everyone can maybe have their own palace and maybe sometimes the rooms are close to each other and you can hear other people’s thoughts as well. Not everyone’s allowed in, but maybe sometimes, people you like come and visit and they bring along their stories.”
“You are pretty fucking weird, Conor. Seriously.” Conor almost smiled at the awed tone. “I’m...well. Yeah. I guess.” “It’s kinda cool. You know, I wasn’t sure what I’d do if they stuck me with a little brother who’s into sports and shit.” Conor’s smile evaporated and there was a flash of raw longing and pain in his eyes. “A...a little brother?”, he blurted out. “Well, kinda. If...if that’s okay with you. I know they’re not our parents and I wouldn’t wanna call them that cause I’ve already got parents. Brothers are different, though. I think you can just decide if you wanna be brothers.” “Yeah, maybe. II wouldn’t mind. Having a brother. It’s...it’s like having family.”
Elliott considered the possibility that this kid had really had a family right before he’d come here. He imagined what it would be like to be ripped away from Christmas trees and beach vacations and shit without any warning. His mom hadn’t been well for a long time and Charlieguy definitely hadn’t been well. Elliott had learned not to scream before he could even speak, he’d been so scared of Charlie that he couldn’t even talk right when the guy was around. As much as Elliott hated to admit it, Charlie had been a seriously scary motherfucker. His mom had just stared out of the living room window most of the time. At some point, he’d been taken away. He’d ended up in hospital and they’d seen the bruises and burns and fractured bones, running to social services pretty much screaming. No, Elliott seriously never missed home.
Home wasn’t even a concept that he understood if he was really honest about it. If there was a bed you could sleep in without anyone bothering you, it was good enough while it lasted. Everything else was gravy. He’d slipped into a confused dream, about his mom piling up cigarettes on the kitchen table, forming intricate mazes and patterns, balancing thousands of them and never allowing her temple of cancer sticks to collapse. She was smiling, but you could tell she didn’t even see anything but that strange tower of Babylon. He jerked awake with a start and realized that the kid was standing at the window, staring into the darkness outside. There was no moon that night, just a faint yellow glow from the streetlamps. It was enough to see that his shoulders were shaking and Elliott sighed, running a hand through his tangled hair sleepily and pulling himself up.
“Con?” The kid jumped a foot and Elliott shuffled over awkwardly, his bare feet getting tangled up in the pyjama bottoms that were too long. “Conor? You okay?” “I...yeah. Don’t...Just go back to bed, okay?” His voice sounded too distant. Scared, maybe. It was hard to tell with him, he could talk about his parents in the same voice he’d use to talk about a movie and there was always a certain anxiousness to whatever he was saying, like he was nervous to get the words out. “Nightmare?” “Just go the fuck back to bed, Elliott.” Elliott had never heard him swear and his name at the end of the sentence came out as a choked sob, so he put an arm round Conor’s shoulder. “What is it, dude? Brothers and all?” “I...shit. I had a dream. I don’t even know, it was something about a river and you could hear the water running really loud and when I woke up...this hasn’t happened in...I don’t even know. I’m not some stupid baby!”
Elliott needed a moment to get what the hell the kid was even on about, but he felt his pants getting a little damp from hugging Conor and he got it. “Shit. Okay, don’t freak out, yeah? Shit happens.” His mind was reeling trying to figure out how to keep this from Matt while he was telling the kid everything would be alright. He glanced over at the mattress and nodded, more to himself then to Conor. “Gimme a hand here, okay?” They swapped the mattresses and Elliott was secretly grateful that they were pretty flimsy. “Ok. Come on, get your pants off. I’ve got another pair somewhere. Just...give them here.” He stuffed them under his bed and huddled up close to Conor on his clean mattress. The kid curled up to him almost instantly, hanging on for dear life. “They...Lucy isn’t gonna send me back is she?” “Lucy’s cool”, Elliott mumbled actually believing it. “Matt...don’t worry about Matt. It’ll all be cool. Like I said, shit happens.”
