Fight

by Sarah Masters

  “Move it!” his captor said, fingers digging into his arm.

  Gaze still on the black guy, Carl reared his head back and hawked. A glob of spittle landed on the cop's cheek, but his expression didn't change. Anger boiled inside Carl. What would it take to rile this man?

  “Paul's a lousy fuck,” Carl ground out, his focus fixed on the guy's eyes. “And always remember...I was there first.”

  The guy's eyes narrowed just a little, but it was enough of a reaction to take the edge off the ire spiraling through Carl. He smiled then laughed, throwing his head back as he was escorted down the hallway and out the door. The laughter kept coming, gusting out of him in the elevator, the foyer, and into the air outside. A crowd had gathered, worried residents clustered together, and they stared at Carl, some shaking heads, others with their eyes so wide they almost bugged out of their sockets. Carl continued to laugh, the sound a comfort, the release a balm. It obliterated thoughts of what would happen next, what had been in the past, what Paul had done to him. Nothing but laughter consumed him until that voice, that hateful, awful voice penetrated the hilarity and brought him smack bang into reality.

  "You're a damn failure, you know that, kid? Always knew you'd fuck it up. You've never had the balls to see anything through to the right conclusion. Always knew best, didn't you? Always had to do it your way or not at all. And now look at you. Caught like an animal. Loser. An all-out loser, that's what you are."

  Carl stumbled across the grass toward a police car, the grip on his arm tightening, burning. The laughter petered out, morphing into sobs that racked his chest. Tears fell, hot and wet and real, damn it, and he entered a cocooned state, where everything happened as though under water. The rear police car door yawned open. A hand covered the top of his head and pressed him into the seat. The door closed.

  As did the door to his dreams.

  * * * *

  The shaking started again. The belt around my wrists dug into the old wounds, and the room seemed to drop into freezing. I could see Carl making his decision, see it in his eyes when he let go of reason, and I felt it in my chest, the tightening bands of regret and revulsion. Not at him. Something made him this way, and I knew it wasn't me. Something long before me. I'd had a chance to save him. I didn't. I watched him lift that gun thinking I was with him, believing in me. I curled myself around the nausea rolling up through my gut, a coward right to the end, not even able to watch.

  Carl, don't. Please don't do this.

  Gunshots are loud. The sheer force of the sound spun my head back around in time to see him fall.

  Not like this.

  But maybe this was better. Maybe this was the way out he wanted. Instinct had me trying to get up, to go to him, then Vic was there, peering past him, just looking at me as Sanders came past Carl's writhing form to the bedside.

  Not dead.

  I didn't know if that was a relief or not.

  “You okay, Paul?”

  Jim Sanders’ voice came from somewhere beyond the rational world. I gazed past him to Vic, still silent, still watching me with that now-familiar, but inscrutable look in his eyes. I swallowed. Why was he just standing there? Did he know how badly I'd failed to protect Carl? Did he think I was a fool for caring at all? I wished I could read his thoughts, but he just looked at me, dark eyes never wavering.

  “You did good, Paul,” Sanders told me, as he reached to undo the belt still tying me to the bed.

  What the fuck did he know? I glanced at Carl, at the horrific, demon fight he put up to get free. If he turned and saw Vic, would he recognize him? It had taken me forever to place him in the park in the khakis and t-shirt; the last straw, the cause of the fight and the rough and frightening abuse that finally made me leave. It seemed like this whole mess had started that night, though I knew that wasn't true. Vic's haunted look as we drove by wasn't the start. It was just the tipping point.

  I looked back to Carl in time to see his hand come up again, heavy with the weight of black metal and hatred. I half expected him to point it at Vic, and opened my mouth to warn him.

  Too late.

  As I said before, gunshots are loud, and bullets hurt. Even ricocheting of the bedpost and mostly missing, only passing through the flesh just above my wrist, it fucking hurt. I was too surprised to make a sound.

  Vic finally did, though, shouting at his fellow officers to cuff Carl as Sanders kicked at his hand, then at the gun he dropped.

