fiction: ballad of a paralysed citizen (Brotherhood II, Marcus gen, R)
Title: ballad of a paralysed citizen
Author: exitsign (girlcalledjane @ yahoo.com)
Fandom: The Brotherhood II: Young Warlocks
Character/Pairing: Marcus Ratner (vague Marcus/Harlan Ratcliff preslash)
Rating: R
Summary: And the thing about secrets is that no one is supposed to know them. 3100 words. (6/05/06)
Disclaimer: DeCoteau's, yo.
Feedback: Feedback (general or con-crit) is always welcome.
Spoilers: Yes, for the entire craptastic, life-sucking movie.
Warnings: POST-MOVIE. MENTIONS OF EXTREME VIOLENCE. VAGUENESS. A DISTINCT LACK OF EMOTION. DEEP SEA FISHING.
Author's notes: I started this a long time ago as trade for a Goonies story but then put it away because I just couldn't deal with some shit. I randomly decided to finish it today in further adventures of "getting shit done". It would be totally pointless to post (seeing as how nobody has ever seen this piece of shit movie) if it weren't for the fact that I really sort of love it. Oh, well. Title stolen from The Faint. Thanks to carleton97 for quickie sex read-through. Good times, yeah, right on.
- - - -
The house is empty when he gets home from the airport but there's a fifty on the table next to the door. He punches in the security code on the alarm, shakes the snow out of his hair, and pulls out his wallet to replace the forty-three dollars plus tip he'd paid the cab driver. He yawns, picks up his bags and makes his way to his room. As he toes off his shoes next to the bed, he wonders if his parents had to call the taxi service for an estimate or if they remembered from last time.
//
On Christmas morning, the phone rings seven times before the machine picks up. He shovels another handful of Froot Loops into his mouth and listens to the voices of his parents wish him a Merry Christmas from Bermuda or Jamaica or wherever the hell it was they went this year.
When his mother starts making kissing sounds he leans over the back of the sofa to turn down the volume on the answering machine and goes back to watching the deep sea fishing show. He watches the giant fish flop wildly on deck of the boat, scratches the back of his neck with the remote, and thinks that he should learn to fish one day.
//
The first day back to school there's an assembly to introduce the new headmaster. The guy's name is Hardy and he's one of those guys who wants to be everybody's best friend. One of those we're-all-equals-in-the-eyes-of-mother-earth-so-call-me-Bob guys. One of those guys who probably had a heart attack when he was forty-five and, instead of dying like a normal person, had this whole spiritual awakening thing. Started doing yoga, drinking organically grown fruit smoothies, buying only animal friendly clothing -- that kind of shit.
The official word on why they need a new headmaster in the first place is that Grimes retired. Like she just up and moved to Florida or something. Like she would have ever done that. Like it's not the stupidest thing he's ever heard.
He tries to ignore the fact that Matt looks like someone just punched him in the throat and focuses on scribbling out an anagram for "she's dead, stupid" (Up this sad deeds. This padded uses. Push sadist deed. Hated side spuds. Sat sided pushed.) but it's all gibberish and he can't figure out what to do with the punctuation.
//
Jon's parents didn't go for the whole switching schools thing like Jon thought they would. Mary's did though. She never comes back from break.
For a while, all Jon does is whine and look depressed but then he gets over it. Because, as Matt is kind enough to point out, Mary isn't the only person with breasts who's ever gone to Chandler.
So much for true love.
//
Detective Harris is blonde and she sounds like she's got a lot of things she'd rather be doing than telling a bunch of spoiled brats that one of their own has gone missing. The way she spits out the there will be uniformed officers stationed in the library ready to take down whatever information you may have makes him wonder exactly how strange it must seem that nobody, not even his parents, noticed that Alex was missing for almost two weeks.
He doesn't really think it's strange though. He doesn't think his parents would notice either.
He slouches down in his seat and watches the way her hands clench and unclench against the podium and wonders how long this is going to last. Then rubs his sweaty palms on his knees and tells himself that he doesn't care, he's just glad to be out of class.
//
By lunch everyone's heard the joke going around that when Grimes retired, Alex, full of hopeless, teenage love and a craving for middle-aged ass, followed her and that's why no one can find him.
By dinner everyone's heard that Trini, red-eyed and hysterical, was seen getting into a taxi bound for the airport.
By breakfast everyone's heard that her parents called and ordered all her things packed up and shipped to them.