The only good part was that Lucy had taken Conor out to buy clothes when Matt got home. Elliott just walked straight up to him. “IMatt, I really don’t even know how it happened, butI wet the bed last night.” Matt freaked, exactly like Elliott thought he would. He screamed and roared and cursed like a mad man and dragged Elliott upstairs roughly, surveying the damage. It was almost a relief when he finally got round to delivering the first hit, the words were harder to take. It didn’t get completely out of hand, either, just a few smacks and punches. Elliott knew the difference between bruising and breaking very well and there wouldn’t be anything to worry about. He wandered around his moon palace throughout the whole thing, just wondering if the thoughts he was hearing were his own or other people’s and who would be allowed to visit his sanctuary anyway. “Next time, I’ll rub your fucking stupid ugly face in it, you little bastard! Now change the fucking sheets and wash them before I take a belt to your useless ass!”
He silently stuffed the sheets into the machine and poured detergent on top of them, sitting with his back to the concrete garage wall listening to the spinning and gurgling noises that penetrated his ears despite a high-pitched tone ringing somewhere in his head after Matt had slapped him with enough force to knock him against the wall. He sat there motionless until the washing was done, thinking about Charlie. The motherfucker would have cut his balls off if he’d pissed his bed, this didn’t even compare. When Conor came back, he didn’t mention what had happened. If the kid noticed the bruises on Elliott’s arm when they changed for bed, he never said so. Sometime in the early morning, Elliott woke up with the kid nestled in his bed, though. He tried not to think about the fact that he was a bit too battered to really enjoy the closeness, but somehow it still felt damn good, regardless of the dull ache.
Chapter 3
Somehow they managed three months without Conor really finding out about anything, but school had that unique way of interrupting a good run like that. Elliott hadn’t really planned to get into a fight, but when it had happened, he’d stood his ground. The teachers weren’t impressed by the fact that he’d broken the nose of a 15 year old and caused at least a little bit of pain on his two henchmen. The principle called Matt at work, musing and wondering in a carefully measured tone that Elliott might have “issues”. He seriously said “issues” and Elliott couldn’t help thinking he’d have a lot more issues once Matt got his hands on him. He didn’t tell Lucy or Conor about the phone call, silently brooding until he heard Matt’s car in the drive-way. He just hoped he could keep most of it from the kid. Matt was glacial when he came in, just giving Elliott one look and spitting “You. In the garage. Now.” Elliott got up without so much as glancing at Conor. He really didn’t want anyone to see his face.
Matt went completely ape shit out there and this time, he really did take the belt to him. When Elliott didn’t even flinch, he turned it over and got him with the buckle end, still screaming. Eventually, he stopped, threaded the belt through the loops of his jeans and stormed out. Elliott needed a minute to figure out it was over for now and another five to compose himself enough to sit up. He wasn’t crying or anything, just cursing a lot and biting down on his lower lip so hard he tasted blood. Motherfucking damn bastard, he thought as he steadied himself, holding onto a pillar. He limped towards the door and sucked in a sharp breath when he straightened up and wiped his face before he walked back to the house. Conor was still staring at the same page of his math homework when he walked in. “Want some help with that?” “No. No, it’s cool. I can do it. I just...” “Okay.” Matt loomed in the doorway of the living room, glaring at Elliott. “No dinner for you tonight. Get upstairs and into bed!” At least he got the chance to put his Pjs on in private, so Conor didn’t have to see any of the welts. Matt had got him pretty good. He lay down gingerly and fell asleep almost immediately. When he woke up again, Conor was sitting right next to him, running a hand over the back of his head repetitively. “You don’t have to pet me, dude. I’m fine.” The hand retreated immediately. “I...I heard.” Elliott sighed. “Yeah well. You fuck up, you pay the price, I guess. I’m alright. Don’t worry about it.” “Does it...did it hurt?” Elliott turned onto his side and didn’t meet Conor’s eyes. “You get used to it. Sort of. I...it used to be a lot worse. Before.” “Oh.” The hand wandered over his arm and down his back, almost not touching, like the caress of a ghost. Elliott figured that was a good thing cause he would have screamed if someone had actually put any pressure on the fresh cuts where the buckle had scraped his skin.
