Chapter Twenty-Five

 

 

 

Scott doesn’t really watch the show. He tries for a few minutes, tries to care about the clothes and the special guests and the overly happy hosts, but it’s no use. He feels so...separate from all of that. From Carter. Even from Sutan and Isaac, sitting so close he could reach out and touch them. It’s a divide that’s always been there, maybe, ever since he can remember, but today it feels like a gaping abyss, dark and empty and impossible to cross. He huddles in on himself instead and stares at the carpet, picking at imperfections in the fibers with one bitten-ragged nail and trying not to think about how much he needs a fucking drink.

After a while, Scott hears Carter’s name and he looks back up at the TV, shocked out of his daze. He knows what Carter looks like, obviously. He saw Carter get dressed earlier. But now, on screen, on that stage, he looks like some untouchable person, out of Scott’s reach, out of his league. Scott stares, watches Carter walk out to the microphone and take a deep breath. Something’s not right.

“Look, look, here he goes,” Sutan whispers loudly, touching Scott’s shoulder like he thinks Scott’s not paying attention. Scott tries not to flinch, just grits his teeth through the spark of pain, and ignores Isaac and Sutan’s excited noises behind him.

Carter starts to speak, his voice sounding strange and unfamiliar through the screen, but he immediately stumbles over his words and has to start again. Sutan catches his breath, and Isaac leans forward, and Scott can’t help himself - he’s on his knees and crawling closer to the TV before he even realizes he’s doing it, eyes fixated on Carter.

Carter’s eyes scan the crowd, jumping from section to section, and Scott can’t help but wish Carter could see him. He wishes he could be there, so Carter could see him and see that Scott’s confident in him. Scott trusts him. But Carter stumbles again and again, coughs loudly right into the microphone, and Scott reaches up, stopping just short of laying his hand on the TV screen. Carter seems so far away. The announcer’s voice suddenly booms out, saying the lines meant for Carter, and Scott’s heart leaps into his throat.

“No,” he whispers. “No.” He watches Carter fade into the background, out of sight. Watches him disappear.

He can hear the others reacting behind him, Sutan’s solemn “Oh honey...” and Isaac’s “Fuck,” and he wonders if he’s supposed to say something too. He doesn’t know what. Even if Carter was here, or if Scott was there with him, all he would want to do is wrap his arms around Carter and hug him tight, show him that it doesn’t matter, that Scott doesn’t care and it doesn’t change anything. And then his train of thought is interrupted by another voice, loud this time, loud and shocked and angry.

“What the fuck is that?”

Scott twists around, wondering dazedly if he’ll find a spider or a mouse or something behind him, but all he sees is Isaac, leaning forward with his arm outstretched, pointing at Scott.

“What?” Scott asks, baffled. Sutan raises an eyebrow and opens his mouth to reply, but Isaac cuts him off.

“What the fuck happened to your back, Scott?” he asks, his voice tight and angry. “Let me see.”

Scott sits his ass down on the floor, back to the TV, and pulls his knees up towards his chest. “Nothing. There’s nothing.”

“Scott,” Sutan says calmly. “Don’t lie to us, baby. It’s all right. You can tell us anything.”

Sutan’s face is calm and patient, and Scott believes him. He really could tell Sutan anything and not have to worry about his reaction...if only he had the words. This thing, between Carter and him, it’s not something Scott knows how to think about, much less talk about. He stares at Sutan and wonders how the fuck he’s supposed to explain.

Isaac doesn’t give him a chance. “I knew it. I told you. He was acting like this last time, too, only drunk.” He glances up at Sutan. “Do you believe me now?”

“This isn’t-” Sutan begins, shaking his head. He looks from Isaac to Scott and softens his expression. “Scott, are you and Carter doing all right?”

“Of course we’re-”

“Does that look all right to you?” Isaac asks. “Scott, let me see. Come on, take off your shirt.”

“No!” Scott pulls his legs in tighter, wraps his arms around them. Carter didn’t want anyone to see. He can’t show them.

