Birthday Cake
Chris wakes up alone, blearily blinking into the darkness of his room. The spot beside him is warm, a soft whistling coming from window. Chris fumbles around for his phone, wincing when it connects with the back of his hand and falls to the floor. He moves to retrieve it, grumbling tired and sluggish. His torso bends along the side of the bed, arm extending as he begins to fiddle around for the device. The carpet is sticky beneath his palm, sticky and wet, this nasty squishing noise filling the quiet.
Chris tenses up, hoisting himself back on the bed. He rubs his fingers together, slick in the darkness, something descending down the skin in a slow trickle. Chris switches on the lamp beside his bed, the ting ting of cord sounding like a siren. His hand shines red, fingers slippery and stained and Chris' brain finally catches up with a scream to move.
He stumbles off the bed, feet instantly losing purchase in his haste and he falls, hard, to the ground, arm twisting underneath him with a sickening snap. Tears spring from his eyes, sharp rustic smell floating from the puddle beneath him. His shirt clings to his skin and he grits his teeth, forcing himself up on a shaky hand. There's blood everywhere. It spreads along the reaches of his bed, across his closet.
A hand wraps around his ankle, grip icy and tight and Chris screams, heart pounding in his chest. He tries to break free, tries and fails to keep himself up, pain coursing through him. The hand yanks hard in response, Chris' chin smashing into the ground as he's dragged underneath his bed. He claws at the carpet, nails sinking into the wet surface with no avail.
Chris forces himself to breathe, shaky puffs of air stilling in his throat. He can see the light from the lamp close by. The distance seems so small, so slight but something heavy is settling on top of him. Something heavy and solid and all bones. Chris struggles uselessly, the thick heady smell of rotting flesh filling his nose. The hand on his ankle is gone, coming to wrap around his mouth with a soft hush.
"Shh now, my cheery boy. He'll hear you."
His throat burns, pain bleeding into every nerve. Chris wheezes, counting down in his head but all he can focus on is the smell, the foul awful stench. Chris stills, watching as a pair of feet drop in front of where he lays. Blood seeps up from the carpet, staining dirtied, bare soles as the person pads around his room. He can hear the door opening and closing, can hear the shuffling of drawers and things being knocked over. A low pitched snarl follows and Chris squeezes his eyes shut as a chill crawls through him. Soggy footsteps move across the floor.
"Best part, sweetheart."
His eyes are forced open, burning wide and he's forced to watch as someone crouches down before him. Sharp, glinting fangs, the deep rumble of a growl and-
Chris hits the floor with a crash, lamp smashed beside him, breathing erratically as he stares up at the ceiling. He clutches his face, feeling dry skin and the slow beginning of tears. A shaky croak escapes his lips, trembling as he curls up on the floor.
Chris hadn't cried in a long time, hadn't cried since Josh brought him to the lake near the Washington's with a flask in one hand, curly fries in the other. That was two years ago and now, Chris was alone, in a ball on the floor, sobbing quietly into his fists as filth burns in the back of his throat.
Chris manages to claw at his trash can, spine lurching painfully as he forces himself over it. His fingers grip the top tightly. Chris vomits, acid burning his tongue and throat and it keeps coming until he feels hollow and weak.
"Buddy? You okay?"
The door cracks open before he registers, a startled gasp startling Chris out of the tired daze that falls over him. He feels hands on him, cold and normal and they smell of Axe instead of death. Chris sighs relieves but he's being moved, being shuffled away from his trash can and into the bathroom. Chris sits on the toilet seat, vaguely aware of the cloth being pressed to his mouth. There are muffled words but he doesn't try to think about it.
"Chris? Chris? Hey bud, look at me."
Chris does, rolling his head to peer into the distressful look his father's wearing. He looks back to his knees, swallowing thickly. His mouth tastes sour.
"I have to go to school." Chris mumbles, shakily rising to his feet. There's a hand on his shoulder that firmly presses him back down.
"You're staying home."
Chris shakes his head, eyes widening. "Josh might need me."
"Josh isn't my concern, Chris." His father sighs. "The last time this happened, your mom-"
"Dad, stop. Please." Chris begs, feeling sick again and he doesn't want to think about her, about that, about anything. The cloth is back, dabbing along his forehead. Chris leans into it.
"I'll call the school. Want me to stay home?"
Chris didn't even think that was an option. Staying at home because your kid was being a baby. Chris shakes his head drowsily, colors swirling around in front of him. His dad helps him back to his room, changes out the trash, picks up broken pieces of glass and opens the window. He tucks Chris in with a soft expression and hands Chris the PS4 controller before picking some bullshit movie on Netflix.