“Do you...do you hate him? Matt?” “He’s alright. He...usually he just lets me be. This kind of thing is pretty rare.” Conor’s eyes gleamed in the bluish moonlight and for a moment, the iris looked jet black. “Right.” “Just go to bed, okay? I promise I’m cool.” “Night.” Conor kissed the back of his head gently and disappeared in the shadows that shrouded his own bed. Elliott’s skin still tingled from the caressing, soothing touches. He’d never had a brother to comfort him before.
Chapter 4
With time, Elliott had come to the conclusion that something about him had to really tick people off. It had been like that with Charlie and once Matt had gotten into the swing of things, it wasn’t much different. On the whole, Elliott still reckoned he’d gotten away with the lesser of two evils. Matt wouldn’t go as far as actually trying to kill him or break his bones, no matter how much he screamed and roared. Conor had the quiet life, but Elliott didn’t even resent him. Beating on that kid would have been like kicking a puppy. A psychic puppy that could set your house on fire with one look out of those dark brown eyes. Elliott hadn’t been kidding, the kid was seriously crazy. Conor wasn’t torching the neighbourhood or anything like that, he hardly even talked when Elliott wasn’t around. There was just a hint of seething, silent anger and desperation that occasionally flashed through the nervous famaking Conor’s childish voice break into a hoarse, pained whisper. He’d been all over the guitar after Elliott had given him permission to play it at least three more times and while he was never going to be an excellent guitarist, he had turned into a damn good songwriter in the two years they had been brothers.
Elliott’s songs exuded an almost otherworldly beauty, with intricate, ethereal patterns of melody, Conor was rough as fuck. He just slammed his lyrics out in moans and yelps and screams like he couldn’t help feeling alive when he played. Like his suffering transformed itself into images that would warp their way into your brain, making you look at the world differently. Elliott never dared to let rip like that, he was afraid he would wake up screaming for the rest of his natural life if he ever let himself feel the pain, so created his own world of perfection and beauty in his songs.
They loved listening to each other, but usually no comments were exchanged beyond a brief and shy glance or smile. They both desperately wanted a record player and eventually Conor got one for his 13th birthday. Matt would have killed Elliott for even asking, but Conor was the good kid, so Lucy had a say in the matter. Elliott had started working that summer and all his earnings went into buying 7 inch singles and when things were good even the odd LP. They’d lie on the scratchy carpet in their room together, staring at cracks in the ceiling while they all but breathed Cohen, Dylan or Springsteen on a low volume so Matt wouldn’t pitch a fit. There was no need to talk about the music and Elliott sometimes wondered if all those musicians had taken up residence in his moon palace, if there was no need to explain what any of it meant because it was so fucking close. While the world inside their heads got better, life itself got a lot shittier, at least for Elliott. The idea of hiding what happened between him and Matt had stopped working a long while back and while he still managed to just take whatever he had coming, he had started feeling heavier. His feet wouldn’t carry him out to the garage as quickly anymore and he sometimes looked at Matt, wondering if he could just kick his brain in. He’d grown a lot and he had a job at the gas station down the road which mostly consisted of logging heavy shit around. He had no doubt he could get in a good swing against Matt and cause some harm, but then what?
He’d either wind up in a lot of pain for a considerable period of time or Matt would look for an easier target. He wasn’t gonna throw Conor to the dogs like that if he could help it. If nothing else, Elliott spent a lot of time not being at home what with school and work. His bosses’ kids were around the gas station a lot and if they weren’t exactly friends, they were still people who talked to Elliott and even Conor if there wasn’t any work. They were happy to trade music and talk music and art and moon palaces, so even if they were completely bonkers, it helped. The older one, Gerard, drew and scribbled on any piece of paper he’d get his hands on and Elliott suspected he was pretty stoned most of the time. Mikey was his kid brother and he smiled a lot without saying anything, humming to himself and bumping into any available obstacle. Gerard was big into the meaning of music, the symbolisms in art and all that. He’d just go on about it until you told him to shut the fuck up and Elliott never did. They argued about beauty and realism in lyrics, visions of broader concepts and how you could translate them to the audience and even though Elliott ended up saying “I just wanna play guitar, really” a lot of the time, he loved how Gerard was always interested in the bigger picture.
They never really spent any time away from the shop hanging out, Gerard dwelled in a dark basement drawing things involving a lot of blood, Elliott rushed home to listen to records with Conor or trawl fingers over guitar strings until they started hurting.
