3 posts tagged “runaway”
"Hey, Al." He pulled out his keys as he headed up to the door, smiling lightly to the Irishman. "Took you long enough."
"I was holdin' out fer ye to come ta yer senses."
"You should know better." He smiled again. "Come on in. I figured you'd be around soon, so I made some strawberry tea. Where's the crotchety man?"
"At the 'otel." Al followed him inside. "An' don't change the subject. Yer being stupid. Why'd ye stop going ta the doctors?"
Tyler pulled down two glasses and filled them each with strawberry ice tea, then set them down at the table. He motioned his friend to a seat, but Al didn't take it. Ty shrugged a little and slid into his own seat. "Can't you tell? Take a look at me, Al. The last time you saw me, I may as well have been on my deathbed. I was so sick I couldn't keep down water. They were poisoning me and calling it treatment."
"Ye have cancer, boyo. That's the only way ta treat it."
"It's not." Tyler pointed to his pill bottles. "I'm taking the pills. I feel better than I have since this whole stupid thing started."
"But yer not better."
"You don't know that."
"Yeah, I do. Get an X-ray, Ty. The cancer ain't gone. If it spreads..."
"It could spread even if I was letting them pump me with enough radiation to turn me into the Hulk. And if it does, it does. I'm so sick of living in fear of these stupid 'what ifs'. I already fucked up the only what if that mattered, and there's no way to fix it, so whether it spreads or shrinks or disappears or explodes, I don't care. I just want to be able to live. I don't have forever like you do. I just have now, and now is exactly what was being taken from me."
Tyler stared at Al, at his hands holding the back of the proffered chair and the lock of red falling over his eye. Al's gaze was intense, but Tyler held it. If Al could see inside him, if he could see the cancer or his soul or whatever else happened to be beneath Ty's skin, let him.
After a long moment, Al broke the gaze, pulled out the chair, and dropped himself gracelessly into it. "Boyo..."
Tyler smiled a little. "I'm okay, really. I feel great."
"Come back ta Ireland."
"I'm not going back to the doctors."
"I didn' ask ye to. But yer damn assistant went an' messed up all the damn files and I can't find nothing... and I don't see any reason why ye can't have 'now' with yer friends."
"You're not going to harass me about the doctors?"
Al took a drink of his tea and propped his foot against the leg of the table. "Yer a grown man, Ty... don' know when it happened, but there it is."
Tyler grinned.
"'Sides, Nessa wants someone ta show off her new toys ta, and the old bastard ain't no fun cause he can't see how far the pieces scatter when they blow up."
"Geezus, what'd you get her?"
"C4." Al shrugged. "What could I do? She killed her mum's new cat an' felt downright awful... had ta cheer her up."
((And this has suddenly gotten wildly out of hand, so I'm ending that there. What do you think, Tem? Is Al awful? Be honest! Rargh! Okay, now it's getting too cold to stay in the attic, and I have to pee and try to work on my novel. Later.))
Tyler sat atop the parking deck, closing his eyes as the sun beat down against him. He was glad he'd headed south, the winter didn't sound too promising. Wind stirred locks of blond around his head.
Ty had not dyed his hair, he didn't change his eye color, he even kept his first name. He didn't really doubt that Al could find him. In fact, it'd been about two weeks by now since he'd up and left Ireland and stopped all his treatments. He was due for a visit from the angry Irishman, if only so that Al could tell him he was being stupid. Maybe he was.
Tyler Conrad swung his legs over the side of the large stone building, looking down over the five layers of bricks that held him away from the ground and smiled to himself. He glanced up at the blue sky and gauged the time... close to five. He had to eat soon. Even though he'd stopped his chemotherapy, he kept taking the pills they'd given him, and tried to keep on a schedule for eating. He was already blatantly disregarding doctor's orders, but he wasn't suicidal.
He rolled back off of the stone pillar and down to his feet. This was what the doctors didn't want you to know: as bad as you feel when you come out of each treatment, you feel that much better by the time the radiation is out of your system. He felt healthy, and it didn't matter that he had to take six pills three times a day to maintain that, because he could go outside and walk and run and eat. And maybe the lack of radiation would kill him faster, but on days like this, it didn't matter.
