Velvet Rope

Velvet Rope

By: Terrany

Chapter 7

Creep

Five Years Ago

He pulled himself up to his knees and then slowly pushed himself from the ground. It was hell to have to move past the kids who had simply watched the jocks torment him, but he ambled unsteadily past them, trying to correct his hair. Once he'd placed his hand on the bike the small group that remained began to scatter and he flipped the switch that made it roar to life.

Honestly, he wished home was a safe place but he was merely resigned to that being the next hell he was forced to endure. He wondered if this was better or worse than what his life could have been if not for the help he received. He supposed it could be worse. His bed was warm, he had food in his stomach, clothes on his back, even some nifty gadgets like his bike that he'd been permitted to attach the motor to. He had endured worse; still he wondered what it would be like to not have to keep secrets. He walked into his home and kicked off his shoes, starting up a pot of coffee. He wanted some sort of stress relief before he had to deal with his care taker tonight. He did a fast once over of the home to be sure everything was neat and clean and wiped the mantel down to be rid of any dust and then pulled out the vacuum to make sure that the dust was removed from the floor. Everything else seemed good so he headed to his room with his bag and started up some mundane homework to pass the time.

A voice appeared from nowhere when he should have been in the house alone, "Hey." He jumped out of his chair quite suddenly, spinning to face whoever spoke and prepared to defend himself.

His attacker was barely to his shoulder height wise and stared at him with an amused smirk playing on his lips. "What the fuck are you doing in my house?" He almost screamed it at the boy who didn't seem to realize what he'd just done was strange or creepy in any way.

Casually he held up a credit card, "So I read online you can break into houses with these. I thought I'd try it but you didn't lock the door." He shrugged and allowed himself to look over the room, arms crossed in a protective stance, "So I stole a credit card for no reason." He walked past the thresholds of the room and flopped down on the bed and held it above his head to watch the light catch the laminate and the brunette couldn't help but think this was the strangest thing that had happened to him in his life and he'd seen strange, "Are you okay? Those boys are assholes."

He blinked at the strange kid and then pointed an accusing finger at him, "You!"

"Yup! Me." He smiled and the brunette’s mouth hung open for a moment, "Do you want to order pizza?"

"No!" He raised his hands to the side of his head in frustration and his tone was hitting a high pitched level he hadn't heard from himself in years, "Get out of my house!"

The intruder sighed and stood up, for a moment he thought he might actually obey, instead he walked around the room looking at the posters on the walls and the trinkets on shelves. He looked over the boy. He was short and still had a voice that said puberty hadn't reached him yet, he had young green eyes lined in bright red eyelashes with thin red eyebrows above them. His hair was an amazing deep blood red that he honestly doubted existed in nature, though it looked natural on this kid. He had to be in middle school, too much of a curser to be in elementary school, and besides that he had  cigarette tucked behind his ear, he wasn't sure what the deal was with this kid but after a second his confused mind realized something and he pointed out the window, "You live down the street."

"Yeah, what do you think I stalked you? I recognized you immediately, Judas," He smiled a moment, "Sorry about earlier."

He examined him a moment and noticed the tight way he walked and the bruise on his arm. The kid didn't seem to mind, though, as he meandered through the room, "They got you?"

"Those idiots? No," He scoffed, but he knew a lie when he heard one, "I really want pizza."

"I," he fumbled for words, "I can't. Sorry. But. Yeah. Thanks."

The red head looked desperate a moment and he didn't know why he gave him that pleading look. Jude jumped violently when he heard the front door slam and looked over at the boy in terror, his mouth too dry to form words. The smaller boy walked out and he jumped up to try to shield him from his guardian's vision but he had already spied the younger boy and stood stock still in the living room as his ward ran from the room and stared at him from over the shorter boy’s head, "Hi. I'm Aiden," The boy introduced himself and the guardian looked from his ward to the boy and shifted uncomfortably. Jude tried to send thoughts directly to the younger boy so he'd know he was in danger but telepathy wasn't within his capacity and Aiden remained naive to the danger that stared him in the face, "I want pizza, my treat?"

Present

Zack paced angrily, his gate was long and quick as he waited. Vincent slumped in his chair, his normally good posture forgotten. William seemed to be beyond the frustration that built in the room and he simply played with his phone, going back and forth from texts, games, and twitter, Kyle was missing.

"You'd think he'd be here by now," The vocalist growled, annoyed at Kyle's lack of punctuality and general indifference to the wellbeing on the band.