Chapter 5
“I guess I’ll have to start picking up the tab at some point,” Conor mumbled when Songs of Love and Hate had faded into silence. “Huh?” Elliott had grumbled, lying on his front and hurting a whole lot more then he cared to admit. Matt hadn’t given him a break in over a week and he couldn’t even blink without being in pain anymore. “Matt. I mean...you must be getting pretty tired of...you know.” Elliott huffed out a laugh that turned into a wince. “No shit.” “Have you ever thought of just getting the fuck out?” Elliott tensed. He didn’t want to have this discussion. “Getting out of here? Sure. At some point. I’ll steal a car and drive to Mexico.” Conor didn’t comment and Elliott shook his head, causing a sharp burst of pain to rush down his spine. “No, okay? I’m not going anywhere. You’re my brother. Stop fucking worrying.” He dragged himself to work ten minutes later, convinced he’d been telling the truth. He was just exhausted, that was all. He’d sleep it all off as soon as Matt would give him a break for a day or two and he’d get it together again. Mikey was minding the shop when he got there, his nose buried in some superhero comic like a six year old. The Ways could be a bit like that sometimes. He gave half a shrug or wave or whatever and took a deep breath at how much that tiny movement hurt. Mikey didn’t even look up. When he was restocking the fridge with soda cans, bending over gingerly to pick them up, Mikey didn’t tear his eyes from the comic, either. He just announced “You’re hurt” in a completely expressionless voice and carried on reading. “I...I’m good. I fell down the stairs when I rushed out in the morning.” Mikey nodded thoughtfully. He had things like that happen a lot. “Maybe you wanna take a break,” he mumbled 15 minutes later and turned over a page. “Gerard is down in the basement. He just got a new Morrissey thing.” “Oh. Aehm...Thanks?” Mikey didn’t reply, so Elliott made his way out back and down the stairs, knocking on Gerard’s door.
He took a muffled groan as the sign to come in and blinked because it was so dark in here. Gerard turned in bed and opened half an eye. “Oh. Hey.” “Hey.” Elliott just stood in the middle of the messy room. There was nowhere to sit or even lean, every available surface was covered in junk, including the floor. Gerard sat up in bed. “Sit down. Sorry bout the mess. I just...” “Yeah.” Elliott lowered himself onto the bed and Gerard roamed around for cigarettes. For some reason, he found them under a pillow and tossed the pack at Elliott. “Thanks.” “So whatssup?”, Gerard drawled, his voice still thick with dreams as he coughed around the first drag on the cigarette. “Mikeytold me to catch a break. He’s reading comic books. I guess working people distract him.” Gerard’s face lit up for a second at the mention of his brother and Elliott wondered if he ever looked like that when someone talked about Conor. “That’s Mikey. It’s the new X men,” Gerard nodded earnestly like he actually got it. He probably did, too. “Yeah well,” Elliott shrugged awkwardly and Gerard took that as his cue to talk about Morrissey instead of the guys in tights. He was flexible like that. Elliott felt Gerard’s voice fade into the background. He was so damn tired. It had been so long since he’d slept for a whole night, Matt had taken to dragging him out of bed at all hours when he’d been drinking. He just wanted to close his eyes and not be there for a moment. “Dude?” He jerked awake and flinched at Gerard’s hand on his shoulder. “You kinda zoned out, man.” “I...sorry. I just...” “Coffee?” Elliott grinned. Gerard wasn’t the guy to wonder why people weren’t with it. He spent like 99 per cent of his life in a daze. “Thanks man. I’ve just been tired.”
“Are you writing much?” Gerard asked as he slouched around the basement making coffee. He was the only kid Elliott knew who actually had a coffee maker in his room but then he was the only kid Elliott knew. Except for Mikey, and Mikey had a collection of “My little pony” figurines on his window sill, so he didn’t count. “Nah. I kinda. I just wanna sleep, you know? Like I just want everything in my head to shut up so I can actually breathe...or whatever”, he added after an awkward pause. Gerard had his back turned on Elliott, but he nodded quickly. “Yeah. But...it’s kinda good the thoughts are there. I mean, it’d suck to be so bombed you couldn’t actually use them anymore. That’s like being dead, only you’re not.” Elliott felt about 30 zombie comics coming on when he heard the carefully evaluating tone Gerard used. Zombies of creativity, feeding on broken chords andshit. Hanging out with Gerard made him more morbid then he felt comfortable with. He wondered if Gerard’s thoughts were ever silenced by all the pills he popped.
