Inception - Bite Hard (9/11)
Apr. 5th, 2011 04:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
osaki_nana_707Author: osaki_nana_707
Word count: ~5,500
Pairings/Characters: ArthurxEames, Yusuf, Ariadne, Cobb, Mal
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: language, age difference/underage, dub-con, attempted non-con
Summary: AU. Sixteen year old Arthur wakes up in another man's apartment.
Part Nine
"Hey, Arthur? Arthur, what's up?"
Arthur shut his locker door and looked at Cobb. Cobb was the poster boy for concerned. "What?" he asked, and his voice cracked, and he realized he was in tears.
"Arthur," Cobb said again, and Arthur broke down. He practically fell into Cobb's arms, sobbing pitifully into his shoulder. He was thankful that most of the other students had already shuffled off to their classes, leaving the two of them alone. "Arthur, what happened? What's wrong?"
"I said some really awful things, Cobb… Me and Eames… we're over. I said some really mean stuff, and he said some really mean stuff, and now it's… I messed everything up. I know he didn't mean what he said, but… but what if he believes what I said? I can't even get up the guts to call him!"
Cobb seemed to be at a complete loss, petting Arthur's back because he couldn't think of anything else. "Ah… Mal's usually better at stuff like this… Um… hey, screw that guy! He was mean to you, right? Forget him! You're better off!"
Cobb had tried for a pep-talk, but Arthur just felt more miserable.
"Even if it is true, I can't just forget about him, Cobb! Fuck, the things I said… I'm the worst person in existence…"
"Well, what did you say?"
"It doesn't matter what I said. What matters is that I didn't mean any of it… but he hates me now. I know he does. He's probably even disgusted by my name… He's probably better off without me around. People generally are."
Cobb yanked Arthur away from his shoulder, setting a narrow gaze on him. "If you say something like that again, I'm gonna punch you."
"I'm sorry," Arthur said weakly. "I'm… I'm sorry…" He shook his head, saying it over and over, wiping at his tears uselessly.
Cobb didn't know what to stay then, and Arthur couldn't blame him. There was no way Cobb could understand Arthur's hysteria over even an empty threat of pain. There was no way Cobb could understand that Arthur's heart had been sledgehammered to pieces. There was no way Cobb could know what Eames had said or what Arthur had said. There was nothing Cobb could do.
There was nothing to be done.
So Arthur walked away, and Cobb let him go.
When Eames didn't show up to work on Saturday, Ariadne called Yusuf. Yusuf went upstairs to Eames's apartment and knocked, even though the music was blaring so loud from inside it was unlikely that it could be heard.
Yusuf pounded on the door with both fists, and the music's volume dropped to a dull roar. "Who'sit?" came the voice from behind the wood, as though it was being shouted from across the room.
"It's Yusuf," Yusuf replied.
A moment later, there was the sound of a bottle crashing against the wall by the door. Against his better judgment, Yusuf grabbed the knob and found it was unlocked.
Eames stood in the middle of the room, arm still extended from tossing what Yusuf now noticed was a bottle of whiskey. There were glass shards on the floor, surrounding an unfinished painting of Arthur's eyes. Liquor poured down from the eyes like tears.
"Eames—" Yusuf started, but Eames picked up another bottle, this one of beer, and chucked it at Yusuf. It curved off to the far left and smashed against another unfinished painting.
"Get the hell out!" Eames shouted, and it was clear immediately that he was drunk. Yusuf had only seen him as bad off after Roxanne had died, but this time there was less hopelessness and more malice…
…not that Eames was much of a threat when he couldn't even see straight, but Yusuf still kept his distance just in case.
"Ariadne called me and told me you didn't show up at work. You told me you were going to work this morning, Eames."
"Changed m'mind," Eames grumbled, taking a long swig out of a nearly empty bottle. "Hate that bloody place. Hate bloody Ariadne. Fuck that." He casually tossed the now empty bottle over his shoulder, seeming to get some sort of relief out of the sound of things breaking.
"So, you decided to go on a bender and drink until you pass out?" Yusuf asked, trying to keep his voice neutral so as not to set him off any more than he already had.
