[Home | Quicksearch | Search Engine | Random Story | Upload Story]



Beta'd by Erin.

Go Straight to Hell, Boy - part 5/17

by Ralu


Almost a week later: O'Reily and Busmalis arguing over some newspaper article, Rebadow watching the debate with that detached amusement of his - the three of them sitting at a table in Em City. Doing pretty much nothing, as usual.

"I'm telling you, he's not married to the chick 'cause he's a fucking faggot!"

O'Reily's voice, annoyed enough to seem like a squeal, smacking the paper on the table:

"How fucking complicated is it to understand that, old man?"

"Apparently, complicated enough", Rebadow mutters, shifting his gaze onto Beecher, approaching the table.

The man seems strangely sprightly, like his former lover's state of mind is acting like some kind of energizer on Beecher - that flame twinkling in his eyes - burning a bit brighter.

"Tell him, Beecher, isn't this jerkoff gay?", Ryan says throwing the paper over to Beecher, as the man drags a chair and sits at the table.

"Don't know."

And Beecher doesn't even recognize the man in question, doesn't even know any of the movies he's been in.

"Oh, come on, *you don't know*! Fuck, Beecher, you know everything, tell him, the guy's a fag!"

"Honestly, O'Reily, I don't even know who the guy is! And why should *I* know if he's gay or not?"

Beecher's tone is dismissive, bored. But...shit! This is Ryan O'Reily here, ladies and gents, the man's not gonna quit until the whole fucking table agrees with him on this one. And Toby seems himself kinda *high* (and feels like that too), so he's interested in a challenge. Just to see Ryan squirm:

"Give me the paper again...Yeah, I think I saw one of his movies...The man's like fucking Rambo or something, kept kicking some guys' asses in that one. At one point, I think he'd killed over 50 guys...and the movie wasn't even near the end!"

Smiling, bluffing like a gambler, 'cause Toby surely hadn't seen any such movie, had no idea what the fuck he was talking about in the first place.

"Yeah, 'Private Soldier' or something, that's the name of it..."-- shaking his head, a slow-spreading smile on his face, eyes on O'Reily: "Nope, Ryan, sorry...don't think the man's a fag...He's married to some Swiss model or something."

And with that, O'Reily seems to be suddenly going up in flames:

"You're full of shit, Beecher, you don't even know what the fuck you're talking about."-- his voice settling down, like pouring water over that particular fire: "There's no fucking 'Private Soldier' movie... Fuck! You're not the *type* to watch shit like that anyway...'Swiss model' my ass!..."

"What the hell is 'Swiss'?" Busmalis asks dumbfounded.

"You know, from Switzerland."

"Oh! And where's Switzerland?"

Both O'Reily and Beecher breaking up, Rebadow smiling lightly:

"Well, that's debatable."

************************

A bit later, Ryan kicks Beecher's shoe with his under the table, slightly pointing at something in the direction of Schillinger's pod.

"What?"

And Toby follows instinctively O'Reily's gaze, frowning just a little. Keller. What the fuck's he doing?

"Something's goin' on over there..." Ryan mutters.

The two men talking - Schillinger sitting on his top bunk, Keller leaning near the door. Cool, casual conversation, or so it seems. Or so it would seem to anyone not knowing the whole ugly story. And those two could never be just *casually* talking. No fucking way.

"Fucking shithead, doesn't say two words to me, but suddenly turns into a fucking chatterbox with Schillinger."-- turning towards Beecher: "What do you think that's all about?"

"Don't know."

And Beecher looks away, sensing Schillinger's eyes all over him, like a laser beam. But not Keller's. And that's kinda weird...annoying, if he really wants to admit it to himself. Alarming.

"He wouldn't be thinking..."-- giving Toby that grin of his, like an open wound: "What do you think?"

"About what?!"

Beecher - pissed and suddenly unamused, hating that grin, that self assurance - like O'Reily knows everything and Beecher has to also know everything... (--'Cause that's why you stick around, right Ryan? Because I'm not an idiot. Just like you. So, stop bullshitting me, and just fucking say it, or shut the fuck up. Really don't feel like *guessing* your thoughts, right the fuck now.'--)

Looking back up again, and meeting Keller's hollow gaze, just for a second. The man, looking at him just because Schillinger had made him, Toby could have placed a bet on that one. Biting his lower lip, that weird annoyance again:

"Maybe your wish's finally gonna come true."

"What?"

"You know, your beauty-sleep... maybe you'll get rid of him sooner than you mighta thought."

Ryan - raising his eyebrows, a weird, sick look on his face, meeting Toby's *I-don't-give-a-fuck* pose:

"You *like* this?!..."

"*Like* what?!..."