“Do you...are ever just fed up with shit?” he mumbled, accepting the mug Gerard handed him and scalding his lips and tongue with the steaming coffee. Gerard shrugged. “All the time. But it’s not the same.” Elliott tried to make sense of that, absentmindedly lighting another cigarette. “What do you mean, it’s not the same?” Gerard didn’t meet his eyes and started staring holes into a spot on the wall. “It’s...I mean, yeah, I get sick of...you know, life. But there’s always Mikey and my parents and stuff. So even if everything sucks, I’ve got that. I never completely forget about them, even when I’m completely baked or something.” Elliott didn’t reply. He guessed what Gerard was trying to say was that he had something to hold on to. That the insanity and depression wouldn’t go too far cause there were people who cared. He had a flash of Charlie’s face in his mind’s eye and got it. He’d never felt like that about anyone. “Yeah.” He didn’t really know if he was agreeing with Gerard, but the silence had dragged on too long. “I’d better head back, though. Your dad’s not paying me to have coffee with you.” Gerard grinned. “He would try, I’m pretty sure. You know, if you wanna come back to hang out or anything, it’s cool. I don’t really go out, but...yeah.” “Um. Thanks. Okay.” The rest of the afternoon passed too slowly and when Elliott finally made his way home, it was already dark. Summer had turned into autumn had turned into winter in no more then a month and although it wasn’t snowing yet, you could feel the cold seeping through your clothes and right into your skin. His ribs and kidneys were hurting from the chill and he was hungry and tired. He hadn’t really eaten in a while.
Chapter 6
Matt stepped out on the porch the second he walked up the garden path and Elliott flipped through everything he could have forgotten or fucked up, but nothing came to mind. When Matt dragged him into the garage regardless, he didn’t even put up a struggle. “You’re late! We already had dinner and your mother was worried sick.” Elliott wasn’t sure if that was just a big fat lie, Lucy knew he worked late on Wednesdays, but he didn’t argue. “I’ve had enough, you little piece of shit!” The words didn’t register any more then the first punch that slammed him right into the wall. He was shivering with cold and exhaustion, but he managed to pull himself back up. “Matt, please...” He never begged, but the words were out before he could help it. He just wanted a break. Just one night. Matt grinned and beat on him until he passed out. When he came to, his shirt was stuck to his back, wet and freezing. His shoulder hurt when he moved and his whole body was trembling. “Shit.” He had to cling to the railing to make it up the stairs and collapsed on his bed without even kicking his shoes off. Conor was sitting in a corner playing guitar and he stopped instantly, sighing. “Elliott?” “Mfine.” The taste of blood in his mouth made him feel nauseous, but throwing up seemed too much of an effort, seeing he hadn’t eaten for about two days.
“Elliott?” Conor’s voice didn’t even really make it to his ear, it sounded far away even though Conor’s hands were here somewhere, ghosting along his back and shoulder restlessly. “I just...I’m tired, Conor. I’m so fucking tired.” He passed out again after that, not realizing that Conor remained next to him all night, wiping angry tears from his eyes before they had a chance to spill down his cheeks. When Elliott dragged himself in the shower the next morning, Conor had already gone downstairs. He could have screamed when he ripped the shirt from his back quickly, like an oversized band-aid. Blood had glued it to his skin in places and he shivered as he looked himself over in the mirror. There was barely an inch of him that wasn’t black and blue except for his face. Matt would occasionally backhand him or something, but he wasn’t a complete idiot about it and he rarely left marks. Long white scars were running down his back, covered by angry red welts and a pattern of brown, yellow and purple bruises. The water scalding him made him better and he took a couple of deep breaths before he had to steady himself against the wall because his head was spinning. He barely dried off before stepping into his clothes and swearing under his breath at the new bouts of pain. Conor was having breakfast downstairs, he didn’t even really look up. Elliott was hungry, but the smell of greasy pancakes made his stomach churn, so he just grabbed a cup of acidic black coffee, leaning against the kitchen counter miserably. He looked like a ghost.
