26. TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SIX
“C’mon,” Finn’s voice is soft—almost distant sounding, “I made breakfast for you, Dunk.”
He’s got that same frantic desperation like when I thought he was letting me leave. That same stupid face that screams “I’m so desperate” with pupils blown so wide you’d think he was on drugs.
“What…?” I rasp, trying and failing to sit up. My entire body feels lax, my limbs must be sleeping even if my brain isn’t. “What did you give me, Finn? What was that…?”
Every syllable comes out at an agonizingly slow pace, and part of me isn’t even sure what I’m saying is understandable. His attention falls on me, but I don’t think he's really looking at me. It’s as though I’m made of glass—there but not really there.
“Just… it was something to help ease your nerves,” he explains without meeting my eyes. “You were getting really… worked up. I-I just… I got scared.” Finn hesitates, before coming closer and cupping my cheek. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Duncan. I know—”
“How many times are you gonna apologize?” The tone of my voice is anything but happy. “You always say sorry, but you don’t stop. You just keep going, and going, and…” It’s too tiring to keep going. I’m only wasting my breath, anyway.
Finn finally faces me, and his expression softens completely. For a second it seems like he’s finally going to chill out, but of course that would be too easy—and nothing about him is easy.
“I’m trying my best…” he takes a deep breath that does fuck all to help him. “I don’t… This is… It’s not what I thought. It’s s-scary… I’m scared, Duncan. I want to be good for you. I want you to see how much you matter… but I keep m-messing it up!”
His shorter frame jerks back, both hands shooting up to grab aimlessly at his shaggy brown hair. Fried split ends poke out through the gaps between his fingers, but I’m more focused on how tightly his eyes are squeezed shut.
“I fucked it up!” Finn whines, turning away from me entirely. “You hate me. All I wanted was for you to see… for… Fuck! F-Fuck! Fuck!” His voice gets louder and louder until he slams the dark wood table, the impact making the plates and glasses rattle.
I shouldn’t want to comfort him. I know that much. But when all my life I’ve had to talk my dad down from his own flare ups, it’s become a sort of second nature. All I know is how to take care of other people, even if it ends up harming me in the end.
“You can’t just… ignore it.” Each word feels like throwing up shards of glass, and it’s a mistake I know I’ll regret. “What you did is wrong, and we both know that. But you keep pretending it’s fine.”
Finn turns his head enough to actually see me, wearing the biggest frown on his acne-scarred face. “...It’s not fine. I-I know it’s not. I’m so… so stupid… so stupid for thinking this would work.”
“What was even your plan?” I chuckle even though nothing about this is even remotely funny. “You thought what? You’d lock me in a basement until I loved you?”
Tiredly, he grimaces. The exhaustion he wears is etched into his otherwise soft features. I don’t think I can blame him, though. The little I know about him is pretty damn depressing.
Waking up early every morning, he works thanklessly at a shitty gas station and presumably has to drive back here every night. This lonely little home so far away from the rest of the world, so isolated and quiet. Then he does it all again, day in and day out.
“I know it’s stupid. You don’t have to laugh.”
“I’m just trying to understand, Finn.”
With balled up fists, he weakly throws himself onto me. Nuzzling into the crook of my neck, he sniffles. “You can’t understand. I-I don’t make sense. I’m stupid… I’m a… retard.”
Hearing him call himself that makes my heart break. “No, you aren’t. Don’t say that.”
“I am,” he argues. “Look at me. Look at the f-freaking mess I’ve made. You were the only good thing I had, and I… I ruined it. I can’t fix this. Can’t make you not hate me…”
“But I don’t hate you.”
Finn goes stiff. “...You should.”
“I really should, shouldn’t I?” It’s almost cruel how much I want to hate him. “But I don’t, Finn. Not at all. You’re hurting… I can see that.”
To my surprise he starts bawling, clinging even tighter as he sits on my lap like an oversized dog. “You’re too good. Too good for this world, too good for m-me… too good for your family.”
There’s a layer of malice in that last part, as evident by his nails digging into my back. “No one will ever deserve you. B-But I want to, god… I really want to. U-Ugh…”
Every word that leaves his mouth sounds like a plea. Does he need me to care? Does he need me to want him? But why? What did I ever do that was so special? Visit him? Talk to him? Be his friend?
“You’re such a good person…” he says—as if the thoughts in my mind somehow reached him. “I don’t… the way you t-treat me… I can’t lose it…” His grip loosens, but something seems off. “I won’t lose it. I won’t. You’re not leaving me.”
Pulling out of the one-sided hug he was giving me, everything shatters.
That manic look is back, and he’s staring at me with something eerily close to hatred.
“W-What can I do to keep you? Do I need to l-lock you up again? Should I just… your legs… Maybe breaking them wasn’t enough… Maybe I should—”
“F-Finn!” My voice breaks at the end of my shout. I don’t even realize I’m shaking at first. “Stop… P-Please stop… I’m scared… I’m really scared…”
For once I’m being fully honest, even if it doesn’t necessarily feel as though it’s the right decision. His silence is more horrifying than when he speaks, because at least then I can see some semblance of his thoughts and try to understand, even if I really can’t most of the time.
His mouth opens, but still no words come out. Maybe he’s stunned, or maybe he’s realizing this is all so pointless. Was it the right thing to say? What if he comes to the conclusion that the only solution is to dispose of me and move on?
The silence is eating me up inside, but I know I have to do something.
I really don’t want to die, not like this.
I don’t want to become a missing persons poster, and I don’t want to be the topic of some shitty YouTube video that dramatizes my life to the point it’s unrecognizable.
I don’t want it. I want to live. I have to live.
I have to.
Lunging forward, my body acts before my mind does. His chapped lips find purchase of my own, and despite how sluggish I feel I bring my arms up to delicately rest on his chest.
It takes Finn five quick seconds to process that I initiated the kiss before coming back to his senses. His mouth presses up against mine with so much force our teeth clack together, but that doesn’t deter him at all.
Warm, calloused hands begin to explore my frame—starting from my chest and sliding down to the small of my waist. Even when drool begins to run down my chin he doesn’t dare pull away, kissing me like I’m his lifeline.
“I love you,” he moans when we do finally part.
Even though he’s panting he still clings tight to me, and at first I can’t imagine why.
But then I feel how his sweatpants tighten and something more solid pokes and prods at my thigh.
“I love you so much. I-I love you… I’ll make you feel good. U-Ugh… I—ngh…”
Finn shudders, sloppily kissing at my neck before disappearing down between my legs. He hits the floor with a thud, hands on my knees before throwing them apart without a care. I wince at the brief jolt of pain that causes. “D-Duncan… I love you… Let me s-show you. I’ll p-prove it…”
This is so wrong, yet I can’t stop myself from beginning to get hard. The shame that follows is a sickening sucker punch to the gut. “S-Stop it, Finn! Don’t!”
His head hangs low, resting against my thigh. Unmoving, he shudders and clings tighter instead. “I… I-I don’t know what to do—I just… I-Isn’t this what you want? How do I…?”
Despite how shaky he is, he forces himself backwards, landing on his ass and avoiding my gaze at all costs. “I’m s-so pathetic…Can’t even… Ugh!” Rosy cheeks turn a fiery red as he shoots up and gets in my face.
“W-Why did you kiss me? If you don’t like me… you don’t…” My heart sinks when he trails off and slowly begins to realize my plan. Even without speaking, the way he stares at me is enough to know one thing: I’m absolutely fucked.