Sour smile, looking more like a snarl now...looking at Rebadow, across the table, *knowing* that the other man knows.

"Maybe you should talk to him, Tobias."

(--'Yeah, maybe I should...But what the fuck is he doing with Schillinger out of all people? Fuck him, he's a fucking adult, he can make his own fucking decisions, it's not my job to...whatever.'--)

"Looks like he's got other people to talk to."

Schillinger's eyes all over him, again. If only for one burning second.

****************************

"I want back."

The words seeming truly unbelievable to the older man sitting on his bunk - like in a dream or something. Sure, he had suspected this for quite some time now, had thought about it night after night, always coming up to a similar conclusion: 'No. No fucking way. Not with *you*.' That being his brain talking, you know, the one *upstairs*! But now...

"What the hell are you talking about, Keller?"

Seeing the other man leaning over the glass wall of his pod, his arms falling slack, defenseless around his body. Like giving up.

"You know what I mean. I've thought about it...you're in Em City, there aren't that many Aryans here. You're kinda left out in the open, you need someone to watch your back." -- shrugging: "I'm here."

And the man was pretty much right...only two Aryans in this mouse trap. But then again, who would be stupid enough, who would have the audacity to... Give him the proverbial *evil eye*?! Ha! Almost everybody. (--'But that's normal, you're still breathing, Vernon.'--)

Fuck with him?! O'Reily does it. Beecher does it...used to...not anymore.

(--'And that kinda pisses you off Vern, if you're truly honest with yourself.'--)

"I don't need you *watching* my back, *prag*. I'm OK by myself."

Ignoring Schillinger's third most favorite pet-name, carefully choosing his words:

"Come on, Vern, we...I'm not implying that you're weak or something, I would never do that, but... You could use an extra hand."

"You?!..."-- Schillinger's eyes suddenly turning icy, his tone playful, looking over at Beecher, for a second: "And what exactly would you be willing to do for me, Chris-to-pher?"

"Whatever you want."

Looking straight into his eyes, not flinching once.

(--'Come on, Vern, you know what I'm saying here, we've been through this shit before, I know you want it, so...just *come out* and say it. You fuck.'--)

Watching Vern's lips curling up into that particular grimace of his - his eyes sliding over Chris, again looking outside the pod, into the quad.

Looking at Tobias Beecher.

"This could be interesting..."

Thinking out loud, still staring at Beecher:

"What about Beecher?"

"What about him?"

And Keller feels like he just *has* to turn around and look at the man in question, just to back up his dismissive tone. Locking eyes with him, only for a second. And it still is painful. Like having your heart ripped out of your chest every-fucking-time. Guesses a small part of Toby feels the same. Still. But...

"It's over."

Raising an eyebrow:

"Reeeally?..."

That lazy fucking tone of his - the one Chris remembers so goddamn well - a tone he'll probably carry inside 'til the day he dies (and beyond), like a wound that never quite heals, that you never let heal. Always seeming a bit bored. Deceiving. So fucking heartless, it hurts.

(--'A wound on your heart, honey, ain't that romantic?! Like a scratched cornea. Or a swastika on... That's the one! Shit you never forget, shit that never forgets you.'--)

"Yeah."

(--'I think everybody in here's figured that out by now.'--)

"Well, I guess FUCKING *you* was always a whole lot more fun that fucking that whiny junkie slut. You being so...experienced and all."

(--'...used to being fucked, all the time. Well, most of the times... Shit! I guess even ol' To-by got to see that sweet ass of yours a whole lot more than you got to see his, cupcake.'--)

Bringing the F-word into question...but Keller just seems to take it as the most natural thing in the world. Not flinching, not for a goddamn moment.

"I guess it makes sense..."

A perfect circle.

And now Schillinger's all smile, that daddy-like benevolent look of his in full force:

"Yeah, I guess it does..."

(--'Still the same, right Chrissie? Still the same fucking slut. And God, did I miss looking at you and seeing *that* all over your being!... 'Cause it does hurt, I know it does, even if you probably can't even recognise it anymore, given all you've done and all that's been done to you. Probably think it's all natural, just the way it is, the way it should be. Easy to control... But it ain't. You should at least remember that.'--)

Unable to help himself:

"Still as *good* as you used to be, right?"-- a beat: "Bitch."

Like a slap in the face.

'Man, do you know how to do that! But...been there, done that...already know, ummm...what's to know', Keller thinks. (--'All about you. All about me.'--)

"Nobody's complained yet. SIR."

And that fucking word seems to do magic on Schillinger, like always:

"Okay...you'll have to do something about the ugly fuck sleeping where you should be...I'll leave it up to you, cupcake."

One more gaze over at Beecher, but the man's gone.

---end of part 5/17---

Please send feedback to Ralu.