“Are you okay?” Conor asked carefully as he put his plate away. “You look like death.” Elliott grinned in spite of the pain. “Yeah, I’m okay. I guess. Why aren’t you at school?” “It’s Saturday, man. I thought you were working.” “Shit. Yeah.” He downed the rest of the coffee. “Come by the station later if you want to. They’ve got a couple of new singles.” “Yeah, maybe.” Even the walk to work was ridiculous, he felt like he’d fall over at the slightest touch or even just a gust of wind and he stopped twice to throw up a little coffee and a lot of bile. When he got to the station, Mikey just glanced at him and shook his head. “Dude. You’re gonna scare the customers off. And what the fuck have you done to your face?” There was just a small scratch on one of his cheeks. He didn’t even remember how he got it. “Ehrm...nothing. Just...aehm. Tripped, ya know?” Mikey shrugged. “Suit yourself. Now get the fuck out of here and down to the basement before my mom sees you like this and calls the cops, seriously.” He stopped dead in his tracks. “Wha...why would she do that?” Mikey raised both eyebrows and shook his head again. “Dude.”, he mumbled, busying himself with his comic books. “I...thanks man. For covering for me, I mean. And...thanks.” He walked off, not bothering to wait for a reply. For once, Gerard was awake and he eyed Elliott suspiciously.
“So...Mikey said you had a problem.” Elliott grimaced, he really wished people would get the fuck off his case. “I’m good. Jesus, what the fuck is this, a crisis intervention?” Gerard lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply before he passed it on to Elliott. “You know, I don’t always notice stuff. I’m too caught in my head to look at people a lot of the time. But right now...fuck, man. What’s going on?” Elliott weighed his options for a second and settled on a half truth. “I had a fight with Matt, that’s all. He’s pissed at me. I haven’t really been sleeping.” “Did he beat you up?” “What the fuck?” Gerard flapped his hands around in what was probably supposed to be a calming way. “I just...Mikey said you were hurt.” “I fell down the stairs!” Gerard actually laughed softly. “Yeah. He said that too. But honestly, I’m around a shit load of people who are prone to accidents. None of them show up looking like they got under a truck. You can’t even fucking breathe!” His breathing was a little shallow at the moment, there was some truth to that. “It’s nothing. Now can we change the fucking subject?” For the first time since he’d known Gerard he saw him getting angry. “We can’t. You need a doctor or something.” “What I need, Gee, is coffee. And just...you know, can’t we just hang out? I’ve got this covered, just trust me.”
He did get his coffee and they slurped in silence. Elliott felt shitty for shutting the only friends he had out like this and Gerard seemed pissed. “Look, I’m sorry. I mean, thanks, okay? But...If you keep asking, I’m just gonna lie.” “Maybe if you talked about it, things would get a bit easier.” Elliott almost hurled the coffee cup against the wall, but he managed to restrain himself.
“What the fuck do you wanna hear? Yes, he did beat on me, damnit. And it hurts. So fucking what?” Gerard scratched his head, putting his cup down. “I’m sorry, E.” “You didn’t beat me up. It’s cool. I just need a bit of time to get my shit back together.” “If you...if you need painkillers or something, I’m your guy, okay? And you can always come round here and just sleep it off or whatever.” He paused briefly, but when Elliott didn’t scream at him, he carried on. “And...you know, just in case you’d want someone to...roughen him up a bit” Elliott burst out laughing until he almost cried. “What the fuck? Don Corleone?” he giggled, choking. Gerard blushed and smiled. “Well. Whatever the fuck. I guess I’m just saying that I’ve got your back. If it helps.” “Thanks. Got a gun?” He almost burst out laughing again when he caught Gerard’s thoughtful expression, but the pain in his chest wasn’t worth it.