"Call if you need me. I'm taking your keys because I know you'll try to leave." His dad says and Chris tries not frown when he nods. In return, his dad gives him a shaky smile, the usual three knocks against the door before it closes and he's alone. Chris focuses on the movie, eyelids drooping heavily. His pillows smell like Josh. He idly wonders what time the other woke up and left. They still needed to talk. Josh wanted to talk.
Chris blinks slowly until his eyes close and he feels afraid, afraid to fall asleep but his body is exhausted and everything is comfy and warm and Good Will Hunting can only do so much.
Chris comes to with his face pressed into the scratchy fabric of an old flannel. He can smell cigarettes and coffee, a warm hand resting on his shoulder. Chris forces himself up, back aching and his mouth tastes like how imagines Jabba the Hutt does. The TV quietly plays Hostel. Chris blinks, roughly wiping the sleep from his eyes with his palms. The hand on his shoulder drops to his lower back, fingers slowly tracing along the spine.
Chris doesn't think about that. "Time is it?"
"11:16." Comes Josh's voice.
Chris nods slowly and climbs out of bed wordlessly. He journeys to the hall bathroom on wobbly legs, shouldering the door open. Chris' jaw clenched upon glancing at his reflection. He looks like shit. Chris brushes his teeth, counting down to 3 and back to 1. He washes his face after, scrubbing until he's red and feeling a bit more like himself. Although Chris wasn't sure what that really felt like.
Josh is still in his bed when he returns. He looks worse, eyes sunken, deep blue and black bruises collecting along the skin. Chris has seen Josh bad, has seen him screaming and awful but this was worse, way worse. Josh grins at him. It looks painful.
"Bad night?" Josh asks softly.
Chris nods. "Yeah."
But Chris could handle bad dreams, could handle anything because Josh needed him. "Bad day? Scale of one to ten?"
"Fifteen." Josh admits and Chris swears under his breath, settling down at the foot of his bed. Josh pauses the movie in mid scream.
"Shit. Are you okay?"
"Don't wanna talk about that." Josh stares down at his lap before looking back up. "You weren't at school so I came by. You were knocked out."
Chris crawls to sit beside Josh. He leans back, resting on his pillow with a deep sigh. Josh pats his bare knee, resuming the movie. They watch in silence and Chris flinches at a couple of scenes when the blood is too much.
"Wanna talk about it?"
"Just a dumb dream, Josh." Chris replies.
Josh shrugs. "Didn't know dumb dreams made people skip school."
"You skipped school over a tele-tubby nightmare."
Josh swats his arm, blushing furiously, and it's the closest thing to normal on Josh's face. The color just looks misplaced, looks foreign and unusual.
"You okay, man?"
Chris wonders if he zoned out, eyes focused on Josh's mouth. He nods slowly.
"Your boyfriend know you're here?"
Josh snorts. "Mike's definitely not my boyfriend."
"Your fuck buddy know you're here?" Chris amends.
"Ouch Cochise, you sound mad." Josh remarks, lips stretching into a shit eating grin. Chris almost punches him but the banter is a welcome. His insides still hurt when he thinks about it but he wasn't mad, didn't feel mad at least. Besides. Josh liked him too. Chris hits the 'x' on the controller.
The movie resumes and Chris ignores the pleased expression on Josh's face. He does nudge him hard for real though. Josh chuckles in response, bumping his forehead against Chris' shoulder. They burn through two more movies before Josh has to leave cause Chris' dad will be home soon.
"You comin' to my party later?"
Chris raises an eyebrow. "It's September."
"There was a funeral. Kids need a party."
Chris wants to remark that Josh doesn't look well enough to have a party but he doesn't. Instead he shrugs his shoulders with a lazy roll. Josh has one leg out the window, cigarette in between his lips. He flips out a metal lighter, flinching when the fire comes out. Josh lights it with shaking fingers.
"I'm probably gonna quit. Guess I'm scared of fire now." Josh smirks, bracing his hands on the windowsill. "It's at 9. Check the Point. Nothin' like piss and beer to get a good orgy going."
"Yeah, yeah. Better find me someone cute to get with."
Josh narrows his eyes at Chris, gaze dark and glaring.
"Just kidding. Go away. I need my beauty rest." Chris amends quickly, forcing a smile as his face heats up. Josh inhales, white becoming freckled grey specks around an orange spark. He's frowning. Josh resembles a kicked puppy, the deep circles under his eyes smoldering.
"You're the only one for me, bro. Even with your fake ass fuck boy."
"Be there, dumbass."
Josh disappears with a smirk, leaving behind the smell of menthol and cologne and a confused Chris. He doesn't move from the bed, fully aware of how hard his heart is beating. Chris settles down in his bed, eyes slipping closed to the sound of an ignition starting. Josh's car roars outside before the sound fades. His head falls into the spot where Josh sat. It's warm, sheets wrinkled and Chris dozes off.