"Can't sleep otherwise. Thought this w's better'n shootin' up, right? Fuck you."
"Eames, please try to listen to a little reason, would you? Do you really think this is going to help anything? It's not even going to help you feel better."
Eames swayed a little, grabbing hold of the kitchen table for support. "Don't care," he said.
Yusuf scrubbed his face with his hand, sighing. "Arthur was a sixteen year old boy, Eames. Your relationship was wrong in the worst possible way."
Eames looked at Yusuf, eyes watery, and said, "Then why'd it feel right?"
Yusuf shrugged, frustrated. "I don't know. Maybe you're mental?"
"He w's so beautiful, Yusuf. He w's so bloody beautiful. I went 'n fucked that up."
"Eames, you caused him plenty of unnecessary stress by being with him. Ending that will be better for him in the long run, especially if you're going to act this way."
"Didn' have t'drink when Arthur w's 'round."
Yusuf crossed the room and shoved Eames down into a chair because he was afraid he'd topple over otherwise. "You don't have to drink now. You're just being an arsehole to yourself. Try to think about what's best for both of you, please? For the love of all that's good and holy, please?"
Eames stared at him blankly for a long time, taking his time registering the words, and then he said, "I love Arthur."
"I know you do. That's why you need to do what's best for him."
"…but… but what'f, what'f he feels alone? He can't handle 'mself on his own. He hasn' got anyone. He hasn' got anyone at all. He's gon' cut his wrists in the bath, he is, because I said I didn' care 'bout him."
"Eames, let me reiterate," Yusuf said sternly, grasping Eames's shoulders so that he wouldn't look away. "Arthur is not you. This isn't you and Roxanne, Eames."
"It's real bloody close. 'Cept Arthur's not as strong 's I w's."
"I think you're weaker than you give yourself credit," Yusuf said quietly. "I also think Arthur has more inner strength than he's aware of."
"Y' don't know 'im like I do."
"Maybe I don't, but he was brave enough to follow his heart back to you despite the moral implications and possible consequences."
"Didn' follow his heart. Followed his prick."
"Are you sure?"
Eames squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to quell the spinning. "Arthur doesn' love me. No one does."
Yusuf groaned in frustration. He'd had this conversation with Eames before.
"Believe what you want to believe, Eames, but you can't just spiral into alcoholism over it. Arthur would be ashamed of you."
Eames whined.
"Get a hold of yourself. Jackass."
"You don' control my life," Eames spat.
"Someone has to pick up the reins. Seriously, Eames, get a hold of yourself. You told me yourself that Arthur loved you. If what you're saying now is true, that Arthur doesn't love you, then he should be fine, which means you should be fine."
"Roxanne died to get away from me," Eames said, "because I asked her to stop using 'n marry me."
This was a development Eames had not told Yusuf. Yusuf had the suspicion that Eames hadn't told anyone. He was thrown for a loop for a moment.
"Said I could make 'er happier than all that shit in 'er veins. She said… She said that I never made 'er happy. Not once."
Yusuf didn't know he was capable of hating Roxanne more than he already did, but apparently he could. He felt every muscle in his body tense up in anger, but he had better control over his rage than Eames ever did.
"What did you ever see in her, Eames?" he found himself asking.
"Whatever Arthur saw in me. Nothing."
"Stop talking like that. You're going to make me worry about you." Yusuf had to go to work that afternoon; he couldn't stay and make sure Eames didn't do anything stupid.
When Eames passed out, Yusuf asked a neighbor to check up on him every couple of hours, claiming that he was 'sick'. It was a piss poor lie, but the woman didn't comment on it.
He just hoped things would get better before they got worse.
After doing his punishment, Arthur went home. It wasn't like there was anywhere else for him to go.
He curled up in his computer chair, doing his homework, relieved that at least his father was gone. He'd been having moments of overwhelming despair, causing him to fall into blubbering fits, and should his father have seen that, he knew he would have been beaten, tears being a sign of weakness and all.
He was starting to feel angry.
Replaying the words Eames had said through his skull over and over had done nothing to dull the pain of them, only intensify it. He had begun to think that perhaps there was some truth behind him having no backbone and being a whiny bitch and Eames never caring about him, not even a little, and that set him ablaze with rage. He felt used and tossed out and pathetic and stupid. He wanted to scream.