There was a knock at the door and Conor came in. “Hey. I...you said to come by? Mikey’s busy, so I thought...” Gerard smiled. “Hey, kid. Come on in.” They decided to get stoned after that. There was only so much emotional shit anyone could take or at least Gerard had decided that had to be the case. He rolled so many joints they lost count and Conor told them that Matt had taken Lucy to the movies, so they actually didn’t have to worry about getting back. He kept casting sidelong glances at Elliott, but he didn’t bring up what had happened. “I need some fucking chocolate. Or pizza. You guys want pizza?” Gerard ordered half the menu anyway and they smoked some more, waiting for the delivery. When the doorbell rang he peeled himself off the bed to accept it. “You okay, Con?” Elliott inquired lazily. “Yeah. High.” They giggled. “I get it.” Gerard came back and they just ate and ate and ate. Elliott couldn’t remember food ever being this good. At nine thirty, they managed to get out of there and it took them another thirty minutes to get home because they ended up collapsing in fits of breathless laughter every couple of steps. When they got into their beds without being caught, Elliott concluded that the universe was on his side for once and he lay awake for a while just feeling stoned and oddly content.
He slipped into a dream involving Gerard and him on a beach somewhere, which was ridiculous because Gerard never left the house and the chances of Elliott taking his shirt off anywhere in public - not likely. Still, there were palm trees in Technicolor and warm air you could feel ghosting over your bodyhe jerked in his sleep and half wondered if Conor had come over at night as he sometimes did when either of them had a nightmare. The touch wasn’t the same, though. He knew even before Matt told him to shut the fuck up in a drunk, slurred whisper. He froze. The guy was feeling him up. Seriously. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt the rough, calloused hand pushing between his legs and bit down on his lips so hard he tasted blood. That was it. Matt left as quietly as he had appeared and Elliott couldn’t move. When he did, he got his clothes on, grabbed the guitar and vanished.
Chapter 7
Even with his face still smushed into the pillow, Conor realized Elliott had gone. Sharing a room for over four years gave you inner radar and even on the few occasions Elliott had actually slept through a whole night like a dead man, there had been some sound, breathing, the ruffling of duvets, anything. A presence, if you really wanted to go as far as calling it that. Somewhere down the line, Elliott had moved into Conor’s moon palace quietly, occupying a room right next to thoughts and feelings no one else had access to. That link worked at night, too. Conor had scooted over into Elliott’s bed at night when he had twisted and turned, murmuring “Charlie” under his breath and jerking so violently he sometimes woke up from the pain he was causing himself.
Conor had pretended he was the one having nightmares, but they both knew he lied. They always knew when the other had lied. Conor got up, wondering briefly how he wasn’t even surprised to find his brother gone and made both of the beds before taking a shower and staring into the fogged up mirror for a long time afterwards. Someone would need to tell the Ways Elliott wasn’t gonna come back to work at the station. He skipped breakfast and lit a cigarette on the way over to their house, inhaling deeply in the cold winter air that cut into his lungs as much as the nicotine. Mikey opened the door, looking as worried as his usually inscrutable face could manage.
“Conor. Come on in, man. Can you fucking believe it, we were robbed last night. Someone came in and took Gerard’s car keys and nothing else. Fucking weird, dude!” Conor bit down on his lower lip. “Ehrm...Mikey, I...Elliott took the car.” Mikey looked thoughtful for a moment and managed an “Oh” and a shrug. “Maybe you wanna talk to Gee, dude. I don’t get it.” Conor walked into the kitchen and accepted the cup of coffee Mikey poured him. Gerard looked oddly awake and with it for this time of day. He also looked pissed beyond belief. “My fucking car, dude. Can you believe it? I mean, it’s a fucking piece of shit!” Conor took a deep breath. “Elliott’s gone. He...Gee, I think he took it.” Gerard stared at him and exchanged a glance with Mikey. Conor wondered if they were even aware they always did that, communicating any thought before actually voicing it. Then he lit a cigarette. Eventually, when Conor was ready to just take any reaction as long as somebody would fucking say something, he started to laugh. “Seriously, man, why the fuck would Elliott take my car?” Gerard asked after he’d collapsed into a helpless coughing fit. “He...he needed to get to Mexico.”
