it's all just raging disappointment

[slow_burn]

Aiden wasn't seen for the rest of the session.

It was a few hours later he was finally released from the room in the house that was basically just a room with a lock on the outside, a quiet room of sorts. It might as well had been Aiden's second home.

He didn't kick the door or bang his head against the wall this time, though. Instead, he thought. And waited.

It was night when Aiden found her, gently knocking on her room. They had a lot more freedom here than they did a hospital, that was for sure--no nurses patrolling, anyway.

"Hey," He's opened the door somewhat ajar, peaking his head in but not looking directly at the bed (it's the same setup for all of them). Tracy's asleep, anyway. "Heather. Get up, I want to show you something."

Comments

[slow_burn]

"Let's jump."

Aiden's looking back, holding her hand. He's tempted to push her off--very tempted. Instead, that slow blink is back.

"Let's just jump, dude. Break our fucking necks. We don't have to deal with the same shit everyday if we just disappear."

[sweetmotherofgod]

For a slow, terrible moment, she steps forward. Toes of her sneakers flush with the edge, peering over. Does it work like that? A moment of freefall, half a heartbeat to end it and then nothing?

She half expects his hand in her back, a quick drop for her foolishness. And who would blame him? Hell, who would even know? She finally gets that diagnosis - whoops, depressed, shame we didn't catch it earlier - and that would be an end to it. It doesn't come, and she takes a step back, shaking her head.

"Too easy. Cheap."

[slow_burn]

Cheap, huh?

Aiden considers this, considers her words. The one who walked in on her dead dad, the one who didn't jump because she had stuff to do. She wasn't done, that's why they weren't jumping--that's why it was just them and Heather talking him out.

She's genuine, though. This isn't a trick, this isn't something to get him to settle down.

"When I die," He says suddenly, "It's going to be going down in a blaze of glory. I don't know what yet, but it's going to happen. And everyone's going to think 'there goes Aiden. What a cool fucking kid."

[sweetmotherofgod]

"They won't."

The words are out of her mouth before she thinks to stop them, tumbling out when she knows she shouldn't.

"People never think of you the way you want when you die. They just make you into what they wanted you to be, turn you into a symbol. The second your heart stops it's like you don't exist anymore. You're just a myth, and it's never the one you would've wanted."

The eulogies they'd written for her dad that had almost nothing to do with the man he'd been. The letters left for her by kids at school, kids she hadn't even known but had been so keen to make gestures, to seize on grief and feel a part of it that they hadn't even waited for her to turn up dead.

[slow_burn]

Aiden's laughing again, balancing on the edge like it's some sort of tightrope. The roof is steep, and Aiden takes an odd kidn of pleasure from knowing that one slip up and he could plummet to his death.

"You won't," he points out. "You'll always know."

[sweetmotherofgod]

"Who you are?"

The idea's so strange she laughs along with him. She can't imagine knowing him, not really. She can't fit him into any of the boxes ner brief time in the system's already shown her. He doesn't have the bovine stupidity of the users, the pigheadedness of the bullies. Arrogance, yeah, but the kind that comes from knowing your smarter than at least half the people around you.

"I'll keep the faith. Keep your name alive."

[slow_burn]

"Start a religion. Church of Donahue." Aiden's stopped pacing the roof because he's leapt over, making a loud noise as his feet land closer to Heather and he grabs her wrist, pulling her close.

"And everyone could just do anything they want. Just do whatever. If they want to be safe, then they can be safe. But if they want to burn themselves with cigarettes then who the fuck are we to stop them?" Because Aiden has--under his long-sleeved shirts, under the moonlight of the roof--and he sees nothing wrong with lancing the wound every now and then. It's healthy, he protests, grabbing Heather's hip with his other hand, dancing like he's seen in movies.

When he dips her, it's straight down and completely over the roof, letting go of her hip, her dangle by only one hand.

"Maybe now you'll give a shit," He says honestly. "Thinkin' I can drop you the moment I get tired of doing this."

[sweetmotherofgod]

They're dancing, and he's close and alive and so strange that she wants to kiss him properly, pull him close and see if some of that strange light in him will stick to her if she does, but she doesn't even manage to finish the thought until there's nothing between her and the open, yawning air but Aiden's will.

She forces herself not to struggle. Not to scrabble at the edge of the roof with her feet, not to pull at him. Not to close her eyes. She can't help her gasp of fear, the strained tone of her voice, but she can keep her gaze on his face.

"Don't ever accuse me of not caring." It's taut and terrified but it's angry, in her viscera, in her marrow. Thrumming through her like she's a tuning fork he's just struck. "Don't you ever."

[slow_burn]

She's angry. She's scared but mostly angry and Aiden pulls her up, whirls around and backs himself onto the ledge, nearly toppling over. Arms outstretched, and--

"That's why you're different. You got no reason to be in here 'cause you've already been through hell and back, you don't need to relive it. If I fall..."

Aiden's tic is back--blinking. He doesn't even realize it's happening, but he's leaning towards the edge, almost going to fall, almost, almost--

--he doesn't slip, he launches himself. But it's at Heather with such ferocity and fierceness that when they careen on the roof and Aiden's hugging her as tightly as he can.

[sweetmotherofgod]

Heather's arms go around him in return, clutching at him. To keep him away from the edge or to keep herself afloat, she doesn't know. But she does know she's trembling, that her heart is racing and her breath is coming far too fast.

After being worn into numbness, the terror is a relief.

"Jesus Christ." She mumbles against his neck, into his long hair. "You are crazy."

[slow_burn]

"No," Aiden's still ontop of her, still clutching her but he slowly draws back, brown hair tickling her face as he leans in. "I'm alive."

