#ouchlovesthem

Your lids are heavy with the gruesome change of fate, you dare not even look up to see your mother’s face as she puts a hand on your upper back, you know there’s no comfort in her expression; you would much rather sit in the stew of your own excrement than hear what comment or stare awaited you in her dead and lifeless eyes. 

You are told to clean yourself up and prep your outfit for the next morning. There’s barely any sunlight to coddle you in its warmth, while you find your clothes, you slip them on after your shower, and you become much more aware of your posture and stature. You look at the fabrics meant to enhance your natural beauty, and yet, as you look in the mirror, you’re met with the same soulless eyes the world carved into your sockets. 

You couldn't imagine a world where anybody could ever see that you were a normal human being, because that's how you'd been auctioned off to everyone. 

Even now, as you stand before the people with your birth givers sat behind you, with the same expectant look all the other adults gave you as you stood on the stage for them. 

The area is desolate, an old, small theater with a bright red, velvety stage that had show lights on you and the other young woman, who were unfortunately burdened with the societal expectations of their lives. 

That's all you'd ever been.

You waited for your fate over and over and over again.

That's what you were, a piece of meat to be put on a pedestal and sold to these people.

The parents looked at you expectantly, and they questioned the things that made you know your place in the world. You’re not a person, you're an item that needs to be sold, something to be put down and reused over and over until your usefulness falls out of style. You had hoped that when you began chopping up your thighs, you would become less desirable, but that only made your birth giver lower the price and allow more to come and exploit you. 

A housewife, a mother, a caretaker. 

That's all you're to these people. 

That's all you'd be to their son.

You hear your mother’s heels clack against the velvet tiles, you feel the goosebumps that used to run up your skin now dulled by the abuse you have endured, damn near your whole life. “Such a pretty girl.” You hear from the crowd, which brought smiles to the faces of the onlookers and your parents; they relished the beauty that was the child they had meticulously bred for over and over again.  Your mother cups your chin, she turns you to the crowd, and your cheek stubbornly swells. You let the gum that you kept hidden in the sole of your shoes, which were unused, and as you cut it open to place that pack, you took one every day, and as it was mashed and the flavor was sucked out of it, you found this piece of gum to be your one guaranteed joy in life.

You allow your tongue to slowly and lovingly slide into the safety between your cheek and teeth. Those who were ready to place their bids on your existence to benefit their own, or their sons, or even their own husbands.  You heard about how other girls joined harems and were kept around in their houses only until the daughters were of age to be married off to the man who had previously bought them. You hoped that an older man would buy you, in hopes he'd have a stroke before he could ever truly collect you. 

The crowd awaits your smile, and your mother is eager to please them as she digs her middle and index finger into your left cheek while her thumb finds where you had placed your gum and applies pressure with her long, extended nails that need a fill-in; you wonder if it’ll snap off while carving into your cheek. Your mother turns your head towards her, and you’re forced to see those eyes that have done nothing but watch as you’ve endured everything possible. She awaited for you to crumble beneath her and beg for your death at her hands, just like the abortion she wishes she could’ve had.

You force a smile, and your teeth feel the cold air of the auditorium; you’re quickly turned back from the light burning behind your mother’s head and preventing you from galloping into the sweet relief of death. “This is my daughter, Clementine.” It’s not your name, you can tell by the way your mother says it with so much love and compassion, unlike those times when your father would cast you aside after you fulfilled his usefulness to you, and your mother dared not dare utter the name that your father groaned or moaned.

You have one on your certificate, but you don't even know what it is anymore; you've been Clementine since you blossomed into womanhood.

You allow her to force it out of you, a toothy grin that shows off that award-winning smile that’s only ever gotten you nothing but used by those with enough cash. 

This time, your fate would be sealed, no more sweaty nights under anyone with the big bucks to throw at your mother and father to continue their way of life. You didn’t know how to feel about this development, that now that you had started your menstrual cycle, you would be promised to some man who could keep your parents and you above the poverty line. It was shocking, given the world around you, that forced so many young men into militaristic roles while giving them dirt-poor wages that anyone could really afford.

You were met by Mr. and Mrs. Olson, some folks your parents' age, who owned a large farm in Minnesota. They offered all they had for you and what your family had to offer. Once chosen, you walked off the stage to meet privately with the parents of your now husband, as they inquired and inspected your parents on your behalf. 

You stared vaguely into the distance, the gum grinding between your teeth until it did nothing but help you distract yourself from the fact that you were now losing your freedom for the final time.

“Is she a virgin?” Your parents gleefully said yes! You were not; you having a delayed menses allowed those who used you to be free of the consequences of pregnancy that would’ve further lowered your value.

“How is she with chores?” You were clean and quick, you were always there to take care of the messes, such as spilled drinks or broken appliances, thanks to your rowdy brothers. Your mother rotted in bed while your father and brothers worked long hours to maintain the abode; it was you and you alone ever since you could walk. Your first words were mama, and her first words to you were to teach you how to sweep and mop the floors. As you got older, your tasks became taking full control of making sure the home felt like a home to everyone but you. 

“Will she be able to bear children?” They lied about your mother’s history of birth, she had two faulty pregnancies before having you, they were both females, just like you, who either came out as stillborn and the other who escaped your mothers wretched womb as a pure red glob into the toilet and flushed away with the same burdened look of losing another useful able body to create income in the home. 

Before you were to be wed, you were to endure the ceremony they had for their son before he was to participate in the Long Walk. Once he returned, there would be a wedding. They say it surely, you remembered your older brother who did the long walk when you were but a child, you remembered watching his death once it was broadcast.

At the starting line, where he froze up, you weren’t surprised since your birth givers were often critical of his spineless nature. You couldn’t properly grieve your brother’s death; You were all just coworkers who happened to be related by blood. 

There was nothing to argue against as you all accepted your fates with your heads hung low. 

The Olsons had purposely flown out to meet you after securing your existence if your husband was to win the Long Walk, eager to hand you over for all the riches in the world, where they had mistepped with their feeble spawn, they had succeeded with their son-in-law's potential future riches. 

You remembered the letter they gave you before they returned their farm upstate, you hid the small red envelope in your bra, and when you returned home, you were to continue the same ritual you had before and once you were dismissed for the day and your father lost interest in giving you attention you returned to your room where you changed into your pajamas and got ready to read the letter with your yellow lamp lending you the tiniest bit of clearance through the darkness of the closet.

Upon opening the envelope, you are shown a Polaroid of a young man, who is around the same height as both his parents, which allows you to compare the fact that you wouldn’t be looking up at a man for the first time in your life. You say man loosely because apparently ‘he's of age’, you have a few inches on him, and if it weren't for the heels your mother was making you wear, you wonder if you guys would be the same. There's a softness in his eyes, something you missed in your brothers before you started showing signs in puberty. You could stare at them while you tried to tear yourself away from finding out everything bad about him. There was dark hair that was shaped and cut down above his ear that melted with his fair skin, and his soft eyes drew you back in, and you tore yourself away to read the letter and let it reveal who he actually was. 

To my darling, Clementine

Have you ever found yourself so lost in the appearance of another? Once my eyes landed on the absolute beauty that was your face, I  was completely transfixed by your appearance. I warn you that I do run my mouth quite often and am known to curse like a sailor, but I’ll stay silent and stand guard to guarantee you sleep peacefully at night.

I've had to make peace over the past couple of weeks as I've come to realize my selection and my active, willing participation in the Long Walk. Nonetheless, I’m proud that my life would be the price of your safety. 

I want you to know I’m dedicated to you, that I am willing to grant this wish for a better life for you, anywhere you decide, even if it does not end up being with me, that you’ll understand I’m doing this for you.

Your eyes take me away, the mirrors to the souls that show the brutality in the things you’ve seen, they seem a husk of what they once were as children, and if that is the case, I wish to bring that sparkle right back into your eye like a shooting star.

I look at this photo of you. And I know I know nothing of you. Regardless, I want to know more about you. I hope and I pray that at the end of this walk, I become the one true Savior of your life. I know about your life from my parents. That you've been purchased for me. In hopes that I survived the long walk. I intend to guarantee your safety. Your future. And your smile.

Grateful to the heavens, I’ve been given this chance to walk to God’s garden that is made up of the beautiful fruit you're named after. Given this chance.

Not much about you. And I know that, given my situation, I have been in no place to try and convince you or beg you to see me in a different light than you have seen many other suitors before me. But I need you to know that I take the hits, the heartbeats, the heart roads, just to make sure that you walk on the softest shoes. I want to make sure. That's when I give everything up for you, even my life on the line for yours.

That it would guarantee you would never flinch in this world.

That you would never flinch at me.

I want you to know that I'm not like the other suitors who come in with their. Loads of money and a promised lavish lifestyle.That I and I alone. I'm choosing to be with you. Even if it's just because I saw your photo. I know with that look in your eyes. 

That I promise. I mean every damn word.

I'm not Shakespeare. I'll never be able to sweep you off with my words, but I want you to know that even if my tongue is cut off, I will show you in any way possible that I care deeply for you.

I do nothing carelessly. I think and choose my words diligently, even when they’re an amalgamation of curses. The act of signing up for this long walk is only a matter of being a lamb to the slaughter. After my return from the walk, I'll spend every day proving that your safety, your joy, your peace, and everything you've ever dreamed of will always come before everything. And if I ever slip up and say something crude in your presence or anything that you do not approve of, I give you full right to pop me in my mouth as is your command.

Forever yours,

If you’ll let me be,

Hank Olson

You try to find the love and care that is in the handwritten letter, you admire its handwriting that is as fancy as the outfits you’ve worn when being shown off. There is care and dedication in how it's folded, and unique gold foil decorates the outside of the envelope that shows flowers and bountiful fruits.  You're unsure of how to feel, as you've never been cared for like this before. You doubt you could have ever felt this way, and you doubt even more that anybody could ever feel some way towards you, especially if they knew the truth about your nature, the way you've been raised and brought up. You knew if he knew the truth and his family knew the truth, they would grow to despise you and think of you as nothing more than useless to them. 

The letters that promise you this lavish lifestyle, where you're guaranteed to be a mother, to be a housewife, to be put together and kept pretty like a doll. This letter only fills you with the realization that the only person who could ever really love you is ready and actively suicidal. 

The idea of him walking the Long Walk is absurd; the more you look at his picture, the more you’re disappointed in what he believes it takes to win.  You cannot voice these feelings aloud, even if they are true; you are to accept your fate and the idea of having a husband who is not guaranteed.

You are to live this life for the following weeks until he dies during the walk or returns victorious in rewards given at the wedding. 

Something is making your heart swell, something that brings you to sifting through your drawers to craft a letter in return,

To Hank Olson, 

I have to be honest in my words to you, Hank. 

You've seen my face and maybe even my smile. I don't know what photo they've sent you or what you've seen of me, but you've mistaken it for softness. I am in no way soft. Ask and I've worn out for the people who've paid to see it. You talk of sacrifice as if it's noble, like bleeding for me is going to change the years upon years of suffering I've endured.

I want you to know that what you do now is nothing but a waste.

I've been used, Hank. I've never been loved or cherished. I'm like a cigarette that's been passed around, smoked, stubbed out, and ground beneath the shoes of those who have used me over and over and over again. They take turns spitting on me. And making sure I know my place in this world.

I'm under the assumption that you are to use me as well.

When I'm collected by your family and watch your fate broadcast for those across the states, I hope I don’t see you on the starting line.

That you take that back out date as your chance for a better life, with a better wife who is not me. 

For all I know. This could be an illusion.

I'm honest in my letter. Because my time on this earth is not long.

I was brought here to suffer, not thrive. Either you will die at the hands of the major, or I will die at the hands of the world. 

There is no way we can both coexist with ideas that contradict one another so greatly.

You may think of me as beautiful, loved, or cherished. That’s the bait. That's what they see before they strip me down and leave me emptier than before. That husk in my eyes that you see is nothing more than the eyes of someone gutted from humanity who has no chance to grow and thrive anywhere on this earth.

I won't allow you to ruin yourself with this fantasy.

And I won't allow you to lull yourself into this idea that this is all worth it.

Consider your choices,

Clementine

With the last line, you take a deep breath in. You didn't breathe the whole time you wrote the letter. There are angry groans and thrusts on the paper that show the chicken scratch, fueled by the hatred you have for such delusional thinking. You despise Hank for who he is, for his thoughts, his hopes, his ideology, that he believes he could make you better and change you from the world. The hovel that's only continued to make you this awful. 

You believe their lies? 

You bark out of laughter before clutching your mouth in hopes your family hadn’t heard your joy. You placed the letter in the returning red envelope that was also in the bag. It was meant for you to send an acceptance letter. 

But this letter? It was to help him accept his reality. 

Accept your reality.

Once the letter was sent, it only took a week before you received another in your hands from his mother, her gaze had dulled from the last time you had seen her and when you asked if there was a problem she spoke of her husband’s sickness that prevented him from this trip, you comfort the woman as she envelopes you tino a warm embrace. You wonder how people were able to comfort others so normally. In your mind, you’re disgusted by her tears, that she needed to pick herself up and go back home, but as you felt the dampening on the shoulder, your hand ran small circles on her back; you know how to do this, like the clients who have cried to you once before. 

You dismiss her with a large smile and give you one in return, it’s genuine as it quivers as she hopes to return the joy you presented to her, even if it was a false hope. 

Once the door closed, you're met by your mother's soulless eyes. The woman, just as drained as you, asked who it was. You explained to her that it was the Olsen mother, and your mother barks out a laugh. You flinch at the idea that you sound alike. And you make a mental note to never laugh again. “You know,” your mother starts. “I'm surprised he's doing the Long Walk. I've seen pictures of the boy, and he doesn't look very sturdy, if you will. It's more of a formality with the letters, a guarantee of the bond for the prize money.” You only nod in response. You know your opinion will only award you a smack to the face and a realization that you're stuck and bound to this family once more.

You think back to the shaving razors that you were given by your mother to make sure that your bodily hair stayed out of sight. You thought back to when you broke it open the first time with a rock you found outside, slamming your fists into it and making sure that you could still have even just a little piece of the razor, using the sharp edge to cut into the flesh of your thighs that had been kissed by unsavory individuals.

Your mother picks your face up. She uses her index finger and middle finger on one side of your cheek with her thumb on the other side. She's looking for the gum in your mouth again. Luckily for you, you spit it out before you open the door. Unfortunately, it still had all its flavor left in. You were embarrassed by the fact that you would dig through the trash later to go find it if you weren’t able to buy another pack soon.

You're forced to look into her eyes, a ritual she does every time you guys run into each other. She does it to your brothers as well, just to make sure that they understand what she endured for them to be in this world. You guys would stay there for about 5, maybe 10 minutes. You begin to daydream, this time thinking about what the letter would say. You wonder if he'd given up on trying to convince you that you'd be better off, and if he was just going to make promises to impregnate you or promise to keep you bound to the house to make sure that any freedom thoughts you had were to be shackled away, just as you were once before.

You continue to dream about the letter, wondering what curses in vile swears he's waiting to tell you. You're yearning for that moment to be proven right. For him to hate your guts and despise you and use you the way you'd always been used, and as you went through the day, going through your work, the day ends with your bath. 

A prayer that your Father doesn't first open the door.

You're allowed another day to close your door and be engulfed in the sheets of your bed. You turn over, pulling the lamp's cord for the little illumination to allow you to read Olson’s next letter.

Oh, Clementine,

Please don't talk down to me like a child. I've had enough of that from my mother and father, and I don't need that from my wife, either.

You're waiting for me to wake up and realize you're not worth the fight. Well, screw that. I'm wide awake, and I'm not going anywhere. You're thinking that some loudmouth like me comes along talking about sacrifice and freedom like it's a damn fairy tale, and you think I'm delusional, and you think I'm chasing something that doesn't exist.

But I'm not here to play hero. I'm not here to play your savior. I'm not here to be the person who solves every one of your problems because I know I could never truly do that.

I'm doing this because I want to see you.

You could have easily not responded, easily sent a rejection letter, and simply said no. But you sat there and you told me how you'd been pushed aside, how you'd been squandered, and it's your own fault for allowing me to feel bad for you.

The one buried all the bullshit they piled on top of you is what I'm trying to do by digging it out and clawing through hell with my bare hands.

To take this walk is to prove that I am ready to die for something that matters.

I've got a plan, not some dream, I mean a real, calculated technical assault on every obstacle in my way when it comes to this. I'm building the strategy, the gear, the timing. I'm gonna walk that race like it owes it money, because it does. I'm owed this win, and I know I can do this if I just do it.

I'll win for you, for me, for every damn person. Whoever said I was nothing but a little boy.

My father is undergoing an illness. I must help my mother as much on the farm as I can. I hope that when we meet in the upcoming weeks, you will be able to come back to the farm and stay with my mother and help with this troubling time, to allow you a place where you won't feel the need to be under the people's expectations.

I'll win, so you never have to sell another piece of yourself. I'll win, so my parents can choke on their doubt when they see me being the last boy of 50 still standing with the fire in my eyes and your name in my heart. And if you don't believe me. Then you can hate me for it. But I'm gonna show you, and I'm gonna show everyone that I'm more than what they're trying to make me be.

You don't have to watch that broadcast of me. If you don't want to, and if you reject my marriage proposal, I completely understand.

I want you to know that what I'm doing isn't for pity.

It's for deep care and want and need to make sure that this does good for the people in my life, does good for you, my parents, and the future Participants of the walk. 

– Hank Olson

What the fuck?

Why the hell won't he quit? I told him. Laid it out cold and clear. You gave him the truth. Everything that you have heard your parents lie about you, you've told him in that single letter. It should have discouraged him. It should have just led to him telling me what he was going to do to you. 

You despise people like this.

People that come into your life and they tell you they love you and they care for you and they wanna do better for you, but all they do is let you down over and over and over again because they don't truly care for anything outside of themselves and what benefits them in that moment. 

They'll say anything they can to be with you.

Hank Olson was just another stubborn, foul-mouthed idiot that you’ll deal with for the rest of your life. Still chasing some fantasy where I'm not broken. But you're not just a body or a price tag. He's planning, scheming, and racing like this is some damn movie where he wins the heart of the girl.

It pisses you off because he's living in such a delusional lie, that society allows him to live in this delusion, and that he’s delusively believing he’s trying to save you. A lie that's been allowed by this world and continues to allow people to think this is disgusting.

This is the hope that it makes you sad.

You're frustrated that people would think so stupidly.

Put trust in something so dumb, so frivolous, something not even guaranteed. He thinks you're worth fixing. He thinks he's willing to bleed for someone who's already been bled dry. You don't want to see him. You don't want to hear his voice–God, your heart aches.

It feels as if it's being crushed and, switched around, manhandled by the world.

You ball up your fist and you slam it into your chest.

You hope this feeling in your heart stops.

You hate that you're reaching for another piece of paper and the same pen you wrote the previous letter with, and that you're going to put him down once more.

You don't want hope. 

Hope is a scam. 

It's the first lie they sell you before they take everything else from you.

You know you need to stay cold. You need to stay detached. You can't allow yourself to believe in his lies because he'll only let you down. You cannot allow yourself to fall. You need to write this letter where you put him down, where you tell him he can't do this. 

You need to do this. 

You need to do this. 

You need to do this.

You need to do this.

You need to do this.

To Hank ‘Ridculously Flawed’ Olson,

I choose not to believe in your savior complex and the raging hard-on you have for tragedy. You say you see me and want to help me, but all you actually see is some broken-winged bird that you’re just trying to fix and change into the mold of your perfect wife.

You think the Long Walk will bend at your will, ambitions, your dreams? My brother was gunned down on the starting line, and I’ll be damned to believe anyone else who becomes involved with me won’t meet the same fate.

You think these bleeding-heart felt letters make you different, but you’re dead wrong. I am not here to fall for you or any of the ideals you continue to try to shove down my throat. You are despicable as you are ignorant, and I won't fall for the bait that is a happy future with you.

If you come to my home, and I mean if, don’t be surprised by this lulled and dulled expression that brings your cock nothing but a softness, and the only ache you feel is when you’re forcing me to take it.

It’s vile to see men like you try to treat me like I matter when you and I both know I’m just your mail-ordered bride to help guarantee you don’t die in the relentless slaughter of young boys across the nation.

I can’t wait to see you crumble when all your work fails, when you’re met by my disgusting self that can’t be quelled by some random boy who thinks he knows better than I, when she’s ready to sacrifice himself.

Let’s see who you really are when your fantasy fucking dies in front of you.

You’re snapped out of your rage-induced writing by the few droplets of the dark blue ink on the letter, your hand is covered in the ink that is rushing out of the pen, and you quietly curse to yourself, “Shit!” You were quick to rush to the bathroom and try to wash off as much ink as possible from your hand. You feel the washcloth against your hand begin to itch with your scrubbing, your head is reeling as you think over your words and all the thoughts you’ve constantly formed in your mind over all those years, while you lie on your back, taking what you believed you had to endure.

Your pupils are dilated, nothing but small pokes into the iris that are buzzing around looking for something to harm you. You drop the washcloth and your hands begin to shake violently, you’re praying that your heart stops hammering into your rib cage, and you yearn for someone to bust through the bathroom door and put a bullet in your skull. “Fuh-Fuhh…” You wheeze, you grip the ends of the sink, your knuckles almost white as sheep’s wool, nails imprinting onto the wood like it's done time and time again when you’re cleaning out your mouth. 

You feel it, in the pit of your stomach, it bubbles and gurgles, your throat feels like it's filling up, and the more you feel it, the more the rush of those fluids begins to shove through your esophagus and into the sink. You put your hands over your mouth in an attempt to hold back your vomit; unfortunately, you watch as it sprays through your fingers and onto the toilet seat, with a majority of it hitting the bowl.

You’re furious, you look down at the chunks on your hands and littered on the toilet, and you’re eveloted in yourself. You let him in. You let his words crawl under your skin enough for you to clamor at the thought of seeing him in person. Your heart doesn’t slow down; it keeps obliterating your chest, and you feel as if you’ll find a bruise the next day if you don’t steady your breathing.

You gasp–sharp, panicked. Your body is tearing itself apart as it argues against everything you’ve felt for so long, it puts you down and insults your body and the way it’s constantly failed you, and there’s this other side that does nothing but cry and scream in pain like a child as it continues to get put down. 

He’s just another man. 

He’ll take what he wants. 

When he comes to my home, he’s gonna come into my room, and he’s gonna use me.

He’ll impregnate me right there 

They want that

They always want that

You fall to your knees, your hands on both sides of the toilet seat as you feel another rush of vomit shoot out of your nose and mouth and into the bowl once more. You hope you’re not loud; if you awaken one of your birth givers, they’ll just put your head into the toilet and make you choke on it. 

You feel the hot tears rush down your cheeks, and you put your hand over your mouth to silence your sobs. They sting your eyes violently, and you can do nothing more but allow your body to just fall to your side as you sniffle and huff on the floor, trying to conceal your crying in the best way you can.

You don't remember falling asleep, you're kicked on the floor by your brother's heavy work boot, you feel the tough leather rub against your back, and you slowly blink up. You feel the crust around your eyes and the heaviness in your lids, “...ey, you need to get up…” You hated his grumbly voice, you wished you had something to throw at him, but you only groan and roll over on the bathroom floor.

“Are you gonna make breakfast?”

You look into your older brother’s eyes with a glare before you bring yourself up. You turn back on your side and then on all fours. You look up at him with a glare in your eyes, and you watch his face as it doesn't change. 

“Go make breakfast your fucking self.” You spat before you shot a luger out of your throat and onto his brown boot. It doesn't take a second before it's launched against your chin and you're first to stand up. 