His dad wakes him up with soup that might be chicken noodle, might be ramen Chris isn't sure but he eats it sleepily, checking his phone as he spoons lukewarm broth into his mouth.
From: Trashley (3)
You going to the Point later?
I'll be there!
From: Climbing Trash (2)
Josh said you died.
Sorry for not chilling with you longer
::praying hands emoticon::
From: Mighty Empress
Bitch where were you today?!
From: Mattchu (2)
We have a new book we're reading
I'll send notes
Chris thanks God, Gods, Aliens, whoever for Matt Samuels. He punches out a thank you message, hurrying to reply to the others as he checks the time. It was almost 9 which meant Chris slept pretty much all day but he feels more human than he did this morning and he gets to see Josh later.
Deep down he figures he's getting himself excited over nothing, getting his hopes up for nothing. But regardless. Chris gets to see Josh Washington tonight, despite how vampire like his best friends been looking lately.
"Where you heading to?" His dad asks as Chris heads down the stairs. He's not dressed well, more put together haphazard clothes than an actual outfit. Fargo plays on the TV.
"Getting notes from Matt. We have a test and I broke my computer."
"You should fix it soon. Feel better?"
Chris nods stiffly. "Yeah, um. Sorry for worrying you."
"Just don't want a repeat of last time. You're my son, bud." Chris wonders if it's easy for him to say that, if the words taste foreign and weird. But Chris forces a smile that feels real and his dad is nodding his head, tossing Chris' keys to him. "Drive safe."
"See you."
Chris leaves without much else to say, ignoring the dejected look that crosses his dad's face. He could ask Chris to stay, tell him he can't leave. He was still an adult, a dad. But he doesn't stop Chris, he gives Chris his keys and let's him leave. Maybe this is what loving at a distance means.
Chris hops into his car, starting it up with a quick flick of his wrist and he's backing out of the driveway. Chris fixes himself at the red light, tugging his button up on properly, straightening out a sweater. He ruffles his hair in the mirror, tying to form some sort of order. It kinda works, kinda doesn't and Chris gives up halfway because the light it green.
The Points never been so full, so packed full of cars and teens and it's loud, music blaring. Chris isn't sure how the cops haven't been called yet but he parks near the back, where the idea of leaving is an actual possibility. Chris finds Ash halfway to the building, propped up on the trunk of her Mercedes. There's a girl in between her legs, hands on her hips and they're kissing slowly. Chris whistles loudly.
Ashley's eyes shift to him and she's pulling away with a bashful smile. The girl with her looks at Chris, vaguely familiar but he can't place it.
"Don't mind me." Chris smirks and Ashley hits him with her beanie as he walks by. He runs into Beth the closer he gets, dressed comfortably in high waisted jeans and a sweater. She's not with Sam which seems surprising but she is with Hannah, who is looking all shades of pretty and perfect.
Beth notices him first, smiling widely.
"Chris! You lookin' for Josh?"
Chris nods. "He with Mike?"
"Mike wasn't invited." Hannah answers instead. She doesn't sound mad, doesn't look mad. Hannah looks radiant and lovely and Chris thinks this is what a woman scorned must look like. Beth points to the top of the building, shadows moving to a bumping heat of the music.
"Guess we know who he's waiting for." Beth smiles widely. Chris blinks at her, lungs in his throat and he feels hope, hope and some other strange hum deep inside him. Hannah hands him the plastic red cup she's holding with a wink.
"Liquid courage?"
"You might need it." Beth tacks on.
"Not that he will." Hannah responds.
Beth shoots her a look. "You're right. Chris has had dibs since the sandbox."
"Ooh. Very true, Bethany."
"Only truth, Hannah."
They share a mirrored smile. It creeps Chris out but he downs the drink quickly. The burn feels nice as it works its way down.
"No more twin stuff."
"Yes sir." They say in unison. Chris cringes, side stepping away from them. The twins stare creepily after him, disappearing behind a wall of gyrating teenagers. He eases through them, towards the fire escape, up, up the dark staircase until he's on the roof. It's lit up with thin lanterns, the music is louder up here but there are kids slow dancing in the center of wild dancers.
Chris finds Josh on the older generator, dressed expensively in black and leather. He kind of looks like a greaser, more James Dean with the cigarette dangling from his lips than Johnny Depp. Fact of the matter is, Josh is sitting on the generator, looking ten shades more attractive than anyone should ever be.
Josh notices him, cigarette flicking up as he inhales. He exhales through his nose, pinching the bud between his fingers. Josh leans back on his elbows, eyes narrow and predatory and it sends a shiver down Chris' spine.