Isaac stands up and takes a step toward Scott, brow wrinkling when Scott shrinks back. He extends his hand. “Come on, Scott. Get up. Take off your shirt.”

“No, I-”

But then Isaac reaches down and grabs Scott’s arm to pull him to his feet. Before Scott even has his balance, Isaac catches the hem of Scott’s shirt and tugs it up to the middle of his chest.

“No!” Scott shouts. “No, don’t!”

It’s too late. Isaac’s seen him, seen the marks wrapping around his back and licking his ribs, and judging by the sharp gasp from the couch, Sutan’s seen enough too. Isaac wrestles Scott’s shirt off and the scarf gets tangled in it, pulling tight for a moment before slipping free and floating to the floor.

“Jesus Christ,” Isaac breathes.

Scott hunches in, crossing his arms low over his belly, hands clenched into fists. There’s nothing he can do to hide the deep bruises around his throat, and they’ve seen the welts on his back... it’s useless to try and cover them now. But at least they don’t have to see the ugly swell of his stomach. He can still hide that.

“That fucking bas-” Isaac starts, but Sutan throws out one commanding arm, cutting him off and standing up himself to approach Scott slowly. Scott knows Sutan’s looking into his eyes, but for a long time he can’t get himself to look back, can’t force his eyes to focus. When he finally manages it, Sutan’s pretty mouth is turned down at the corners, and his face is serious.

“Scott, did Carter do this to you?” he asks, matter-of-factly, as if he’s asking about the weather or what brand of nail polish Scott’s wearing today.

Scott nods. This is easy. He can do this. Yes or no.

“Why?”

It’s such a tiny question, but it intimidates Scott in a way the first one hadn’t. It doesn’t have an easy answer. He opens his mouth, but no words come out, and his eyes start to unfocus again.

Sutan snaps his fingers in front of Scott’s face and speaks again quickly. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, baby, never mind that. Let me ask a different way. Did you want him to do this? To hurt you?”

Scott nods again, a little slower this time. Sutan seems to relax, but Isaac just growls and shakes and hisses, “This isn’t right. Look at him.” He thrusts his hand towards Scott and stares, and he looks so disappointed, and Scott doesn’t know what he did wrong. What he can do to fix it. He just doesn’t know.

Sutan gives a little tsk and shakes his head, looking toward Isaac. “Don’t preach to me, straight boy. Takes all kinds - you should know that. Fucking irresponsible of Carter, leaving him down like this, though. Alone.”

Most of the words go through Scott’s head like so much water, not catching on anything, but he feels like he wakes up a little at the mention of Carter, at the disapproving tone in Sutan’s voice when he mentions him. That’s not right at all. Carter hasn’t done anything wrong. Nothing.

“He’s not - I’m fine! I don’t need a fucking, fucking babysitter.” Scott’s voice is high in his own ears, panicky, and he can’t seem to make it calm down. “Just leave me alone. He’ll be back soon. I know he will. He promised. And I kept my promise, too. See? I’m being good. I’m...”

He lets his voice trail off as his brain finally catches up to the words spewing out of his mouth. They’re staring at him, both of them, concern in their eyes. He’s not helping. He’s fucking this up, like he fucks everything else up. And he needs a drink so bad his hands are shaking. He clenches his fingers into fists and swallows hard, looking down at the floor and away from their worried stares.

“Look at him,” Isaac says again, this time with his voice low, like Scott can’t hear him even though he’s right there. “He’s not healthy. He can’t handle this. Fuck, Scott, have you even eaten anything today?”

“Yes,” Scott snaps. He’s not actually sure, but he must’ve eaten something yesterday. Before Carter came home. “And I can take it. You don’t know what I can take.”

“I know this is too fucking much!” Isaac says. “I know you love him, Scott. I know you fucking worship him. And god knows I don’t care what kind of kinky sex you might get up to. But this is beyond that. This is wrong.”