  The gun. He fucking shot me.

  “He was going to anyway,” I reminded myself in a whisper.

  Everything seemed to speed up, happen in a rush. I heard the clatter of cuffs. Carl was hauled up, and he glared at Vic as they pushed him out through the door. Sanders unfastened my bonds and pressed the sheets to the free-flowing blood at my wrist.

  I watched Carl be led away. He spat on Vic, who just glared at him. Carl said something, and Vic's eyes narrowed, and the sound of Carl's laughter echoed through my head a long time after I couldn't logically hear it anymore.

  When he was gone, Sanders backed off, leaving room for Vic on the bed next to me.

  “Thanks, Chewy. Get these louts out of here, will you?” He waved vaguely around at the lingering uniformed men and perched protectively between me and them.

  “He needs a bus, Vic.” Sanders’ hand came down lightly on Vic's shoulder and squeezed.

  “Yeah. Send them up.”

  Sanders sighed. “Two minutes.”

  “Yeah.” Vic hadn't taken his eyes off me once Carl was gone. His gaze was a little unnerving.

  “I'm fine.”

  “You are not.” Vic touched my cheek. “Did he hurt you?”

  I shook my head, which made it swim, and I winced but held up my bleeding wrist. “Just a flesh wound.” Even I didn't laugh at the tragic joke.

  Vic just pulled me into his arms and held on. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you had to go through this. I'm sorry.”

  “Stop it.” I had to push him off. “Just stop.” Once free of his embrace, though, I didn't have the heart to say what I really wanted to. That it was my fault. That I hadn't been good enough for Carl. “It just happened,” I said lamely.

  “Paul...”

  “How long?”

  “How long what?”

  I closed my eyes and dropped my head, so there was no chance of getting distracted by his fathomless eyes. “How long have you known about him?”

  “I didn't know anything definite, except that you were in trouble with him. I didn't know he was our guy for sure until your credit card turned up. When the bodies started to pile up...” He shuddered and the entire bed shook.

  I looked up at him again. “So why were you watching him? How did you know everything about me?”

  “Gut feeling. I can't explain it. I never could, and trying would have got me a long medical leave I didn't want. If I'd been able to find a way to prove any of it, I would have. He was too careful. Until...something stressed him out. Once he snapped, I had to do something.” Now he looked away. “I'm sorry, Paul. I was too quick to haul you in. I wanted you where you'd be safe. I—” He sighed. “I made a mess of it. I should have found the stressor, figured him out first, and I would have known not to let you do this. I would have known how close he was to snapping.”

  I chuckled and marveled that it didn't sound completely hysterical. “You.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. You were the stressor. We drove by you in the park. He freaked out when I watched you. It was...ugly. Anyway, it doesn't matter anymore, does it?” This time, I reached up and touched his face, wishing I could smooth away the worry and strain. His features relaxed under my fingers. His eyes, one minute brittle and glittering, turned soft, dark, and filled with a need I understood. “I was never going to be enough. He was so broken.”

  Vic nodded slightly.

  “I'm not like him.” I shuffled forward a bit, until my thigh pressed against his knee. “He had to do it all himself, didn't he? He had to fight whatever it wa
s all on his own. He couldn't, wouldn't tell me any of it.”

  “And you?”

  I took a deep breath, let it out, and gave in, leaning the rest of the way until my head rested against his chest and my weight settled into his strength. “Maybe. Just not today. There's a lot, though, Vic. Why you'd want someone as ruined as me...”

  “Shhh.” His hand ran down, flat and warm over my spine. “You didn't let him ruin you. You wanted to help him, in the end. I'm not stupid. I know you think you could have done something more for him. Sometimes love just isn't enough.” He leaned back a bit and lifted my chin so I was looking up at him. “Sometimes it is.”

  “Is it?”

  The proof was in his kiss. As I sat there amidst the shattered remnants, guilt churning my gut into a nauseated mass, he didn't demand anything. He didn't want anything but my permission, and when I nodded, and his lips touched mine it was the most natural thing in the world to lean on him and let him take all that away, even just for that moment in time.