Then, he would remember how Eames had cleaned him up, how Eames had tended to his fevers, how Eames had gently touched him and made him feel alight with sensations he wasn't aware he could have. He remembered being held while he slept and remembered how he'd been comforted when he'd show moments of weakness…
…and that was when he was a blubbering mess again because it didn't make sense. If Eames didn't care about him like he said he didn't, then why would he do all of those things? Why would he risk life and limb just to be with him?
…and if he did care, why would he say those awful things?
It made Arthur angrier at himself than anything because he couldn't figure it out.
There was a knock on the door.
"Come in," Arthur said curtly, turning a page to at least give the illusion that he'd made some sort of progress.
His mother cracked the door and leaned inside. She seemed, surprisingly, to be sober for once. "Hey, baby," she said, smiling, and it made Arthur's heart sink. Eames used to call him all sorts of pet names. "Your friend Dom called. He said he was coming over with that girl Mal."
"Thanks," Arthur said, but he was sure she heard the frustration in his voice. He knew what was coming with Mal tagging along. Cobb was looking to help him out, and Arthur hated it.
"Is something wrong? You've been acting kinda mopey today."
Fury bloomed in his chest, fiery in its intensity. "Real observant, Mom," he seethed, never looking up from his homework. "It's nice of you to take the time to even remember you have a son, so really, I am impressed by your ability to notice I'm upset today. Forget all of those other days where I was getting my ass handed to me by my father or the nights when I was so pissed off that I left home or just didn't come home. Today, you noticed I've been mopey. Great job. You deserve a fucking 'Mother of the Year' award for that."
He didn't have to look up to know that it stung. He didn't care. She wasn't any sort of threat to him like his father was, and he knew she wasn't stupid enough to go crying to him.
"Arthur… darling," she said, her voice a broken little sigh. "Listen—"
"No, you listen!" he shouted, and he slammed his hands against the desk, pushing himself to his feet. He was astounded by how the lid had blown off of his anger, surging through his veins as violently as it had when he had screamed at Eames. He tried desperately to shove it down before he said more things that he would ultimately regret, but it had already flown out of control, into the ether, and he was ready to fight.
No one called him darling but Eames.
He turned his sharp eyes on her in the doorway and shouted, "Do you have any idea what I go through every fucking day? No, you wouldn't, would you? You're too caught up in your own pathetic little life, making love to your alcohol and boyfriend of the week! You think that I don't notice this shit? I've seen it day after day after fucking day since I was a little boy! Do you know what that does to a person? Do you know what it does to me when Dad smacks me to the point that he draws blood and you just stand there and watch? Do you know what it does to me when I come home from school and you're asleep on the stairs? Or in my bed? Or in the back yard? You just do whatever the fuck you want, Mom! You can't just do that when you have a son who needs you.
You have a son who needs you, Mom. You have a son who needs someone to notice when he's standing in the middle of the room screaming for somebody to fucking help him! You have a son who needs someone to realize that he's losing his mind and about to snap because he can't put up with this shit every day! You have a son who doesn't even know if the love he has felt is real because he doesn't even know what love feels like!"
By the time he finished, he was shaking so badly he thought he might fall down, and he was sobbing so openly he was afraid he might choke on them. He couldn't remember ever crying as hard as he was, not even after he'd left Yusuf's apartment.
"But forget it…" he said, losing steam as he tired himself out. "You've got all of the alcohol and sex that you could ever need, so who cares about what I need? Why don't you just keep worrying about you, okay?"
She was in tears too, silent ones, arms folded around her like that night on the stairs. "I… I don't know what to say…" she said weakly.
"Don't say anything," Arthur growled, finding one last reserve of malice. "Get the hell out!"
She did. She was gone so fast he didn't even have time to blink… and then he sat back down, looked at his homework, buried his face in his arms, and cried.
When Cobb and Mal arrived, Arthur hadn't moved. He didn't realize they'd even come in until Mal's gentle hand pressed against his shoulder.