Sutan breaks in before Scott can answer. “Baby, I’m sure you don’t want to hear this, but he might be right. Anything you do together should be making you feel better, not worse.”

“But he does make me better!” Scott cries. “When he’s gone, that’s when it’s worse. All I want to do is hide.”

“And drink,” Isaac says, through gritted teeth.

“It’s bad, I know it’s bad, I know that now, and I haven’t-I’m fine, I haven’t done anything, I’ve been good. I’ve been good, Isaac, he made me better. He made me promise.”

“Scott. I know you think it's the alcohol that's hurting you, but it's not. It's him,” Isaac says, gesturing wildly at Scott and the kitchen and the front door. There’s a heavy pause left in the air after those words, and Scott can’t breathe, can’t think. He scrambles for something to retaliate with, anything. Isaac’s wrong. He has to be.

“So now it’s not bad to drink?” Scott asks. “Now it’s okay? Yesterday you...”

“It doesn’t matter what I did yesterday. It didn’t fucking help. It didn’t fix anything! I didn’t know he was the problem.”

Sutan puts his hands out and speaks over both of them. “Okay, okay, calm down. Scott, baby, just let us get you patched up a little. Then we can all just wait for Carter to get back. He’s got some questions to answer.”

Scott blinks and sucks in a quick, cold breath. Then he narrows his eyes and says, “Carter doesn’t have to answer to anybody.”

“He sure as hell has to answer to me,” Isaac says. “This is fucked up, Scott.”

“And who the fuck are you?” Scott shouts. “You don’t know us, you don’t know how this works. But it fucking works and it’s none of your goddamn business.”

“Scott, calm-” Sutan says, reaching for him, but Scott pushes past and storms into the kitchen.

Scott rakes his hands through his hair roughly and shakes his head. Then he reaches out for the handle to the cabinet, the one hiding cool, clear bottles behind its wooden door. He could have done it. Alone, maybe he could have. But now... “I can’t,” he says, more to himself than to either of the others. “I can’t.”

Isaac’s close on his heels, and he wraps his arms around Scott’s torso, hauling him back and away from the neat row of bottles in the cabinet. He’s not really any bigger than Scott, but he lifts Scott off his feet and stumbles backward, and Scott screams and kicks out at thin air, and they finally collapse on the floor in a heap.

Scott scrambles off Isaac and pushes himself across the floor until his back slams painfully into one of the cabinets. “Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me!”

“Guys,” Sutan says, loud and clear and breaking through the red haze in Scott’s brain. “Carter’s not coming home. He was just spotted going into one of the afterparties.”

“What?” Isaac asks, panting and not taking his eyes off Scott. “He can’t just-That fucking asshole, he can’t leave Scott here like this to go party...”

“I know,” Sutan replies grimly. “I tried calling him but he didn’t answer.”

“Why wouldn’t he come home?” Scott asks. He feels like he’s missing something, a vital piece of the puzzle, because nothing’s making sense. “He said he’d come home. He’s coming home, he’ll be here soon.”

Sutan’s still staring at his phone. “You stupid fucker,” he says under his breath. Then he dials and looks up as he puts the phone to his ear. “I’m going. Someone’s gotta bring him back here and make him face up to this...whatever it is.”

He turns and walks a few steps toward the door, muttering into the phone. Halfway there, he stops and turns suddenly, staring hard at Isaac. “Don’t you go anywhere. Stay with him. I’ll be back.”

Isaac laughs humorlessly. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not letting him out of my sight.”

Sutan sighs and turns away again, leaving without another word. Scott stares up at Isaac, who’s staring back, and for a moment all they can do is look at each other. There’s too much unsaid, unexplained, and Scott doesn’t know how to make Isaac understand. Doesn’t know if he even canunderstand.

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” Scott tells him softly. “I know it’s not perfect, but... it’s all me. I’m... messed up. But he helps me. He...he does the best he can.”

Isaac raises his eyebrows. “Really? Does he, Scott?”