  Sometimes, the moment that changes your life is dramatic and tragic and filled with gunfire and blood. And sometimes, it's a glimpse of a face through a car window, something you almost miss, something that couldn't possibly mean anything at all.

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  * * *

  Epilogue

  * * * *

  I watched Brian limp to Lil's side, and the familiar twist of guilt stabbed at me, even through the layers of safety and cottony understanding the three of them had swathed me in over the past months. It didn't always show, this remnant of Carl. Only when it rained and his hip bones remembered the scrape of Carl's knife. He twisted a bit and stretched and patted Lil's arm when his lover reached to steady him.

  “Fuck off,” he said good-naturedly, and Lil stuck out his tongue.

  “We'll see you at the pool tomorrow, yeah?” he asked, turning to look at me where I was still ensconced on the couch with Vic wrapped around me.

  “Yeah.” I got up from the warm haven of Vic's arms and walked them to the door.

  “And don't forget you have to meet me right afterward,” Lil warned.

  I nodded even as a fair amount of heat drained from the room and I shivered.

  “This is a good thing you're doing, Paul. You need it as much as these kids do.” Lil rubbed a hand up and down my arm. “And I'll be there.”

  “You offering your petticoats to hide in?”

  “No.” He actually pulled me into a hug and spoke over my head. “No more hiding. That's what this is all about. You share your story, and teach them it isn't their fault.”

  “I know.” My voice had dropped to a whisper, and Lil's arms tightened fiercely.

  “It isn't.” He pushed me away from him, still gripping my shoulders and glaring into my eyes. “You're going to say it over and over again until you believe it. Carl made his own choices. Whatever he thought his reasons were, he made his own choices.”

  “I know.” I pushed Lil's hands away and backed up a few feet. “I know.”

  “Lil.” Brian's warning voice sifted through the growing buzz in my ears, and Vic's warm bulk loomed behind me.

  “I'm fine.” A firm shake of my head dislodged the fuzzy filter, but I still backed to prop myself against the doorframe, settling the solid wood between my shoulder blades. “Public speaking,” I said lamely, even though we all knew that wasn't the issue.

  Lil took a moment to smooth non-existent wrinkles out of his skirt before fixing me with that intense, no-nonsense look of his. “I know what I'm talking about.”

  “You've been there. It works. You can't stay silent forever.” I parroted his litany of justification at him.

  “Until you say it out loud, you can always find a reason to believe it wasn't what it was, that it didn't happen, somehow, you're at fault, or a dozen other things to keep it from being real.” He glanced over at Vic and back at me. “Until you call it what it is, there's always the chance it will happen again. Your father, then Carl.” His lips twitched into a half smile. “You lucked out with Vic, but these kids, they might not be so lucky. They need to know it's safe to say it out loud, to look at it, see it for what it is and know how to avoid it.”

  “Stop it.” I pushed off the wall and squared my shoulders. “I'll be there. I'll do it. I don't have to like it.”

  “But you do have to believe in it,” Vic said from where he had backed off to perch on the hall table. “They'll know, when you get up there and say ‘he did this to me, and I didn't deserve it,’ if you actually believe what you're saying.”

  “Both of you. Just stop.”

  Brian shuffled over and pulled me into a tight bear hug. For a fractured second, I needed him off, then it passed and I returned the embrace. “Just tell them the truth, Pauly. Easy.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “In your dreams.”

  “Let's go, Bri.” Lil snapped a slap across his ass that made him yelp, and tossed me a mock glare.

  I grinned. “Better go before Grizzelda over there starts frothing at the mouth.”

  “Mmm.” Brian sauntered out the door. “I love it when you get all possessive.” He winked at Lil.

  “Of course you do.”

  Their banter trailed off down the hallway, and it was the best, unspoken advice they could give. I closed the door behind them and turned to Vic.

  “Dishes?”

  His gaze drifted over me, flicked to the kitchen and back to me. A little shrug lifted one shoulder, and he smiled. “They aren't going to crawl away in the night.” He held out a hand.