Conor couldn’t help but envision how weird that must have sounded to a normal person. Thankfully, Gerard had never been normal for even an hour of his life. And he had Mikey. “Oh. This is one of those moon palace things, isn’t it?” “Well, I kinda...a while back I wrote a song, and the chorus...it went something like “you stole the car and drove to Mexico”. Elliott had said that to me once when...well, we were listening to Cohen.” Cause that was exactly the kind of thing anyone would say while listening to Cohen, right? He felt like an idiot. “I mean...I don’t even know what I mean. But he’s heading to Mexico. He needed out. So.” He stared down into his coffee cup. “Please don’t call the cops, Gerard?” It came out more terrified then he would have cared for. Gerard looked like he’d slapped him. “The cops? On Elliott? Why the fuck would I do that?” Mikey grinned. “He’s good to go, dude. Don’t worry about it.” “I...Thanks. Thanks, guys.”
“You realize people are gonna look for him, right?” Gerard asked softly, as though he wasn’t sure Conor had even considered the possibility. “It’s Elliott. He doesn’t want them to find him, they won’t.” It really was that simple, Conor was sure of it. Elliott could do anything, including disappearing without a trace on a cold winter morning. He wondered if it had been snowing when Elliott took off. If the rubber soles of his converse had made a soft crunching sound on the icy top layer or if the tiny crystals had fallen onto his green army jacket, melting with every breath. He wiped a tear from his cheek. “Shit.” Mikey glared at Gerard. “If you ever take off on me like that, I’ll fucking stomp you”, he almost shouted and stormed out of the room. Gerard ran a hand through his hair. “Con? I mean, he might still be back or something, you never know.” Conor looked up at him and the tears dried up as quickly as they’d come. “I hope he won’t. He’she’s stuck it out long enough. I really need to get to school, Gee.” “Sure. Man, if...if you ever wanna come back, just to talk...that’s cool.” “Yeah, thanks. Bye.”
Conor knew he wasn’t going to. It was time he sorted out his shit. Elliott was gone. It was time to get a grip, he had let other people pick up his tab long enough.
Chapter 8
Matt lost his shit in a big way when he found out Elliott had taken off. He freaked out. Conor sat at the dining table silently, willing himself to be invisible. You could almost get the idea Matt had cared. If you’d spent the last couple of years in a bubble, that is. Conor suspected Matt got off treating Elliott like a piece of trash, so maybe Matt was just mad his favourite victim wasn’t around anymore.
When Matt had slapped Conor around because Conor simply refused to say a single word about Elliott, Lucy was the only one who at least managed a gasp of surprise. At least that bought him enough time to retreat to his room and flop down on the bed, carefully running a hand over his jaw. It had hurt more then he had expected, both inside and out. On some level, Matt was still his dad. He’d got used to Matt being the only father he’d get, so even if he was less then ideal, there was some feeling. Some attachment that had been ripped with the sound of Matt’s calloused hand meeting his cheek. Conor remembered how Elliott had only ever referred to Matt as The Creep. He’d kept his distance from day one and he’d obviously had a reason for that. Conor wondered who Charlie was, that creature haunting Elliott’s nightmares. They’d never talked about it. There was so much they hadn’t talked about, so much that had been left unsaid. They’d always figured the other one could just see what was going on and left it at that.
In a way, Conor told himself, nothing had changed at all while he massaged his jaw. Elliott’s inner landscape was as close as it had ever been, just round the back from Conor’s palace. He didn’t even consider that his brother had left him in the shit, not even for a second. Elliott had bought Conor almost 14 years of relative peace, if anyone owed anyone, Conor felt he owed Elliott. His life, potentially. He couldn’t have dealt with this right after the accident, his sanity had been fragile at best for a long time. He hadn’t minded living in his head, but he had known it came at the price of Elliott’s health. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen the marks or heard the screams echoing from the garage. He curled up on the bed, concentrating on drifting off into the delicate, intricate palace somewhere deep inside. Water-fountains had appeared in the gardens that stretched out for ever behind his sanctuary and the grass looked saturated with moisture, gleaming in the faint sun. Brambles and ivy crawled up lush trees so fast you could almost watch them. Conor smiled when he realized Elliott’s landscape had transformed into this secret garden and fell asleep.
He knew he was dreaming when his parents appeared at the door of the palace, but he didn’t mind anymore. It was comforting to at least have them around even though they never said a word and even though they weren’t real. The dreams about them had stopped hurting and he usually awoke from them with nothing but a faint memory of loss and regret.