"Who would think that?" Vincent scoffed, used to it.

"Not I," William muttered, "I don't know how they expect me to get 30 carrots in less than 10 moves."

Vincent looked over at the screen and swiped a finger and William watched with interest, "Damn, Vince, do you play chess?"

"This isn't a game, guys, this is serious!" Zack screamed and the two looked up from where they sat.

"You're yelling at the wrong people, Zack. We're here."

Trembling hands ran through tangled black hair and he leaned against the wall, trying to find a center.

Vincent tipped his head at him a moment and watched, "Z?" The smaller man didn't respond, "Z? Can you hear me?" He nodded and slid down the wall, after a second he recognized the sighs, the elevated stress levels, shaking hands, short attention span, "You're going through withdraws."

"I know." He gritted out, "And I don't know from what."

William raised an eyebrow not lifting his eyes from the phone, "You really need to watch what you're putting in your body."

He spoke just as the large wooden doors they sat next to in wait opened and their manager, Cale, stepped out with Kyle along next to him. A moment of questioning silence passed between the three. No one had seen Kyle enter the building and William had been the first to arrive about a half hour ago. No one was willing to believe that Kyle had actually arrived first, yet here was the evidence.

Zack looked between unsteady fingers at his best friend. Kyle took two steps towards the group and watched the vocalist carefully, he moved slowly as if approaching an injured animal, kneeling in front of him and removing his hands from his face. He shook his head at him and Zack's face was nothing but sadness and horror, shaking his head a silent ‘no’ not ready to tumble from his lips.

Kyle turned to the manager, "He needs rehab," Gentle fingers brushed over his cheek in a relaxing manner, and he shook his head at Zack again, "Zack, it’s all garbage, inane garble and nonsense words. We're not Ozzy, I won't play that," He continued to stroke his cheek soothingly, "The drugs are ruining you. We're losing footing."

"It's not." He hissed back, "You've found someone else. You're a traitor."

Kyle smiled at him patiently, "That's the paranoia. Withdraws Zack, think logically. I'm not good enough to find another band. I'm not even good enough to be in this one. I'm only here because of you."

Vincent snickered, "It's true. He's holding us back."

The words stung, but the truth rang in them clearly. Kyle's part in the band was to keep the vocalist and the bassist from murdering each other. His guitar skills weren't all that groomed, and they never would be - that was why Zack played guitar with him. Truth be told, without Kyle they'd be another legendary band based on member death rather than skill or art so there he was, electric guitar player of Deceived.

Vincent stood and went into the conference room, followed by William. The manager waited for Kyle to help Zack up and support him into the room. It was dead silent for a moment until their manager leaned against the wall looking them over, "You heard him. It's all garbage."

William merely shrugged, "Glad I invested," He stared at his phone and again Vincent leaned over to swipe the screen and again William stared at the larger man.

"It's not the end," Kyle stared at the conference table and Zack looked up a moment at the book lying in the middle. It was only then that Vincent noticed what had happened.

"You didn't..." His eyes widened in repulsion.

"Vincent," Kyle pleaded, "its genius, all of it. It's relatable, it's art. He can go to rehab. We can have our best album, yet."

"My work is not for the band," He hissed and grabbed the leather bound book, drawing it closer to himself, though he knew it had been opened and he'd been exposed.

"Then what is it for? Fans to read after you've died? Is it something to be a collected in fifty years?" His manager articulated.

"When I die this gets buried with me," He shot back, thoroughly pissed his work had been read through without his permission.

William slipped the book from his fingers and flipped through. Normally he'd scream and rip it back but it seemed that the work had already been exposed so he sat seething trying to murder Kyle with his eyes. The blond tapped at the table while he read, flipping quietly to the next page and hummed, commenting softly, "I didn't know you composed, too."

Vincent rolled his eyes, "I'm a musician."

"It's beautiful," He whispered, blue eyes scanning the notes and the chords reading them like words, "How long will rehab be?"