You're on your feet in minutes, clutching your jaw and groaning in pain as you look up at the big man. You weren't surprised that he just walked out of the bathroom without a care; you felt disgusted by the scene around you, and for that, you immediately began to clean up as you tried to distract yourself from the pain in your chin. 

You go to your room, get your stuff together in preparation for the day, before you pack up your envelope, you did not sign off, you knew he'd known, and if that was any indication, you prayed he'd take it.

You waited for the next letter, you wanted to lie to yourself that you didn't care, and you couldn't wait for it all to end, for him to give up hope, for his parents to back out of the deal, for anything and everything to calm down. Once you were met by the same words and phrases that just resembled, you continued to write your hate for him. After every letter you vomited, your venomous comments were only hurting you.

Nonetheless, you persevere.

After many months had passed of waiting for his letters, it just stopped. Every time the mailbox opened and there was nothing there, this empty feeling swallowed your heart, left with this disgusting feeling that you're yearning for his next letter, you want to see what he was going to say to it, how he'd cuss you out, how he'd put you down, and how he'd let you down after getting your hopes up.

There is no way he got your hopes up, though, because you never had hopes on him to begin with, and as you open the mailbox to check three days after sending the letter, you're stuck with the same feeling as you see the empty mailbox once more.

It soon became a couple more days, soon enough it was a week, and you had almost felt like a dog, waiting for this grown man to send you a message back like an antsy teenage girl. 

You're disappointed in yourself, and as you're cleaning up the kitchen once more after making lunch, you hear the doorbell once more. It wasn't any of your brothers; they'd slam their fists on the door when they forgot or lost their keys.

Unfortunately, you had to make your way to open the door with your mother still in bed, even if it was 3 in the afternoon and all the rest of them were at work or out of the house. Fingers lacing around the gold lock as it turns left with the soft click, allowing you to turn on the soft doe look in your eyes as you do for all the people that enter the abode.

You're met with the sight of Mrs. Olson and her son standing next to him, both of them wearing red turtle necks, a matching set with the initials sewn with white and in cursive on the left breast. You wondered if Mrs. Olson made them specifically for her family.

“Hello, Clementine!” Mrs. Olson cheered, the smile on her face large and toothy that spread her red lips across her face like a rainbow; you wanted to smile back with her, and you almost did when she embraced you in a tight hug. A very touchy woman, you assumed, you feel your heart ache at the warmth, and as her perfume begins to fill your nose, you feel as if you've been longing for this since you were a child. 

You awkwardly bring your arms to try and hug her back, slowly but surely, your hands find the small of her back, and she brings you in closer as she buries her head in your shoulder.

Hank must have felt so loved. You felt this spark of irritation ignite in you as you realized how all the love he's felt in his life is trying to make its way into yours. Why? 

Why do they think you desire their love?

They most likely pity you. She felt you falter in the hug, and she now knows how you are; he's probably told her how you put down any type of relationship between the two, and she feels bad for you.

When she pulled away from the hug, there was a closed eye smile on her face that awaited a return and was given to you to help you flourish. As if you needed her help. These two pity you like a dog that needs to be put down, you were just gonna be their show dog, extra help on the farm until the day you die, and they think if they give you all the love you haven't had them, you'll be grateful to them.

Few try this attempt with you; they bring you gifts like clothes, jewelry, and candy, but that doesn't change what they're here for. They think that they'll just pay for what they want from you, that this'll justify everything that's happened, and that they're thinking they're helping you. 

That they love and care for you as an equal person.

“...Tine? Clem…? Clementine?” 

You feel two hands on your shoulders, you feel the ragged nails dig into your collarbone, and you accept your fate like the feeling of your body finally shutting down. It's the same smell of perfume you've smelt since you were a child, it's mixed with the Newports your mother smoked when she first woke up. The room reeks of it, the house would reek of it if you hadn't scrubbed down every surface and sucked the built-up dust and debris in the furniture.

“I'm so sorry for my daughter, she seems to always be able to daydream, it seems especially when she's doing her chores!” Your mother chirps, an eager little bird ready for her worm that she's never worked for in her damn life.

A worm you've been feeding to her before you could even talk.

You look at both of them, their smiles large and your smile small, it seems as if you're the only one not putting on the normal performance.

That you have no choice in this matter, and you never will. 

“I can go make some tea if you'd both like, we have all types and lots of cookies and snacks that I recently got from grocery shopping!”

The money you saved from whoring out your own daughter. 

You all took a seat around the coffee table in the living room, and you remembered the time your father threw your brother into it when he spouted dissent against The Major. You pulled your eyes away from the crack in the table and towards the mother and son in front of you.

They looked so similar, the same eye shape with the same soft smile on their lips, they had the same face shape, and their hair was choppily cut and black. There's a beauty in their uniqueness. Their apparent love for one another, which you would have to be well acquainted with if he won the Long Walk. You wanted to ask how his parents felt about it, knowingly committing suicide for the sake of the big prize. 

They'll give you anything, and you wondered what you'd do if you won, you thought for a moment, and then some.

You'd ask them to put a bullet in your head.

A swift and easy death.

You wouldn't have to bleed out from cutting up your body, or if you fuck up your overdose, you have to sit there and accept that this was your fate until you could acquire such an easily accessible death. 

There's a silence that falls between the four of you. It seems your mother can carry the conversation with elegance, while Mrs. Olson looks at your mother with an intent gaze, caring for every lie that may ooze out of her cracked and chapped lips.  You're disgusted by the sight before you, the suck up, the bitch who forced you out of her womb to suffer in this world just as she had, chopping it up with the people she just sold you to. 

A husk you are, you stare at nothing as your mind drifts off to thoughts of dinner you planned for tonight, your favorite meal that there would be extras of, since nobody else liked it. You only have to make it once a month, “It's a waste of money if you're the only one eating it, and besides, you wouldn't want your body to swell in disgust at your eating habits.” The woman cried, as if she cared about your health. 

“How about Hank and you head off to your room to go have some one-on-one time?”

You blink, brought back to the situation you had been unforgivingly put through once more, you're met by the warm smile of his mother and the diligent nod. You watch his hand reach for the basket filled with different gifts, trinkets, snacks, and many other things you were sure he'd bring up later when he's gutting you. 

One-on-one time…

Your eyes become husks once more as you nod, and you lead him to your room; you close the door behind both of you. Your window allows the sun to hit at the perfect angle to help illuminate the room. The man hands you the basket, which was well decorated and filled with different types of things that you'd had your eye on before. Your hand forms a claw, it shakes violently as you reach for the basket in hope and fear that your hand comes into contact with his, you don’t know if you’re taking your time or it’s become obvious with how terrified you really are of the situation. 

Though Hank says nothing, he watches you as his hands hold out the basket to you. The cradle is familiar to a baby; you feel this incessant crying begin to fill your ears, flinching at the noise as if the baby were screaming right into your ear. Your breath hitches as it becomes louder, you look at that basket as the ribbons form loose curls, and the amalgamation of treats becomes tiny hands that reach out to you, they plead for you to help them, stop their cries, and as your eyes dart up, you’re met with a soft, small smile of your captor. Eyes shooting back down to the basket, with the hands grabbing out for you and the wailing beginning a symphony as you’re nailed down by the sounds of your future.

The basket is slapped to the floor, and the clattering of the items skidding across the hardwood floor makes you realize that you’re stuck with a grown man whom you’ve been promised to, that your act of defiance will only fuel his hatred towards you. Listening to hear for any type of call or insult, you’re quick to rip him a new one. 

“What are you even doing here? You can’t read my letters where I told you to leave me the fuck alone?” It's low and bitter; you intend to put him down and make sure he gets a direct telling from you about your feelings. You can't allow further miscommunication. “You don't love me, Hank. You just feel sorry for the fact that your family bought me. That's what this whole charade is.” Your heel is quick to land into a plastic wrapper, you listen to the way it crackles and becomes nothing but crumbs as you pray you're doing this to his heart.

There's a silence that lingers between you two; you don't even look him in the eyes, and you're not even sure if you can bring yourself to face him. You're just waiting for him to strike you, the back of his hand to bust your lip, or the snatching of your wrist just to toss you on the bed. Though he doesn't look that strong, a bit on the leaner and smaller side, he couldn't do much to you, but you knew you'd have to give in and allow him to believe he had the upper hand.

Sounds of muffled polite laughter drift from the living room through the thin walls. It's in that moment that you realize how close to the two of you actually are, and you can feel your breathing becoming heavier as you're awaiting your fate. The low hum of polite conversation impacts the silence between the two of you; it's a mutual understanding that whatever you both say next must not be heard in the next room over.

The man's voice is soft and defensive. He takes a muffled step towards you, and your leg is quick to step behind you in preparation to escape your situation. Eyes burning as your arms are quick to fold across your chest, you stutter to pick your head up, but you're holding a deep hatred for the man before you. 

“You're just like the rest of them.” It's spat venomously, you hear him hiss, “Who the fuck are them?” “Them, the kind that comes to my life, shoving money down my parents' throats so you can use me for whatever you want of me.” Your eyes find him, quickly looking back down to his shoes as you dig your nails into your forearms in fear.

The sound of light-hearted laughter illuminates the living room, and you're praying he just takes you down and gets it over with, your head hung low as if you're accepting the guillotine.  

Nonetheless, it's quiet between the two of you.

Hank sighs, it's exhausted like a long day of work, he puts both his hands on his hips as his hand drills into the back of your head. “Jesus, Clementine,” It's hushed, and almost pleading, he wants you to listen to him and look him in the eyes when he addresses you. “That's not what this is…I'm not here to fucking use you or–” “Bullshit!” You hiss at him, you back away as you snap up to meet his eyes, “You just want to fuck me, impregnate me and use me–” 

“Stop with that shit! I'm not tryna fuckin’ use you!”

The man is quick to clasp his hand over his mouth, your furrowed brows raise in confusion as he listens out for the conversation in the living room, their laughter becoming more hushed as they delve into a different topic. 

“It doesn't matter if she hears, she won't care.” You explain, it slips from your lips as if it's a preprogrammed answer to whenever a client asks. “She’ll just distract while it happens…” Hank raises a brow, his left hand rolling his wrist in an attempt to ask for your elaboration. You tilt your head like a puppy, and Hank tilts his head the same way, almost in awe at your mannerisms.

“...It happens?” 

“When you fuck me.”

You beat your teeth at him, you can't stomach the phrase, you're allowed to be angry at the situation with him because he hasn't shown you how he's going to punish you…If he even punishes you. 

“Well, that's not happening anytime soon–” “Oh, so it's going to happen?” The man is irritated by your quick response; he can sense the way you mock his poorly chosen words. Nonetheless, he collects himself to retaliate. “No. I'm not gonna screw you.” You scoff, “Not now, you mean, not right now, but when I come back to your little home you're gonna pin me down and breed me like a bitch–” “Jesus-fucking-Christ, Clementine, calm down.” 

Hank can hear the snarls in preparation for your argument. He waits for you to do something as you hiss at him once more, “Please, you're not gonna disappoint mommy and daddy.” There's a clear change in his expression, his brows furrow on the frown on his face becomes a scowl that lets you know how to really get him to reveal his colors. You watch how the hand on his hips turns into fists, and he lets out a low huff, unsure of how to handle the situation.

Good.

“I'm not just doing this for my parents, I'm doing this for you and for–” “Oh, brother!” Hank’s eye twitches at your exasperation, wondering what in the world he should feel now that he's lost in how to talk about this. “Listen, I understand that it's not fair. I didn't ask to be married either. But I'm here. And I'm at least trying to be fucking decent and you're–” “What? What am I? I'm a fucking bitch? I'm making you mad?” You don't remember unfolding your arms as your palms slam into his chest, “Go on, call me a bitch, call your wife a fucking bitch like you've always wanted to.”

You launch yourself over to your drawers, taking out the envelopes and the letters that were sent to you during the past three months of communication, and you throw them at his feet in disgust as you've found yourself a great distance away from the man. It allows you some confidence, some breathing room, but his head hangs low as he then takes a knee to collect the things on the floor.

Hank's hands are gentle with what he grabs. He picks them up and inspects them for any damage. If they were damaged, they went in his pockets; anything that wasn't went right back in the basket. You say nothing as you watch him pick each item up, you bear your teeth, anger pumping through your veins, and before you know it, the tips of your heels are flying to knock a hole into the basket. 

However, it's only met by the clothed forearm of your husband; you watch as he doesn't even look back up at you. Your lids are heavy as you slowly bring your foot back to the floor in embarrassment. He continues to collect the items, and once he's fixed up the basket to the presentable way it was before, he moves past you and places it on your bed before turning back to face you.

“You done?” Hank's voice is low, quiet, and steady; you feel like a child being reprimanded, and you almost stomp your foot in retaliation. “Don't talk to me like I'm a child. You think that you're high and mighty above me when you have to pay for a bride?” Hank doesn't even respond; he looks at you with those same soft brown eyes that you saw in that photo you kept near your lamp. 

You watch with your jaw clenched, hating the way he moves with such gentleness and precision, as if none of this is beneath him. With your voice slow and bitter, you continue, “You’re pathetic if you think that playing house with me will make me spread my legs in gratitude.” There's no chance in his facial expression, and you only grow more furious, “Fuh-Fu-Fuck you. Fuck you and you're fuh-fucking little martyr act…” You're huffing and puffing, you feel your eyes becoming hot and sweaty.

“I'm not trying to be a martyr. I'm trying to keep us from falling apart.” You bark out a laugh, “We were never together. This is just a stupid arrangement. A deal. You get a wife and all I get is–” You feel your throat tighten, you think back to the basket and how now you were standing in front of the door while he stood near your bed making sure the basket stayed beautiful. 

You despise that he doesn't fight back, that he'll allow you to sit there and hurt him like the pathetic weasel. You heard of marriages like those in the media, on television, where the man hates his wife but listens to her incessantly nag at him over and over again. Neither of them leaves, though, and you wonder if they're just going through exactly what's going on right now. 

The voice that crawls from your parted lips is beaten down; you remember your place in this world that is portrayed in every aspect of your life, how you were doomed to take this road. “You're gonna do the Long Walk, huh? March your ass into glory and drag me along like a fucking trophy?” The venomous tone no longer laces your words; you're in front of the door, and you can leave at any moment. 

There's no one making you fight but you.

“You think I'm just another asshole with a savior complex? That's completely fine. I won't lie to you that I'm as terrified for this shit as anyone, but I planned every goddamn step of this. Every move. Every fucking compromise to guarantee the future I want.” You roll your eyes at his words, you don't believe him, but you don't even want to say anything anymore.

You allow him to continue.

“I've mapped out a way to survive this shit storm. How to win the Long Walk. How to make sure won't rot in this dead-end life our parents signed us up for by bringing us into this world.” Your eyes find him, throwing your lashes, and his eyes crease at your expression, “You think I'm doing this for kicks? I'm choosing to do this shit for nothing?” “I think you're doing it for control. For the fucking ego trip like every guy that signs up for it does.”

Hank inches towards you, “Please, I'm doing this before I'm sick of watching the people I care for get chewed up and spat out by society. You don't think I don't see what this arrangement is doing to you and how I'm trying to help guarantee you a future where you're not stuck here?” The young man speaks with his hands, you watch as they move almost like they're dancing, and you can only hang your head low at the situation, “I don't need your help. I don't need you to pretend to me that you care when you're just another guy who wants to just manhandle me…”

You find your hands at your sides, finding the ends of your top as your fingers hook at the seams and tug it up above your belly button. Yeah, let's just show him what he wants… You grumble before you feel the heavy-handed grip that causes your wrists to stutter to raise the shirt above your breasts. Hank's breath hitches as he pushes your hands down, your fingers tighten their grip on the shirt as you continue to try and pull it up, and you feel the tears brimming in your eyes. 

“Puh-Please,” You mutter, feeling the hot tears rolling down your cheek in pure exhaustion. Your body was stuck in this fighting mode, always on pins and needles around anyone who could overpower you. Wanting to try and be nice is only a fear response, and bearing your teeth allows those to understand that you won't go down without a fight. “Just ge..Get it over with.” You whimper, Hank watches as the tears fall on your wrinkled shirt and his hands. 

You need him to just fuck you already.

“Wha–What the fuck are you doing?” Hank surges; he's trying to make sure he doesn't accidentally hurt her wrists or leave any bruises. He just wants her to stop. “Clementine–Fucking–Stop.” He struggles with your hands, tears blurring your vision, with your body as sturdy as stone. “What's the matter? I'm too ugly for you to fuck? You're gonna put a paper bag on my face? Cover my mouth so you can imagine it's someone else?” You only sob through your words; they're muffled and melted together as if you're just slowly becoming a puddle.

Hank is trying his hardest to be gentle with you; he's forcing your shirt back down, and he fumbles with his hands, shaking in fear, like touching you too long would cause you to shatter in an instant. “I'm not here to fucking hurt you–Just, calm down–” He tries to hush your sobs as he listens out for your parents in the living room, “I'm not trying to break you–I don't want this–Not like this.” The man feels you snatch your wrists away from him, he lets go of you quickly, your disheveled state illustrating your mental state. “Then what the fuck do you want from me?” You scream, “What's gonna happen when I get your home–Am I for your father!? Which one of you is gonna fuck me!?”

There's a silence that falls between the two of you, out of pure shock, there's nothing said for some moments as you both listen out for your parents in the other room, there's a pause before you hear footsteps making their way over towards your room. You quickly wipe your face with your palms, and your mother is quick to open the door, “Is everything alright in here, Hank?” Your mother doesn't break eye contact with the young man; he quickly nods, “Everything is alright, ma'am, just us having a heated discussion about…our children's names.” Hank moves in front of you, it's almost instinctively, and you shrink behind him with your head falling in between his shoulder blades with a quickness to start up your dissociation as you await your mother to berate you. 

Your mother wastes no time putting a smile on her face, “I'm glad you two are getting along on that front. I also debated with my husband about names, especially when it came to my little Clementine.” Your mother coos, you pray she would just dig her nails into your forearms once more instead of allowing her to plant the candy trail to her sandal that awaited your arse. Your mother closes the door, you listen to their conversation continue after she reaches the living room, and you pick your head up, disappointed that you almost wasted a good daydreaming session on such a fickle moment. 

Hank turns around to face you. He puts both of his hands on your shoulder, and there's relief on his face to find your defeated expression meeting his exhausted eyes. The man takes a knee, and soon enough, he's on both knees, his posture still on point as he balances his body on just his shins. “Clementine, I'm gonna be honest with you here, I just want you to listen. Can you please do that for me?” There's a plea in his tone, you look down into his eyes, and you watch as the sun shines through those ebony eyes to show those deep pools of honey you had been yearning for since you saw that Polaroid of him.

You only nod absentmindedly. If he tried to hurt you, there was an easy way for you to scratch up his face or punch him in his mouth with enough strength to knock out a tooth.  

“I've trained for the walk like it's war. Calculated every route, every supply drop at the goddamn variable. I'm going to win it. Not for the glory, or some bullshit legacy, or the wish that could change the world. For my family.” Hank pauses, waiting for your pessimism, another way to put him down and snatch the rug beneath his feet, yet he's only met by your furrowed brows and your bottom lip folding under your top one. “Like it or not, you're a part of that family now. You don't have to be a part of it, though, if you wish that maybe you don't want to be with me even after I won, and I understand if that's so. We don't have to have kids if you don't want to; we can always adopt or go through surrogacy because my parents want grandchildren, and I'm willing to give them that.” 

Your voice is quiet, “You sound so fucking sure…” Muttering out a quip that only gets shot down with a quick enough calculation on Hank's part, “I am. Because I've done the math. I've done the work. I'm not going to let your fear—or mine—burden my chances before I even get the chance.”

Silence falls between the two of you. You can hear from the other room how your mother is beginning to run out of conversation topics. You're not surprised, given how long it's been since we both were in the room and how now and must have tipped them off that you guys have been arguing about something. You sigh, you crumpled against him, not out of trust—but exhaustion. He spends all your harsh words in those letters that you sent over and over again, just to be met by the same phrases. You were surprised that they were all handwritten, and he hadn't used a printing press. 

Hank freezes in confusion; he doesn't know whether to hold you or give you space, until slowly, you slide to the floor. Your knees against his ass, you feel your chin get caught on his shoulder, you can feel the way he trembles beneath you, the fact that you could scare him the way you had been brought you great confidence, but that pride only left your heart with an emptiness that nothing seemed to fill. 

“We won't ever have sex?” You muffled into his shoulder, feeling his shoulder slouch a bit in relief at you being able to communicate with him. You can feel his head bob before his hands find your upper back, rubbing it soothingly. “We'll never have sex.” Hank’s hushed whisper lulled you into the nap that awaited you after it all.

That was all the acceptance he wanted from you.

From that day on, the wedding was to be planned, you allowed his mother to choose it all, and he, just as you both came to understandings of what you two made up with one another. You and Hank stopped exchanging letters after that day; instead, he would make the long trip alone to your abode, dropping off gifts to your mother, and the two of you would enter your room. The two of you did not do much talking; in fact, he’d just tell you about all the gifts he brought you and the wedding traditions that would be done on the day of the wedding. 

“My mother would like you to join her as she and the rest of my family get together to watch the Long Walk.” You only nod, “As is my duty.” The man only blows a low raspberry before he begins to take out the fits from the basket one by one, explaining what each of them represented, who they specifically came from, and so on. Your family would be making their way to the venue of their choosing. Honestly, you were grateful to get out of the house when you could. Now that you were promised to another, your father stopped his awful comments; he went back to using your mother, which you suspected, as her words had become harsher on you during the days leading up to the wedding. 

When putting on intricate pieces and patterns that made up the fengguan xiapei that Hank’s mother had worn to her wedding, she was in awe of your beauty as she did your makeup for the day. Your mother stayed in the room with you, as you were lulled into this make-believe wonderland where Mrs. Olson cradled you as if you were her own. You cut your mother out of the picture because after this day, you would be staying with Olson’s family and driving up to where the Long Walk’s starting line would be in the next week. 

You knew in your mind that this could not be a permanent arrangement, for the Long Walk only guaranteed one winner amongst the 50 boys across the states walking alongside your husband. You try not to doubt it, to hold your head up high as you lead down the aisle and towards Hank. Your eyes half lidded, you try to imagine yourself as an actress in a movie performing a scene to please the audience that's followed you around your whole life, their boos, their laughs, and their criticisms now etched into every move you make.

The ceremony went on, without any hiccups from the constant training and rehearsals you had undergone with Hank and his family; you were almost overjoyed to not have made a fool of yourself in front of his and your family. There would be the end, though, you remembered those scenes in the movie where the bride and groom look to one another with their loving gazes as they slowly brought their lips together and skipped their way into their Happily Ever After.

You would be helping your husband to his grave. 

The look in your eyes, from what Hank could tell, was the same mediocre expression you shared whenever presented with the reality of your situation. The young man kept track when your eyes lit up, when your eyes glazed over or softly lidded, showing you were stuck in the back of your mind, escaping the situation once more, and the look on your face now that showed him you were already over this ceremony. You find your hands on the back of his neck, his freshly chopped black strands soon engulfing your fingers as you find a place to grip the back of his head, and you feel him mirroring your actions. You feel the way his warm fingers slowly ride up the nape of your neck and find themselves cradling the back of your cranium. 

You don't look him in the eyes, but you can feel those large black pools filled with hope and honey begin to call and beg for you to meet their stare. You feel your heart pang, you need to satisfy the onlookers once more, you begin to pull his head towards yours, pushing it harshly, but trying to play it off in a playful manner to those who were viewing the ceremony. You want them to believe you’re both playing coy, two young teens falling in love with each other and finally able to spend the rest of their lives together.