Because to Aiden, there's a fundamental difference. There's a rational reason for the way he acts--even when he violently slams his head against a wall or picks a fight with someone much bigger than him. Even if he plays baseball and swings the bat at someone's head. Even if he has a knife, and he's ontop of his mother, and all he can hear is screaming screaming screaming and then a sick gurgle as the knife pierces through her windpipe, as her head lolls to the side as lifeless as his sister.

Aiden leans forward and kisses Heather, slow and soft and surprisingly sweet.

[sweetmotherofgod]

He is. Right now, she thinks he might be the most alive person she's ever met. He's the kind of bright that ends with burning out, she knows that -- hell, she just told her as much -- but he's warm and close and alive and she's had too much of death.

She doesn't stop shaking, but she does kiss him back.

[slow_burn]

Aiden takes his time--he's slow, he's patient--and he knows he smells like cigarettes and marijuana, though Heather tastes of corrupted innocence. It's beautiful, really. She's beautiful.

And all Aiden can think of is the screams of his mother, wondering if Heather sounds exactly the same.

When he pulls away he touches her bottom limb with his thumb, gently--his own is split but he didn't seem to even acknowledge the pain from Mike earlier--and the lazy smile turns into a smirk.

"You're on my side, right, Heather?"

[sweetmotherofgod]

The gentle way he handles her is at odds with the sharp and bitter taste of him, the things he's being saying. The things he's been doing. So when he breaks the kiss and thumbs at her lip she watches the way his mouth curves into something hard, the way his eyes go from sleepy and soft to something else entirely, and she curls her arms around herself.

"Aiden." She shakes her head, not a no but an I can't believe this. Her voice is quiet. "I don't even know what your side is yet."

She bites her lip, a press of teeth where the pad of his thumb has been.

"I'm not on the other side."

[slow_burn]

Aiden's smile widens as he gets up and offers a hand, nodding. She'll stay. He likes her.

"My side's interesting, that's all. You'll like it." He nods to himself, slinking down to move to the window once more.

"But we need to get back in or the nurse whatsherbitch is gonna check the rooms and find we're gone."

[sweetmotherofgod]

Right. He's been here a while, he knows the patterns, the routine.

"So what's the penalty for getting caught out of bed? I think they're trying to ease me in. Told me what I can't do, but not what happens if I get caught doing it."

Somehow Heather has the feeling that Aiden's experienced most of those firsthand.

[slow_burn]

"Depends. You just missed Ian--he had a thing for pretty girls. He caught any of the chicks doing something bad he'd fuck 'em as punishment. Liked to kick the shit out of Mike, though." As if that somehow made it better. He shrugs, pushing long bangs out of his face.

"Most of the time it's just the quiet room, though. Don't feel like going back, just spend all day there."

[sweetmotherofgod]

Her stomach clenches as he talks, both for the idea and the casual, careless way he relates it. The only attempt to put her in a foster home had ended with hurried explanations of misunderstandings to do with sleepwalking and really there were no hard feelings about the broken nose but maybe she'd be better off elsewhere, and the idea of being someplace where the default was probably to assume the girl involved was a fucked up little liar makes her feel sick.

But he's gone -- Aiden says he's gone, so she's safe -- and she sets her shoulders in bravado to hide it away.

"So let's not get caught."

[slow_burn]

"Hey." Aiden's mouth has curled into a lazy smile, grabbing her by the hip and ushering her to walk with him, back to her room. Back to where she has to pretend to be normal and recovering.

"There's a lot of fucked up shit in this world and you and me? We've got the worst of it." It's flat-out, spoken so casually but Aiden means it--he sincerely means it. "Anyone lays a hand on you and you don't want it, I'm killing."

[sweetmotherofgod]

The sudden touch is enough to make Heather tense up, and she has to make a conscious effort to pull herself out of the defensive thought pattern she's found herself in. Aiden's showing her around, trying to help her. Aiden wants her on his side. She doesn't need to worry.

Aiden dangled me off a roof, the rational part of her says, and the part of her that knows she's something dark and wrong and wonders why her father failed to strangle her all those years ago answers Aiden didn't let me fall.

"I can handle myself," she says, pitching her voice low and quiet in the unfriendly hallways. "But thanks."

[slow_burn]

"Mmmm-hmmm." It's not patronizing--Aiden knows she can handle herself. It's why he's drawn to her. As much as she pretends to be a zombie she's just as fiery and volatile as he is.

"Hey." He's stopped in front of her, leaning in. Not quite trapping her, but his hands still on her hip and he's leaning close, close, close. So close. "Let's make a deal."

[sweetmotherofgod]

Heather stills. Doesn't lean back like she should, doesn't lean in like she thinks she might want to. Just stills under his hands, eyes flicking from his eyes to his mouth and back again as she wets her lips.

"What kind of deal?"

She's whispering now, as much for his proximity as the desire not to get caught. Close as he is, she's not worried he won't hear.

[slow_burn]

"I show you the ropes..." Aiden's slow blink is back, running a hand over her cheek. "...And if I need help with something, you at least consider it, huh? An eye for an eye, that sorta thing."

[sweetmotherofgod]

"I'd-" I'd do that anyway, she's about to say, but suddenly it doesn't seem like a good idea. She's thinking of bargaining again, the price of people's help. Better to make it official, call it a deal.

An eye for an eye. He makes it sound so sinister. But he's got a taste for drama, she thinks. For gestures and show.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay. Deal."

[slow_burn]

"Deal, then." He leans in, kisses her on the lips and brushes a hand across her face again.

"I'd say you're pretty when you smile, but you're not going to do it often, anyway. So I guess I'll just thank you for being as fucked-up as I am."