"Who knows?" The manager sighed and looked over at Zack. He'd fire him if he thought the band would survive it, but in his experience very few bands survived the front man's death or leaving the band. He looked helpless shivering from the withdraws focused on a pain he couldn't touch without a chemical he couldn't identify. He was injured by their words, too. Every word they'd sung and note they had played from the beginning was Zack's, and suddenly his insanity and drug warped mind couldn't make it past Kyle who accepted almost anything Zack produced as amazing and revolutionary. It wasn’t that there wasn’t substantial talent sitting in the room with him, but composing and writing lyrics had always been something he insisted he do on his own and the music had always been amazing so no one really argued. Something was wrong with him, "I'd give it a year, six months minimum. He needs to detox, and apparently identify what he's craving." Zack's head bowed in shame and an apology he couldn't say, "He can recording in rehab. It's not prison,"Cale walked around to where William was still reading through the book, "It's a fresh start, Vincent."

"It's young," William commented, "This is high school material."

"That book's from high school," He looked over at his messy hand writing, a lament over a boy who didn't notice him, how pathetic. He was completely embarrassed.

"It's a good thing, that's where the money is, being able to relate to teenage hormones. No one wants to relate with putting on your best face and blending in so the corporation will give you a promotion. Independent, identity, fashion, lust, love, and indifference to authority, that's what sells."

"Well," William turned the page and hesitated a moment, "What I meant was you've written since. You're experienced on the stage now, and around fans. And you continue to write. You've improved, probably."

The only one in the room that wore a suit touched Vincent's shoulder, "We need lawyers, paperwork, a few top guys and the team to sign this work over to us."

"No," Vincent slipped the book from William's hand and closed it, "I won't give you guys’ rights to this. I'm sorry, but this is mine. If you want me on this ball field you will have to play by my rules, if not I don't mind retiring. My mother raised me on less than twenty G a year, what I have in savings can last me a life time, so I'm not really afraid to walk. I can wait for the contract to expire and for our rights to come back to us exclusively, I know the rules." He laid the leather bound book in front of himself and wiped some dust from it raising his eyes to the manager. He was pissed, but that part he was hiding, right now he as playing the stubborn as shit card thinking they'd lay off his work if his terms were impossible.

He merely smiled, "We'll discuss your terms. We're flexible." Vincent wanted to slap him. He was banking on him trying to bargain, making his strategy a bad one.

He closed his eyes and bowed his head feeling William's hand on his shoulder. He sat there for a minute as their manager left and William never moved. After a second he was handed the phone William held, "I need 32 potatoes in 3 moves." Vincent frowned and looked over at him, "What? You expect me to sit here and be sympathetic all day? I have a game to win."

+++

The holiday ended too soon and Mark was driving Desiree to the airport, he'd escort her home once in California. Aiden would miss them, but he had school and a life to attend to in Maine so he went back to this new life he was learning, carefully stepping through the daily routine with a sort of detached fascination. Arms wrapped around his shoulders when he walked through the high schools front doors and he squirmed as warm lips pressed to his ear. A moment he felt the looks and heard a few murmurs of gossip begin and then it was that familiar laugh he hated.

"You miss me?" Chris whispered into his ear and he tipped his head away.

"Like a thorn," He shifted his bag, "Why are you doing this? Where's Nick?"

"We broke up," He shrugged and kept his arm slung around Aiden's shoulder, "What's with the braids? You look like Christina Aguilera."

"Jonathan Davis," He argued while trying to duck out from his grip.

"Vanilla Ice."

Aiden shot him an annoyed look, "Dexter Holland."

"Who’s that?" He looked puzzled and Aiden only shrugged, once again trying to slide from under his grip on his way to homeroom, "Aiden, stop." He stilled his steps momentarily and Chris put his hands on Aiden's hips and tipped his head to steal a kiss as Aiden turned his head to avoid it, "Listen, I broke up with him," Slightly defeated he placed is forehead to Aiden's head to try to catch his gaze, "I told him I wanted to be with you. I want to try again for us."

Aiden frowned deeply, "Again? Are you demented? There has never been an ‘us’." This was not how he wanted his first morning back from holiday to be spent. He wanted to talk to Jake about shit that mattered, not Chris's crazy delusions. His eyebrows drew together out of anger and frustration and he attempted to pulled away from his touch.

"No no, Aiden. I mean. I want to try again for us," He emphasized the "I" this time and Aiden again tried to pull away so his grip tightened, "I want you."

"Really, Chris, I'm flattered, really," He tried to step back but Chris took a step forward, “but I really don't feel like moving us past this abuser abusee relationship you've put us into is a healthy step in your fictional world." He faked a civil smile, again trying his escape plan.

"Go to prom with me, Aiden, please?"