However, Hank puts a stop to your plans.

Hank knew it; Hank always knows.

With that, you feel his knuckles glitch around your skull; they keep you in place as you pull his head closer to yours. You're disgusted by his newfound strength in preparation for the Long Walk, you're embarrassed he's able to overpower you, and you're in fear for the ways you'll have to manage through the pain during the wedding night. There's a warmth that finds your forehead. Two petals that brush softly against the center of your dome with the gentleness as if you were a newborn child. The hand begins to loosen its grip, causing your eyes to flutter open, your gaze being met by your husband's chin as he imprints his lips into your skull.

Some thoughts flood your memory, the ones where they shove their tongues down your throat, and they bite at your flesh. You've never been kissed on your forehead, even those who brought gifts just waited for you to accept them with a smile before their hands wrapped around your torso and forced you down into the mattress. 

You're overwhelmed by the feeling, your eyes dazed as you're engulfed in this newfound love. Your eyes begin to water, your throat closes up, and you try to make sure you can collect all the oxygen in the world before you pass out. Fingers loosen on his scalp, and they find themselves sliding down to his shoulders as they graze against the material of his outfit. You feel heaviness in your lids, the brimming of tears as they begin to slowly but surely make their way down your cheeks like a child who's been lost for so long.

The world is silent in that moment, as you feel his hands slide from the high point of your head and allow the soft yet calloused fingers to find the sides of your face, he drags his index fingers along your jaw, and his thumbs softly wipe away the tears as if you were a porcelain dish. You feel his lips slowly pull away; there's no spit to connect you both, and you're wondering how something so mesmerizing can come from such a vile creature. 

The world around you plays, the cheers are loud, and the claps signify the end of the ceremony. You find your eyes heavy with more tears following down your cheeks, your bottom lip quivering, and your whines almost like a stubborn puppy fighting sleep. 

\

Hank's thumbs continue to clean up your eyes, ignoring the makeup that may smear off; he just wants to guarantee that you're no longer covered in tears. His eyes are on you once more, they're coddling you in the deep dark pools of honey that thickly surround you and beg for you to soothe your aching muscles.

In an instance, you feel your knees buckle under the weight, you stagger to his body, and with open arms, he allows you to take the plunge into his chest. You're met by the smell of his cologne, it's strong but soft, he doesn't smell like the woods or bourbon, but hints of vanilla and floral arrangements that lull you into the idea that you're just a child being cradled by your mother after just fighting for your life coming out of her womb. 

As you lay side by side in your wedding bed, still in the clothes you wore from the altar, with a look of anger and frustration eating you alive as Hank disrobed. You prayed that he remembered what he promised you; alas, you assumed that this meant you had to mirror his actions. Were you surprised? No, you had been dreading this day since you were first betrothed to him, and as you slip off the garments and the clothes gather in a heap on the floor, Hank is quick to put his hands over his eyes as he turns his body to face you.\

“What are you doing?” He demands,  “I beg your pardon?” “What?” 

“I mean, like, what do you mean?”

“Just say what do you mean, the fuck is beg your pardon?”

“I'm just speaking respectfully to my husband,”

“Clementine, please…”

“If you're expecting us to have sex, then I'll put out, not because I want to, but because I have to provide you with children, as is the contract.” “The ceremony was overwhelming for you, I understand. I saw your dazed expression over and over again throughout it.” You rolled your eyes at him, “I mean, do you really expect me to give a damn?” “Oh, so you don't care.” “I never cared to begin with.” You hiss before you go back to taking off the clothing. Hank huffs, “Would you like me to get changed in the bathroom or would you want to?” You tilt your head before scoffing at him, trying to play off his perversion, “Please, let’s just hurry up and get this over with.” 

Hank stops, you hear him freeze in place, and you listen to the low mumble that leaves him, “I don't want that.” You turn your head to look at his covered face, and you see he’s standing there in a white tank top now untucked from his black pajama bottoms. You grimace at the sight of his exposed collarbone, you see a bead of sweat from the embarrassment of just being the same area as a naked woman,, Hank feels your stare begin to peel him away at him and the only thing he can really do is just await your response, you know it, you hold the cards in this exchange but it won't be like that for long, he'll eventually force you.

Eventually.

“Oh, please, that's all you want.” “No, that's-” “That's why you're taking off all your clothes, you're signalling me to do the same, and if that's what you want then just say that–” “I don't want that–” “Don't lie to me, just say it.” “No-” “I won't be into this regardless, just hurry up and get it over with–” “No—I just fucking—Give me a second”

You’re suddenly cut off by him uncovering his face and looking at the floor, quickly rushing over to the bathroom connected to his room, the door unintentionally slamming behind him. You stand in your underwear, conflicted about what to even say at this moment. You stand there dumbfounded for justice a few moments before you yell, “Hiding your fucking boner, you pathetic fucking–!” Hank's voice is booming through the door, “In the third drawer I have shirts  you can wear and in the fourth I have sweats you can wear as well, or large shorts if you’re more comfortable in that!” A silence falls between the two of you. It's as if he's waiting to hear your feet against the floorboards, and you give in. You make your way over to the brown drawers. You see above it a large fish tank with one lonely beta fish, it's a bright red, and her fins are large and flared, you’re amazed by her appearance before Hank cuts off your daze.

“Three down, four down.” He clarifies, you scoff as if you didn’t understand him before, regardless, you slide it open and collect a random shirt, and in the lower drawer, you pull out some basketball shorts. You slip them over your underwear. “You gonna let me get some socks as well?” You hear a groan, ‘Fucking, Christ’, “Sure if you need to borrow some.” You roll your eyes as you close both the drawers and make your way back towards the bed. The springs bounce as you sink into the mattress, allowing your legs to hang off and kick softly as you await your husband.

He’s clearly mumbling something to himself, a mantra to allow him to overcome whatever he is trying to overcome. You just wait there like all the other guys who have gotten soft in your presence. 

Soon enough, the bathroom door clicks open, you don’t move from the bed, and your legs continue to sway whilst you hear his bare feet smack against the floorboards as if he was terrified of him bothering you, even though his presence had already done that. You listen for him making his way around the bed, his slowness just making it more noisier, you don’t comment though, you know he’s fully aware of the ass he’s making of himself.

It almost brings a smile to your face.

As his body hits the bed slowly, you feel yourself sinking a bit more into the mattress; your eyes don't meet each other as you both stare at the ceiling fan that continuously goes in circles. You’re both fixed on it, making sure your limbs don’t come into contact with one another. You allow this noise to drown out your predicament with an awkward teenage boy, one you were unfamiliar with, as many of your clientele had been older men with the money of their own. You were surprised by how shy he was acting around you and how he softly fidgeted in the bed, making the sheets quiver a bit beneath you. 

“Can you teach me how to blow gum?” Hank asks, your brow quirks up in confusion before you turn on your side to look at him with the same dull look in your eye from the altar, “Is that a euphemism for sex?” “What?” “Like popping your cherry? My mother lied to you. I have no cherry to pop. It’s okay if you’re a–” Hank lets out a frustrated groan, “No,” He exaggerates, “it’s not a euphemism for fucking.” You bring your hands to your side to pick up your upper body, your husband turns his back to his side to face you as well, he doesn’t pull himself up to mirror your pose, but his eyes find yours under the warm light of his ceiling fan. 

“During one of my visits, you were smacking on some fucking gum like crazy, like everyone was loud in the living room when your brother and father were there, but all I could hear was you on that piece of gum just going crazy.” Hank then sighs, “And you blew it, everyone can do that, and they'd explain if I just asked, but…” “But what?” Your posture slouches a bit. “You're too much of a man to admit that you need help.” Hank’s eyes begin to widen a bit, he brings himself up to your level as he gives you a coy smile, “I know, right? So fucking pathetic.”

There’s another pause between the two of you; it seems you’re both lost in what to do now, you can hear his heart pound against his chest, and he can hear yours, but you both wonder if your own hearts were the actual ones being so loud. You can't help but stare at his eyes, portals into the soul which only shone a baby deer yearning for you to grant your wisdom of blowing gum. 

Had you missed out on this in high school?

You don’t even remember schooling, your grades were great or your arse would’ve turned black and blue, but those ties after school when you were put to work by your mother continued to stay diligent nightmares that were slowly beginning to diminish after you got your period. Hank’s eyes creased a little, his large black pupils took up so much of his eye you wondered if your eyes were just an inferiority to his, they darted left to right like a cat clock before he cleared his voice. 

“So, uh, will you teach me?”

“Y’know, vulnerability doesn't get you pussy anymore, man.”

“Just teach me how to blow the fucking gum.”

You snicker before he rolls over to his nightstand, pulling up the small drawer that reveals different types of snacks, and he pulls out some bubble gum after digging for a while. He hands you a stick, and you both pop it into your mouth. Step by step, you take your time explaining the trick. You both know why you're here, and you know why you both exist, why you're stuck here tonight with each other, and as you both lie there, you two do nothing but pray for the night to end.  You were selected by his parents, a tradition that's carried on and on, and now here you are, teaching your husband how to blow a bubble. 

Your jaws ached into the night, your tongue getting tired of swirling around, and the gum losing its flavor as you kept trying to teach him how to blow the bubble.

Although Hank never got it, it didn’t stop him from trying every day.

You’d help on the farm, little things like collecting eggs from the hens, tossing the seeds, and checking on crops. You weren’t too fond of the work, but anything beat having to be under some sweaty pig as he pinched at your sides in hopes of hearing songs about the symphonies. As the days passed, you learned many things about the Olson home, such as prayer before dinner, the name of his beta fish that turned out to be a he named Astro. You watched as Hank’s mother would disappear after prayer to feed her husband dinner, who had become bedridden in the following months. 

The upcoming spring allergies had been eating him alive; that’s what forced Hank to learn how to drive, to get his license. You followed alongside him; in fact, he was the one who taught you. It seemed those days with Hank only became fleeting memories; it seemed like days passed by in seconds when Hank left for training, while you took care of the farm alongside his mother. The woman was soft and kind-hearted; you felt the relief in your feet when you were forced to wear boots.

You longed for this day, the heels that had crushed and forced your feet into the small shape that kept you on pins and needles, now you were allowed to slouch on the porch with lemonade. A warm meal that you didn’t have to do all by yourself, his mother admires your readiness to help, but she knows she cannot allow you to do all this work when you were supposedly supposed to be spending your time before the call date happened. 

You saw the letter; it was pinned above where his clothes were picked out for the day he was to take the Long Walk:

Dear Mr. Hank Olson, 

Congratulations!

Your military submission to participate in the Long Walk has been accepted through a lottery. 

You now have the rare honor of representing your state as a symbol of Hope in these economically desperate times. 

The entire nation will be watching the live broadcast with admiration and awe.

If you win, unimaginable riches and a single wish await – a chance to break free from today's financial struggles and inspire the nation.

Please report to the starting line on May 1st by 8:00 a.m.

Good luck to you, Mr. Olson.

In the following days, some of Hank’s extended family came; they didn't see him much, as you did, he was too busy guaranteeing his victory. Though every morning you'd wake up before him, he'd be up at 6 AM, and you'd pretend to be asleep, bundled up in the blankets. It was instinct; as soon as the weight of his presence left the bed, your eyes would snap open. There you would hear how he reached for a piece of gum from the nightstand on your side of the bed. You'd then feel him push back whatever was in his way, and he'd plant a soft kiss on your forehead, the first few weeks you stayed up all night waiting for him to do something to you in your sleep if that's what got his rocks off.

Soon enough, you exhausted yourself waiting for him to hurt you. You ended up falling asleep right after him, as soon as his body hit the bed, he'd make sure the blankets he used were separate so as not to disturb you, and in fact, thought about getting another twin bed so you two didn't have to be so close. You only shook your head as you stared at him in the moonlight, his features highlighted as through his window that blinded you whenever you first woke, without his body there to shield you, it was the first thing to wake you. 

Hank's family was very positive, they did prayers, and you joined in hopes to help guarantee his safe return to his family. You remembered having a big feast on the back-out date; you had been reading the rule book when Hank was in the shower. You looked at the calendar to see the date of the walk, and in your mind, you marked a big red circle in hopes of convincing him otherwise that maybe this wasn't what he needed to do. You're reading through the book once more, and when you hear the water stop running, you quickly rush away from it and make your way towards the bed.

Watch as the water drips down his thin black strands, allowing you to graciously look at his face that has been sculpted so lovingly, and you're lost in the beauty that is your husband. He doesn't stand out in a crowd; in fact, you're sure you'd have to look for him, but when he opens his mouth, you're sure of the fact that you'd find him in an instant. “What are you staring at?” His voice is joking; there's a cautiousness to it, regardless, he's just toying around with you. When he looks down, you smile, and when his eyes come back up, you're quick to remove it. “I just want to do something with you before you go…” Your voice is sultry, you bring yourself on all fours as you make your way over to the end of the bed towards him.

The tone in your voice is unfamiliar; you're trying to coax him into something as your voice drips with lust, but the young man stops you, though.

“I'm sorry?”

“Y'know, I want to give you one night of…passion, before you go to the Long Walk and maybe after we can talk about some things.”

Hank can see the look in your eye, it's as dazed as it was on your guys’ wedding day. He doesn't take the bait and instead sits on the opposite end of the bed.

“We can talk now.” 

Oh, so that's how it's gonna be. 

“Hank, the back-out date is tomorrow...” 

“And?”

“And, I want you to back out.”

There's no hesitation in your voice; in fact, you're demanding him to stay with his family, “No.” “Yes.” You coo, it's grating on Hank's ears as he winces away from you, “No.” It's stern, and the relaxed look on your face becomes hardened. “I know that you're desperate to help your family, but—” “But?” “—This doesn't make you noble! It just makes you—it makes you selfish.” You spat at him, “You have a great life, a loving family who just wants to see you alive each day, although there are things wrong, you're happy. And you want to throw everything away for a 1 in 50 chance you get your wish granted?” Hank rolls his eyes, “This isn't about the wish, it's about what this could mean for the future of my family, to allow them something to fall back on for when my father does.” You scoff at this, “If you think burdening your mother with the death of her son and her husband is helping, then you're twisted in the mind.”

A silence falls between the two of you before Hank takes a deep breath, puts both his hands on his knees, and picks himself up off the bed. “Listen, if you don't think I'm gonna make it, just say that, I'll quell those fears and show you all the notes I've taken down and all the work I've done—” “That doesn't guarantee shit!” You snap at him, your pupils pounding in rhythm with your heart, before you find yourself hunching over on the bed, “I'm doing everything I can to make sure that I can do this, and you doing this the day of my back-out date isn't going to change anything.” You feel your heart swell in disgust, that he's willing to die for this, to die in that stupid outfit he's prepared–You only got your brother's body because he was at the starting line, everyone else's is scattered on the route–Not even a guarantee for a body in his casket.

“You're gonna die, you're gonna die for something that's not even guaranteed, your odds are slim to none.” Hank is quick to snap his head away from you, he can't look into your eyes and see those pleading puppy dog’s that are just needy for the chance to be chosen once, he can't give you this now and with the care you're still holding back from him you can't imagine him giving in to care for you anymore than you do himself.

A suicidal man, preparing his death without a care in the world for those in his family who love him, his mother who'll weep for him, his father who will have to die believing his son made it, and a family grieving the loss of another loved one. 

You can't allow yourself to put hope in him; you have no hope in him, and you never have. 

You will never have hope in him. 

Signing, you accept this fate before you, a man who won't even look you in the eyes just for fear of folding in your embrace and crying like the little boy he was. It wasn't his job to sacrifice his life for the sake of his family; he knew that more than anyone, he resented the system that forced him to go. 

Lambs to the slaughter.

Nonetheless, his feeding into a system did nothing but help it thrive. There was no real way for him to fight, even if he rejected and backed out right now, another boy would go in his place, and what if it was someone he knew, another random young man taken away from all he's ever known to go die off in some places far away from his home state? 

It wasn't just about him.

It was the future that not only impacted him but everyone around him, especially you. 

Both of you slept in silence; you couldn't turn to face him once you bundled yourself up in the blankets. He called your ‘name’ though. “Clementine…” A soft hoarseness of his throat, you feel his body bounce in the bed as he sobbed, his last night in his bed, “Clementine…?” The tone held no restraint in emotions, almost like a child. You could feel your heart swell. You wanted to turn around, to coddle him and tell him how he would make it, how he would come back safe to his family, and he'd be able to help everyone the way he always wanted to.

But you couldn't.

It was his choice to do this. 

You can't give him what you want because you knew it would never be returned, your cruel fate in this world that awaited you over and over again. 

“Cle-Cluh-Clementine…?”

Nothing, pure silence, before his sobs began to become louder. You couldn't dissociate this time the sting of the tears in your eyes, now consuming you once more as you buried your face into the pillow to muffle your cries in hopes the sun would rise once more. 

When the day finally came, you were the one to drop him off; his mother would stay to watch over his father, and his family wished their farewells. You stayed outside near the car, a pack of gum in the pocket of your jeans, and you absentmindedly chewed it with hopes it would allow you to forget what was awaiting you. 

The door closed; however, it was the last time he'd leave his house. 

You both make your way into the car, you stare at your shoes, unable to look him in the eyes as you start up the car, and he makes his way into the passenger side. You watched the road like it was the only sure thing you had left in this world. You didn't blink when he glanced over you; you could feel those soft and wet eyes yearning for you to return that soft glance to reassure him that he was doing the right thing. When he was met with nothing, he went back to studying the rule book. The road stretched on forever, and the space between them only became bigger and wider. The radio wasn't on, neither of you reached for it, and you decided to bask in the silence as if it was both your punishments for being so cruel to one another.

Hank was torn. You look like the stranger wearing the face of someone who used to be ready to put him down, to put him in his place, to tell him exactly what he was doing wrong so he could fix it immediately. Hank was sure he'd return, sure he'd make it through all the trials and tribulations, even this one happening between the two of you. Hank knew that it wasn't even guaranteed you'd stay with him in the first place when he won; in fact, he offered to help you move along with your life if your plans did not have him in the picture. Though he wasn't sure what hurt more: that you said nothing the whole ride over, or that he understood why.

Your husband took a nap; you had hoped he'd get all the rest he could in, but knew he would want to be by you as he headed over, another reason he was going on this one-way trip. You needed to have faith in him, that he would make him, that all those months of waking up in the morning and all those long nights of preparation would allow you to kill yourself in the security of his future, that he may return to you.

Alas, as the soldier asked for Hank's ID and they did not return it to your hand, you felt as if his fate was sealed. Your heart sank once more, and as you pulled up to see a few other cars, most likely having to make the same long journey over as you did. You wondered who was there to see their sons off, their friends, their loved ones. You unlocked the doors, and you both stepped out at the same time. There were a few boys already there, and there were hugs and cries that surrounded the two of you as you both looked at one another with the same glazed-over look.  

Hank had put stuff on the hood of the car, sifting through his possessions about what he was going to leave and what he was going to take. You did nothing but idly watch as you leaned on the car door, you watched as the sun that had just awoken bathed your husband's features in a loving warmth, and prayed that it'd stay consistent with the weather. You prayed it wouldn't rain, that he was warm enough in the outfit he had chosen, that his baseball cap would shield him from the sun, that the others on the trail wouldn't irritate him, that the walk wouldn't take too long, and that the boys who had also been walking would take sympathy on your husband.

Hank can feel your gaze; he doesn't know if you realize that your eyes are glossed over with tears that you're holding back until he leaves. He's always admired how you were so in control of your emotions and how spineless he was to his. How could you stand with your head held high even if you were wrong? You were built up by this world in a way that he wishes would rub off on him. If it were you on this walk, there would be no doubt you'd make it through. “Are you raring to rip?” You had joked during the grand dinner, his family asked, and you told them how he kept mumbling it to himself while he slept. Cousins continued to utter the phrase whenever they saw him zone out, “Are you raring to rip, son?” His mother cooed, leaving you all in awe as she smothered her son in kisses. “Yeah, you've got to be raring to rip.” You snickered, causing his cousins to join in alongside you. His mother would pinch your cheek as she planted a kiss on your forehead as well. 

You continued to watch as Hank collected his belongings, and you wondered if he was also thinking about hopping in the car and driving out of the state. Escaping and never returning. You knew that even in his selfishness, he still had this desire to return home, to grace his mother and father with the fruits of his labor. You admired it. You watch as Hank slung a satchel over his shoulder, and you slowly make your way to the front of the car where he stood. He froze in place upon hearing the familiar clacks of your heels against the concrete. 

The two of you needn't say a thing, your arms wide open as your forearms wrap around his neck. You slowly but surely feel his arms snake around your waist, and you're sick to your stomach as you look past him to those before him. There was definite competition, and you could do nothing but just watch those boys from afar in hopes they'd all drop dead at the finish line. It was an awful thought, you didn't wish harm to the people who didn't deserve it, but God, did you just want him to turn around and stay with you? As you feel this gnawing feeling in your chest, you wrap your arms around his neck, and the tighter your embrace becomes, you feel your eyes begin to strain.

Hank could feel the tears on his shoulder that began to soak into his shirt. You hoped that you'd be able to snap his neck in your grip, and a guard would shoot you dead for interfering with the walk. Your ribs close around your organs, a tight corset made to keep you in place as it pinches you away from him. You pull away from the hug, you don't wipe your tears in hopes he wipes them for you, but if he wiped them, you'd remember that he wouldn't be able to wipe your tears anymore. You two stood in front of each other, with Hank's eyes just as puffy as they were the night before; you mirrored it tenfold with the tears rushing down your cheeks and staining your skin.

“Cle-AHEM-Clementine,” The clearing of his throat is what brought your head up from your shoes to face him once more. You looked at your husband's sobering expression with the aching of a fool. You only nod, you know if you dare utter a word, you'd break out into a sob that snowballed into pleading for him to stay, you couldn't do that to him now that he was here. 

Hank lets out a soft sigh, yearning to hear your voice but basking in his punishment for uniquely hurting you this way. “Can I, uh, have a piece of gum?” The way he rubs the back of his neck as his eyes dart around to keep himself from also folding in your presence eats away at your exterior. You only nod as your hand begins to quiver as you reach for your back pocket. You know you can't take too long; if he keeps standing, he'll lose his energy. 

You struggle with the flap, plucking out just one piece of the gum before you hand it to him. You make sure there's enough room between your fingers from the tip of it to make sure he wouldn't be able to feel your touch again. It wasn't for him, it was for you. If you felt him one more time, you'd grab a soldier's gun and light the whole area a blaze.

Though you know that wouldn't solve anything. 

Not now.

Hank reached for the gum in your hand, his index and thumb barely latching on, almost missing it through the sea of his tears that blurred his vision. You just wanted to shove it in his chest, but you couldn't touch him. 

You couldn't touch him.

You couldn't touch him.

You couldn't touch him.

You couldn't—

“Get back to the house safely.” 

Hank puts the gum in his pocket as he turns away from you. He adjusts his baseball cap as he pulls it down to hide his eyes, and you quickly make your way into the car. 

You two part ways, separate journeys that required trust in one another and yourselves. But you could never trust yourself, trust another not to hurt you the way you had hurt yourself today.

As you pull out, there's only the radio to fill the gap that Hank's presence left, as you turned the dial, Jeff Buckley began to play–

It's never over.