//
It takes a total of four days, seven hours, and eight minutes for them to find Alex's body. There are cops and reporters swarming all over the grounds and people who barely knew him are sobbing his name like the fact that he's dead is somehow going to change their lives.
He doesn't cry when he hears the news that he already knows, he just can't stop throwing up.
//
Mr. Simmons is going over all the things they need to study for the test on Friday but he can't concentrate. Because he's still trying to figure out which of the replacements is replacing which.
Chris has the same happy, blank stare that Randall was famous for but Ryan is too good-looking to be Alex so it's confusing.
He slides his fingers of his right hand over his left wrist and tries to feel his pulse but he can't find it and he wonders if that means he's dead. He pushes down hard, until his fingers ache with it, and stares at the back of Ryan's perfectly styled head.
"--so fascinated by?"
He blinks and looks up, Mr. Simmons is standing over him, frowning so hard his moustache is pulling down at the corners. "Huh?"
"Attention, Mr. Ratner, I'd very much like to have yours."
He feels like he should blush or something but can't so he looks down at his desk instead. Simmons walks back to front of the room, his drone almost covering the snickers from the rest of the class. When he looks back up, Harlan is looking back at him, smirking.
//
Good old Bob manages to hold off the police for a while by insisting that even though Alex's body was found on campus, there's no reason to suspect any of the students had anything to do with the murder. They've got no other suspects though and need some explanation for what kind of sick fuck would slit such an upstanding young man's throat in cold blood like that so they start throwing around things like "obstruction of justice" and "impeding a police investigation" and it's not long before he caves.
They interview alphabetically, two students at a time, one of either side of the library, and he spends the entire day sweating and shaking and dreading the moment when his name will be called over the intercom.
Only the moment never comes.
In Economics, Sarah Murphy whispers to Maggie Richards that right in the middle of her interview, Detective Harris got a call and rushed out.
("What do you think it was about? You think they caught the guy?" "I don't know, I hope so, bastard deserves to rot in jail for what he did to poor Alex." "Oh, yeah, I agree. Because, like, what did Alex ever do to anyone?")
He doesn't realize how tight he's holding his pencil until it snaps.
//
The headline reads: Drifter Suspected In Connection With Teen's Murder. His fingers trace over the picture of the man; taking in the wild, unruly hair and the dark, dazed expression.
He doesn't bother to read the article.
//
Math is not his strong suit, never has been, and from the amount of time that he's spent trying and failing to understand why X and Y are Z and a half, it probably never will be. Matt is good with numbers though so when he goes to Matt and Jon's room, trig book in hand, it's not anything unusual. It's when he hears them yelling at each other that he gets worried.
("--such an asshole, he'd do it for you, you know he would." "The only reason you even care is to save your own ass." "You were there too, you're in it just as much as us." "Whatever, that's such a crock of shit." "We're supposed to be friends." "We are friends." "Then why the hell is it even a question?")
He thinks about just walking in, like he always has before, but can't seem to make himself turn the knob. So knocks twice instead. It goes quiet and it's a long moment before Jon opens the door. His face is pale and he looks at Marcus like he's relieved to see him but not happy about it.
"Hey," he shifts his weight from one foot to the other and holds up his book, "I just..."
Matt comes up behind Jon, pushes him out of the way and smiles a little too widely at Marcus. "Yeah, come on in, man."
He steps passed Jon and tries to act like everything is normal. Because that's what he's supposed to do. That's what they're all supposed to do. He sits down on Matt's bed and tries to ignore the way that Jon stalks across the room and flops down on his own bed.
They sit for a while, Matt trying to explain things that Marcus doesn't understand why he needs to know and Jon tossing a tennis ball in the air, catching it, tossing it, catching it, and staring at them like he's trying to figure something out. And apparently he does figure it out because just when Marcus thinks he can't take anymore, the ball stops and Jon clears his throat.
"Hey, Marcus?"
Matt looks up sharply and his knee starts bouncing like it does during a test and Marcus can't do anything but swallow. "Yeah?"
Jon takes a breath and looks at Matt and then back to him. "You doing all right?"
He feels his stomach twist up and he looks between them, at Matt who isn't looking at him and Jon who won't stop, and he laughs uneasily because he doesn't know what to say. Because he has no idea what the appropriate response for this situation is. "Yeah. Are... are you?"