Scott buries his face in his hands. Hearing anyone talk about Carter this way would be hard, but Isaac is one of Scott’s best friends. He knowsCarter. How could he think this way?

Isaac speaks again, voice softer, gentler. “I know you think he’s doing his best, Scott. I know you think things are okay. But...relationships make people stupid sometimes, you know? And I’m sorry, man, but you’re being really fucking stupid right now if you can see that this isn’t right. It isn’t how things are supposed to be.”

“It’s not his fault!” Scott protests. “He’s just busy, and that’s not his fault.”

“No. It’s not. But you didn’t always...need him like this. You used to love having time by yourself. And that is his fault. He changed you. And not for the better.”

“He didn’t change me. This is who I am. This is who I’ve always been.”

Isaac throws his hands up, frustrated. “Fine, Scott. Whatever. We can argue about this later. But right now, I really think you should come back home with me. Just until you feel better.”

“About what?”

Isaac gestures vaguely. “Your back, and your neck, and...fuck, Scott, you’re so thin.”

Scott narrows his eyes. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Scott. If you could see yourself right now...come on. Pack a bag. I can’t let you do this to yourself any more.”

“I’m not leaving,” Scott says bluntly. “Carter’s coming home soon. I’m supposed to wait for him.”

“Well, there’s been a change of plans. Sutan’s gonna find him and bring him back here, and we’re gonna go. We gotta get out of here, come on. Let’s get your stuff and go.”

“I can’t go with you. I’m waiting for Carter.”

Isaac throws his hands back into the air and finally grabs Scott’s arm, shakes him a little. “He’s hurting you, Scott. He’s... Scott. Scott, look at yourself. He’s beating you.”

“That’s not...”

“Scott, this is abuse, this isn’t... This isn’t a game, okay? This isn’t normal.”

Scott shakes his head and tries to pull away from Isaac’s grip. “Fuck you. He’s not fucking... whatever, he’s not doing that. I love him.”

Isaac pauses, and for a moment, Scott thinks that maybe he’s finally gotten through. But Isaac just pulls insistently at Scott’s arm and says, “We’re done talking about this. I’m getting you out of here. Away from him.”

Scott twists hard and wrenches his arm out of Isaac’s grip. “Fucking go then,” he hisses. “No one asked you to come.”

“I’m your friend, you asshole! No one had to.”

“Well no one asked you to be that either!” The second the words are out of his mouth, Scott regrets them. They’re cruel, and they’re not even close to true, and Isaac doesn’t deserve them. But he doesn’t apologize, just folds his arms across his chest and looks away, pushing the guilt down.

“Scott...”

“Just go.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“I don’t want you here when he gets home.”

“And why is that, Scott? Why are you protecting him? Because he’s doing something wrong.” Isaac gives him a pleading look. “Come on, Scott, I’m just trying to help. Come with me.” He lifts his hand, and Scott sees it like it’s in slow motion, grabbing for him. He gets out from between Isaac and the cabinet and crosses the kitchen, snatches one of the long, sharp knives out of the block by the stove, holds it out to fend Isaac off.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” he hisses, waving the knife between them. Isaac’s jaw is hanging open, and he’s holding both hands in the air now to calm Scott down, but it isn’t working. “I’m not fucking going anywhere.”

“Scott, put the fucking knife down, Jesus Christ,” Isaac says carefully. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m... I’m...” But Scott doesn’t even know. “Get the fuck out. Leave me alone.”

“I’m not leaving you like this, Scott, no fucking way.”

“Get out! This isn’t your fucking house. Get the fuck out!”

“Well, it’s not yours either!” Isaac screams at him. “It’s his name on the lease. His money. His shit. And if you stay here much longer, that’s all you’re gonna be. Just something else he owns. He’s swallowing you up, Scott. There’s not gonna be anything left of you.” He takes a step forward, mouth set in an angry line. “You’re not gonna hurt me. Gimme the fucking knife.”