Your mouth reconstructs itself to coddle the tip safely, it's almost instinct to allow him to put it in, you look up through your lashes with your lips now fully covering the head, the wicked smile on his face only fills with determination as he begins to pat your head, “Look at you, finally shutting that big fuckin’ mouth of yours!” He chirps, there's about as much positive energy as you expect from your grungy lover.

Regardless, you're only allowed this moment to reflect on your situation before he begins to go back on the prowl.

It's weird how wet and cold it is, it's able to slip past your lips and safely onto your tongue thanks to the carpet you lay out over your teeth, it almost makes Cameron hunch over and explode in your mouth right then and there, but he couldn't allow you to make fun of him for busting too quick when he finally had you beneath him like this. 

To see you, who just only seen him as a trash can, take whatever he gave to you, like you had done to him all these years. 

In fact, he's tickled pink by the situation; he does nothing to hide how satisfied he is by this and desires to push you to your very limits.

You feel the way your mouth slowly widens up for him, the length seeming never-ending as he continues to take his time to shove his dick down your throat. It takes a while before you feel him graze the back of your throat. Your eyes have only become more watery now that you're stretching your mouth so wide for Cameron. Honestly, you're bewildered by the feeling of a few tears rolling down the sides of your cheeks as you feel him just playing around with your gag reflex to get more saliva bubbling out of your mouth.

“Shit, how deep does it go?” You muffle something in response, your eyes half-lidded with the feeling of his large cock just taking up space, you're unable to respond and you fear if you move your tongue you might trigger something.

You hate how high you got your fucking SPECs…

“What was that?” Cameron puts a hand to his ear to help hear you, "You're just as eager to find out how far my cock goes down your throat?”

Your eyes quickly shoot open, and you shake your head a little bit, but Cam is quick to start petting your head heavy-handedly. There's this sadistic smirk that comes back up, “Yeah? You'd love to?” You try to shake your head, yet the only thing you're given is Cameron’s hand on top of your skull, just forcing you to nod before he bares his teeth at you in a seething grin. 

“Glad we were able to bond, human.” 

Cameron wasted no second making sure that you were kissing the base of his cock, he's fully engulfed in all your mouth has to offer and there's nothing for you to do but take it as you gag and muffle some moans and grunts while trying to accommodate the rest of him. You weren't able to get a good look at him, your eyes now directed to his mons. 

Luckily for Cameron, he still had the front-row seat to watch you take everything he was gonna give you. 

There's a forest of dark brown hair, it lightly coats Cameron's belly button but gets thicker the more you go down his pelvis, and soon enough, your nose is in a sea of his hair as your chin is met with the heavy smacking of his balls. 

In these moments no real words are being said, you try your hardest to cancel out your moans and whimpers every time you feel him kiss the cervix of your throat, regardless, you listen out to hear his grunts as he begins to ruthlessly fuck into your throat. It doesn't seem like he's listening to you just savoring the feeling of having you in this position, the feeling of your head in his hands is almost dizzying and now here you were getting your face fucked by him?

God, he was reeling…

You feel your throat closed around the tip of the appendage, there are soft gurgles that you'll say you were trying to fight back against it but you could stop him at any time with the Dateviators, you know it and he knows it, and yet, here you are just allowing him pound into your needy throat and praying he fills your throat up with his cum.

It's almost a mind fuck for you, you just confessed your love to your trash can, and you were still getting the hang of the glasses but you could've never expected something like this to happen…It's shocking! You could only allow yourself to bask in the bliss that was this moment, skin slapping against skin, with those hard and rough grunts as he slams his cock down your throat with a hope that he isn't going to break your jaw while he's searching for more of the power he's gotten high on. 

Cameron needs this.

The way he grabs your skull and slams into you with reckless abandon in the middle of a kitchen with no care at all, it's almost thrilling for him, and before he allows himself to release his hot cum into your desperate throat he'll tear his cock out of your throat. You're quick to gag and choke from the sudden oxygen before being forced into your lungs, you gasp as your hands dart for your throat and pray that this won't kill you.

Your eyes are watery, a bit puffy from what Cameron can tell, but there's only a joyous grin as he's met by your heavy breathing and wet eyes. Trust me when I say, there's nothing he's ever admired more than that fucked out look on your face. 

“Got a good break?”

You couldn't even pick your head up to respond, 

Cam is quick to palm your scalp and pull you right back onto his dick, your lips right around the appendage once more as he began to 

“I felt bad, thinking you wouldn't be able to breathe while you took me?” You don't respond, you only allow your skull to be thoroughly fucked as the heat between your legs becomes a slick mess that you'll most likely have to change out of before you talk to any of the other dateables.

“...the thought of you dying ‘cause you're choking on my dick?” You flutter your lashes unintentionally, you look uncaring in Cameron's eyes for a moment as if what he was saying was being dismissed when in reality you were just unable to hear anything besides the sound of wet skin slapping against skin, the sound of the tip of his dick hitting the back of your throat and the sound of your whimpers and gagging. 

Cameron stops, and you watch as his face twists into anger, he's peeved you'd even try to act above him when you had his cock in your throat. “That turns you on?” You tilt your head, wondering how in the world he wants you to answer this question when he's shoving his dick down your esophagus with the proficiency of a racehorse.  

“Go on and rub yourself.” You feel your head lazily fall into Cameron's grasp, the willingness only made him tighten his grip on that scalp of yours. You put all your energy into slipping your hands into your undergarments and going for your genitals. You feel the heat on your cheeks is only second to Dante’s inferno. The man barks out a laugh at you, “Go on,” You slowly pull your hand out, “Oh fuck, you’re gonna get it on Florence!” Your eyes widen, and you're quick to try and get rid of it, but it doesn't even make it an inch before Cameron snatches up your wrist. 

You gasp, flinching at his touch, your eyes shoot up, and you straighten your posture as you feel all the saliva build up around the bottom of your lip and chin, you feel a drop leave your chin, and you're flooded with embarrassment as you think about the mess you're probably leaving. 

You can't even think of it anymore once you are presented with the sights and sensations that await you, as Cameron’s nails dig into your wrists you feel that fat plump pink tongue roll out of his lips and makes its way around your hands, collecting as much fluid as he can with just his tongue before he slowly begins to suck each and one of your fingers. 

“How many licks do you think it'll take for us to get to the center?”

You feel him on your pinky, you doubt there's something, but you can't even focus on that thought with the feeling of him going back to pumping into your throat; however, he's taking his time, just like he is with your finger…

“You're a little fuckin’ freak.” 

Cam spits at you whilst his lips glide up and down your ring finger, you dig your teeth into your lips, only to forget the tip that was right there. You watch as Cam’s face scrunches, and he winces, but this whimper of pain only sounds more filthy than anything. You watch as he's quick to abandon your ring finger for your middle. 

“Argh! Fuck!” 

Cameron's quick to bite you back, taking his time on the middle one since it's collected the most of your fluids, the two of you only return to your positions with a split-second glare between the two of you before divulging back into the pleasure that left the two of you melting in the kitchen. 

It doesn't take long before you feel him begin to quicken the pace once more, he's going, and going, and the feeling of his heavy balls practically whining at the touch of your skin almost made him empty them in seconds. Cameron's lucky you can't tell how ready he is to blow, your blissed-out expression only allows him to be more immersed before he allows this feeling to take him over once more.

The rush of his seed flooding your throat leaves you only half a second to respond to make sure you don't choke to death on your trash can’s cum. 

You watch once more as he slowly pulls out of you, there are thick ropes of cum coating your esophagus as he makes his way out and you try your best to keep your closed to contain all of it, you feel his tip slowly leave your mouth and your quick to pucker to make sure none of the fluids escape. 

Cameron’s head is rolled back, only low grunts and pants escape him, and as his jaw slackens from the feeling. He turns down to look at you with a softened expression. It felt like the Devil was looking down at you to grant you this one gentle bliss from what your jaw was just put through. 

Lowering himself just a bit and roughly tugging you up to kiss him, you feel his thick pink tongue around yours in an instant, ignoring the cum he just filled it with just to make sure you could feel the little muscle around yours. Your face flushes as you moan into the kiss, and your lashes close in seconds as you hiccup into the kiss, his tongue takes yours down in seconds and takes the time to explore the cavern his cock was once in. 

This kiss doesn't last long though, he just swirls it around yours, takes your tongue down in seconds, and wastes no time to turn away from you to face the setting sun that highlighted the smooth vanilla skin that Cam was blessed with. 

You smack your lips together quietly, there are hints of you in there, but it doesn't overwhelm his taste, but you feel as if it almost complements it all, just knowing it's both of you willing to mix yourselves. 

Your eyes flutter open, and you're met by the hard gaze bestowed on the brunette beauty before you. You feel his hands instead cup your face, you hope it's another kiss, and as you allow your eyes to close once more, your mouth is only met with something familiar in texture to a Kiwi. 

Your mouth is now around one of his balls, one of the ones he was able to put in while he tried to stifle his laughter at your hopeful expression. Unfortunately, he lets out a snicker at the sight. You don't know how much your ego can take! “Look at you, got me turning into fuckin’ chuckles.” That's when his eyes, mixed with lust and frustration, landed on yours: “You can take more.”

And you do. 

“Ugh, you got all your slobber on that fantastic red shit of yours, guess I'll have to take it off and get you changed?” You only nod meekly, you're unsure if you could imagine him fucking one of your orifices after the way he handled your mouth, but here you were, “Well since it's already dirty, we could cover it in more stuff and make it filthy .”

You know, you hadn’t taken the chance to notice how Daisuke had grown, changed in some ways with the faded blond hair dye on the ends of his hair–When did he start curling his hair? When did he dye it blond? What made him start wearing concealer around his eyes? There’re these subtleties you may have not noticed before, were they always there and you were always just that neglectful of him? Disappointed in yourself as a friend you wave to him, and when his eyes finally hit you, it almost drops like a dead body. There’s a way his eyes fall, it almost guts you in a way where he perfectly places his hands on the most sensitive parts. It’s the way he knows you inside out, he doesn’t even need to say anything to you, the look in his chestnut eyes that held everything back in them to not burst into tears. “Alright, Daisuke, that’s enough getting familiar with the crew.” Jimmy speaks, it’s a man you remembered having straight brown hair slicked into a midpart, brown eyes, and stubble. The scraggle under his chin made you cringe, praying that if he got closer there wouldn’t be something ghastly awaiting you. All of you wore the Pony Express jumpsuit, except Swansea and Daisuke who just wore the shirt and jeans with Daisuke adding on a top, you’re not surprised since Daisuke would add anything to the uniform to make sure he was authentic even in the little ways like a feather earring or multicolored rubber band bracelets. 

You began to play with the one under the sleeve of your jumpsuit, your fingers turning into pluck at your wrist was the one Daisuke had made for you back in elementary school, it had his and your favorite color alternating every two loops. 

“Oh! My! God!” You let out the most obnoxious gasp, it causes him to giggle, and you smirk to yourself knowing all the right buttons to push, there’s a big grin on his face as he slips it on your wrist, and you look down at it to see his wrist falling next to yours to reveal the same bracelet. “Do you like love it?” You snicker at his phrasing, “Dude, I like love it, man.” You mock him, he brings his shoulder to yours to shove it, and the two of you share a smile with glazed over eyes.

How do you even face him? Ways to talk to him, but your biggest fear is talking to him specifically. Everybody boarding this ship seems fine, or at least as good as any other crew could be to be honest with you, since you know it is like your first time. You're looking at a little longer than you should. Like Curly? I mean, you think he's good looking? It's the same blond that Daisuke wanted to do at one point, he was charismatic like how Daisuke was when you first met him, and his hand shake his firm but you long for the wiggle in his wrist Daisuke had.

Holy shit, what do you even do in this situation?

What do you even say to him? “Hey, I'm sorry for leaving you after all this time.” “My bad for abandoning you.” “I'm scared shitless at my mom.” Can you even use your mom as an excuse anymore? Is she even really that scary in the first place or were you just pussying out? All the time where you’ve defended him and all the times he's defended you–Why was you even arguing for him if you just ended up leaving him in the end? 

Soon you were met with the Co-captain again. You want to lie to yourself about your situation, that being on a ship is cool and being trained to fly it sounds even more amazing but Good God, you could not stand to be around Jimmy for longer than you needed to. 

Honestly, you were very much distraught to find out that you were being stuck with Jimmy. “Since as Captain I'll be a bit busier, I won't be able to be as active as I'd like to be in training. Jimmy’s been a good hand, he's strong willed, eager, and is a good companion to have on the ship.”

You have to shadow him?

In some place in your heart, you know that he hates it just as much as you do. Just meeting him for the first time made him just look at you like lesser, was it because you added your own accessories to your uniform or the fact you put effort into your appearance? Handshake from Jimmy killed something in you because of how he did it, why was his hand so clammy? Why couldn’t he smell better? How come anytime that you talk to him you feel this disgusting older mess inside you like you're the one fucking up all the time? You hope and pray that this isn't all the time you'll spend on the Tuplar.

Upon loading all necessary items, you all make your accession, there's not really a lot to do on the Tuplar, unfortunately there's never anything to do here besides put all your stuff into your room and pray for the best. “Let's go.” Jimmy says your name like a sergeant, it's clear he treats you as a boot licker and now here you were running your tongue against the heel, “Yes, sir.”

Your first thing when it comes to the Tuplar is how the hell a ship can even run this long, you remember the information your mother gave you about how this is the last human ran delivery service, you think back on it and hate it even more as you remember you're really just stuck with these people for around a year or two. 

You needed to make the best of it.

Whoever would be writing your recommendation letter Whether that Curly, or even Jimmy. You make sure that you did your absolute best. Now the biggest problem with being around Jimmy all the time is being around Jimmy all the time. You tried to find good things about him. For instance, he told you on the first day, “You're very diligent, I'm grateful for it.” It was nice to hear it, you began to look forward to it throughout the day like the people pleaser you were, spineless against Jimmy like you were to your mother.

There was also the fact that he would teach you stuff, he always made sure to be open with you and never bullshit you on what you wanted to know. There was a clear inferiority complex though. Anytime the two of you bumped into Curly there was a clear pedestal that Jimmy put him on, it was exhausting to hear him talk about how Curly got him this job and how grateful he was and how much good Curly did on this ship.

It got even more awkward one day, though. It was most likely around the later time this week that you were working alongside Jimmy and Curly happened to show up. Now in your defense, you really didn't know the two like that, Curley decided to make a joke about Jimmy, basically along the lines of how Jimmy might be a 'Negative Nancy' and it was all in good fun.

Unbeknownst to you, Curly would definitely be talking to you about Jimmy was in the first place. Jimmy was definitely a character and honestly, it was very hard to even find the time to be around him, even though you were forced to be around him a majority of the time. Nonetheless, Jimmy was definitely not supposed to hear what Curly and you had discussed because you were giving your most honest opinion about Jimmy given the week you two had spent together.

“He’s just always weird, to me, all the time.” Curly raised a brow, “Weird as in?”  “At first, I felt special? Like all he was doing is just making me think that there was a chance to be better.” Then you let out a groan, you think back on what he says, and you continue on with your discussion, “It was this sick cycle, he’d compliment me, then he’d backhand me with a little thing, 

‘You could’ve been better.’ ‘You could’ve not missed it.’ ‘Do you even know how to maneuver?’ ‘I guess you’re not as diligent as I thought.’”  You sit there and look at Curly, and Curly look back at you with sympathy. “Well, why the fuck am I even trying then?” Curly flinches at your language but does nothing to halt your rant, especially when his eyes flicker above you then back to yours, he’s grateful you don’t notice.

“What the fuck am I gaining? If all it amounts to him just pulling the rug beneath my feet to see if I’ll float for him. It's ridiculous. I'm trying so much to please him and make sure I'm doing all right and that I meet his standards so I can do good in college, and I'm sitting here being bent over backwards and turned inside out for this absolute buffoon.” There’s another groan that earns his way out of you, “And his tone, it's so condescending. He never ever tries to think about anything that somebody else is doing. It's always about him, him, him, him. As if I have nothing else to do with my life. What if I want to go play games with Anya and Daisuke?”

Curly’s eyes aren’t even on you anymore, he’s looking to your left, and in return you follow his eyes. Guess that maybe it's just the way it's supposed to be? You don't say anything though You're terrified of even trying to go against either or so you sit there, and you stay silent. I mean what could you even say in the first place, “Jimmy…” You’re distraught that Curly didn’t tell you sooner, you don’t blame him, and Curly doesn’t correct you on it.

“So, do you have a problem with me? If you really have a problem with me while I’m on this ship, why work under me? Why do this? If you absolutely have nothing else to offer besides complaining the whole time, all you do is complain, complain, complain about what? About how I teach you? Mainly, it's because of how unattached you are to this. You never care for anything; you never sit there and think twice. You always sit there and think you're a know it all and think you know everything from A-Z. Unfortunately, you don't and I'm so sorry that you're hurt, that I know more than you and that you feel hurt or put on and I'm oh so sorry that you feel that way.”

The way Jimmy talked to you really pissed you off. Honestly, you were about 5 seconds away from beating his arse. Nonetheless though, you held back all that rage that you had pent up and thought about what you should do. He was apologizing for your feelings as if you are feeling the way you felt was absolutely the wrong way to feel and that you are not allowed to feel emotions in the first place about what he does as if his. As his actions don't have consequences. You want to say something and as much as you really want to fight against him.

You sit there, you take a breath in, and you apologize. 

“I’m sorry, Jimmy. I should've communicated better. You're actually a really good co-captain, Jimmy.” There's a look in his eyes that tells you majorly messed up he looks back to you with this glaring expression but a crooked little grin on his face that tells you differently, he'll turn his body to you slowly and you look to him with a wobbly smile, your foundation being nothing but the fear you have in his face.

“It doesn't really matter what you think, does it? At the end of the day, I'm co-captain and Curly is captain, not the other way around. Don't need you feeling bad for me especially when I know you'd rather be with Curly.” You're lost for words, what do you even say after something like this? You can try and be nice and tell him that's not true but what are you even gaining from that at this point?

No Curly is just awkwardly standing there, unable to really do or say anything he tells the booth of you. “Maybe you guys should work it out amongst yourselves, you guys are mature and like-minded adults.” That was his cue to leave. You're distraught by this, but not surprised, unfortunately, given that he didn't even tell you about Jimmy being next to you. You wonder how long Jimmy was actually there next to you before Curly was going to say anything, if he was going to say anything at all...

After Curly makes his way out of the hallway, you were left alone with Jimmy, and you try to start up the conversation. “Well,-” The way Jimmy barks out a laugh causing him to spit on your face made you wince at the scene, “Well, Well what? Well, you suck at your job? Well, flattery will get you nowhere. Well, what do you even plan on doing after this excursion? Well, what do you even study in college? Well, do you even think you'll return for the next time? Well? Well?” With each phrase he got closer, and closer, and closer.

“Here and play around on this ship as if we're all doing these little dumb reindeer games to come and sit here and bullshitting around. I didn't know you were like Daisuke, and you have a little family going home to support you while you go through college, and I definitely didn’t know you wanted to hang out with the nurse who barely qualified for the position. I didn't know that you were so spoiled in lavish that you thought you could sit here and play around. You didn't want to learn anything, you just thought this was going to be a fun little hang out time. But this is real shit. We're doing real things.” 

It didn't help that he had just eased you into one of the closets, it's small with shelves lined with miscellaneous items. It was cramp, you're cornered by this absolute unit that was most definitely trying to intimidate you. You don't even know what to do at this point. You look in his eyes and even while you're trying to hold your ground you feel like your knees are going to buckle in. 

You stare at Jimmy, and he doesn't even see you, you're just another person who needs to know his place on the ship. Below Curly but above you. It was never explicitly said, and you don't know if you could ever really get it out of him, but you knew that this was just him making sure he knew you knew. You kept staring though and even as his face got closer and closer you couldn't even fathom how you would even get out of this.

“Well, what?” You see yourself in his reflection and there's nothing more humiliating than knowing how weak you look in front of somebody. It's almost petrifying how much you're realizing that you're stuck here, and you will be stuck here for as long as he wants you to be. 

“Well?” You sigh, “I’m sorry, Jimmy, I was just speaking my mind.” He doesn't even look at you, his eyes flicker up and they flicker back down at you with no type of change to emotion. “I didn't decide to have a person work alongside me and be around me this whole time just for them to speak their feelings I don't want you to speak your feelings I don't need you to speak your feelings I don't want to hear you speak your feelings You're here for one thing and one thing only follow my orders and if you can't do that then I don't even know why you even bother to show up.” 

“You didn't even decide to have me as your intern…” 

You shouldn't have said that and in those seconds you didn't even realize it you were being snatched up, it was quick both of his hands already pinning you both by the sides of your shoulders you weren't surprised that he was able to just immediately grab your forearms and yank you over to him with his face even more knotted up in anger than before. “I'm sorry, I didn't hear you, follower. What did you say?” Your breath hitches at the feel of coarse hands squishing your flesh without a care, “I said,” You think, you think some more, and you come to your conclusion.

“I said, you didn't even decide to have me as your intern, you only have me shadowing you because you're not as important as Curly.” The way his grip tightened was something you expected, and you prayed that the bruises on your arms wouldn't be too bad as you felt yourself being run through a compressor, that was until someone knocked on the door. Jimmy whips his head around to see who it is, “Who is it?” 

“Oh!” No, fucking, way. “Hey, Jiiiiimmy, right? I heard F/N’s voice in there and I was gonna ask if I could come in and get some stuff cause Swansea sent me…” Your eyes widen and you almost cry out in relief, “Daisuke? Yeah, I'm in here!” The look shot back at you almost gave you whiplash, quickly putting your head down in embarrassment as you were met with Jimmy's angered expression in your face. “We're coming out right now.”

There's an awkwardness in the air more than there was before but for a different reason. Upon getting out the closet you're met with Daisuke, You weren't the first to leave in fact as Jimmy was already standing there with his harm's crossed looking at Daisuke dismissively, there is a glare in his eyes that Daisuke had read as Jimmy being upset about being interrupted and you being embarrassed about being caught. Embarrassment was correct. You were absolutely floored by the fact that Daisuke had found you with Jimmy alone in a closet. It almost killed you to see the expression on his face upon leaving the enclosed area.

“Soooooooo, what were you guys doin’ in there?” Only Daisuke would ask such a question, and you admired him for such boldness and confidence you'd never lost it in those years, and he even glowed more with him being met with such a sight, you don't think he cares, and you do think maybe he thinks you moved on. It kills you to look at him, there's no obvious hurt in his face but Daisuke has always been someone that's displayed effortless suave. 

Jimmy was quick to speak, “Nothin’ you need to worry about, Daisuke, just getting to know my intern a little better.” There's a cheeriness to his expression It's obvious of what he's doing, and you can't even say anything without not wanting to be put into that situation once more. You argue with yourself again, You could defend yourself and tell Daisuke that Jimmy was being a total asshole to you, and you needed help and you were so glad that he was able to help you or you could do what you were best at and that was going along with it.

“Yeah,”

Just like you always did. 

“Ohhhhhhh, I see.” Daisuke lets out a warm laugh, too warm of a laugh, even as he's almost joking about it in a way that seemed like him and Jimmy were close, “Anywhosies, I'm going to take this stuff to Swansea. I'll see you guys around! Have fun getting to know each other!” You wish that your innards were churned into chum then regurgitated onto Jimmy. You turn to look at Jimmy, you think about what Daisuke thought about finding you two in the closet, once Daisuke was finally out of view, you promptly vomited onto Jimmy.

Those liquid would for sure stain his uniform and the chunks made a disgusting plan into the floor after you then clutched your stomach. You groaned, unfortunately for Jimmy, he took you to the nurse station. 