And for a second nothing happens but then Jon looks away, up to the ceiling, gives the ball another toss, and says, "Yeah, I'm all right."
//
He wonders if Luc left behind some of his magic. If somehow he's still controlling things (their minds, their lives) even though he's supposed to be god-only-knows-where, hell or whatever. He wonders because it makes no sense that no one's looked into that story about Grimes or even that anyone believed it in the first place. And it makes no sense that no one noticed one of the most popular kids in school had gone missing until weeks after he'd started rotting. And it makes no sense that Trini never told anyone but Alex what they did to her that night. And it makes no sense that it took so long for them to find Alex's body because the campus isn't that big and Marcus left him right on the trail.
None of it makes any sense and it makes his head fucking hurt so he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to forget that he cares. But it never works.
He stops trying after a while.
//
He's leaning against a tree, smoking a cigarette and staring across the quad at Jon who's staring at Cassie Benson who's staring at either Mark Hollis or Sarah Lister, he hasn't figured out which yet, when the ball slams into his shin.
He leans down, rubs at his shin and stares at the offending piece of sports equipment like it takes him a second to realize what it is even though it doesn't and then looks back up and Harlan is doing that "toss it back" motion that people do. He thinks about doing it too -- about picking the ball up and throwing it back and nodding hiply like he's practiced when Harlan does that "you're cool, Ratner" look that he'd probably do -- because that's what he would have done six months ago, but he can't seem to summon the energy. So he just holds up his hand and kind of waves his cigarette like it should be obvious.
Harlan rolls his eyes and jogs over, grabs up the ball and says, "What the fuck's wrong with you, Ratner?"
And since he doesn't know, he doesn't give an answer.
He just stands there and watches Harlan go back to his new-but-not-improved flunkies and tries to ignore the clawing feeling in his stomach.
//
When he goes back to the fence, there's this little piece of police tape still tied to it, forgotten and flapping pathetically in the breeze. It looks out of place in the quiet, naturalness of the woods and he can't stop himself from reaching up and pulling until the plastic stretchesstretches and rips loose.
He stares down at it for a long time, at the bright, neon yellow and the line of black that might have been the beginnings of a P. At the way the ends are cut perfectly but still don't match up because they were cut at two different times and probably by two different people.
He stares at it, waiting for something, some feeling, to rush over him. Waits for guilt maybe, or sadness, or anger, but there's nothing.
He lets it go, watches it twist and turn through the air as it falls, and turns back the way he came.
//
He slides into the chair next to Matt's and pokes at the slop they're supposed to believe is food.
"So... where have you been? We looked everywhere for you." Jon says and Marcus looks up at the sound, blinks a few times but doesn't say anything right away. He watches the look that passes between Jon and Matt, the one that says they're worried he's going to come home with another Luc, and shrugs and looks back down at his plate.
"Nowhere." And neither of them say anything but he can feel their eyes on him. He stares until his mashed potatoes go blurry and then his fork catches a glare from the light overhead and he blinks and looks back up. "I just thought I'd go for a walk before dinner."
It's not exactly the whole truth but it's not a lie either and it's enough of what they want to hear that they can relax a little.
He counts the seconds, gets all way the to ninety-seven, before Matt clears his throat and laughs shakily. "You know, we really need to start going for a walk for dinner one of these days. Because this shit is killing me."
//
He's leaning against the wall at the end of the math hall, smoking a cigarette and staring at the woods, when Harlan comes around the corner and almost slams right into him. It wouldn't really surprise him if it wasn't for the fact that it's a Sunday because Harlan thinks he owns the world and Marcus would need more fingers to be able to count the number of times that he's almost been run over by him. But it is a Sunday. So it is surprising.
"What the hell are you doing here?" He says it before he thinks about how it will sound and almost winces but can't seem to work up the motion.
Harlan smiles broadly, shifting a gym bag from hand to hand and tilting his head to the side, staring right into his eyes like he's looking for something. "What, not happy to see me?"
He stomach twists at the words and he looks down at the gym bag because it seems to be the thing to do and flicks his cigarette over into the bushes before pushing himself off the wall. "Whatever, man."
There's a thump as the gym bag hits the ground and then another as the back of his head hits the wall and it takes him a second to realize that that's Harlan's forearm pressed across his chest. He looks down and then back up, wishes for a second that he hadn't gotten rid of his cigarette, and tries to avoid looking at Harlan's eyes.