Chris swallows and forces his legs to move forward. Josh gestures to the empty spot beside him. He shrugs off his leather jacket, folding it over his lap, posture confident and lazy as a slow smirk forms. Chris can't hear anything over the music and his own heartbeat.
Chris clamors on top of the generator, wincing at how cold the metal is under his hands but it's a welcome comfort when the rest of him feels warm. He watches Josh take another drag, lips curling around the cigarette. The jacket in his lap is moved to the side.
Josh tilts his head to the side, peering over at Chris and he whistles out a thin trail of smoke. It curls and folds and twirls slowly evaporating into the evening sky. Josh stares at him, eyes heavy and tired, and Chris stares back, lingering too long on the dark bags.
"Wanna kiss me?" Josh asks, Chris reading the words on his lips like a lifeline. He nods dumbly and Josh's eyes drop to his mouth. Chris can see the hesitation, the slow trudge of doubt and fear. He leans in, hand sliding along the expanse of Josh's lower back and he plucks the cigarette from his best friend's fingers. Chris flicks it over the edge but Josh seems unbothered, distracted.
Their lips brush, barely touching bits of static between them. Josh's eyes slip close and he fills the distance, mouth open and wet and wanting and Chris can feel the vibrate of need pooling inside him. The music sounds loudly overhead, sparking in volume like fireworks.
It lasts a second, a second of hot tongue swiping along his, a second of fumbling to match the movement and it's gone. Josh pulls away. His gaze is distant, hands fisted on his thighs. Chris wonders if anyone saw it.
Josh looks up at him, eyes dark and glinting and he's sliding down from the generator with his hand wrapped Chris' wrist. Chris follows after him, trying to ignore the small space between the edge of the roof and them. Josh backs him up until his back meets cool metal, arms coming up to cage him in and that mouth is back on his. Chris sighs, eyes slipping closed, lips parting on contact, butterflies banging along the lining in his stomach.
Josh tastes like Big Red and cigarettes; lips chapped and dry as they slide against his, moving in needy perfection, tongue sliding along the deepest corners of Chris' mouth and its perfect. Chris moans softly, focusing on following the rhythm Josh creates. Josh's hips press down into his, this slow, slow grind of friction and Chris thinks he might've died because Josh Washington's hand is sliding under his shirt and kissing him.
His head feels light, soft pants whispering between every brief separation of lips. Josh smirks, drifting down and dragging his teeth along the side of Chris' neck and bites. Chris jumps, a bit startled, a bit turned on when Josh takes the skin in his mouth and sucks. Chris doesn't know what to do with his hands so he touches and feels and smooths them along his best friend's thin frame, feeling muscles that weren't there a year ago.
Josh moves back up, capturing Chris' lips in a rough kiss, hands grasping at Chris' shirts with impatience. A leg wedges between his, long fingers coming down to grasp at the inside of his thighs. Josh's pelvis presses into him, rolling just so. Chris exhales sharply, glasses foggy, sitting askew on his face and Josh pushes them up to his forehead before slipping his tongue back into Chris' mouth. Chris moves to meet the slow motion, hips stuttering and Josh curses against him, the grip on his hips tightening.
Chris is glad there's music overhead, glad the sky is dark so it can hide the redness in his skin. He knows Josh had a few years on him in experience, has had a few more people to practice on who might be more accustomed but Josh doesn't seem to mind leading, doesn't mind breaking his best friend down into tiny, whimpering pieces.
Josh kisses grow rough, more teeth than lip, and his nails digs along Chris' ribs like a razor. Chris grits his teeth, heart pounding in his chest. Josh makes a noise against him, this long trembling vibration in his throat that has Chris shuddering. Josh bites down on his lower lip, worrying it until it bleeds. He sucks at it hungrily, shoving a bit too hard. Chris sneaks a glance at Josh, feeling like he's melting and everything is perfect until he sees Josh's face.
His pupils are thin slits of color, wide and milky and there are veins along his skin that weren't there before. Josh's eyes snap to his, glassing over briefly with recognition and he forces himself away, stumbling to the side. Josh clenches his jaw, running a shaky fingers through his hair, cheeks puffed out with each hard exhale. He looks at Chris, takes in the disheveled appearance, the hickeys, the cut on his lip and he looks like he's starving.
Josh reaches out to him, finger tips crushing along the side of Chris' face and he takes a shaky step back. Then another, then another until Chris is watching Josh disappear behind the generator, away from him, away from what they've done. Chris slumps down to the ground, painfully hard, legs trembling as they kick out. He rubs his face furiously, yanking his glasses off. Chris considers hurling them but cleans them instead and tonguing the wound on his lip.
The image of Josh burns into his mind, the heaving rise and fall of his chest, the unnatural gleam in his eyes. Chris wipes his eyes with the corner of his knuckle. The music drowns on a slur of curses that come to mind.