You slowly pull yourself from under the blankets, your naked top now feels the sun beat onto your chest, you try to recollect last night and think about what your next actions should be. There’s familiarity in the room, the old scratched up records pinned to a wall with an acoustic guitar that was never played properly, work out bean bags, and a small round table with scratched up games' controllers on it. There’s a box of pizza, one slice left—

“You can have it, just heat it up in the morning.”

You don’t take it, no matter how much you feel the vibration in your stomach, you suck it up and began to collect your clothes scattered around the area. You see the familiar Sonic CD rug in the center of the room just before the bed, there you find your underwear, you see your shirt on top of the lava lamp next to his bed, and you find your bottoms next to your school bag.

Your shoes are downstairs, his parents always had slippers to offer at the door whenever you and/or his other friends would come over. It was the only thing they were really strict on when it came to him. You look inside your bag, nothing but schoolbooks and the binder you used for all your note taking, you throw it out the window and into one of the bushes in front of his house.

You look for your phone, on the dresser with some old DVDs of movies that his mother still had, none of them were really interesting except for this one you really enjoyed. ‘Your Name Engraved Herein’, it always made him cry, you had to comfort him after the movie but no matter how many times you tried to tell him that it’s okay, he just continued to bawl into your shoulder about how amazing this movie was.

Maybe it was because you didn’t pay attention to the movie, more focused on his expression as he experienced the movie, he’d tell you little tid bits and explained it to you afterwards when you told him you didn’t really understand. There was always commentary with him when it came to movies, you loved every second of his little movie watching sessions, friends would throw popcorn and hush him, but you eagerly leaned in to hear him whisper small facts about the movies he’d have you all watch.

Even when he finished explaining the movie you didn’t get it, but he told you: “I cried every time I’ve watched this movie without fail, ever since I was like in middle school, my mom would watch this movie, and it would be me and her crying our eyes out over it.”

You grabbed your phone, around the 20% mark it was mainly just texts from your mother about spending the night at his again, she would tell you that you were messing up the future she was perfectly crafting for you and that you needed to learn more discipline before college started. It was always grades, attendance, and extracurriculars with her.

You only did the bare minimum, average grades, average attendance, and chess club.

Your mother hated it.

“He's bringing you down! His parents don't even care about what he's up to! You think I'm gonna let you mess everything I have going for you for some low life boy who can't even follow something as simple as wearing a uniform to school?”

You defended him, like you always did, why wouldn't you? He was there for you when you were down, always there for you, like he was there for you this weekend. You kept scrolling through messages; besides your mother, it was only him who would text you daily.

You had people you studied with, your mother’s friends’ kids, and the family you were already distant with. You had to get home. You slid all your clothes on before you peeped your head through the door, the sound of the shower running and music coming from the speaker he took in the shower with him blaring through the empty house.

His father worked on weekends and his mother went grocery shopping Sunday, “Was it Sunday?” You thought out loud, you couldn’t think about the time you were last back at your house, you made your way down the stairs and towards the door when you found your shoes.

You slip them on and then make your way out; after closing the door you pick up the rock from the little pond, they had next his porch, you lock the door and place the key back where it belongs. You go through the bushes, searching for your bag and a huff out of frustration when you dust the dirt off of it.

There's another huff as you sling the bag over your shoulder and then silence, there's sounds of nature from his neighborhood and now her you were just walking down the street, hoping on the next bus and another back towards the apartment your mother and you shared.

As you unlock the door your mother sits on the couch, she's watching her programs with the same 4 speakers on the different channels she's gone through in the past

“At his place again?” And the way she can't even say his name, it melts off her tongue like a slur and you can't help but bite back a response before she gets up. “Well, how was it? His family feed you?” You shook your head, “No, ma'am. His parents weren't home.”

Why would you say that?

You see the anger in her face, “Oh?” The woman makes her way over to you, there's no hesitation in your stature as it's a routine check. The way she pulls down the collar of your shirt leaves your breath to hitch, you try to snatch her wrist only for her long and jagged nails to scratch at the skin of your palm leaving you to hiss in pain.

There's no surprise with the number of dark marks that were collected by the boy, it was his first time as much as it was yours. You feel the warmness in your cheeks before your mother's eyes burn into you, her stare boiling you alive as you do nothing but just stare at the ground.

“Look at me when I talk to you,” Your name is a bark of a command, called out like a show dog to those she wants to impress then kicked at like a mutt the rest of the time. You pull your head up, you don't want anymore imprints in your cheeks, your acne already fucking up your face as is.

“What did you two do?” You roll your eyes, mumbling ‘Nothing.’ before she snatches up your jaw, those nails now cut up the pimples on your face to leave the pus to pop out You want to whine, cry like a child, ‘Mommy! Stop! You're hurting me!’ You, unfortunately, allow this with your eyes creasing and a small frown rugging on your lips that seems don't only make her madder.

“Your breath reeks of weed and alcohol. I can't believe you'd go and mess around with that boy, after everything I told you!” The woman lets out a pained sigh, as if her coming to spit in your face and yell at you was somehow your puppeteering her to do so. “What if he got you pregnant? How could you do something so dumb! It doesn't even surprise me, he probably talked you into it–Knowing his little delinquent self and his little gang he's probably riddled with some type of disease.”

You want to tell her off, he would never do something like that, all his friends are different from him, they're all a bunch of party goers that just want to do narcotics and fuck each other silly.

“He's not like that.” You strained out of your pursed lips, your mother's tongue smacks against the roof of her mouth, “The boy is nothing but spoiled. His parents just give, give, give, give, and give to some little freeloader who's going to do nothing for his life besides leaching off his parents' money.” You can't hear this anymore.

“He's actually trying to get a job!” Your mother cackles, “Oh yeah? He's getting a job?” “Yes!” “Well, why doesn't he already have one like you do? You got your own job at the library when you were 14, you were obedient then, before you met that little…” There's a seething rage in the woman, she's sucking at her teeth, and she'll be grinding them into a fine powder if she continues.

You bite your tongue, he had definitely had an impact on you, like he always has. You wanted to try and dye your hair one day with him, layer your outfits, be outside of the uniform, wear make up, dress up on those days where you were allowed casual dress, and take your time with life in general.

Those nights he'd stare at stars on the roof with you, he'd point up and explain how sometimes he felt so small in this world. “This is really the one way I can try and be in impact on such a big world!” He gestures to his brightly colored outfit; you find yourself lost in his expression as it's just a nice mix of brightly colored acrylics that melded with his tanned skin.

You admire him.

Even as spit hits your face you're left with the same rant over and over again, “I work hard at my job so you have all the tools not to end up like me, slaving away for some ungrateful brat of a child, instead never having kids and being happy you don't have to waste your money on some freeloader until it's too late.”

Your mother took responsibility to raise you, even after your father was distant to the idea, it be some apparent that these two were working in separate directions that only pulled you apart.

Honestly, if it wasn't for him, you'd be on the ground with a full bottle of pills being guzzled down your throat.

Your mother notices your expression and she huff, “Stop being around, hanging around him, being around him, he'll do nothing but drag you down and he won't be doing you any good in the future other than a book up for narcotics.” The woman gets all in your face, “You wanna end up like me? I only stopped doing all those things once I found out I was pregnant with you! Do you really want to end up like me?”

Strikes a nerve.

You never wanted to be like your mother, her sad life with a child who could only resent their mother, her boyfriend who abandoned her to go do more drugs, and no one to fall on. It's sad, you feel for her, you see where she's coming from you, and you sigh upon seeing her fall to her knees to grab at yours.

The woman sobs into your thighs, wincing at the familiar grip from the night before most definitely bruising them from such harsh treatment, “Pl-ease!” The squeak in her voice as she says your name, she is begging and all you can do is try to comfort a woman who has never taught you how to comfort someone. You rub her head, and she sighs, sniffling a bit before she continues, “I don't want you to end up like me! Don't love someone who's only going to bring you down! I know you can do better!”

Your mother wouldn't tell you it now, but you were now stuck with this. Your mother always knew if you were around him, she worked there as the librarian. You were called to stay later helping your mother, doing more on campus, and a demand for straight as after a C in an AP course came up.

It wasn't surprising since the both of you took the same class.

You couldn't let your mother win but here you were, letting her win, and you could do nothing as you found her beginning to bring the hammer down. “I can't let ever you make a mistake that big again.” You were tested for everything; she kept track of your periods and was around you whenever you had free time.

“You've been summoned to the library,” The dreaded phone call before you left class, it killed something in you when you and he could barely talk most days. You guys didn't really share class, even when he went out his way to take APs it became apparent to him how much harder it was for him to really keep up with you.

Those daily ‘Good morning!’ messages fell into weekly ‘Have a good week!” texts. Not because of him, but because of you. You couldn't even keep up with everything, once your mother pinpointed the college you needed to get into or she'd kick you out, simply if you applied yourself the way your mother wanted.

But it meant you'd have to leave him behind…

D-S ▼⁠・⁠ᴥ⁠・⁠▼

Hey! I know last night was a lot. I'm sorry if I messed up, I know I wasn't going to be the best but I’m sure you'll have other people do it way better than me!

1:30 PM 9/05

Good morning! Good morning! Good morning!

9:45 AM 9/06

When do you get off work today?

4:30 PM 9/06

I'm getting pizza, do you want me to get you a box???

2:49 PM 9/14

Y'know one for now, one for when you're depressed! I finally got the reference!

2:58 PM 9/14

Are you okay?

3:24 AM 9/30

Did I do something wrong?

3:25 AM 9/30

I'm sorry if I did anything wrong

3:29 AM 9/30

I mean that, I'm really sorry

3:33 AM 9/30

Can we talk?

3:34 AM 9/30

We haven't like sleep called in forever, and it would give us time to talk stuff out, whatever I did wrong you can tell me.

3:45 AM 9/30

Please?

3:48 AM 9/30

I didn't know you and Ange became friends I always thought you both hated each other.

12:39 PM 10/19

I didn't do our matching costumes it felt like a disservice if it wasn't with you.

4:29 PM 10/30

Dude, family's being weird, wish you were here!

7:38 PM 11/28

Happy Holidays, I got you something! Do you know when I can come over and give it to you?

11:29 AM 12/25

Hey, I'm having this new year party! Y'know like new year new me! I plan on trying out for stuff like sports and getting on my academics!

9:28 AM 12/31

I'm tryna get like you!

9:40 AM 12/31

My parents asked about you today, they were like ‘When are you coming over?’ and ‘What are you up to these days?’

10:02PM 1/17

Happy Valentine's Day, I know you got a lot of stuff cause you're just cool like that

10:38AM 2/14

Even I got you something!

10:38 AM 2/14

Lmk when I can give it to you!

10:38 AM 2/14

I'm sorry for being annoying this year, I really am sorry for anything I did to you. Have a good time in college!

11:00 AM 6/30

You began to avoid him, he'd go to the library to rent out a book and watch as you restock, he'd text you and you'd have the read receipt there just to think about responding to him only to put the phone down, you walk around campus without a care, cordial whenever faced with head on confrontation, and that's how it was until you graduated.

You went off, pursued your own interest in space your mother said it was your choice to study nut it needed to make enough money for you and her. Now you were just as excited to get on and do things outside of your mother now that you were finally free from the woman. You decided to take all your classes online, you'd had this internship lined up for you and nothing could bring you more joy than joining the manpower in space.

There's a big smile on your face as you meet your comrades, Curly, your pilot and Jimmy, the Co-Pilot, you'd be shadowing the two for tour duration of their trip on the Pony Express. Anya, the nurse, who would be the only woman on the ship, you loved to be around her and her little jokes. Then there was Swansea, he wouldn’t stop complaining about having some intern, “They better pull their weight.” The man grumbled out.

You weren’t shocked to find out you guys were waiting on another guy, the two of you added last minute on behalf of the Pony Express, finally a guy popped through the door, explaining that he was at a party the night before celebrating Earth before he had to leave. Your eyes crease as you examine the man’s features, ‘No fucking way.’

That lovingly sun kissed complexion that had the contrast of his brighter highlights against his already chestnut colored hair. There, on his face, stood the markers for where you kissed on him that night, a mole under his right eye and the left mole lower down his round cheeks.

The fact that he couldn't even wear the uniform alone almost made you fall before him, he hadn't changed in ways you thought he would, and it tore at your heartstrings to realize how much you missed him. The familiar sound of the two bangles on his wrist that contrasted the red wrist band he wore that you also had from the first party he took you to.

There's a plethora of excuses that rush out of his mouth, and you just listen to now his voice only be one softer to your ears. Earning its way into your eardrums to nestle in your memory in order to haunt you for the rest of your stay.

While the group continues to get everything on the ship there's a silence that falls between the two of you when his eyes finally land on you. Your friend was a day you could never forget, the morning after your happiest night alive, you'd coo into his ear that you loved him, and he'd do the same with a chaste kiss on your forehead.

Yet, here you were, reliving those memories and wondering how the fuck do you even start the conversation. You watch as he makes his way over, your rib cage encased around your organs before crushing them like a corset.

With each step your breath hitches, your eyes faltering between looking him in the eyes only for your nostrils to fill with disgustingly sweet peach cologne he had to have. Why wear something like that for all these years? You're grateful he would even wear something like this to this day.

There's a hand on front of you, wide open with some rings on his fingers, his fingers spread a bit and when you take one last inhale of his cologne you pull your head up to look him in the eyes. There's a warmness in his face, it hasn't worn down and has only brightened since you last saw him, you feel your heart clench as you hear his voice.

“Heya! I'm Daisuke, I’m psyched to be working with someone as new as me!”

You can't stand the fact that you could've fucked up everything, the fact that you two were finally on good terms, you'd look for each other whenever Jimmy wasn't on your case about this, that, and the third. 

Nonetheless, you proceeded with going back to work, unfortunately. 

You feel the leather boot of your new boss seep into your tummy; it's almost like he prepared his foot to strike in your ribs, and you pray that he'd get the balls to crack them. You think that's the worst part about Jimmy, that he's so terrified that the consequences of his actions won't even be honest enough to put you down to your face.

You're positive Jimmy founded passive aggressiveness, backhanded comments, and microaggressions. You wouldn't be surprised if those were the only skills he had perfected. Regardless, that didn't stop you from getting up whenever his foot found its place above your belly button, and then the gruffness of Jimmy's voice awakened you once more for your ‘job’.

Jimmy doesn't greet you anymore, he just waits for you to pick yourself off the floor and drag you around the ship, if you had music this wouldn't be but a drizzle but because you'd have to raw dog the experience of being around some pig that did nothing but complain about the people around him, including yourself, while praising their abilities backhandedly, including yourself—Did you already say that?

This ship is doing numbers to your mind.

You don't know if you want to be saved or for the oxygen to just suddenly give out in your sleep. 

Wondering if you'd awaken from choking to death, your head knocked against Jimmy's back. You wince from the harsh wall. Jimmy doesn't even look back or ask if you're okay; he just enters the room and looks around, mumbles some stuff to himself, then you're both out again. Is it crazy to say that it pisses you off that the silent treatment is actually doing something? You wonder what it's about. Maybe it's because of what happened, but he still wants your presence, someone to watch him do the work, so he can use you as if it were some live audit.

That's so sad. 

You wonder if he's ever had friends as you both make your way through the long halls of the ship; it almost feels like a maze sometimes, and you're amazed by the fact that you would never truly get to see all this. “No. I understand completely. If that's how it has to be—” Your ears perked up, the sight of Anya in the foam infested room almost made your heart explode, there were only a few moments you got to interact with Anya, you didn't blame her for not hanging out in the medical area, the sounds Curly makes leaves you up at night from time to time. You're too scared to wake up anyone to give him medication, so it's up to you. 

Shaking off the goosebumps of those terrifying nights, you find yourself whisked unknowingly over to Tuplar's nurse, “Hm? Oh, it's you two.” You nod as your shoulder finds Anya’s, your face is warm, and the pit of your stomach burns, feeling the disassociated coldness be steamed off you. “Hello there,” Anya says softly. She says it only to you, not knowing if she's signaling Jimmy out on purpose, and you just find your wide eyes creasing with a smile. Anya then redirects her attention, “Jimmy! Not able to sleep, huh?” 

The man notices the closeness, he makes his way closer over to the three of you, and suddenly the mood dims as you feel existence become more suffocating from what was a nice moment. "It’s 'night time'. Why are you talking this late?" Jimmy's head then falls closer to Anya's, "...Anya. Are you crying?" Anya is quick to turn to the side, "No, don’t worry. I’m okay." The man only sighed in disappointment, leaving Anya to put her head down in shame whilst Swansea looked over him. 

"We all need to keep it together.” Swansea blows a raspberry as he rolls his eyes,  "Oh, I’m keepin’ it together. Don’t you worry, Captain." You both notice the way he just glides over the two of you; he has no real care for Jimmy and his little second-in-command sheep. You also put your head down in embarrassment. Jimmy folds his arms and doesn't take his eyes off the woman, "He’s making noises again. Did you give him his meds before, Anya?" She picks her head up, "Ah, no. Must’ve slipped my mind."

There's a quickness to her voice, "I’m sorry, I’ll-" Jimmy then lets out another sigh, "I’ll do it." "No, really, I’m perfectly okay." "I said I’ll do it." The silence consumes the air before Anya speaks up, 

"I wonder if they’ve even noticed we’re missing, back at headquarters. It’d take a rescue ship so long to get here…" You nod somberly, "Might be another freighter they could divert to try and find us. It's not… inconceivable." Jimmy adds, before Anya hums, "I suppose you’re right." 

You find your eyes wandering once more, soon on the axe in Swansea’s arm, “Nice ax, where'd you get it?” “Your mother's house.” There's a shocked look on both your and Anya's faces before Swansea smirks, “Gotcha.” It doesn't take long before you realize it was most likely a Daisuke joke. You stifle your laughter before Jimmy cuts through the flowers, "You getting a lot of use out of that right now?" It's the first time Jimmy's directed his attention towards him since he got in this room. You were all aware of Jimmy just eyeing down Anya like prey; it was overwhelming, and you prayed the two of you would just leave so she could just be happy once more.

"Force of habit. Don’t overthink it."Swansea grunts, before Jimmy heads out of the room, you wave a goodbye to Anya, who eagerly returns yours. Upon entering the medical area, there's a silence that falls between the two of you, noting the fact that there's only so much medicine you guys could be giving to Curly. Your face falls a bit, and Jimmy is the first to notice, “We won't be able to keep him quiet forever.” You only nod, you hear the way his tongue pops against the roof of his mouth, “He did it to himself, honestly.” 

The tone is not unfamiliar to you, watching as your captain makes his way to the table and hands you the medication,  "Come on. Stop with the noise." Jimmy groans as Curly’s whimpers and cries go unanswered. You wonder if he can even cry in this state or if the salt in his tears is burning his flesh. You wrap your fingers around the bottle before you make your way over to the table where Curly lies. You and Jimmy are side by side, hovering over him, "I know what everyone is thinking.” Jimmy states. Your eyes stay glued to Curly as he continues, "The way they look at me. What could I even say? And then…What would she do?" You stay quiet, you know if you say something it'll be like those times in the closet or in the control room, now that you'd grown sick to the mouthwash, you couldn't imagine returning to cutting yourself as a coping mechanism, it's times like this you brought a bong and a pound of weed on this trip.

"Dammit!”

Unfortunately, you're stuck with this out-of-control man, who just slammed his fists on the table. You flinched at the sound, and Curly's eye finds yours; his labored breaths that flow with his groans and whimpers sound like a symphony of torture. You're sure Jimmy is thrilled at the thought that Curly is getting what he deserves for crashing the ship. "Here we are now. Me in the driver’s seat. Thanks for that." Jimmy spat at the man, You don't know how to feel as he then slapped his hand against your upper back, “I saw you feed him the other night, like he was some baby bird unable to do a thing, but I need you to do better if you wanna keep this position.” 

You mumbled to yourself, “What if I don't wanna keep this position?” You feel Jimmy's course and heavy hand find itself on your shoulder, you feel the heat leave it, and then the sudden force as he slams down the dead weight of it onto you. You try not to let out a peep; nonetheless, the ache that came in your collarbone almost made you yelp in pain. “Nonsense, we're in a better position than everyone on here. I mean, the drunk, the hoarder, and the incompetent?” You don't know who's who, you wonder if you're one of them, “We could be like them, falling into despair and falling over like children, but instead, we're taking charge to make sure everyone's alright.”

‘Stay silent. Just nod.’ You turn your head, you shake like a Chihuahua, and pray you get out of your misery upon being met by the darkened face that was Jimmy. “Listen, you just need to be better than they are. You already are. You and me, we're a team, I got us the better position. You should be happier now that you're dependent on that mouthwash, that means you're better than Swansea and Daisuke, and better than Anya.” You don't feel the warmth in comparison; your mother had practically steamrolled it out of you like you were a bottle of toothpaste. “We're not in a better position, you are.” You spoke, “Oh please, as if you don't do everything here with a purpose, I make the way and you come on it, I'm doing this to make it easier on us, and if you think my job is so easy, you can do it your goddamn self.” 

You want to show some type of confusion, a tilt of the head, or genuinely questioning him, but it was imperative that you just did what he told you when you watched that look of pure pride fall into disappointment. 

So, you nodded. 

You opened up the pills, but before you're able to do anything, Jimmy drags his hand down your shoulder and to the small of your back, “The problem with why you're not appreciating this position is because you're not doing what you need to do, and what you need to act more like you're in charge.” Your feet stutter as you feel the harsh push forward to the table, “You don't understand the things captains have to do that make them the way they are, and that's okay, you've been babied, cared for, this little Tuplar ship is just another one, your actions on what is a long list of extracurriculars.”

You're met by another shove forward, your shoes squeak against the floor, “You don't understand genuine hard work, and if we're going to survive this experience, then you need to learn how to do the hard things.” You're met by another shove, and you're now sure you can see the pieces of skin Curly once had and the way the flesh had melted; you feel your heart fall into your stomach. “But maybe, instead of trying to beat it into you, maybe, you just need a little motivation.” Soon enough, you felt the table now morph into your stomach. Even when feeding Curly the pills, you weren't even entirely looking at him, your eyes closed as you felt the way his throat closed around your fingers to swallow the pills. You were now forced to bear witness to the captain you once had in his state of pure torture. 

“You look at him like he's not going to hurt you, like Swansea, Daisuke, and Anya. You're looking at them like they won't do anything to you, but you need to understand that anything can happen, and what Curly chose to do in that time was try and kill us all.” You flinched at the sound of it, your attempted murderer just praying for someone to end the feeling of their flesh aflame and the way their body was bound to this table with no hopes in real, genuine medical help outside of painkillers. 

Was the punishment enough for what he had tried to do to you, to all of you? To end these lives that existed outside of him and only met because of the job, a lot of you don't even want to do? The heart pounds into your chest, you wonder if they can hear your labored breaths, but as Jimmy stares you down, so does Curly. You look into that blue orbs,wondering why he would do this to all of you, destined the whole crew to a date worse than death? 

 “Hurry up and feed him.”

Your hands shake as you find the pills, your wrist bounces viciously as you try to fight off the child-proof cap. There are so many thoughts that flood your mind, how you could end up on a ship with some abusive control freak and a killer. You're floored that this was your destiny, and distraught that you couldn't drink your feelings away after this, only watching as the eyes that yearned for the pain killers couldn't give you the time of day. 

"...Open up." Gulping as you finally pop the cap off, you then find the pills in the palm of your hand. You watch as his eye leaves the bottle once you put it down on the table, and the way his eye finds you once more causes you to question what the fuck you're even doing here in the first place.