There's a long time where nothing happens, nothing, and the only thing to eat up the silence is the sound of their breathing. He breathes in, Harlan breathes out, he breathes in, Harlan breathes out -- counterpoint, because it would never, could never, be the same with them.
"New kid's gone, Marcus," Harlan says finally, his voice lower, more dangerous, yet somehow still conversational. "Nobody to come save you now, is there?"
He blinks hard at that, confused for a moment because why would he need anyone to save him? He needs someone to save other people from him. And then he remembers that Harlan doesn't know because it's a secret. And the thing about secrets is that no one is supposed to know them. No one but the people involved are supposed to even know that there's something to know. And even the people who do know the secret aren't supposed to talk about it, they're supposed to smile and laugh and pretend that they aren't lying by omission with every breath. They're supposed to pretend that everything is fine, totally normal, even when they can't stop thinking about it every single second.
"I don't need anyone to save me." He says because it's all he can say and stares at the curve and dip that make up the side of Harlan's mouth.
"You sure about that?" Harlan says, leaning into him hard like his body is some kind of threat or promise or like Marcus could have ever ignored him. And it's all so obvious, so scripted, everything is so scripted, that he can't help looking up and meeting Harlan's eyes.
"Yeah, actually." He says, laughing more to himself than anything else, laughing for the first time since he can remember.
Harlan's eyebrows furrow for a second, just one second, just long enough for Marcus to know that he wasn't expecting it. But then, because he's Harlan, he recovers quickly, raises an eyebrow and makes a sound like hmm before stepping away.
He doesn't bother to move once Harlan lets him go, just stands there pressed against the wall and watches Harlan reach down for his gym bag. His chest hurts, either from Harlan's arm pressing into it or maybe smoking too much, but not enough that he actually cares, just that he notices. After a while, a while made up of nothing but him looking at Harlan and Harlan looking at him and the scratch of brick agaisnt the palms of his hands, Harlan flips his bag over his shoulder and walks away.
"See you around, Marcus." He says as he goes, goes off with his gym bag and his styled hair and his red, red car and the knowledge that the worst thing he's got to hide is some fucked-up fascination with a do-nothing loser.
And Marcus stares after him until his eyes sting with the need to blink.
And then he does.
the end.
Author: exitsign (girlcalledjane @ yahoo.com)
Fandom: The Brotherhood II: Young Warlocks
Character/Pairing: Marcus Ratner (vague Marcus/Harlan Ratcliff preslash)
Rating: R
Summary: And the thing about secrets is that no one is supposed to know them. 3100 words. (6/05/06)
Disclaimer: DeCoteau's, yo.
Feedback: Feedback (general or con-crit) is always welcome.
Spoilers: Yes, for the entire craptastic, life-sucking movie.
Warnings: POST-MOVIE. MENTIONS OF EXTREME VIOLENCE. VAGUENESS. A DISTINCT LACK OF EMOTION. DEEP SEA FISHING.
Author's notes: I started this a long time ago as trade for a Goonies story but then put it away because I just couldn't deal with some shit. I randomly decided to finish it today in further adventures of "getting shit done". It would be totally pointless to post (seeing as how nobody has ever seen this piece of shit movie) if it weren't for the fact that I really sort of love it. Oh, well. Title stolen from The Faint. Thanks to carleton97 for quickie sex read-through. Good times, yeah, right on.
- - - -
The house is empty when he gets home from the airport but there's a fifty on the table next to the door. He punches in the security code on the alarm, shakes the snow out of his hair, and pulls out his wallet to replace the forty-three dollars plus tip he'd paid the cab driver. He yawns, picks up his bags and makes his way to his room. As he toes off his shoes next to the bed, he wonders if his parents had to call the taxi service for an estimate or if they remembered from last time.
//
On Christmas morning, the phone rings seven times before the machine picks up. He shovels another handful of Froot Loops into his mouth and listens to the voices of his parents wish him a Merry Christmas from Bermuda or Jamaica or wherever the hell it was they went this year.
When his mother starts making kissing sounds he leans over the back of the sofa to turn down the volume on the answering machine and goes back to watching the deep sea fishing show. He watches the giant fish flop wildly on deck of the boat, scratches the back of his neck with the remote, and thinks that he should learn to fish one day.