Scott realizes he’s right, he can’t hurt Isaac...when Isaac takes another step forward. He’s reaching for the knife, about to take it out of Scott’s hand, and Scott can’t force himself to swing it, cut him, defend himself. Scott backs up against the counter and holds out his left arm instead, lays the blade across his skin, digs the point in a little.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he says again, quiet this time, because Isaac’s stopped dead. “Get out and fucking leave me alone.”

“Don’t-”

“You think I won’t do it?” Scott asks. “You said it yourself. I’ve got nothing left. You really think I won’t?”

“Scott, just stop! Look, I’m not touching you. I’m not doing anything,” Isaac says, hands still up, voice tight and scared.

“You gonna fucking listen to me now?” Scott presses the knife just a tiny bit more, just enough to break the skin. A tiny point of red wells up, bright against the paleness of his inner arm, and Isaac gasps.

“I’m listening, just stop, oh my god...”

Scott sucks in a shaking breath. He doesn’t know how he got here, how things got to this point. It’s like something else has been pulling him along, like he’s caught up in the current and can’t get free. All that’s left to do is give himself up to it.

“You’re gonna leave. Right now. Go home to Sophie. This is between me and Carter.”

“Okay, okay, fine, but...” Isaac stumbles over the threshold as Scott herds him towards the door. “Scott, wait. Please, don’t-Just don’t do anything, okay?”

“Go home,” Scott says firmly.

“Promise me, Scott. Fucking promise me you will put that knife down the second I leave. Swear to me.”

Scott twists the tip of the knife, drawing a bright bead of blood that slides over his forearm. He grits his teeth and nods. “Go, now. Please.”

Isaac scrambles backward and through the front door and all the way down the front steps before slowing to a stop. “Put down the knife, Scott,” he shouts. “I’m leaving, okay? Please, put it down. Carter and Sutan will be here soon, okay? Don’t do anything until they get here.”

“I...I...” Scott stares at the blood on his arm, watches how it stains, how it drips. It doesn’t hurt. He’d thought it would hurt.

“Promise me, Scott,” Isaac cries. “You wanna see Carter again, right? He’ll help you. Just wait for him, please.”

Scott stares at him for a long moment. Isaac looks small now, surrounded by Carter’s neatly manicured front lawn, and the heavy gate at the end of the driveway. Isaac’s just as helpless as Scott is, now. Scott finally nods and says, “I promise,” because Isaac’s right. He needs to see Carter. And Carter will be home soon. He lets the hand with the knife fall away from his arm and slams the door, locks it, peeks through the window to see if Isaac will really leave.

He does, and he pulls out his phone on the way to his car, but after he pulls out of the driveway, no police cars or ambulances or fucking firetrucks appear, so Scott holds him to his word. He lets out a sigh of relief and heads back to the kitchen, dropping the knife to the floor.

It’s so quiet. That’s the first thing he notices. It didn’t seem so quiet this morning, like something about the house has been changed by the fighting, the yelling. His arm is starting to throb a little now, and he reaches down to drag his fingers through the blood, painting it in thinning stripes over his skin. He wonders what Carter will do when he sees.

The bottles in the cabinet are taunting him, and he stares at them for a while, judging the amount in each bottle, if Carter would notice if he drank just a little from each. Or if one disappeared. The bottle of Jack looks new, unopened. Maybe Carter would forget he bought it, if Scott hid it somewhere.

He reaches for the Jack, watches his hand move like some kind of out-of-body experience, but Carter’s voice rings clearly through his head. Scott promised him. He grabs the cabinet door instead and slams it shut. He should go do something else. Distract himself. Pick up the guitar he hasn’t touched in way too long. Anything to help him be good.

Instead, he presses his palms to the smooth wood of the cabinet and stares at his hands. Takes a deep breath. Hopes that Carter is close. He’s still caught in the current, still drifting, and the edge is coming. Carter’s the only one that can keep him from falling over it.