"No!" He almost shouted finding desperation in his voice and actions he was trying not to fall into.  He felt the wall behind him and Chris pinned him, closing off any space between them and Aiden's heart raced from the panic rising in his chest. "Chris I don't want to be with you."

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Aiden?" He hit the wall next to Aiden and he startled and suddenly there was a teacher behind Chris. When he spun to face the older man Aiden took off running down the hall, shoving past students and on lookers to get away.

Several times he was called to the principal's office, and several times Aiden left the classroom, went to the bathroom and returned a moment later, refusing to speak to anyone. He spent the entire day hiding from the faculty and trying to finish his classes, only caving 10 minutes to the end of the day and dismissing himself to the principal's.

Rumors spread all day and he had some of the more bold students ask if he and Chris were together which caused him to growl out a fast "no" and breeze past them. He hated him for starting this sort of spectacle in his life. He had really enjoyed his time away from Chris's bullshit, so he guessed he had to make up for the lack of it by making his life a thousand times harder his first day back from holiday. He walked in slowly and the receptionist looked up  at him a moment, confused. Aiden had never been in here before.

"Aiden Kenni," He said simply, waiting for recognition. The office door opened and he was faced with the school's principal, an older man who was debating retirement that very moment. He let his glasses slip down his nose and looked Aiden over before welcoming him in. He was old-fashioned and Aiden could tell he immediately disapproved of Aiden's attire. He assumed he wouldn't be fond of Aiden's taste for men, either.

"I understand you had an altercation with another student this morning," He sat down and waited for Aiden to take his seat, "You've been avoiding me all day."

"I got lost," He lied shrugging as if it was never so simple.

"I see," He looked over his paperwork, pulling out a pink slip, "Christopher Harvey was given a week's in school suspension for harassing another student in the hallway this morning. Would you wish to explain to me what happened this morning?"

"No."

His answer was short and decisive and the principal frowned, "Aiden, please understand I've been disclosed some information about you, I understand that you've had some problems in your past school." Aiden only raised an eyebrow, "I think we should head off any problems you might be having. I'm willing to help you."

"Mr. Indelicato," He leaned forward, "No offense, but I don't trust you. I understand that upon my entrance into this school you reviewed my records, and my father came here and spoke to you. I also know you were part of the petition against me coming to this school. I have done nothing wrong, and I wish to reveal nothing to you." He stood up, "Is that all?"

"I am asking you for your own good, Mr. Kenni, what happened this morning?"

"Is that a threat?" He sighed, "He asked if I would allow him to copy my homework. I told him no." The two minute window he gave himself permitted himself the time to come up with a good lie and the last bell rang. The principal pulled out a pink slip and Aiden frowned, "You aren't writing me up are you?"

"You're lying to me," He began to write down the information and Aiden's pulse quickened, he'd never been written up in his life. He pulled out his phone and called his dad in a panic only half aware of the way he yanked at his safety line as soon as he was scared, "Put the phone away, Mr. Kenni."

"Fuck you, Charles," Unnoticed tears fell down his cheek, "I'm getting my lawyer. You aren't fucking up my shot at Harvard because you're meddling in my personal affairs." His dad answered, "Dad, this idiot is writing me up for being harassed in the halls." He listened for a moment staring down the principal, "No I didn't provoke it, I did nothing wrong. Yeah, there were witnesses." He hung up, "My dad will be here with our lawyer soon."

A lawsuit would be a disaster for the school. The principal was on full defense, as Aiden's father screamed behind the closed door. Somehow news vans had noticed something was amiss and pulled up in front of the school. Aiden just sat in the waiting area, staring down at his hands, electing not to listen to the fight.

"You called a lawyer? Can you do that?" Chris texted back too amused to be upset about his suspension.

"I can and I did. Scholastics aren't a joke to me. If I want to get into college I can't have discipline problems."

"What was the write up for?"

"Lying. Insubordination." He looked back as silence had settled and he could see through the frosted glass that the two men now sat quietly. Aiden waited for his turn. Almost exactly then his dad called him and he stood and walked in.

"What was the disruption in the hall about Aiden?" Zeek waited.

"He wanted my homework. I said no."

Zeek held out a piece of paper, "Chris stated he wanted back his Walkman. You said no."

"Well, we agree I said no." He shrugged, "It's none of his business and no reason to write me up, which is the point."

Zeek nodded, "I want the truth in the car." He looked over to the principal, "This incident is forgotten, then, Charles?"

"It seems that way," He leaned back a moment, looking over his desk.