//
The first day back to school there's an assembly to introduce the new headmaster. The guy's name is Hardy and he's one of those guys who wants to be everybody's best friend. One of those we're-all-equals-in-the-eyes-of-mother-earth-so-call-me-Bob guys. One of those guys who probably had a heart attack when he was forty-five and, instead of dying like a normal person, had this whole spiritual awakening thing. Started doing yoga, drinking organically grown fruit smoothies, buying only animal friendly clothing -- that kind of shit.
The official word on why they need a new headmaster in the first place is that Grimes retired. Like she just up and moved to Florida or something. Like she would have ever done that. Like it's not the stupidest thing he's ever heard.
He tries to ignore the fact that Matt looks like someone just punched him in the throat and focuses on scribbling out an anagram for "she's dead, stupid" (Up this sad deeds. This padded uses. Push sadist deed. Hated side spuds. Sat sided pushed.) but it's all gibberish and he can't figure out what to do with the punctuation.
//
Jon's parents didn't go for the whole switching schools thing like Jon thought they would. Mary's did though. She never comes back from break.
For a while, all Jon does is whine and look depressed but then he gets over it. Because, as Matt is kind enough to point out, Mary isn't the only person with breasts who's ever gone to Chandler.
So much for true love.
//
Detective Harris is blonde and she sounds like she's got a lot of things she'd rather be doing than telling a bunch of spoiled brats that one of their own has gone missing. The way she spits out the there will be uniformed officers stationed in the library ready to take down whatever information you may have makes him wonder exactly how strange it must seem that nobody, not even his parents, noticed that Alex was missing for almost two weeks.
He doesn't really think it's strange though. He doesn't think his parents would notice either.
He slouches down in his seat and watches the way her hands clench and unclench against the podium and wonders how long this is going to last. Then rubs his sweaty palms on his knees and tells himself that he doesn't care, he's just glad to be out of class.
//
By lunch everyone's heard the joke going around that when Grimes retired, Alex, full of hopeless, teenage love and a craving for middle-aged ass, followed her and that's why no one can find him.
By dinner everyone's heard that Trini, red-eyed and hysterical, was seen getting into a taxi bound for the airport.
By breakfast everyone's heard that her parents called and ordered all her things packed up and shipped to them.
//
It takes a total of four days, seven hours, and eight minutes for them to find Alex's body. There are cops and reporters swarming all over the grounds and people who barely knew him are sobbing his name like the fact that he's dead is somehow going to change their lives.
He doesn't cry when he hears the news that he already knows, he just can't stop throwing up.
//
Mr. Simmons is going over all the things they need to study for the test on Friday but he can't concentrate. Because he's still trying to figure out which of the replacements is replacing which.
Chris has the same happy, blank stare that Randall was famous for but Ryan is too good-looking to be Alex so it's confusing.
He slides his fingers of his right hand over his left wrist and tries to feel his pulse but he can't find it and he wonders if that means he's dead. He pushes down hard, until his fingers ache with it, and stares at the back of Ryan's perfectly styled head.
"--so fascinated by?"
He blinks and looks up, Mr. Simmons is standing over him, frowning so hard his moustache is pulling down at the corners. "Huh?"
"Attention, Mr. Ratner, I'd very much like to have yours."
He feels like he should blush or something but can't so he looks down at his desk instead. Simmons walks back to front of the room, his drone almost covering the snickers from the rest of the class. When he looks back up, Harlan is looking back at him, smirking.
//
Good old Bob manages to hold off the police for a while by insisting that even though Alex's body was found on campus, there's no reason to suspect any of the students had anything to do with the murder. They've got no other suspects though and need some explanation for what kind of sick fuck would slit such an upstanding young man's throat in cold blood like that so they start throwing around things like "obstruction of justice" and "impeding a police investigation" and it's not long before he caves.
They interview alphabetically, two students at a time, one of either side of the library, and he spends the entire day sweating and shaking and dreading the moment when his name will be called over the intercom.
Only the moment never comes.
In Economics, Sarah Murphy whispers to Maggie Richards that right in the middle of her interview, Detective Harris got a call and rushed out.
("What do you think it was about? You think they caught the guy?" "I don't know, I hope so, bastard deserves to rot in jail for what he did to poor Alex." "Oh, yeah, I agree. Because, like, what did Alex ever do to anyone?")
He doesn't realize how tight he's holding his pencil until it snaps.