You lived in their world with a million possibilities that allowed you to explore and become a better person in the future. You don't know if you'd been able to truly grow in this world; no one would question why a rose that bloomed from the concrete had tattered leaves, but you only hoped that the rose didn't have to grow at all. 

As much as the dreams of love and success consumed your hopes, it was as fickle as the idea of actually completing college on your own reasoning; honestly, you didn't even really want to do anything besides drop dead after you gave your mother your degree. 

Yet, here you were. 

Dreams were now taking that axe from Swansea and slamming it straight into Jimmy's and Curly's bodies until they were nothing more than minced meat. Taking SSRIs was great when you had to continue living compulsively for your dream to ultimately kill yourself, but with nothing left in this world, why would you force yourself to conform even in your final days?

"I hope these make you feel fucking better.”

You couldn't sleep after that, your hands can still feel his throat closing up on you in desperation and you shiver at the thought before you're met by the sight of Daisuke lying out before the cargo room with another bottle of mouthwash, you felt the dip into what Jimmy had spoken to you once more as you met the drunk. "Uuurgghh…" "How many have you had?" Jimmy questions, only met by another groan before Jimmy scoffs and crosses his arms, "Those will kill you before-" "Yeah, yeah, before anything else. I know." It takes Daisuke a moment to push himself up; he's not even able to really as he rolls himself over with his left arm covering his eyes and the bottle of mouthwash glued to his right. 

"My mom found this internship for me. Such a slacker, she said. I don’t know. I just never knew what I wanted to be. I was never good at anything. Total screw up." Your heart winces at his defeat. “We’re not done yet, Daisuke." Jimmy is quick to console him, "I just hope she doesn’t blame herself." Daisuke then puts the mouthwash on the two of you, "Please… just take it. I don’t want to look at this stuff anymore." You're the one who reaches out for it, the young man can feel the difference from Jimmy's rough hand to yours, you feel his hand shake a bit, “I…I wanna be alone, if that's okay.” You both say nothing, and as he brings them down, you're sure you can hear him begin to sob.

There's a softness in your heart that's rotting, you feel it as Daisuke does nothing but add onto the weight in your already heavy heart, your thoughts are to drop to your knees to comfort him, but you don't even know if he knew you were there, you had a sympathetic look on your face as the two of you made your way back up stairs to the main area where a little tune blared from the radio and there an old man out his all in busting the right move. 

You wondered if that's how he had his kids, if it really took a guy dancing to convince you that he's all you wanted in life, though Daisuke had two left feet, he didn't know how to dance, but he was always too pretty to have to care about dancing. 

All anybody wanted to do was listen to him talk.

"Jimbo! ¡El Capitano! The man with the plan!" Swansea then gasped loudly before going back into his jig, “And his little second in command can't believe you gave up the party life to go be a follower! Missing out on the good stuff—Listen, listen, listen! This is the best part! Aa-waaay-oooo!” Jimmy had a disappointed scowl on his face, “You're a mess, Swansea.” The older man brushed him off, “It'll be all the sad motherfuckers of the Tuplar in the sky with diamonds! Captain Jimmy pullin’ the plug on the party before the last call, right kid? Lemme guess, he was talking about how we need to be more ready for the end!” Swansea then stopped for a moment, “Where'd that kid run off to?! He's gotta work on his stamina! Party's over here!” 

The laughter that left the pit of his stomach was the only genuine happiness you had seen in a while; you don't know if it's only the mouthwash, and if he had already ingested so much that he didn't even acknowledge that this was it. You found your eyes on Anya, who was on the table investigating a bottle of mouthwash. It hurt you a lot to see her consider such a notion. You hoped she would rise above this nonsense of alcohol consumption, but you couldn't blame her in the state we were all in.

You decided to make your way up the stairs and join her. Before you could even say anything, Jimmy was quick to push past you to sit down next to her. You rubbed your shoulder with a glare and wondered if you could convince Swansea to let you hold the axe for a little bit. 

The two began to talk, and you took this as a sign to be quiet. Your hopes in dissociation were shattered, however, as you and Jimmy are sent back to Swansea to collect the axe to get some medicine from a foam-infested area.

“You done?” Jimmy crackled, “I need that." Swansea erupted in laughter, "This old thing? This was entrusted to me by our previous, tragically inclined leader. Big res-ponsi-bility. But you know all about that, huh?" It slips out faster than you can catch it, as your lips purse together and a raspberry finds itself stopping your laughter. 

Unfortunately, Jimmy's hand finds your shoulder once more, and you don't know if this is the one with the bruises or not, but at this rate, he's going to damage your shoulder blades. Swansea continued to dance, swaying his hips and swinging his arms to turn away from Jimmy. You quickly find your face going slack as El Capitano and The Hoarder begin to go back to talking, "I’m going to try and get some more painkillers. Do something useful, you know?" Swansea found himself turned right back around, his body straight as he looked past Jimmy, “Oh-o, I heard all about it. You’re looking to pull the plug on this party early." 

"I’m trying to save us." Jimmy refuted, Swansea only chortled, "Take matters into your own hands, eh?" The man then adjusted his grip on the axe, "Be. My. Guest!" It only took a moment before Swansea slammed the head of the axe into the glass screen that displayed the beauty that was Earth. You don't know if you genuinely miss the planet, but you'd rather be anywhere than here. As Jimmy went for the axe, it's good he went for it instead of you, since who knew what you'd do with it.

You wonder if Jimmy knew, if they all knew there was something wrong with you, that's why you were going all quiet and not doing anything anymore but staying by Jimmy's side. Maybe they're waiting for you to crack like everyone else is, or maybe you've already cracked and this was your moment to go back to your room, swallow your year's supply of SSRIs, drink three bottles of mouthwash, and try to enjoy the unfortunately catchy music on the radio. 

The journey was a breeze, of course it was, collect the emergency medicine from the red box covered in foam, you're surprised Jimmy did it with no real back talk–Well, that was until Anya came to check in on the two of you. 

"Oh, wow, Jim! You did it!" Anya cheered, "Yeah. It actually wasn’t that hard once I figured it out." "Amazing, really!" "Sure." Oh no, flattery wasn't working. Anya then cleared her throat

"Um. I hate to ask you again…but…Could you give Curly his painkillers? It still just… just makes me so nauseous." A little silence falls between the three of you before Jimmy exasperates, "You’re not serious." Another phase confirms which caused Jimmy to pinch the bridge of his nose before huffing out a sigh,"Look. I’ve entertained your sentimentality up until now. But I’m trying to actually fix things, Anya! I’m getting us through this!"

You were quick to situate yourself between the two of them, “I mean, can you blame her? That shit is horrific to do, I can still feel his—” Jimmy scoffs, “It’s 'Find the code scanner!' Then 'Figure out the door code!’, ‘Get the axe!', ‘'Chop up the foam, but not too much!’ And best of all, ‘'Give Curly his fucking medicine!' But I’m bearing it. I have to. Because the captain has to take fucking responsibility on this goddamn ship!" You flinched at this before scoffing as well, “No one asked you to take on the position,” “So?” “So, don't expect us to sit here and suck your dick for making such a dumb decision you don't even wanna fucking do.” 

Why the hell was he going so hard on Anya for the pills? Anyone else can do it like him, or Swansea, or even Daisuke! He keeps talking about everyone having to do their job and do this and that, but he won't even get on the mechanic to be a mechanic, the intern to be an intern, but he can sit here and chew out a nurse for something she cannot control? “I mean, everyone's choosing to get drunk, and you're not saying anything to the mechanic that's supposed to be helping with the ship or Daisuke to do anything, just because Anya isn't doing anything doesn't mean we're any less closer to being found!” 

You don't remember when your thoughts turned to words, but it's far too late before Jimmy dismissed Anya, "Go make sure Daisuke doesn’t choke on his own vomit.” Anya looks at you as you speak up for her. She's happy that someone finally said something, and if she were in better shape, she wouldn't join you in triumph, but she no longer has that strength. You notice in the way she defeatedly tries to stop the two of you,  "N-no, no I can-" Jimmy just dismisses her, his eyes not leaving your form, "I’ll take care of it, Anya. I always do." With that, you're right behind Jimmy as he heads back to the med-bay. 

The two of you were back to standing above Curly, you and he closer now that you had become forcibly used to seeing the up close ,gory sight of your past captain. You're both silent for a moment before Jimmy speaks, "...I don’t think I understood the pressure you were under before. Fuck. And you tried to tell me." Jimmy gripped the life out of the pills in his hand, and you watched as the veins began to pulse violently around the bottle. 

"Our worst moments don’t make us monsters, huh?" 

You thought for a moment about what Jimmy had said and if it was true until you looked down at Curly once more. "You were a good captain, Curly. And you’ll be one again. I’ll get us both through this." You thought more for a moment, and then some, before you made an offer. “I should feed him.” Jimmy looked to you for a moment, “And why is that?” You're silent for a moment, and then you continue, “You're right about earlier, how people burden you with things and how it's wrong that we have to be the ones who do everything for everyone while they all just wallow in their own self-pity. It's embarrassing. You were…right to tell Anya that.” 

It hurt you more to say such a thing; nonetheless, you had to continue. “You should go get a rest, Captain. You deserve it more than anyone after all, everyone's put you through.” You watch as Jimmy tilts his head in confusion. Anyone would be a fool to pass up having someone who could practically do everything he was doing for a good break, had allowed him to be fully immersed in it all. You put your hand out for the pills, and Jimmy places them into your palm steadily before he dismisses himself.

You turn back to Curly. Once the door is closed, you look to him with an uncaring gaze, the one you had sported when talking to Jimmy had only been for survival, but as you looked down at your captain, you had no care for what he saw in you. 

"Our worst moments don’t make us monsters, huh?” You repeat it, a soft giggle leaving you as you make your way closer to the table, trying not to skip over to it, “We are what we have always been, humans, mammals, animals—The only difference between us and the ones in the forest is that our brains are more self-conscious of ourselves.” You leaned the top part of your body over the table and hung the painkillers in Curly's face, you watched as the blue hope ran towards the bottle like a hungry fish, and you could only tilt your head in awe at the sight. 

“You most likely thought long and hard about doing this, after we'd be all fired after our first mission, how'd you do it, how'd you make it seem like an accident, and how you could fuck us over like this corporate elites had.” You watched how he didn't even direct his attention to you, his eyes stayed glued to those painkillers as if God was hanging them down to him personally, “I don't know if this your worst moment, so I don't know if it defined you as a murderer, but I can tell you that you crashing this ship has done irreparable damage to the people on here.”

You brought the painkillers back to you, his eyes followed, and as he met with this sickening smile on his face, he wondered what could've been going out outside this room. You take your time as you pop open the cap and one of the pills finds your palm, you roll it around your thumb, you wonder if you should just take the whole bottle right in front of him, go back to the red box, and take the rest of them so he can sit there and write for the rest of his life. 

Nonetheless, you did your job. 

Like every good captain has done. 

Discovering heavy-handedness when feeding your former captain, the little whimpers become louder as they snowball into full-bown cries of anguish, and the groans in pain become more aggravated by your movements. You watch as his body convulses and tries to pull itself up, you only continue, one pill at a time, for the necessary dosage. You wanted to fear choking him at this moment, that maybe if you guys are all saved, he is als,o and he tells everyone about all this mistreatment he faced after trying to kill his entire crew. The more you thought about it, the more you found yourself not even caring about wiping the mixture of spit and blood off your hand. 

Silence can't fill this room, as Curly's sobs began to become louder and louder, you listened for the sound of footsteps or the door opening until your work was done. You stayed for a few moments, just hearing him cry out more, wondering if this was your worst moment until you thought of comparing yourself to him… “Eugh.” You gagged at the thought, you ripped your hand out from his throat, covered in his saliva, you only huff as you go to find some hand sanitizer and head to bed yourself, a little smile finding itself when you announced you would be feeding Curly from now on.

You're now just loudly yelling until you're finally interrupted by your captain. “[F/N]! Please!” You continue the dance, spinning back around and continuing the choreography to the best of your abilities. You giggle, snicker, and find yourself with just a big grin on your face as you look over to the captain. The big smile on your face never fades, even by the scowl you're met with when you finally turn around to face your Captain. “I'm sorry, Capitano!” You jokingly roll your eyes, beginning to spin around again, before Jimmy slams his hands on the floor. 

Your shoulders jump, you know he would hit you if he were closer, and you try to hide that fear by stomping on the floor, “I can fucking hit shit too!” Jimmy just scoffs at your obviously insolent behavior. He couldn’t believe that such a kiss ass like yourself would fold under the pressure like Daisuke and Swansea, he thought you were BETTER, I guess? But, like, who is Jimmy to act like he’s better than all of us? ‘Cause he assumed a position for something no one asked him to and now he believes he can use that power to fucking hurt us like what a loser ant bully–” Oh my god, did you see that movie?” Jimmy’s scowl doesn’t hide the anger he has, but now the confused frustration takes over his features as a loud ‘Huh’ escapes him. “Y’know, Ant Bully, the kid he like bullies ants, gets shrunk, and then he learns to stop being a little asshole?” 

A silence falls between the two of you before Jimmy returns to the task at hand. You wonder if he just drags you around, making you watch him do work so you can be ready to take on the position, if you guys even make it off this ship.  “I don't even know why I'm talking to you, you're just…” Jimmy grumbles, you wondered why he even let those words slip past his crusted-over lips, knowing you’re a very emotive drunk. “Pfffft…I don’t even know why you’re still trying when we’re all gonna die on this ship.” Jimmy turns to you and he's conflicted on how in the world you can say something like that, “What?” You scoff back at him, “You heard me!”

Jimmy's shoulders relax, maybe you've gotten through to him, but you wonder if he's actually hearing you. A smile finds its way back on your face as you twirl the tips of your shoes in a little circle with your hands finding themselves behind your backside. 

“I mean, why are you even still sober? It's obvious we might not even be found, I mean, it's been like months, no? Like, if they were gonna come, they would've come already, and so it's like why would I give a fuck about our situation?” Your thoughts are genuine, phrases and words racing around your mind, finally finding their way off your minty tongue and into his ears, and unfortunately, as always, your new appointed Captain had a rebuttal.

“I mean, you could think about how I'm being responsible about this–” You blow a raspberry, blasted by the idea that he could even believe he was being the ‘responsible’. You watch that scowl find its home back on Jimmy’s old mug once more. “Yeah, responsible, Mr. Big man in charge who just takes his little anger out on anyone whenever he gets the chance. What a big, responsible boy!” 

You continue to mock him, your hands flying around all over the place as you go on and on about his faults once more, you know this monologue as well as he knows it since it's been the only thing you could do sober up to put him down, however, you only did it when no one was around though, you remembered the first time you tried to undermine his authority in front of others and you couldn't beat to end up back in the closet. 

Jimmy looked at you with this glazed over look, he couldn't care for a word you're saying, and from the smell of your breath and the ragged movements, he could tell you had yourself at least two or more bottles. The man lets out a huff before he dismisses you, “There's no need for you here, Co-Captian.” You gasp loudly, your hands find themselves slammed onto your cheeks, “You wanted me to be around you all the time, and now you can't stand me, and now it’s like what the fuck am I supposed to do, Captain Jimmy?” 

Jimmy's hand is quicker than your mouth; before you're able to roll out another insult, you're quick to feel the whack against your head and another firm dismal of your presence.

“Go give Curly his fucking medicine.”

You were grateful that the amount of mouthwash you had consumed had allowed the dulling of the pain, and upon finding another, would allow you to feed Curly with ease. Anya wasn't there in the medical area when you began to feed Curly, she was probably hiding out from Jimmy's gaze, seeming as if it was around this time he would go feed her. You don't blame her; being around Jimmy was like being on the subway after dark. 

After doing your task, you find yourself a nice, quiet spot to drink another bottle of mouthwash. Unfortunately, your familiar spot is met by the smell of a familiar cologne and the sound of finger rings clashing together, which results in a hurried gulp. You giggle, and they come to a sudden stop. You make your way completely into the area, the door closing behind you, before you're met by the sight of at least 10 full bottles of mouthwash and the boy you've been trying to avoid this whole trip. 

You groan as you feel the mouthwash in your tummy spin like a washing machine– “Were you ever into Mitski?” “Uh, yeah! I saw her on tour, actually, backstage passes and everything!” You roll your eyes at him, “Stop trying to flex on me.” “Am not!” “Are too!” “Am not!” You missed dumbing down, no more intricate and thorough thoughts of killing yourself, the sense of impending doom, fear of messing up everything you've worked on, your mother, Jimmy, or even your future after this ship. 

All that was on your mind was the idea of another drink entering your system.

You turned to Daisuke, “We haven't done the test in a while…” “Test?” “Y'know, the intake thingy we took like every month–” Daisuke gasps, “Oh my god, we haven't done that in forever!” The young man then turned to you, “That's probably why, like, we're all like this right now…” “What do you mean?” There's a knowing silence that falls between you and Daisuke, “We could do one right now.” You raised a brow, “Huh?” “Yeah!” Daisuke eagerly turns to you, “I'm Nurse Daisuke. Tell me about your experience on the Tuplar!”

You giggle, playing around this goofy little voice as he adjusted his posture with one leg over the other, and you lay down on the floor, similar to a psychiatrist appointment. “Well, Nurse Daisuke, my experience has been…”

Oh, God.

The idea that you'd have to think back on everything that's led you to hear just continues to consume you. You look at Daisuke, your face falling as you think back on everything, “It's been…a lot to say the least…” “Mhm…” Daisuke hums as he fixes his posture and re-crosses his legs, “Please, don’t speak about this to Jimmy-He’s just always such a bitch to deal with, y'know?” You lament, “At first, I felt special? Like all he was doing was just making me think that there was a chance for me to be better than I was now, and I cared for his approval and all that jazz?” 

You pause for a moment, rolling off your back and onto your tummy with your legs in the air like a whimsical little lad. 

“Y’like jazz?” 

Daisuke's eyes lock with yours for a moment before he begins to ‘tsk’,  “Deviation from the questionnaire is against company protocol.” You tilt your head, “When the fuck did you learn the word ‘Deviation’?” Daisuke’s face softens, a noticeable frown appears on the young man, your smile doesn't fall, though, instead your eyes squint as you try to think about why his face had fallen so fast after such an amazing joke. 

A silence falls between the two of you once more before Daisuke then questions, “So, what's going on between the two of you?” Your eyes widen, “I’m sorry?” Daisuke then looks down at the opening between his criss-crossed legs, “Weren't you guys like hooking up or something?” There's clear jealousy in the boy’s tone, but you're too stunned to realize it, “FUCK NO!” This startled Daisuke before he looked away, “I mean, are you sure, because remember when you guys were both in the storage clos–” “No! He was just reprimanding me behind closed doors like some weirdo freak!” 

You then sigh, “It was this sick cycle, he’d compliment me, then he’d backhand me with a little thing, ‘You could’ve been better.’ ‘You could’ve not missed it.’ ‘Why can't you be like Anya?’ ‘Everyone on this ship is against you.’ Blah! Blah! Blah! Well, why the fuck am I even trying then? What the fuck am I gaining? If all it amounts to is him just pulling the rug beneath my feet to see if I’ll float for him.” You then let your head fall onto the cold floor, with your arms extended forward, “What’s even the point of trying anymore?” 

Daisuke puts his hand on your back, you feel all warm and tingly from just one touch, that familiar smell eases itself into your nostrils as the young man gives you a large, toothy smile. 

“Trying your best!” 

You both looked at one another before you both began laughing. It was in the pit of your belly where the lining of your stomach got hot. This feeling allows you to roll onto your side, and Daisuke joins you on the floor before you both roll onto your backs. 

“You remember how we first met?” You ask, Daisuke thinks for a moment before he sighs, “I don't know, since I got ghosted, I just kinda forgot everything…Maybe, you could, I don't know, jog my memory?” You hear the hostility in his voice; it's sudden from the giggle sesh you both just shared, nonetheless, you understand. 

Stupid question. 

Stupid you. 

The embarrassment ignited your cheeks. You didn't know if you wanted to talk about what you guys were at this point. Maybe the mouthwash was making it easier for you to question things and really think back on what once was, but there was clear disdain in Daisuke's voice that was different from what it was before. 

You couldn't just gloss over what you did, Daisuke would never let you do something like that, he'd endure a lot for you–Give up his own heart for you if you need to continue with what he perceived as your brilliant life–But he knew that he couldn't allow you to do this to him again.

“I remember when I was like, deep into Mitski, I told you, ‘If I give up on being pretty, I wouldn’t know how to be alive.’ That’s when you told me, ‘Good thing you’re always pretty!’” Daisuke feels this nostalgia in the pit of his stomach, though this isn't the shared warmth of the blush of your stomach’s inner lining; instead, it's the disgust of his childish mind to believe you'd genuinely want to think fondly about the relationship between you and him. 

All those thoughts only give him a bad taste in his mouth, like the smell of boiled spinach; he feels the burning of vomit in his throat as he thinks back to those words you once said to him and the idea of what you shared with him.  “You were just fucked up on shit from the party, but my god, hearing you tell me that made me feel better. Every time I thought about you saying that to me, I felt nothing but amazed by how someone can stay so positive when everyone seems so drained with me.” 

You roll off your back and onto your side to face Daisuke, “I’ve always felt like a pit, like when my mom found out I cut myself, she talked about everything good she’s done for me and how she had more of a reason to be sad than me, and if she really did have more of a reason to be sad than me and she felt better than I did then what was I doing? Was I just being the fuck up? A pit? No matter how good things are, my first time finally having consensual sex, having someone stay and hold me, to not want to leave, to want to be around me even after it all, was I always just a pit where nothing would ever fill me, and I'd be constantly searching for the next person?”

Daisuke doesn't look back; he doesn't even budge. 

As bright as it is for you to cut yourself open and show him your guts, he can't turn to face it, to address it, he only continues to look forward.  “I abandoned you, though, for some reason I just ghosted you. I'm sorry for that, genuinely.” Daisuke's ears perked up. “You feel bad about what you did?” You nod eagerly, as if he could see you, “I left you because I didn’t want you to be consumed by me and all the shit I have going on. I never had someone so into me? You’re so…magnificent, not even just with the mouthwash, you’re always this stunning art piece that no one can ever harness…” 

Daisuke’s head turns to you, and a question shoots out of your mouth, “Did you really care when I left?” The young man holds his glare towards you; he's only doing it so he doesn't break down in front of you and allow you to believe you've gotten him again. Though the words find themselves like vomit, “I was bummed the fuck out.” Daisuke spat at you. He's quick and curt, turning his head back up to face the ceiling.  

“I thought, how did I fuck this up? I did everything right; the only thing you owed me was an explanation, but I never got it. Ever. It was so embarrassing after I defended you to everybody, my friends told me that you weren't going to stay here, we weren't compatible, and that all these feelings I was feeling were just temporary high school relationship feelings.” Daisuke's arms wrapped around him, “I was so alone…I sat there and thought if somebody was as great, as smart, as strong, as amazing as you, couldn't love me, then would I ever be loved again?” 

Daisuke hiccuped; he wanted to beat himself up for slipping up like that as the stinging of his eyes only allowed a single salty tear to roll down his tanned cheek. You feel your heart constrict, a snake wrapped around it tightly, and clench in hopes you'd die from the loving feeling. 

“I mean, I was always weird–Not was. I still am. Nothing’s changed from Elementary, to middle school, to high school. . .In college, people hit on me. I was ‘good looking’ but what if people got to know me, the real me, like you did, and I’m just not that good enough for them…” Daisuke’s eyes fell closed, you’d see his cheeks glisten under the sparse red light in the room, and you feel your back freeze against the floor.  