He lifted his head then, looking at her wearily and ashamedly. "What all did he tell you?" he asked, sniffing and wiping at his eyes with his sleeve.
Cobb shut the door gently, and he looked guilty. "I'm sorry, Arthur."
Arthur waved it off. "Don't worry about it. It's not like it matters now anyways…"
Mal cradled his head against her chest, combing her fingers through his hair. "He did not tell me much, Arthur. He only told me about your older friend and how he had hurt you."
Arthur laughed mirthlessly. "I'm sure I hurt him too. We both said some pretty awful things."
"How did all of this happen, mon cher?" she asked, and she was being calmer than he'd expected.
Arthur pulled away from Mal's touch, dropped his hands into his lap, and started talking.
He told the both of them everything, starting with the way he had snapped, how he had met Eames at a gay club and gotten drunk and lied to him and went home with him. He told them how he had cried before he left Eames's apartment and how kind and gentle Eames had been to him when he was in pain. He told them how he couldn't get Eames out of his head and just wanted to see him one more time and how he knew one more time wouldn't be enough. He told them how Eames had painted beautiful pictures of him and made him feel like he was worth something. He told them about Yusuf and Ariadne and karaoke and about how he'd fallen in love because even if Eames didn't completely understand him, he made the attempt to. He told them how Eames had nursed his fevers and kissed away his tears and how he had not painted the scar on his ass. He told them about the horrible fight in detail, each word still ringing in his ears as a reminder.
When it was over, Arthur was completely spent. It didn't feel like that much until he got it out in the open, and he had to admit that he felt a little bit better.
"Oh, Arthur," Mal cooed, and he was thankful that she wasn't mad at him. In fact, she and Cobb were both wearing sympathetic faces, and Arthur knew he would be friends with them forever.
"I don't know what to do," Arthur sighed, running a hand through his hair. He felt like he'd been dried up after crying so much. "I want to… at least apologize, but I can't get up the nerve to even text him. I suck. I really don't have a backbone…"
"Do you want me to call him?" Cobb asked. "I can tell him—"
"No… No, don't do that. I just… I need to think about this. I need to give him some time to cool down so he doesn't just immediately hang up or ignore me or… anything like that… I'll be okay…"
Mal slept next to Arthur that night, singing him French lullabies.
When Eames woke up, Yusuf and Ariadne were there.
"Oh, bugger off," he grumbled, covering his face with his pillow. "I'm sober now. I'm not going to bloody kill myself."
"Do you want the hangover pills or not?" Ariadne asked.
Eames sighed, removing the pillow from his eyes long enough to snag them and swallow them dry. "Is it still Tuesday?" he asked.
"It's Wednesday," Yusuf said flatly, "evening."
"Oh," Eames said.
He'd gone on another bender Tuesday and apparently slept through most of Wednesday. He would have immediately gotten up with plans of adding a third day to his binge, but he couldn't afford it.
"Eames, you can't keep doing this," Ariadne said.
"Are you inside my head?" Eames asked but waved it off immediately. "Why are you both here?"
"We're worried about you, you jackass," Ariadne growled. She didn't sound too worried, but he was sure she had a right to be angry. She'd told him in the past that her dad had fallen off the wagon when twelve-stepping some years ago, and she hadn't seen him since.
Guilt panged in the back of his head, but he let it be for the moment since he felt like shit anyways. "I don't need you to worry about me. I'll bounce back soon enough." He rolled over, facing the wall instead of them, and that was when he spotted another one of Arthur's little stray hairs, dark and slightly curled, on the pillow.
For a moment Eames decided fuck eating and thought another binge would be absolutely glorious. He clenched his fists into the sheets until that moment passed.
"Soon enough is not soon enough," Yusuf replied, and he sounded as weary as Eames felt. He'd been dealing with Eames's pathetic attitude problem for days. Sure, Eames couldn't remember most of it, but he did still remember pieces of it. "Maybe I'm naïve or something, but I for the life of me can't understand what's made you such a mess. I know you cared about Arthur a lot, but—but… I mean, did you actually fall in love with him? Did you really fall in love with a sixteen-year-old?"