//
The headline reads: Drifter Suspected In Connection With Teen's Murder. His fingers trace over the picture of the man; taking in the wild, unruly hair and the dark, dazed expression.
He doesn't bother to read the article.
//
Math is not his strong suit, never has been, and from the amount of time that he's spent trying and failing to understand why X and Y are Z and a half, it probably never will be. Matt is good with numbers though so when he goes to Matt and Jon's room, trig book in hand, it's not anything unusual. It's when he hears them yelling at each other that he gets worried.
("--such an asshole, he'd do it for you, you know he would." "The only reason you even care is to save your own ass." "You were there too, you're in it just as much as us." "Whatever, that's such a crock of shit." "We're supposed to be friends." "We are friends." "Then why the hell is it even a question?")
He thinks about just walking in, like he always has before, but can't seem to make himself turn the knob. So knocks twice instead. It goes quiet and it's a long moment before Jon opens the door. His face is pale and he looks at Marcus like he's relieved to see him but not happy about it.
"Hey," he shifts his weight from one foot to the other and holds up his book, "I just..."
Matt comes up behind Jon, pushes him out of the way and smiles a little too widely at Marcus. "Yeah, come on in, man."
He steps passed Jon and tries to act like everything is normal. Because that's what he's supposed to do. That's what they're all supposed to do. He sits down on Matt's bed and tries to ignore the way that Jon stalks across the room and flops down on his own bed.
They sit for a while, Matt trying to explain things that Marcus doesn't understand why he needs to know and Jon tossing a tennis ball in the air, catching it, tossing it, catching it, and staring at them like he's trying to figure something out. And apparently he does figure it out because just when Marcus thinks he can't take anymore, the ball stops and Jon clears his throat.
"Hey, Marcus?"
Matt looks up sharply and his knee starts bouncing like it does during a test and Marcus can't do anything but swallow. "Yeah?"
Jon takes a breath and looks at Matt and then back to him. "You doing all right?"
He feels his stomach twist up and he looks between them, at Matt who isn't looking at him and Jon who won't stop, and he laughs uneasily because he doesn't know what to say. Because he has no idea what the appropriate response for this situation is. "Yeah. Are... are you?"
And for a second nothing happens but then Jon looks away, up to the ceiling, gives the ball another toss, and says, "Yeah, I'm all right."
//
He wonders if Luc left behind some of his magic. If somehow he's still controlling things (their minds, their lives) even though he's supposed to be god-only-knows-where, hell or whatever. He wonders because it makes no sense that no one's looked into that story about Grimes or even that anyone believed it in the first place. And it makes no sense that no one noticed one of the most popular kids in school had gone missing until weeks after he'd started rotting. And it makes no sense that Trini never told anyone but Alex what they did to her that night. And it makes no sense that it took so long for them to find Alex's body because the campus isn't that big and Marcus left him right on the trail.
None of it makes any sense and it makes his head fucking hurt so he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to forget that he cares. But it never works.
He stops trying after a while.
//
He's leaning against a tree, smoking a cigarette and staring across the quad at Jon who's staring at Cassie Benson who's staring at either Mark Hollis or Sarah Lister, he hasn't figured out which yet, when the ball slams into his shin.
He leans down, rubs at his shin and stares at the offending piece of sports equipment like it takes him a second to realize what it is even though it doesn't and then looks back up and Harlan is doing that "toss it back" motion that people do. He thinks about doing it too -- about picking the ball up and throwing it back and nodding hiply like he's practiced when Harlan does that "you're cool, Ratner" look that he'd probably do -- because that's what he would have done six months ago, but he can't seem to summon the energy. So he just holds up his hand and kind of waves his cigarette like it should be obvious.
Harlan rolls his eyes and jogs over, grabs up the ball and says, "What the fuck's wrong with you, Ratner?"
And since he doesn't know, he doesn't give an answer.
He just stands there and watches Harlan go back to his new-but-not-improved flunkies and tries to ignore the clawing feeling in his stomach.
//
When he goes back to the fence, there's this little piece of police tape still tied to it, forgotten and flapping pathetically in the breeze. It looks out of place in the quiet, naturalness of the woods and he can't stop himself from reaching up and pulling until the plastic stretchesstretches and rips loose.
He stares down at it for a long time, at the bright, neon yellow and the line of black that might have been the beginnings of a P. At the way the ends are cut perfectly but still don't match up because they were cut at two different times and probably by two different people.