“And it was so hard to date outside of you, you were so genuine with everything that if they didn't act exactly like you, I didn't want anything to do with them. It made me think about whether I'm really interesting and outgoing, or am I'm just impulsive and weird? I don’t understand what people are telling me, I say people’s names too much and they get irritated, and people always look to me to be the slacker one and they ask for me drugs but I've only ever done weed, y'know?”

Daisuke sighs, he thinks back on all those memories like when you both snuck to parks at night just to get on the swings, dying his hair colors that pissed off his father, going to dances just to spend the whole time with each other shitting on it, laughing at inside jokes, trusting enough to become physically—“I really didn't want to do this internship but my parents felt so bad about me, I didn't do anything and I never thought I was really good at anything besides baseball. I was just wasting their money partying and drinking, but when I decided to show them my grades, they were disappointed in me. I didn't do anything to try and fix it either, I got put on academic probation, and that's when they told me I needed to settle down on what I was doing at this instant…” 

You nodded before you heard Daisuke’s body turn around to face you, your mirror his actions, and the two of you look into each other's eyes, “I'm sorry for leaving you, Daisuke, it's just…My mom would've never liked you, and I couldn't endure–” Daisuke let out a loud, irritated groan, “Are you fucking  serious?” Your face freezes, flinching as he shoots up from his position, “This isn't about your mom, I would've stayed regardless of what she said.” You rolled back onto your back to look at him, “Yeah, but that's because you wanted to, but I didn't want you to endure–” “That's not your call to make at all!” “It’s just–” “No!” 

Just listen.

“I just wanted to be with you, anything that you did I was happily able to just go be with you and just be by your side no matter what, no matter what your mom said, no matter what my parents said, no matter if the whole world said that we wouldn't end up together, I was assured that we had something that nobody could do anything against. It was me and you against the world, and now I'm just sitting here wondering why you left me for the world? The fact that you became friends with the people you even like, that you dated people you told me you couldn't stand, wearing outfits your mother wanted you to wear–I get that you wanted to appease your mom, but holy shit, I just wanted you in any capacity–Hell, we could've done long distance!” 

Daisuke's cheeks were shiny like a porcelain doll; it seems like nothing on his face could hurt or ruin him–God, he was even a pretty crier.

“I just wanted you to pick me over that, you picked me over everyone and then…when we…” There's a quiver in his voice, you sit up, trying to reach out and comfort him, but he only flinches from your touch,  he staggers a few steps away from you and for a moment you feel like you're scaring an injured puppy, “You left me for people who didn't even like you, who you insulted, who you stood up against to tell them I would amount to something–And then, you fucking left me!” 

Your head cowardly shoots down, you can't even look him in the eyes with the amount of embarrassing moments that flood your mind. 

“I used to replay the morning after over and over, coming back to my room and finding out you just left.” You sigh, taking another swing, trying to stop your glassy eyes from becoming waterworks, “I didn't do it properly, but there isn't a right way to disappear from someone–” Daisuke hugs, slamming his head into his hands, “You ghosted me, [F/N]. I defended us to everyone, I told them we didn't need a label, that we were different than that, that it's just high school and high school's complicated, but if we made it out of high school, that would most guarantee that we would still be together in some capacity.”

Daisuke then shouted, “You didn't even wanna be friends! As soon as shit got hard, you bailed!” The tears rolled down his cheeks, the sound of them hitting the floor was the only thing that filled your ears when you were met with the agonizing sound of him sniffling and stifling his tears.

“I was a coward, you made me feel things I didn't even know were possible in this lifetime, you need me to believe that there was something beyond me just getting the degree my mom's always wanted and then killing myself after doing all she wants.” You then took another deep breath in, you both looked down, not being able to look at one another, “If I stayed with you, she'd cut me off, if I stayed with you, I'd ruin you–” “You did ruin me.” 

Daisuke then sighed, “You made my standards so high that I thought for so long that you just died, that there was no way you could leave since there were no si–signs of it.” You remembered those voice cracks in early adolescence, the braces that used to adorn his teeth, and the sight of his eager face to tell you a new album he just listened to; you could only pick your head up and watch the nightmare you made just for yourself.

Daisuke’s eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, barely able to stay open through the flood of tears that streaked down his cheeks; his face glistened in the low red light and highlighted his flushed tan skin. His mouth trembled, parted slightly as ragged sobs spoke through, and gas too short to be called breathing, he tried to hold back, and when he couldn't, he just wrapped his arms around you. 

It was too quick for you to respond; you were squeezed like a viper, his nose digging deep into your neck as he brought you closer to him to feel your body heat once more.

“The worst part is that I never stopped loving you…” 

Each inhale hitches his throat; he's sniffling at the confession, he cuts him open himself, following the same scar he's done a thousand times before.

Did you wear him down? 

The physical expression was raw, unguarded, wrecked–It was human. It was so…Daisuke. The feelings he displayed had no care for who saw them, just this need to be seen, to be known, to be truthful. Daisuke then quickly sighed. He felt rushed to get it all out before this feeling left him like it always did. When he got drunk, it was so hard for him to cry. 

Daisuke ‘Life of the Party' Juarez was distraught by how influential you stayed in his life. 

This close and intimate connection he had with you for so long, which ended after he gave himself away physically to you, killed him; he couldn't see himself being emotional with anyone else after such a devastating loss. You knew that, you hated that, no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself that leaving Daisuke was for the best and the two of you were bringing the worst out of each other, you had nothing to do but to accept the fact that what you did was wrong. 

All of it.

You allow him to sob into the crook of your neck, your arms find themselves under his and around his waist, you pull him in close, and his grip loosens as he feels your embrace surround him. Desperation that said never again. It wasn't graceful or soft; it was squeezing the life out of you and shivering like it was below 60 degrees, as jeweled fingers looked for any fabric to clench onto and dig their colored nails into. 

It was keeping you both tethered to reality while allowing you both to relieve yourselves of the situation. Both of your bodies fit together like a memory–irreplaceable.  “I'm so sorry, Daisuke…for everything…” The young man only sobs louder, you willingly endure this even if for the rest of your life, if it means you could be with him once more. You rub his back with your index finger, making a figure eight. He admires your memory from those times you'd be lying up in bed with him. Daisuke's posture softens; he's allowed this one moment in the field of all of this madness to get this familiar feeling that he's yearned for all these years. After what feels like a lifetime worth of hugs, you two pull away from one another, your hands still lingering on one another in hopes that you guys can be this close with each other forever.

There's a silence that falls upon the two of you, both looking to one another for the answer, before Daisuke sighs, just looking at you. Now that everything has calmed down, you both find your eyes on each other's lips, staring with an almost hypnotized gaze. It was a knowing feeling from the two of you, and yet, you knew you couldn't kiss him, not right now, not like this, not after all this shit you put him through. 

You notice his eyes on your lips, his spine rattling with anticipation, but you think about how this could be a moment of weakness for both of you, that you didn't want to ruin this moment like you did before, and you wouldn't allow Daisuke to ruin it for himself either.

It was the mouthwash, most definitely, just the mouthwash.

You both looked to each other, in hopes the other knew what the next move was, but the two of you could only tear yourselves away from one another once more. “It–It’s getting late...” You spoke, Diasuke’s honey brown eyes looked into yours, and you felt yourself torn by your own decision, “You think so?” The softness of his tone–God, his voice made your heart leap out of your chest, but you're quick to snatch it up and put it back. 

“I know so, Daisuke.”

You both get up and make your way back towards the lounge area where your guys’ bedding was, the gang had decided to pull them over to the front of the screen, whilst you guys get comfortable under the blankets you hear a groan from Swansea, he rolls over in his sleep and it suddenly becomes silent, Daisuke makes the same noise in response causing you to snicker. 

Silence falls between the two of you before you repeat his groan to Daisuke, and the two of you stifle your laughter with tears building up in your eyes, the once orange setting sun imagery on the screen now displaying the dark blue night with stars sprinkled about. 

You take another swig of mouthwash, your tummy aching, but your mind is pulled into the pleasure of limited thoughts. 

Daisuke gets silent, he turns back to face the screen, and is lost in the night sky while you're lost in his face. The glow allows all of his features to be highlighted in such a loving face, you find yourself lost in his moles, his fluttery lashes, and his always moisturized lips–You accept your decision, and you turn to face the screen alongside him. 

Daisuke breaks the silence with a question, “If we survive this, and we get really famous, you think I can be a baseball player?” You turn your body to look at him, and he does the same in response upon hearing you. There he is, with a smug smile on his face and eyes creased by his big smile, and that tells you all you need to know. 

 “Of course you can.” Daisuke lets out a soft giggle, which leaves you also just giggling at the scene. You're both most definitely still impacted by the mouthwash, but it feels more natural this way, something that nothing could compare to before. 

You fall asleep more quickly when you're inebriated, it's helped a lot during your most stressful times with Jimmy. You're allowed to be in these high-quality dreams that feel so real to you, and in this dream, you're alone, reading on this nice, soft couch, and far, far away from the Tuplar. 

Breaking News !

The Tuplar remains that have been recently under investigation, after the closure of Pony Express, one of the last manned crew freighter companies, which suspended its manned crews almost 10 years ago, before the company's closure. It seems that two bodies are locked in a cryogenics chamber—We have someone on site at the hospital. Bodies that were also found around the Tuplar are also put into the morgue upon returning to Earth. Our thoughts and prayers are with the family. 

The television plays loudly through the white room; it echoes through the eerily quiet area, and you wonder if this is really what you were forced to be given. You don't know how old you are when you wake up in the hospital room; you just want the television off so you can go right back to sleep. 

It seemed your mother made a big deal of your disappearance, her last years spent trying to find her missing baby, but you wonder if she did it because she cared or because she knew she couldn't start over if you were gone. You're not surprised that she's absent from your side, but what you do find is Daisuke's older sister with her father and mother. You can hear some quiet gasps from the other side, which reveal two little children you assumed were hers.

The woman looks at you in awe, her eyes lost in your aged face, before she begins to find her cheeks riddled with tears. She latches onto you without hesitation, and you're shocked that someone could find themselves at your hip. 

Though you're not surprised that it's Daisuke’s sister who finds this fondness for you instantly. Even her children comment on it as they follow around their mother to surround your bed. “You knew our mom's brother?” You only nod in return; their mother eagerly hushes them, “Boys, please, don't overwhelm ‘em.” Though you can hear her father as he puts his hand on her shoulder, “You might also need to ease up, Issa.” 

You can hear the door close, and you wonder where Daisuke's mom went. You allowed ice case sister's warm arms to wrap around you and you can feel her tightening grip whilst she begins to rub her hands up and down your back, it was grounding in a way that feels undeserved, and you don't hug back at first–Not because you don't want to, but because your body hasn't learned how to accept the things given to you yet.

Eventually, though, you allow your face to find the crook of her neck, and the smell of her perfume makes you feel like you're on a beach with a pina colada.

You don't remember agreeing to go anywhere, only that the hospital dissolves into motion—paperwork, voices during tests, and the studies that continue the need to fill out all signs that you’re ready to be dismissed. An insistence that you shouldn't be alone right now. You just nod, nod in response to everything, shake your head when you need to, and avoid your reflection at all costs. 

The house is filled with baked goods, a hint of tonkatsu fills the air, his mother tells you that she's already beginning to make dinner as they head to the hospital to do a nightly prayer over you before heading back home, she's so grateful to have you here, they all are and continue to eagerly express it every time you're in the same room as then.

There's clean clothes being brought from their laundry room, warm oil from the kitchen that's still popping as new slices are being prepped for your additional plate, and the faint trace of citrus that clings to the hallway as you begin to make your way up the stairs. You're not surprised, a variety of fruits were found in a bowl in the living room, alongside the upstairs hallway, the kitchen island table, and the front door, just in case Daisuke woke up a little late and missed breakfast. 

Though the smell of oranges clings to your nose upon reaching Daisuke's room, a small wooden basket before the door had almost 8 of them with a little sticky note on top. You don't know why you're standing in front of his door before dinner anyway, you're embarrassed by the colorful assortment of letters cut out from magazines when you first decorate his new room after he moved a bit farther, from being only a couple of blocks away.

The bike he had was probably still on the patio outside, locked up, waiting for Daisuke to come and unlock it to make his way down to your house during the times his father and mother used the car for work. Do you hear the way they talk about Daisuke? It's like they're just waiting for him to come down for dinner; in a way, you're waiting like a puppy dog in hopes he comes out of the room.

You almost whimper before his sister finds you. She's quickly on your back as her hands find your shoulders, you're met by her teeth, which are stained a slight yellow, and when she talks, you can see the brown on your tongue from what you assume is coffee.

The woman doesn't take long to usher you down for dinner, they give you simple yes or no questions at the table, even Daisuke's nephews try to be more easy with their questions towards you. You only tilt your head when you try to help with the dishes, you're quickly stopped by Daisuke's mother, who only tells you to get ready for bed, so you begin to take out the pull-out mattress from the couch that Daisuke's mother would use when extended family comes over.

You're about to pull it out before Daisuke's sister gasps, she quickly ushers you upstairs, and you find yourself in her room. It's a lot more bare than it was before. She had taken all her stuff with her to college when you and Daisuke were in middle school. It had some random paintings she did while she was in high school, a Renaissance lover who loved immersing her multiculturalism into the pieces that you admired as you sat on her bed. 

Daisuke's sister caught you staring at one of her and Daisuke during his quinceañera, you don't remember it too well since you showed up midway through after sneaking out. It was him in a nice suit with his sister next to him with the biggest smile on her face, then the other, which was a painting of her holding Daisuke in the hospital. You could feel her eyes burn into you as she watched you watch the painting. 

You waited for her to leave the room. She gave you one last hug and bid you goodnight. You stayed up staring at the ceiling above for hours; it gave you time to vocalize your thoughts in your mind, but you weren't ready to listen to your voice.

If it aged, or changed, or was something you wouldn't recognize anymore. 

That's what terrified you at this moment.

You found your feet against the cold wood floor. As the door creaked open, you could see Daisuke's mother come to replace the oranges in front of his door. You could hear her soft whimpers, but she didn't break out into a full-out sob. You assumed she had already known about her son's demise, having it confirmed when she had to plan his funeral was something that left your heart aching for the woman.

There isn't time to mess up a good thing, so you leave the room unchecked. You don't try to sneak into the room, the only thing that woman has left of her son; you can't ruin that for her, as you ruined him. 

Once you awake the next morning, it's Daisuke's sister dropping off her children at school. There's a silence as she begins to drive to a park. It was one she and Daisuke frequented, “I actually took him here when he accidentally took my edibles.” The woman takes a moment, and then some, and you can hear the way her voice begins to crackle before she turns to you.

“We've been talking…My father and I,” she says gently, eyes fixed on the grand view of the park. “About a press release. Just something small we hear about, that even your Captain Curly has taken the new additions to his body like a duck to water…” You find your view broken by the trees, then fix your eyes on Daisuke's sister…

“I beg your pardon?”

You don't hear your voice as your own; you watch her face slowly be filled with shock, but she continues regardless of her point, and you admire this family's perseverance. “Just something small that they plan on doing, it's going to be live televised, and there's a chance you'll be able to talk about what happened, how everything ended up the way they did, so people stop asking questions that aren't theirs to ask.” 

Your eyebrows furrow; regardless, you nod in agreement. “You're right.” The woman gives you a smile, you feel your body heat up as you feel her eyes begin to crease the same way, although she had many more beauty marks on her face than Daisuke, it still feels like being lost in those honey colored eyes.

This time, you initiated the hug. There's an eagerness to return it; soon enough, she begins to sob, and you allow her this grief. You rub her back more soothingly, circling your thumbs into her shoulder blades, which causes her to ease her harsh sobs into soft whimpers. 

The hug lasted for what felt like an hour; you were met by her puffy eyes as she continually thanked you for being there. You wondered if Daisuke needed this when you left, if he had done the same thing about you to his sister. You don't know if he ever told them what happened to you, and they seemed so eager to have you back in there, regardless of the gap spanning more than a decade. 

Daisuke's funeral came and went, ashes stood in a loving urn decorated with hibiscus, and there was still a tombstone thanks to donations. You're grateful for the number of people that attended, you watched as Daisuke's father and sister stood their ground by denying people questions during the service, and trying to overwhelm his mother. 

Upon reaching the cemetery, you decided to stay back, Daisuke's family unfortunately not agreeing with such an idea, as they agreed to wait in the hearse for you as you went to look for your mother's grave. 

Your mother's grave is smaller than you expected. It's clean and maintained. Someone cared enough to keep it that way, even if you never felt it well, she was alive. You're quick to find your bottom on the grass, no care for the clothes you're probably staining, and the sight of her being just a mother on the tombstone leaves you conflicted.

There's something in you that made you want to tell her that you hated her that you hated how miserable she had grown up and how you wished that you could have knocked out the bloodline from the beginning that if given another chance at life you would just kill yourself when you were a child you tell her how small she made the world and how you for everything was a test you are always wrong.

You want to tell her about the ship. 

About Daisuke. 

About how right she was right that God just wanted you to be alone.

You want to tell her how you don't forgive her for everything she's done to you, how tired you are of caring for her, but when you stand to leave, the world doesn't feel lighter; things just feel empty, the way they always did. 

Back at the house, the lights are low. You pause in front of the door again, fresh new oranges with another note on them, it's in Mandarin, and the characters have noticeably changed from before. You wonder briefly if this is what coming back is supposed to feel like, this hollow and empty feeling that only becomes a bottomless pit with you practically floating in the sea of your issues and thoughts, left with nothing to contemplate but the reality you're being forced to deal with.

The press release was ushered upon the people finding out you stayed at the Juarez residence, you made the executive decision to move to a motel despite the family's wanting to keep you there. They were happy you were speaking, Daisuke's mother using it as a point that they were really helping you be better for your future, that they'd help you get back on your feet, and so on. 

Though you disappear without a trace. You go through the streets in a baseball cap and a mask, looking for formal attire for the upcoming panel. The outfit is formal in the way that makes you feel like you're going to a court: neutral colors, no sharp lines, nothing that might be read as emotional. It fits your body, but not your sense of time, as you try not to look at yourself in the mirror longer than you need to be.

Maybe they were helping you, despite the fact that you were hurting them with the letters and people showing up to question you and the family. Daisuke's family was a bunch of Daisuke's themselves, it honestly brought a smile how many times they talked and you could hear Daisuke's voice say those exact words to you. 

You don't know how old you're supposed to look when you show up, you're honestly embarrassed as no one really mentioned years. The time you spent so long on that ship for calendars meant nothing now that you were here. 

Alive and existing…

The room they bring you to is a little bright, you rode over with Daisuke's sister who gave you a pep talk about how if the questions become too deep that you can signal her to say something, she asks if you want her to join you on the panel, just in case anything happens. 

You lovingly tell her there's no need, and soon enough you're making your way to a chair on the platform. Families sit in the neat rows before you, hands folded and eyes fixed forward. Daisuke's immediate family is there, you see Swansea's adult kids, and soon enough you see Curly's family begin to make their way into the area. 

One of your biggest fears is that you'll see your mother's face in the crowd praying she would just walk right out that coffin and apologize to you, for everything, how losing her baby changed everything and made her want to be better for you.

Though the only other person to come through that door is Anya's mother, you're surprised by the fact that she's not as aged as Daisuke's parents or Curly's father, you're lost in her features as it feels like Anya is walking right into the room–You quickly rip your eyes away from hers before you find the same images of her bloodied body beginning to flood your mind.

You wonder if Curly also feels this way, and soon enough he's making his way up the platform to you.

The technology is impossible in the way that only corporate funded rehabilitation ever is–invasive, expensive, and still incomplete. A spinal exoskeleton to brace his legs, glossy white and threaded with fiber optic cables that pulse faintly with each assisted step, neural pads hug his temples, translating intent into movement. His hands shake when lifts them and from what you can hear from him ushering his family to their seats, his voice comes through a synthesized modulation, slightly delayed, flattened at the edges.

You're glad it sounds nothing like him. 

One word from his mouth and you were sure you'd light the whole place up. 

There are people that stare at him, not like they do you but with an uncomfortableness at his exposed nature. 

You're dressed up in an outfit you don't know if you like now, you know it's appropriate for someone your age–But how old are you? No one's saying anything like a date, and even if they did, you've been on that ship for god knows how long.

Curly doesn't even face, you watch as he's the first to make his way behind the podium and soon enough the screen flickers to life from behind him. The Pony Express logo appears first, it's the outdated one you saw on the ship, you had heard that they changed it after the company went under and tried to rebrand, regardless, it stays the same as it was when you were on the ship.

“Cans or sludge, that's a mockery of what I had ever thought of. Not being able to sleep for more than 5 hours or we're docked credits, credits that are then used to pay us,” Curly begins, a voice mechanical but steady. 

You watch as he pauses before he finally turns to face you for the first time, you find those piercing blue bloodshot eyes back to when he reprimanded you for speaking out of turn or him on that table feeding him those meds.

Does he remember when you beat him?

Will he tell them what you did?

Or is it just another accident?

Curly seems to also be lost in a trance by your age, he remembered your colorful accessories and eager nature to get the job done, the only control you had was your wardrobe when you left the house under the watchful eye of your mother. There was now an adult sitting in place of you, but to be honest, all he saw was that same teenager still sitting there with hair not as long as it was now, or the uncaring expression that plagued your face, or the dried blood and vomit choked that coated your face. 

“If I was ever going to survive that cryopod, if I was ever given the ability to talk about what happened on the Tuplar…then I owe you all the truth…” 

Soon enough the screen changed behind him, to logs, schedules, ID Card photos that caused some gasps and quiet cries from the families as they saw their once beloved members once more. 

Curly goes day by day, no metaphor, no excuses.

You listen as he begins to talk about Jimmy first–the favoritism he played with amongst the crew, especially when it came to when you and Anya reported his predatory nature to the both of you, the excuses he made for the man, the way he allowed aggression to masquerade into incompetence. 

Curly names Jimmy's outburst.

The threats.

The way everyone learned to stay quiet around him.

“Jimmy, was the one who crashed the ship after he had…sexually assaulted a member of the Tuplar.” Curly's voice stutters as he says her name, “Anya was raped by Jimmy. Repeatably. Using pills from the medical room that I had noticed had been coming short but continued to act none the wiser. I told myself that I would handle it, I told him I would handle it, that we could all sit down and talk about the situation…unfortunately, she was impregnated. Anya was terrified to the point where she had hidden the emergency weapon in a place only she knew, she told me countless times of how he wanted him off the ship, his constant and inappropriate behavior towards her, and instead of confronting him. I coddled him.”

Curly took a deep breath, “When Anya told Jimmy he…spiraled, and crashed the ship to a meteor off course. I ran to the room after the crash to try and steer the ship off the course…but it was too late, I spent the remainder of my time on the medical bay being taken care of by Anya and F/N, who oftentimes fed me my painkillers. Then, after F/N defined themselves from Jimmy after he got a hold of the gun in the emergency case, we were both put into the last remaining cryopod.” 

When Curly finally decides to lift his head from the mic and towards the families his voice then drops, “I allowed it all to happen.” He first turns to Daisuke's family, “Your son died because I believe keeping the ship operational mattered more than keeping people safe. I'm sorry.” He then repeats the same apology to Anya’s mother who's shell shocked face is now forced into Curly's memory until the day he dies, then to his family he apologies for being such a failure that his mother had raised him better and he understood what it meant if he was to be left.