Eames rolled over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. "Age is just a number, Yusuf. I loved him for who he was on the inside. I still do. Maybe I'm a fucked up individual, and maybe I should be locked up for an eternity for even going so far as pondering the idea, but it can't change the way I feel any more than I can go back in time to undo everything that happened. It's not like I planned on it. I would have very much liked to have not fallen in love with a boy, but it happened… and now I'll never see him again."
Yusuf groaned. "Damn it… I've been against this the whole time but… damn it, Eames, just call him. If it's going to be over, it should at least end on good terms so he's not afraid of relationships for the rest of his life. Fuck."
Eames watched Yusuf look to Ariadne for support, and she just nodded. "He's still a good kid. He deserves that much."
Eames glared at them as he rolled out of bed. "I hope for your sake he's still alive," he said, and snagged his phone off of the counter, dialing.
Arthur paused in his cleaning of Mrs. Porter's classroom when he noticed she'd left a stack of essays on the desktop. He couldn't help but dig through them until he found his. She'd given him an A, and written next to the letter You're a talented writer, Arthur. You see things other people don't take the time to see. Perhaps with a bit more focus, you could be quite the accomplished young man.
"Wow," Arthur said aloud. He'd written the paper through streams of tears and had never expected her to say something so nice, especially since he'd rather ungracefully ralphed all over her. The idea that she thought he was talented at writing made his heart swell a little, though he couldn't identify what the emotion was.
He was about to sit down and reread his paper to see what the appeal was, when his phone started ringing from his jacket slouched across a desk.
After a little digging, he found it and flipped it open. "Yes, hello?" he asked.
"…Arthur?"
The voice immediately brought him to tears.
He couldn't believe it.
It didn't seem possible.
"Eames?" he responded, voice breaking unflatteringly.
"Hello, darling," Eames replied, and Arthur sobbed.
It took a moment or two to calm himself down, but when he did, he sputtered, "Eames, I'm so… I'm so, so sorry about what I said. I never should have… I didn't mean it… Oh, God, I've wanted to call you a dozen times, but I thought that—"
"I'm the one who's sorry. I'm a sorry son of a bitch. You were just trying to find some comfort, and I went and blew up at you, and I'm the absolute worst person on the planet," Eames replied, and Arthur could hear a vulnerability there that he hadn't before.
"I… I guess we're both jackasses, huh," Arthur sniffled, and he smiled for the first time in what felt like an eternity.
"You were only rising to my bait. It's all my fault."
"It's okay," Arthur said, leaning against the teacher's desk. "I've already forgiven you."
"I was never actually upset with you," Eames continued anyway. "There's just a lot that's been going on and all, and I just… took it out on you, and I never wanted to cause you any kind of pain. Are you all right?"
"Now that you're talking to me, yes," Arthur said, and it was like he couldn't stop smiling. "I want to see you. We shouldn't have this conversation over the phone."
"I… I want to see you too."
"After I'm done here, could I maybe come by? I mean, I won't stay if you don't—" Arthur shut up immediately when he realized there was a figure standing in the doorway.
"Arthur?" Eames asked.
"I uh—" Arthur started, but the figure approached then, snatching his phone away and shutting it before slamming it on the desk.
Arthur had generally cleaned by moonlight, just so he wouldn't have to go back and turn everything off before leaving, but even in the dark he could tell that it was the principal, Mr. Monroe.
"On your phone, Arthur? You're supposed to be working."
"I… I'm sorry…" Arthur stammered, and he had a bad feeling.
…a really bad feeling.
It must have had something to do with the look in Monroe's eyes, a wild look that Arthur had never seen before but yet still knew it was something to be afraid of. The sick feeling he'd had that afternoon in his office returned to the pit of his gut, and he was afraid he was about to vomit again.
"You still smell of cigarettes. How many do you have on you, hm?"
"N-none," Arthur said, backing up three paces. "I'm sorry. I won't talk on my phone anymore, honest."
Monroe ran his finger along a desk and rubbed it against his thumb, looking disgusted. "You think these are clean?" he tsked at him, shaking his head. "Arthur, Arthur, Arthur… Clearly this is not satisfactory work. Normally I would suspend someone for this."