He stares at it, waiting for something, some feeling, to rush over him. Waits for guilt maybe, or sadness, or anger, but there's nothing.
He lets it go, watches it twist and turn through the air as it falls, and turns back the way he came.
//
He slides into the chair next to Matt's and pokes at the slop they're supposed to believe is food.
"So... where have you been? We looked everywhere for you." Jon says and Marcus looks up at the sound, blinks a few times but doesn't say anything right away. He watches the look that passes between Jon and Matt, the one that says they're worried he's going to come home with another Luc, and shrugs and looks back down at his plate.
"Nowhere." And neither of them say anything but he can feel their eyes on him. He stares until his mashed potatoes go blurry and then his fork catches a glare from the light overhead and he blinks and looks back up. "I just thought I'd go for a walk before dinner."
It's not exactly the whole truth but it's not a lie either and it's enough of what they want to hear that they can relax a little.
He counts the seconds, gets all way the to ninety-seven, before Matt clears his throat and laughs shakily. "You know, we really need to start going for a walk for dinner one of these days. Because this shit is killing me."
//
He's leaning against the wall at the end of the math hall, smoking a cigarette and staring at the woods, when Harlan comes around the corner and almost slams right into him. It wouldn't really surprise him if it wasn't for the fact that it's a Sunday because Harlan thinks he owns the world and Marcus would need more fingers to be able to count the number of times that he's almost been run over by him. But it is a Sunday. So it is surprising.
"What the hell are you doing here?" He says it before he thinks about how it will sound and almost winces but can't seem to work up the motion.
Harlan smiles broadly, shifting a gym bag from hand to hand and tilting his head to the side, staring right into his eyes like he's looking for something. "What, not happy to see me?"
He stomach twists at the words and he looks down at the gym bag because it seems to be the thing to do and flicks his cigarette over into the bushes before pushing himself off the wall. "Whatever, man."
There's a thump as the gym bag hits the ground and then another as the back of his head hits the wall and it takes him a second to realize that that's Harlan's forearm pressed across his chest. He looks down and then back up, wishes for a second that he hadn't gotten rid of his cigarette, and tries to avoid looking at Harlan's eyes.
There's a long time where nothing happens, nothing, and the only thing to eat up the silence is the sound of their breathing. He breathes in, Harlan breathes out, he breathes in, Harlan breathes out -- counterpoint, because it would never, could never, be the same with them.
"New kid's gone, Marcus," Harlan says finally, his voice lower, more dangerous, yet somehow still conversational. "Nobody to come save you now, is there?"
He blinks hard at that, confused for a moment because why would he need anyone to save him? He needs someone to save other people from him. And then he remembers that Harlan doesn't know because it's a secret. And the thing about secrets is that no one is supposed to know them. No one but the people involved are supposed to even know that there's something to know. And even the people who do know the secret aren't supposed to talk about it, they're supposed to smile and laugh and pretend that they aren't lying by omission with every breath. They're supposed to pretend that everything is fine, totally normal, even when they can't stop thinking about it every single second.
"I don't need anyone to save me." He says because it's all he can say and stares at the curve and dip that make up the side of Harlan's mouth.
"You sure about that?" Harlan says, leaning into him hard like his body is some kind of threat or promise or like Marcus could have ever ignored him. And it's all so obvious, so scripted, everything is so scripted, that he can't help looking up and meeting Harlan's eyes.
"Yeah, actually." He says, laughing more to himself than anything else, laughing for the first time since he can remember.
Harlan's eyebrows furrow for a second, just one second, just long enough for Marcus to know that he wasn't expecting it. But then, because he's Harlan, he recovers quickly, raises an eyebrow and makes a sound like hmm before stepping away.
He doesn't bother to move once Harlan lets him go, just stands there pressed against the wall and watches Harlan reach down for his gym bag. His chest hurts, either from Harlan's arm pressing into it or maybe smoking too much, but not enough that he actually cares, just that he notices. After a while, a while made up of nothing but him looking at Harlan and Harlan looking at him and the scratch of brick agaisnt the palms of his hands, Harlan flips his bag over his shoulder and walks away.
"See you around, Marcus." He says as he goes, goes off with his gym bag and his styled hair and his red, red car and the knowledge that the worst thing he's got to hide is some fucked-up fascination with a do-nothing loser.
And Marcus stares after him until his eyes sting with the need to blink.
And then he does.
the end.