#hcllowcd

　　　　the whine that escapes him is downright pitiful, heaving breaths escaping him as he drips from his cage. arms tremble slightly, palms pressed heavily into the mattress. naked on his hands and knees as she sits in front of him far more clothed, clearly the one in control. her fingers laced around the loop in his collar, barely being touched at all being more than enough to push him over the edge. he couldn’t stop himself, but of course she knew that. she’s beyond familiar with how easily he falls apart, has made the most of how quick he is to get riled up. it’s something she’s had plenty of fun with, something that clearly isn’t about to change.

head shakes, though he’s not entirely sure that that’s the truth. the bandages are gone, nothing left but the big, ugly scar that paints the side of his face. nothing left but reminders of what she’d done to him, constant reminders of her every time he looks in the mirror. he should feel safe, his parents locked away, heather looking after him. but he can never shake the fear that it isn’t over, that they’ll come for him again. he’s only barely been allowed to leave the hospital, still in the chair or using a walker more often than not, entirely unprepared for if his parents were to track him down searching for revenge. he’s still trying to work through the need to be fixed already, trying to work through his old beliefs. it takes a long time to heal from something like this, he knows that, but he’s never let himself have that before. it’s something that takes a lot of getting used to, especially knowing that his hearing may never come back, that his hands might just shake with fear for the rest of his life. he’s not the boy he was, and he constantly finds himself amazed that heather still wants this version of him.

its dark outside, but in the kitchen the light shines bright, bright enough to hurt his eyes. it had been easy enough to slip out of bed without her noticing, though she’s often well aware of when he has nightmares. he’d just never actually fallen asleep, just stared into space for hours before getting up and doing something. its by no means a good coping mechanism, the left behind remnants of how things had been when living with his parents. he hadn’t even realised he was crying, so caught up in scrubbing the floor that he hadn’t noticed. he doesn’t even notice her coming in, flinching at the sound of her voice, jumping at the feeling of her hand stopping his motions.

he shakes, stares at the floor, fights the urge to continue his scrubbing. he’s obviously exhausted, hasn’t had a good nights sleep in days. its all been too much, the trial slowly tearing him apart. reliving his trauma, having to admit all that his parents have done to him, it feels impossible most days. he isn’t doing it for himself, he’s never been able to do that. he’s doing it for her, so that she doesn’t get in trouble, so that his parents can’t touch her. as much as he wants to fight for himself, he knows he can’t.

kie’s mood is always a toss up on beach clean up day’s. on one hand, it brings a sense of accomplishment when everything is said and done and it helps ebb away at the cloud of doom hanging over their planet – at least a little bit. but more often than not, she finds her mood turning sour at just how disgusting the beach had been in the first place and how little of a fuck almost everyone else seems to give. for a town that relied so heavily on it’s beaches for tourism, kiara would think they would want to keep them as picturesque as possible – evidently not, as is evident in the rowdy group of boy’s piling out of the island club and onto a gas guzzler of a boat, a steady stream of beer cans and food wrappers left in the sand in their wake. she barely finishes exchanging words with one of them when she hears another voice.

her defences are up, but lower just a little when she see’s heather. as far as kooks go, heather ranks pretty high in kie’s books but all things considered, that isn’t much of a feat. “if you don’t i will,” she huffs, shoving a natty lite can into her already overflowing trash bag. she can hear her mother’s voice in the back of her head, telling her to mind her temper and the thought of wilderness therapy has her cooling down at least a couple degrees. 

@hcllowcd asked: ❝ you said you used to come here a lot before… before what? ❞

                      kerr wasn't one to offer comfort. not only did he lack empathy. along with the loss of understanding emotions. but he never had been comforted. of course many tried , attempted. normally that soothing hand offering the balm against burn got bit. normally words spewed so harshly they never attempted again. even eventually his own father gave up. gave in to the anger kerrian had expressed & they went their separate ways. it was easier like that. it became easier to simply , be the bad guy.

he didn't know this girl ─── not well. but enough to feel some sense of pity. he couldn't put his finger on why. what caused it. maybe a smell or some weird lingering sense of understandment? his lips twisted as his brow raised , quirked. he had taken her to his spot above the tree line. overlooking the town below. even as small as it was , lighting up the sky. brimming , sparkling with some wonderment. brushing , painting the sky with streaks of yellow , red , blues. against the coal black & brightly lit stars.

arms folded over his chest as he leaned back against the lotus. trunk popped down offering a place to sit. a cooler tucked in the little nook he made when he extended the back years ago. he wasn't sure why he was offering this comfort. he would linger on it for a few days before forgetting entirely he even offered. ‘ before i lost everything i use to be. ’ those words bit his tongue. made him taste metal. the anger rushing his veins as he remembered his first kill. begging. screaming for the person to simply listen.

                      he was no monster then. he certainly was now.