  I watched the way his muscles rippled ever so slightly and his fingers curved into a relaxed invitation. How many times had he offered that hand, and I gave nothing but a smile in return? Not that we hadn't been together over the past eight months, but the number of times I accepted that offer were far outweighed by the times I hadn't. When I looked into his face, I could see he didn't expect me to accept now, either.

  “Why are you with me, Vic?”

  His hand slowly dropped back to his side. “It isn't obvious?” he asked gently.

  I shook my head, having the hardest time not wrapping my arms about myself. There was a block I couldn't get past. I stood there, cold and vaguely frightened while he offered all the warmth and safety a body could want. So why couldn't I just accept it?

  “At first, when you didn't even know I existed, I wanted to be here because you needed my protection. You didn't know you needed it, and there was no way I could do anything for you, but I could see it. And when you did see me,” he shivered and lowered himself onto the arm of the couch, “that evening in the park, you looked right at me, and I knew.” He shrugged, and the motion gave him a fleeting aura of helplessness. “Why do you stay?”

  It's safe.

  And it was that, but looking into his eyes, there was more to it. “How long would you wait?”

  He looked puzzled, and horror raced through me when I realized I'd asked that out loud.

  “There is no waiting,” he said simply. “It isn't about waiting to get what I want. I have what I want. There's nothing to wait for.”

  “But I haven't—we haven't.” I clamped my jaw shut. In eight months, he'd settled for kisses and caresses and cuddling and never asked for anything I didn't offer.

  He lifted his shoulder again, let it drop, stood up and held out his hand. “Love isn't all about sex, Paul.”

  This time, I bypassed his hand entirely and settled against the warmth of his body. His arms folded obligingly around me. “What Lil said about making it real.” I leaned a little to look up at him. “Saying it out loud.”

  “You don't have to talk about anything—”

  “I love you.”

  His mouth clamped shut, and he looked into my eyes for a long minute.

  I squeezed him tight, trying to meld my body into his. “This is what I want to be real. You. Me. Us.”

  One of his big hands floated over my back. The other sank into my hair and pres
sed my head against his chest.

  “Solid enough for you?” he asked gruffly.

  I nodded, pressed against him, and twined my arms around his waist, telling myself I didn't need to hear the words back. He'd done nothing but prove how he felt for months now. It was time I reciprocated, and for once, the thought didn't bring a host of gut-churning insecurities along with it. A few minutes of standing like that separated the disappointment from the next step, and I was nearly ready to move when he did.

  His hands came up to cup my head and tilt my face. I flowed with his movement, wanting his touch, still feeling the contrast between the dry, calloused warmth of his hands and the hard, demanding memory of Carl's. I wondered vaguely, as his lips touched mine, if that contrast would ever fade.

  His kiss curled my toes. It always did, but it was different this time. The spring-like tension I'd grown used to, the compacted awareness that allowed him to pull away if he detected the slightest hesitation on my part, wasn't there. He'd committed, this time, and when his tongue swiped across my lips, I opened. Immediately, he filled my mouth with the warmth and goodness I hadn't quite admitted I was craving.

  I groaned, and the pressure of his hands and his kiss intensified.

  My own hands searched up under his shirt for more of that warmth, and his breath hitched when my cold fingers found skin. I pulled him closer.

  “Air,” he rasped, after what felt like forever and wasn't nearly long enough.

  “And here I thought the lightheadedness was all you.” My hands continued to rove over his back as he chuckled, and the laughter vibrated against my chest and tingled through my palms.

  He pressed his lips against my hair. “Mmm.”

  This was a new sensation; that I could make him speechless had my heart fluttering in odd ways and prompted me to see if I could do it again. I pushed my hands up until he had no choice but to let me remove his t-shirt. Acres of dark, smooth skin spread before me. He was just tall enough that my lips came even with his collarbone when we stood straight, and I'd already discovered how easy it was to make him swear simply by applying my teeth lightly along the delicate skin there. And this time, I was not going to leave him wanting.