Retirement was looking better and better for him, as it seemed the student body was just getting more and more disrespectful and it seemed their parents were allowing it. He couldn't risk a law suit over a hallway scuffle, but he wasn't sure if he trusted the red head. He seemed like one of those boys back in Colorodo and he didn't think he had a good grasp on right and wrong, no matter how soft spoken and good of a student he was. He was too damaged; from everything he knew he wouldn't blame him for coming into the school and trying to eliminate everyone that upset him. He didn't want to hazard another year with that teenager in the same building as him.

Aiden climbed into his dad's car and leaned back, the stress of his day hitting him entirely. Zeek turned to reprimand him, but Aiden doubled over, gripping his stomach and breathing evenly. He assumed the scolding could wait until after they were home and just rubbed his back gently.

"Aiden, just..." He sighed, "Just tell me that you're not being hurt."

He shook his head, "Daddy," The small voice in him rose up softly and he shook his head, "I swear to you, demons follow me."

Zeek muttered something quietly, purposely keeping too silent for Aiden to hear. He turned to look at his dad and he smiled softly in response, "I'm sorry, Aiden. It's my fault." His son shook his head quietly he couldn't imagine why his father would blame anything on himself. The soothing circles on his back continued.

"It's like," He paused and sat up straight, "I feel like I have to pick. And it's never anything pleasant or good. I pick which finger they get to hack off today or which way they can humiliate me more, make me less of a person." He covered his ace, "I thought Maine would be a new start, but I'm just... me. Not matter where I am. Nothing changes.” There was nothing he could say or do, he knew that feeling, he knew there was no escape.

The trip was short; Zeek didn't have time for a comforting speech even if he could think of the words. As soon as the car was in the driveway Aiden had the door open, stumbling not even waiting for the car to stop. He ran up the driveway and into the house and Zeek paused in the driveway just to watch him pull at the door twice and bolt inside, to sanctuary. He leaned his head forward and once again found himself begging to a God he didn't believe in.

Aiden fiddled in his bed and stared at the phone.

What was the difference? In the end he ended up in the same place every time. He spun it in his hand looking at the last few texts, Chris begging him. Please. Please.

He sighed and pressed his fingers to the screen, tapping on the voice prompt.

"Chris, we can't date. I have a boyfriend." He said, watching the words form on the screen in front of him. He sighed and hit send waiting for the response.

It came soon enough, "Bullshit, what's with the past two months then?"

Aiden smiled and hit the prompt again, "He's in California." He spoke slowly to watch it spell the words for him, sighing heavily.

"So then it doesn’t fucking matter."

"Maybe we're in love."

"Sluts don't fall in love."

Aiden sighed letting the phone tumble from his hand.

Big city California, beaches and parties and half naked men, small town Maine with its rumors and secrets, too cold for anything less than jeans and long sleeves he managed to find some sadist freak who wanted to hold power over him. He laughed at the terrible humor in it, the cosmic joke played on him. He figured he may as well laugh, too, since he was the center attraction. He hated everything. The pit inside him grew deeper and darker and he remembered that feeling like he wanted it to end. He wanted everything to be over with.

In a split second he was there, the razor touched once and he dropped it, horrified at his own thoughts. He heard the noise outside the room, and thought someone was waking. He turned to his own reflection and gathered his courage, breathing heavily and picking up the razor.

"Baby, come back to bed. I'm cold," The voice grumbled behind him and he nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat.

"I will, Jay," He tried to hide the fear and sickness he felt, "I want to take a bath.”

"Sounds nice,” He muttered lazily, following it with a yawn signaling he was going to wait in sleep.

The revulsion made him sick and he gripped the sink, shaking violently. These were his last words? They were twisted and wrong. He picked up the razor and shoved it into his arm and it sank in easily, like a knife through soft butter. He gasped and the blood ran quickly, he'd cut deep. That was fine, he reasoned. It was all fine as long as he didn't have to endure another day of this. He counted the cuts as he made them, to distract from the horrible agony. His wrist wholly ached, a pain so deep he felt it in the bone. His hand was slick when he switched hands and the razor clattered in the sink, the noise was so loud to him he thought he’d wake the house. His blood pumped in his ears and his terror held onto him as he drifted away from himself, watching his hands grab desperately at the razor, his liberation. The next cuts were so light in comparison, but the blood dripped faster.