There is no defense.

No justification.

Just an explanation and apology, laid bare and insufficient to the families that are now being force fed the torture their loved ones endured in their final moments.

When it's over, no one applauds.

No one forgives him.

That isn't the point.

Soon enough, it was your time to give the statement, where you explained what happened after it all.

You tell them everything.

Your heart aches violently as you speak about your fellow coworkers on board the Tuplar. 

“Anya and Daisuke were my only true friends on board the Tuplar, I found myself confiding in both of them and with their existence the months after the crash allowed me to feel better after being abused and belittled by Jimmy.” You sigh, “Anya had swallowed all the rest of the medication left in the med bay after months upon months, I didn't know she was pregnant, I had no idea she was being abused by Jimmy and I wish I had known so I could've done more for her.” 

You choke up as you continue, nothing to hear but your very own tears hit the podium, “Daisuke was put out of his misery after Jimmy had told him to go into the vent leading to the medical room to save Anya when we wanted to help her at what Daisuke and I believed was a psychotic break, he suffered injuries that result in multiple lacerations on his body from a previously damaged vent. Swansea was the one who used the axe to stop his slow death after Jimmy poured mouthwash onto his wounds since we lacked any wound cleaner that we had been using for Curly's body.”

A silence falls as you try to think about your approach for the end, though you try your hardest to make sure you can properly assemble yourself before the crowd, “Swansea was shot by Jimmy, something I only found out after keeping Daisuke company whilst he was dying. Then, Jimmy put all the bodies at the table like a final supper. Jimmy cut off Curly's flesh from his leg and he ate it then forced me to eat it as well, it went on like that for days, I think, before we had our quarrel where the cryopods were being kept. I…I hurt him, I beat on him until I shot him and locked Curly and I in the cryopods.” 

You then nod with silence still in the room, after you finish talking there begins an eruption of questions and sobs allowing you to fully take control of the individuals. Soon enough, you and Curly were dismissed. Both of you are going behind the stage to share a one on one chat with one another. You don't waste a second, finding your hand on his cheek as fast as possible. 

A smack you had been yearning for such a long time. 

Curly doesn't say anything as you sigh, feeling the hot tears begins to prickle your eyes, “You don't…You could never understand what the fuck I have been through to just end up here…” You find your heart pounding against your chest, flames licking at your vocal chords, “Ever since I was a kid, I've always wanted to die. Until…Daisuke? It felt like…” You looked at Curly for a moment, but you see those blue eyes as nothing more than a reason you're now stuck in this situation.

“Before Tuplar, Daisuke and I were…” You look around for the word, you try to think about what you and Daisuke had for a moment if it was the relationship you believed he and you shared or if it was just some teenage fling that happens to break each other before college. 

“I loved Daisuke, and I'm sure as hell he loved me too but I was too scared for him to realize that. I was hoping it would be like the last relationships, where I just kind of went along with whatever my partner wanted and I just existed? I was like a dog to be showed off, cared for, seen as equal, reprimanded when needed and then…” 

A soft sigh leaves you, “Daisuke made that part feel nicer, like I wasn't just a lifeless blow up doll taking whatever was given to me but was an actual human, but not just a human. I was loved, loved so hard that I didn't have to worry about being careless when I knew there was someone to always fall on…but, I didn't. I couldn't just sit there and be loved, I kept overthinking it, what would happen after college, what would happen if I got pregnant, what would happen if one day he decided to love me but Daisuke, being Daisuke, would just lie to me just let me be happy and live in the security of love.” 

You could feel your eyes get hot with the tears brimming your bottom lashes, you don't wipe them though since who could stop you now. “One night, we had sex…It was the first I had ever had consensual sex with anyone before then and I had genuinely enjoyed it? Sure, he was awful the way any inexperienced person was but I didn't focus on how bad he was with his hands or if he accidentally went too rough because after everything, he'd ask me if I was okay–” You choke oh phlegm building up in your throat as the tears begin to boil over your cheek. 

“I always felt like my life was passing me by, childhood, preteen, teenaged years, being a young adult–It’d not that I don't remember it's just what is there to remember? I was just there. Existing day by day, because I had to. That's it. But, when it came to Daisuke I felt like I had to be in the moment. He'd ask me everything, like how I felt about something, how it tasted, if I liked it, if I cared, if I wanted to be somewhere, what I wanted to do. It was weird to be put first in a world that always saw me as just another homosapien. I never resented him for it, or hated him for loving me but…I was terrified, terrified someone could see me as he saw me, terrified because I knew I'd always be the way I am and I hate the way I am. I couldn't allow him to feel so happy with me the way we did that night, the many nights before, the days before, the months, the years–I can't allow him to be this happy with something that was never going to last.” 

A silence falls between the two of you, nothing but your soft sobs as your fists balled up to find your face. You wondered if Curly would comfort you, if he had it in him to bring that hand on your shoulder and try to tell you it's okay. Though, you already know what to expect from him. So, you quickly sniffle and suck up what you can do. You continue to allow all your entrails to continue to obscenely plop onto the floor before the man.

“As a child, what I've wanted more than anything was to be dead. I knew what was going to happen, when my mom kept pushing me and telling me to be better, to do better, when she belittled Daisuke to me and to his face, no matter what he did, there was nothing that was going to stop me from fulfilling my purpose on this earth which I had decided on all those years ago.” Curly questions it, “A purpose?” You only nod, your wet eye lashes flutter close as you can't look him in the eyes as you tell him, like a bad child admitting they've broken a vase, “Get the degree my mother always wanted, and then I'll kill myself.” 

A defeating silence falls between the two of you, allowing your eyes to open once more, you're met by the sight of the fear stricken look on Curly's face. Your eyes don't meet his, it takes a few minutes before Curly begins to speak up, “Hey. We all tried to escape. Didn’t work for any of us. I’ve thought many times, 'Is this what peace feels like? And, is it good enough?' If I’m being real, it certainly isn’t the best." So all I can do is try to make my life one I’m not trying to run from all the time. Sometimes I’ll be promoted, buy a house, fall in love. But other times I’ll just have some awful fucking cake with my friend. But now…What do I do when everything is gone?”

You only huff out a sigh, you feel your nails begin to dig into your palms with irritation at that stupid look on his face and then he began to speak, “In that quietness, in the cryogenics pod, in my mind, I continued to replay those months I spent with my crew ultimately leading up to me ending up in the pod. It was a repeat, and as soon as I was in the cryogenics chamber it would just restart all over again–”

You’re quick to cut him of, “I saw what Anya did, when she killed herself, why she did it in that room…It all made sense to me in that moment, and the fact you couldn't even look me in the eyes or her mother just tells me all I need to fucking know.” 

You can hear him try to explain himself, just like he did on the stage, he tries to apologize again and you don't listen to him.

“Shut the fuck up, Orion.” 

You take in another breath as Curly finally begins to shut up,  “No one else can talk. Not you, not Jimmy, not Swansea, not Daisuke, not Anya.” questions rise up, it doesn't need to. 

Your job is done.

It clicks for you in that moment that there's no need to continue, to allow him in your personal business if all you were going to be met was by the same pointless apologies that did nothing but allow him to bask in the light that was a new job opening after the whole crew had been let go.

“Bigger and brighter things, huh?”

There's no resolution.

No lesson neatly learned.

“Let's hope you still have that going for you.”

Just two people departing and taking in the weight of what they survived—and what he allowed.  And somewhere behind it all, the knowledge that telling the truth didn't save anyone. It only made sure that the story couldn't be buried with the ship. 

Curly gets dropped off by his extended family, his parents and siblings can't face him for the moment as they practically grieve the man Curly was believed to be. There's the same apartment that has awaited him for a long time, learning how to use the equipment in the hospital was the only human interaction outside of his family. 

The man can't sleep that night, he can't even bring himself to the room as he lays on the couch just staring up at the feeling or staring off the terrace into the night sky during the crack of dawn.

The neural interface hums softly at his temples as the system brings his body online. Assisted movement, manual breathing, a completely relied on system that was guaranteed and necessary to keep him alive. His legs didn't hurt anymore, not really–they just didn't belong to him. The exoskeleton that locks into place with the clock he had been becoming slowly familiar with.

Curly wakes to hate, he doesn't even know why he even opened the phone his brother had gotten him, it vibrated profusely on the wood floor until he silenced it. There were no real new groceries since he had been going to his family’s house for dinner every night, removal from the family group chat guaranteed his belief that he was disowned for the time being. 

If Jimmy taught him anything, then a hunch isn't just a hint.

The man decided no breakfast for him, what is the point in eating when he can't even taste anymore. 

So, he reaches for his remote with hands that still don't feel like hands.

Soon enough the television turns on.

BREAKING NEWS !

A survivor of the Tuplar tragedy was found dead earlier this morning. A self inflicted gun shot wound found in the head of a body found in an empty motel. Authorities have confirmed the death has been ruled a suicide. A note has also been recovered but has not been released to the public as it's still being held in evi–

Curly stares at his reflection of the black screen of the now powered off television, he's just looking back into those same blue blood shot eyes before you call his name. 

“Orion…”

He laughs.

It slips out of him, sharp and sudden, bouncing against the walls of the room with nothing stopping from it becoming louder and louder. There's a vocal fry, with his voicebox overheating from the strain on his vocal chords, sounds wrong coming through the vocal modulation, flattened and artificial, like the system doesn’t know how to process it.

“Of course,” he says to no one. “Of-fucking-course.”

The laugh keeps going longer than it should, a wheeze leaving him before his modulation begins to go wrong leaving him to be met by a much more different sound. It's like he's watching Jimmy find the gun in the medical room all over again, as his shoulders shake, his chest tightens. 

The system flags irregular breathing, but it doesn’t intervene fast enough.

The laughter breaks.

What replaces roars from his throat.

Curly’s hands curl uselessly in his lap as the sound turns inward, collapsing into something wet and broken. He bows his head, forehead resting against the cold brace of the exoskeleton, and for the first time since the Tuplar, he doesn’t try to steady himself.

And Curly continues to cry, God knows how long, trapped in a body that works just well enough to keep him alive, knowing—with a clarity no technology can soften–that even now, even after everything, survival was never the same thing as being saved.

The sobs that escape him are now from his throat, the voice modulation decommissioned without a care from Curly as he continues to allow himself to sob, even just for this moment.

A real, true cry.

Something he deserved after everything. 

Anya…Musume? Maybe it was a lack of attention you paid in school, but God, you couldn't read cursive to save your life. Looking at her name card, you could tell who she was. She was the nurse on deck and who you'd be spending your time with. Luckily for you, you'd given this time to really take in your surroundings, and by taking your surroundings, be stuck with Jimmy for a majority of the duration of your trip.

It peeved you to say the least, and you couldn't help but hate how much Jimmy was going to be around you, and how much this was definitely going to affect your relationship given the situation.

Your eyes laid on Anya, she was gorgeous, in fact, one of the most prettiest girls in the world. She honestly reminded you a bit of Daisuke’s older sister, she's not meek when she talks to you. In fact, you watch as Anya takes over Jimmy, she's a lot more carefree than Jimmy made her out to be, passionate about helping you, Jimmy also calls that her hellbent need to be in charge, and she tells you about how you should join her and Daisuke for a game, and which Jimmy will tell you that they’re both childish ego maniacs who have never told no in their life.

“They keep trying, reaching for something that they know they'll never reach, but thanks to their parents' big ambition and big push, they think they can accomplish the world. They don't know hard work. Failing 8 times? It's obvious she's not trying hard enough. Daisuke? It’ll just be inheritance.”

You hated how little time you were able to spend with Anya. It honestly pissed you off how fucking pushy Jimmy was. It was irritating to be around somebody so annoyingly negative, pessimistic, ignorant to the world around them, only thinking of how things can only get worse. 

It wasn't even you who told him to go away, it was Anya. The dark-haired woman speaks to you. There's a big, chipper smile on her face, and it's radiant, like a halo behind her, and she's looking to you like Mother Teresa. “I would love some help from you if you don't mind. I know Jimmy is rather busy since he is Copiloting and I am pretty sure Curly's been talking about needing some help in the cockpit for a minute. He came in here early with some injuries. I was hoping I would find Jimmy to tell him to go help Curly. It gives you the time to really look into the nurse's office and get to know more about the area, I'd be happily able to inform you while Jimmy's gone.” Jimmy scoffs. Obviously, he can't even help the idea of you wanting to do something else rather than be around him.

“Well,” “I’d love to, Anya!” 

Jimmy's eyes as it hits your gaze but Anya's there, and she's tall and proud and she doesn't give a shit. She's like this bright flashlight, beating down on a shadow. “You’re our only hope!” Anya jokes. There's a soft giggle in her voice. Jimmy leaves in a huff and it honestly brings you more joy to even be out of the area. She watches as your soldiers fall in relief and she can't help but just feel for you in those seconds as she watches you. 

“What a hardass, no?” You let out another sigh, “You’re fucking telling me.” Bursts in the laughter. It's the same boisterous laughter that you hear in the game room while her and Daisuke are going at it.

It's nice, you're not surprised Curly feels so at peace around her, she's like a garden, if you're gonna be honest, with all the pastels surrounding you and the smell of the nature hitting your nose. It's sweet, not nauseous, not irritating to the skin. Everything is soft and the temperature is perfect.

“Well, tell me about yourself,” she says. She takes a seat on the other side of the desk, and you follow in suit as you just can't wait to talk to this woman. “What do you like to do on the ship? What makes you smile? Why are you here? How'd you throw up on Jimmy without him making a bigger scene?” Anya's quick quiz questions. She's very inquisitive.

You look around her desk to see the small doodles on sticky notes, the many different books on psychology and mental health, and the personal notebook on her desk decorated with old worn-down stickers that are scratched up and fading in color.

You try to answer every question with suave, you hope your cool in her eyes, “Honestly, I like sleeping on this ship. I never realized how exhausting everything would be, especially with such a hard ass like Jimmy. I mean, Jesus, man this guy can't do anything without being such a bitch! He's always trying to make me do more and more and more like me doing the basics isn't enough. And he acts like this is like something I've done 1000 times but I'm literally doing only for the first time. And I can't believe it. He's just so aggravating, you know?”

Anya's listening earnestly, and it's riveting to have somebody genuinely sit there and listen to you. There are no accusatory glances, there's no language that has any type of anger or hindrance towards your story or how you feel. It's fully allowing you to be in the moment and be in your emotions.

You’re wondering why it’s so easy to talk to Anya when you struggle talking to anyone else, is it always this easy to talk to strangers? It’s probably why your always on online chatrooms, like the time your mom caught you on one at 3AM and almost tore you a new one. 

Anya hits you with the simple responses, “Mhm.” “Right.” “Oh my god.” In her tone, it's laid back, it makes you feel casual, and it makes you feel amazing. “What makes me smile? Honestly, I really couldn't tell you, but I promise you that the reason? That's probably on this ship, actually.”

Anya's ears perk up, and she's most definitely way more into this than you thought she'd be. Not like she wasn't into it before, but it's definitely something that's alarmed her.  “On this ship?” There’s a hum in her voice as she playfully smirks, your bite your tongue as punish before shaking your exposed palms at her to try and lower the attention to your wording.

“No, not like that, just–” Anya just dismissively hums at you, she knows something you don’t and it’s eating you alive, “I’m really only on this ship for my mom? She wants to make sure I get better opportunities when I get back. But honestly, I just can't wait to move out of this house. It's exhausting. Everything is just so exhausting, but I think it's gonna get better. Once I'm out.” Anya nods, “Once you’re out!”

You smile at this. There's something so sweet about this, thus you continue on. “Honestly, I didn't really mean to throw up on Jimmy, it was a lot in the moment and honestly it was just so icky being around him. I felt like there was hundreds of thousands of maggots just swirling around in my stomach acid and they were becoming more than my stomach acid could take and not enough was being burnt down and I just felt it just plummeting back in my throat and I just couldn't fathom being around that man anymore.” 

Oh, fuck.

The look on Anya's face is caring but there's definitely a hint of anger, irritation even, and just grief for you specifically. Anya feels for you, she honestly can't stand being around Jimmy in the minutes she had to meet him. He was just nothing more than somebody who was just super-duper grumpy with Daisuke and Swansea make little jokes about the bitter man.

Anya stops joking with Curly after making one joke and Jimmy hearing it from Curly and thus Curly mentioning Anya and thus Jimmy saying lot of things very much out of line that led to their dismissive interactions with another unless under a professional lens.

“It’s just treating him if he needs it and making sure I do the psych evals, other than that, he has no reason to be around me.” 

You respect Anya in that regard: She's very much self-oriented, if it’s hurting her, it’s out of her life like that, she snaps, and you notice the shimmer from the glitter on her pink almond nails. “Do you get them done often?”

Anya raised a brow, you point to her hands put them out to cradle her as she allows you to get a closer look, “Oh, I do ‘em myself. I used to do my mom's when I lived at home.” That’s when Anya turned your hands around, your hands were fried from the manual labor that Jimmy put you through, she winces but a light bulb above her makes her shine like a descending Angel. “I don't know if you're against it, and if you are it’s cool, but I'd really love if you let me work on your nails. If not, it's completely cool. But you know, if you let me, I'd be like super happy!” There’s a cheekiness to Anya, she’s unapologetically herself, never in a mean way but uplift others. A smile on her face, it’s subtle but there, “I’d be super happy too, if you did my nails.” Anya gives you an even bigger smile, before she slowly pulls in with a flutter of her lashes, “Oh, yeah?” You giggle at her nature, “Oh, most definitely.” 

The two of you share a giggle before she unfortunately has to dismiss you, “Studying sucks, but I don’t think my gut can take more chili fries.” Anya playfully sighs as she waves you out.

There’s a pep in your step as you walk, this pep however hushes once you hear Curly and Jimmy talking in another room, “And she completely dismissed me, as if I didn’t exist!” You listen in closely.

Obviously, they're talking about you, so you should hear it. Because they won't tell you and they never will. Maybe that's your own fault, but the more you listen to Jimmy complain, the more you wonder if Curly even cares at this point.

“Well, you didn’t really take the time to really address Anya, y’know?” He's dismissive to the fact that Curly could even be right in this scenario. With how he's been carrying himself this whole time, he's assumed that Anya should just respect him regardless.

You have no choice but to really listen to him regardless since this is really all you really have, and you'd have to hear about him talking shit about everybody later anyways. “Even then, she should respect me, I am the co-captain.” Curly sighs, “Well, you don’t really act like a nice co-captain.” There’s a stifle in his voice, a choked out laugh escapes Jimmy and you can feel the spit hit your face from memory.

“Oh, you mean be you?”  “No. I mean be more likeable, try with the others, all you do is sit here cooped up in this section of the ship barking orders at…”  Curly backpedals, your peeved that he’s not saying more, Jimmy repeats your name, you feel your back straighten at the sound.

“Listen, what goes on with the training has nothing to do with you or anyone else on this ship. Besides, you put me in charge of them, you think I’m gonna sit there and let my protege get soft like Swansea’s?” There’s an eye roll from the blond, “What are you even talking about? Swansea has Daisuke study, and he gives him tests on the material.” 

Another sigh leaves Curly, you hear those beat up shoes hit the floor as he adjusts himself before he speaks again, “Y’know what your problem is? You sit here and you constantly compare yourself to others, and when they're not exactly like you, you wanna sit there and make them feel bad for being themselves.”

'Jimmy says nothing, your shocked by that fact alone, “I got you this job because it’s easy money, Lord knows your situation before wasn’t any better than this, and instead of trying to get along with others or at least being cordial, you’re trying to self-destruct when things don’t go your way.”  

There’s a drag in the air, you peek a bit to see that Jimmy huffs and his head hangs low, he’s like a child being caught digging in the candy jar.

Curly looks irritated, it's a very different light you see him in as its rare you ever seen him disgruntled, “I really am screwing this up. I mean, have I really not been trying at all? I feel like I have. Have I really not been changing to begin with?” Jimmy mutters to himself, loud enough for you and Curly to hear since the sound of a foot echoed throughout these halls.

Curly’s features soften, “Maybe you’re right, I’m not cut out for this stuff, I should’ve just stated back.” He sighs before pulling Jimmy in for a hug. “We’ve known each other since forever, I don’t want to see you struggle like you did before, this is how you lost your last job, remember?” Jimmy doesn’t even respond, he nods with his head in his friend’s shoulder before Curly has a big smile on his and he pats his friend’s back.

“I just want what’s best for you, Jimmy.” Curly says as he pulls away, Jimmy nods again, “Yeah, I know.” It’s like he’s reflecting on himself almost, before Jimmy begins to fold in on himself, “God, I really am screwing this up.” The brunette then puts his head in his hands leaving Curly to quickly comfort the man, “Hey, you’re doing your best, I’m not expecting you to get it overnight.”  

You're in awe by them, you wonder if you should do something or at least doing something more than just watching them right now. You clear your throat causing the two to look back to you, Jimmy straightens up, that remorseful look on his face now a bittered expression that was the sourness that your existence caused him. Curly perks up, “Hey there.” Jimmy says your name, you fix your posture, “Jimmy. Curly. How’s it hanging?” “Was doing a lot better earlier.” 

God, you wanna punch this guy so fucking bad.

“Ah, I get that. I heard from Swansea that Daisuke was sniffling earlier, you probably caught it.” The man raises a brow, “How can I catch it? I only saw him once today.” You also a raise brow, “Y’know, like pathogens? He sneezes and it’s all in the air now.” Curly nods in agreement, “Yeah, we are trapped on this ship so it would be hard for something like that to just disappear in the air.” Jimmy nods alongside him, “You’re right, Curly.” 

You allow the situation roll off your back, like a duck to water, you don't let it affect you and you're glad you don't. Now Curly and Jimmy are just looking at you before Curly perks up with a little question, “I mean, didn’t you throw up earlier? You probably got it from Daisuke.”

Now you're here stuck thinking about the fact that Daisuke has such a disgusting implication of you.

“Oh, yeah, probably.” That’s when Curly looks towards Jimmy, his eyes dart towards you and then back towards Jimmy. “Maybe you should turn in, it’s been a long day, and I need you to handle the challenges for tomorrow.” Gee, thanks. You smile, eagerly, “Thank you so much, Jimmy. I really appreciate this.” You dismiss yourself because what else are you doing around these two? You don't need to be around them longer than you need to be, and just being around these two just makes you feel off. 

You quickly make your way to your room. While walking around, you however discover one of the room’s door opened, It's not in your nature to really peak. The Jimmy and Curly thing was definitely you just trying to learn more about why he was such a douchebag, and you didn't really learn much to be honest with you. 

So maybe peeking isn't gonna really help you in this situation—

“Hey, come in here, you.” The only feminine voice you'll be met with on this trip. You turn your head after walking by the door without looking, and there you're met with Anya, she's out of uniform some pajama bottoms and an oversized shirt, you notice the face on it– “You like Love Island?” Anya raises a brow, “You know Love Island?” You nod your head, “My mom’s really into it, sometimes I just watch it with her while I’m making food.”

“Cool.” 

“Yeah.”

There’s silence between the two of you, it’s nerving given that she just has this unphased expression on her face, her half-lidded eyes with a small smile that showed how happy she was to be around you had only made you worry more as you believe your overstaying your welcome by standing around her. You try to dismiss yourself—

“You wanna come watch it with me? I got a bunch of downloaded episodes.” 

You perk up at the question, not like you have anything better to do, you’re not sick and Jimmy just let you go. Anya tilts her head, awaiting your response, “So?” Your eyes widen, “Oh, yeah, of course.” The smile on Anya’s face got bigger, “Yeah, come on in.”