"I… I'll do a better job," Arthur said. "I'm sorry. Please don't—"
"It's all right, Arthur," he said then, and his smile was absolutely predatory. "You're a good kid. I understand you're going through quite a lot, so I won't suspend you…" He approached him until Arthur's waist dug into a desk as he tried to push himself back. "Of course… you'll have to make it up to me." He trailed a finger down Arthur's jawline.
"S-sir?" Arthur managed to squeak out, just before the man's hand slipped down and took hold of Arthur's groin.
Arthur flailed in an effort to escape, scrambled, stumbled, and then banged his head against a desk. He shouted out as Monroe grabbed his ankles and dragged him back far enough so that he could grab him by the back of his neck and slam him against the wall. "GET OFF OF ME!" Arthur shouted, struggling against the man's grip, but he was stronger and bigger than him.
"Shut the hell up," Monroe said, grinning his hideous little grin. "You wouldn't want dear old Daddy to find out about your man, would you?"
Arthur gasped, going somewhat slack in his grip, stunned. "You don't know—"
"I saw you together."
"You… You're lying. You can't have—"
The man set to undoing Arthur's trousers with one hand while he explained, "After school is over, I drive through the city to get to my home. One particular evening, I was driving my usual route when I noticed someone peculiarly familiar stumbling out of a club with another man. I watched this familiar someone get onto a motorcycle with this man. The next morning, that familiar someone came to school with bite marks on his neck… bite marks that, I must say, continued to show up periodically every week, particularly along his lovely collarbone."
Arthur was horrified.
They'd been seen.
From the very beginning, they'd been seen.
"You are a shameless little cocktease, Arthur," Monroe said and shoved his hand down Arthur's pants.
Arthur howled out, thrashing against his touch. "Let go of me! Get off!" he begged, trying to kick, but Monroe's thigh had been shoved between his legs.
"Don't even act like this isn't what you want," Monroe growled, biting Arthur's neck so harshly he was sure he drew blood. "You like older men, huh? You like being their bitch."
"No, no, leave me alone," Arthur sobbed.
"I bet that's what you said at first to him too, isn't it? We both know what you really mean, you little whore. Can't let Daddy Dear find out about his little whore son, now can we?"
He turned Arthur, slamming his stomach and the injured side of his face against the wall, pinning his hands above his head. Arthur screamed, writhing and twisting away from his hand, but it seemed like no matter what he did, he was there, breathing down his neck, pulling his trousers down and down.
…and Arthur couldn't really fight back because he knew about Eames… It wasn't about his father beating him or disowning him but about Eames's safety. He whimpered, pulling back his face from the wall to beg for mercy, but Monroe smashed Arthur's head back to the wall. For a moment, Arthur saw stars.
"Please, please," he pleaded. "Stop… Please, stop. I don't want to—I don't— Get off of me… GET OFF OF ME!"
A cracking sound echoed through the air, and Arthur just breathed. Monroe slumped against Arthur and then fell, crumpling on the floor, unconscious.
Arthur turned wildly, eyes wide and bleary with tears.
Mrs. Porter stood there looking just as surprised with the remaining legs of the chair she'd just swung into the back of the man's head clutched in her hands.
"Are you okay?" she asked breathlessly. Arthur vaguely registered that she must have come back for the essays. They hadn't all been graded… if she hadn't come… if she had taken them with her…
Arthur wailed, grabbing his trousers and pulling them up, giving the man a swift kick in the crotch. He ran out, gripping his cell phone in his fist, the other holding up his pants because the bastard had ripped off the button.
He fell down on the sidewalk a block from the school but otherwise didn't stop until he found himself at Eames's door.
When Eames opened it, Arthur shrieked, everything settling in his bones, and he threw his arms around him, holding to him with every last ounce of strength he had.
"What—What happened? What's wrong?" Eames asked.
"He… He tried to—Eames…" Arthur slumped in his arms. "Eames… I'm so sorry…"
Here's a long chapter to make up for the cliffhanger in the last one. This story should be wrapping up within the next couple of chapters or so, I think... but there's always the sequel of course.
Oh, also, if you want to draw fanart for it, I'll embed them into the story as illustration-y goodness.