Slowly he turned the knobs to run the water in the tub. He was careful where he stepped, blood painted the side of the sink and created a crimson path to the tub. It hurt when he adjusted the temperature and he watched as the skin ripped open revealing a white on the inside of his arm he didn’t expect to see. It made him ill, he thought he’d be sick seeing so far into his anatomy. Slowly he climbed in and the red swirled as it mixed with the water and he thought the sight was beautiful.

He turned when he heard someone enter their room. The bathroom didn't have a door and he could see the sleeping figure clearly in his bed, the bed he'd just risen from. He shook his head in a signal to be quiet he was staring desperately at the boy in the doorway to the bedroom.

"Aiden!" It sounded like he was screaming from a million miles away, maybe that was death. He hoped so, "Jason you fucking idiot!" He ran in the bedroom ripping the blankets from the sleeping form as he slid next to the tub to grab his hands and look at what he'd done. These were tears, "Aiden, don't you fucking die, you hear me? How the fuck did he get a razor, Jason?"

Stammering behind him, there were excuses being made. He was lifted and placed on the bed, his arms wrapped and they argued, "Exactly what do you want to go to jail for? We can't let him die!"

A third voice entered and there was more screaming, "Put a fucking tourniquet on it then!"

Fingers were pressed to his throat, "It's too faint; even if you stop the bleeding we're too late." Never were there more poetic words spoken, “We need to get rid of the body.” He’d smile if he had the energy to, he wasn’t even dead and they were trying to get rid of him. He felt wanted.

"Jude!” Jason was screaming in a panic, “Get the phone from him, Derek!" That voice grew closer and he was staring up at blue eyes, "Aiden, don't die, please stay with us." Somewhere a fight broke out and he heard rustling, Jason turned from his spot next to the bed, "Where are you going?"

"I'm out of here; you're on your own." He turned his head lazily; his vision was collapsing in on itself as the man stared at him. He thought maybe it was hatred he saw spark in his eyes but in a moment he realized it was fear. He realized not many people got to watch someone in their last few moments of life and the sight terrified Derek. He shook his head, "You should leave, too. They're on their way."

The door slammed and he watched Jason rise up but that was the last of it. Everything grew too dim.  

 

"Aiden?" He started and stared at his dad standing in the door of his bedroom in Maine. He rubbed his eyes just then realizing he'd dozed off suddenly. He was annoyed that that was what he ended up dreaming about, “Are you hungry?"

"Not really," He mumbled and slipped himself between the sheets just then realizing he was cold. There was a moment of silence as his dad stood there debating what to do. Normally he wanted Aiden to eat but he'd never just seen him collapse into bed like this. Not since he'd released him from the hospital. He didn't want to crush his moment of decisiveness, but he wanted Aiden to eat, he was still too light, too thin.

Aiden felt him leave the doorway and sighed in the comfort of his room. A moment later his dad was knelt next to the bed, begging him with his eyes, "Breakfast shake." He held a straw and Aiden sighed, reaching to grab the cup and draw most of it down as fast as he could so he could sleep. At least this way his dad would leave him alone to brood. They didn't say anything and Aiden curled back under his blankets to signal he had no intention of talking. Zeek didn't move for the longest time, his head bowed and his hand slipped under the sheets to  hold Aiden's hand.

It was so like the hospital Aiden could almost hear the constant beeping of the heart monitor and feel the feeding tube uncomfortably shoved into his throat. Feminine voices spoke softly to someone nearby, "Do you believe in Karma?" Aiden opened his eyes lazily focusing on his dad's face as he spoke, he didn't respond, he didn't know if he believed in some secret aura out there dictating who got punished and who got rewarded. Thinking about it he thought it sounded a bit absurd, then again he believed entirely in hell and that concept was also quite absurd when he thought about it, "I've done a lot of bad things, Aiden." He was snapped back to his here and now in his room in Maine, his dad sitting next to his bed, "It seems they rest on you and Tara, just to make my penance that much worse."

Aiden smiled softly, "It's not all that bad, don't believe..."

Zeek cut him off, "Between Autumn's death and Tara's birth was 10 years I'd rather redo, Aiden. Ten years of terrible things. I didn't do what I should have for my son, and I favored my daughter. Some screwed up part of me insisted she was Autumn, I had a second chance with her I put a lot of expectations on her." He paused and Aiden studied him quietly, smiling softly at him.

"Daddy, stop." He held his hand up to silence him, "Daddy," He sighed and squeezed his hand, "It's not your fault so don't put that on yourself.” He rolled on his side to more comfortably speak to his dad, “I have had plenty of times to stop everything that’s happened to me, dad. You’ve opened every doorway to allow me to find my way out and I sat there for a year.”

“He wouldn’t have ever…”

Aiden shushed him, “If it wasn’t me it was someone else. It’s the fucking demented lottery of freaks and bad luck,” Zeek snorted but he didn’t smile nonetheless Aiden thought it was progress, “Without me Jude might still be there. I got us out. It should have never happened, but it did. And I’m glad it was me, in a way.” Zeek shook his head, “I have you, and Des and Aaron. I have every will to live and better myself and help others. Someone else might not feel like that.”

“Everything happens for a reason, is that what you’re trying to say?” Aiden nodded and pulled his blankets up, “Just like your grandfather.” He leaned forward to kiss his temple pushing the blankets around him, “Joe’s pretty sure you’re going to kick some serious ass now.”

Aiden smirked and buried his face down into his pillow, “After my nap.”

+++

“I want to watch,” Pleaded in his ear and Aiden sighed, working on studying his periodic table, “Please, Aiden.”

“That’s super illegal, Judas,” He tapped his pencil, “I’m not even seventeen yet.”

“Who monitor’s skype? C’mon. Just set it on his desk, he won’t even know.”

“No. That’s kiddie porn and I’m not getting you in trouble, there is a reason I refuse to send you pictures.” Aiden muttered under his breath tired of playing sexual object between the two boys. Jude should know better, they were friends long before they were lovers, “Are you working on getting your own shop, still?”

“Yeah,” He gave up the subject and Aiden could hear the disappointment, though it didn’t bother him in anyway, “I have to set up some business plan, pick a location, go through a bank loan. I wanted to talk to that Tom guy you know. Is he up for helping me? Au.”

“Gold. And I don’t know, we’re sort of in the middle of this recession, banks are sketchy on new businesses starting up and lending out large amounts of cash.”

“Hg. Tell me about it, I have a little in savings but I’m thinking about a second job. Besides that, I want to see you and since you are so interested in Harvard I thought we could, you know, live together in Massachusetts. I’ve got to save for the move though; I’d like you to devote yourself entirely to study. I want to take care of you. I owe you that much.”

“Mercury. And you don’t owe me anything, Jude.” He cringed a little, he really was hoping to date in college and move away from this relationship he had with Jude. Jude, however, was entirely caught up in Aiden, being with Aiden, living with Aiden, never leaving Aiden’s side. It was a sweet sentiment but the red head was thinking his and Jude’s time together was over. He was ready to move on, though he didn’t have the courage to tell the other boy.

“Number 26. Regardless, I want to be with you.”

“Is that Iron?”

“Yes, sir,” He could hear the smile, “You are going to do great things. I want to be there with you for it.”

“Shit, dad’s home. I have to let you go. Thanks for the help.”

“Anytime, Red.”

He hung up and looked in his doorway, frowning at the blond. “You lied to him?” Chris asked as he walked inside.

“Yeah,” Aiden flipped back his chart and looked it over, annoyed, “Dad’s not due home for another few hours.”

“Is that your boyfriend?”

Aiden cringed at the words, “Yes.” He would lie to make Chris let go of this fantasy, he had no intention of being that boy’s boyfriend, and he had no intention on living with Jude. He just wasn’t sure how to go about avoiding both while playing Jude off as a long distance boyfriend and keeping Chris at a distance.

“His name is Jude? How…” He paused a moment before deciding on the word, “…gay.”

“His name is Judas, Jude for short.” Aiden looked up at him and put down his pencil, “I really don’t want you in my house, Chris. I don’t like that you just walked in uninvited.”

“I wanted to apologize in person.” He looked down at the ground, “I really shouldn’t push you, and I know that. I swear. I won’t… hurt you, anymore. I just want you to trust me. I know breaking and entering doesn’t help my case. But I’m sorry, Aiden. For everything that needs to be apologized for. I’m here, though, you know, if you want me. I’m waiting.” He turned and left without much else and Aiden frowned and looked at his empty bedroom door. He listened to the door shut and the engine start up and that was it. He was waiting for him to return for a good twenty minutes and there was nothing to indicate Chris was returning. For a minute he debated texting Chris, and then he debated deleting the number. In the end he just put his phone down and accepted whatever just happened.

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