The blond tucked his hands into his pockets and headed towards the staircase, skipping down the steps with a light smile to himself. He headed away from the car port and towards the room he was renting. He wasn't really all that shocked to see Al standing outside of it.
(And I'm stopping there, because I started to keep going, and let them talk, but it didn't sound like Al at all, and that bugs me. If I'm gonna write about him, I want it to be him and not a slightly annoyed and accented version of Ty. Oh well.)
Aaron laid silently, his eyes trained on the small patch of light on the ceiling, listening to the soft drip, drip of the kitchen faucet. He shifted a little on the moth-eaten sofa and pulled the threadbare sheet up a little. There was no glass in the window.
What the Hell was I thinking, taking off like this? I'm freezing, I'm starving, and I don't know how to do anything... except lie. Now what? I'm away. He can't go to the police about me missing. But that still leaves me stranded. I won't go back. I won't. I'll die.... I'll die. I'll die if I don't go back. But I can't. I can't go crawling back now. He killed Yantzy. He'll end up killing me. Once I grow up a little more. When we can't tell people that I'm ten or eleven. What use will he have for someone full grown? None.
But still. I have to do something.
He looked over at the broken window. It got far too cold at night here. He needed to go someplace else. Besides, his dad was only two towns over. Too close.
Tomorrow I'll hitchhike. I'll head east. But where? He's probably already out looking. He might be in town right now. I have to go far. As far as I can. Someplace where everyone's anonymous.
The wind picked up and he clutched at his blanket as his stomach gave a pathetic grumble.
Nobody's going to pick up someone they think is homeless. I'll stop at the library. Clean up a bit... Will he look for me there? Did he notice how often I had my nose in a book? Maybe I should wait....
No. I have to get out of here fast. I'll just have to risk it. I'll have to risk that, and I'll have to steal something to eat so that I don't alarm anyone that picks me up.
He closed his eyes. That was the plan. He had a plan, and plans were his friend. He just had to run, and had to be quick about it. Once he got east, he could always figure something else out. It'd be easy. Maybe. Once he got east. He fell into an uneasy sleep on the couch that smelled of mildew and dreamt about the smell of the school in the morning--that lemony smell of things that were clean, neat, and easy.
In the morning he got up and shook himself out, making certain to get the blood circulating again, rubbing his chilled hands together and putting them atop his nose. He grabbed the small bag he'd packed from the corner and glanced skyward. It's not even eight yet. I guess food comes first, then the library.
He headed down the fire escape as quietly as possible, looking around to make sure the old Plymouth Duster wasn't lurking outside his hideaway. That, or cop cars. That'd be just as bad, when he thought about it. But definitely not worse... because the cops wouldn't beat the living hell out of him.
He jumped down the last few feet and straightened himself, looking around, then hurrying to the end of the block, peering around the corner. No rust-colored car.
There was a corner store a few blocks up. He loathed to steal from small businesses, but it was close, and he knew the immediate area well enough that should he need to run, he could hide.
He ventured slowly, carefully, around the corner, and then, feeling more confident, continued on, keeping one eye open for the car, and the other for its driver.
Aaron could see the corner store and the bars on the windows, but the door was propped open, and the neon lights illuminated. Okay, just something small. Crackers or something. Something to tide me over.
He pulled the baseball cap down over his eyes a little more as he made his way to the building.
The arms came around him from behind: one around his waist, the other put it's hand over his mouth. He jerked and tried to yell as panic stole over him. Caught!
He didn't have to see the man who was pulling him into the alley's face. That smell was too familiar. No! No! He struggled and kicked and jerked, but he was small and thin, and his father was tall and strong.
Aaron felt like crying. His freedom so short-lived.
The boy collided with the wall and the older man's body was above him, boxing him in, his hand in place over his mouth.
"Where the fuck do you think you're going?"
No, no... Not now. He can't. In desperation Aaron brought up his foot and smashed it down on the older man's instep. Missed the toes! But the weight was off of him. He shoved back hard and darted out from under his father's arms, making a dash towards the street, but he barely made three steps. His father had a hold of his backpack.
"You little shit!"
The fist collided with the side of Aaron's face as he was thrown onto the ground. He saw stars. Hands were pulling him to his feet. A creaky car door opening. The familiar smells of cigarettes and bourbon, dirty socks and fast food.
No. I... Blackness took over. Aaron lay, out cold, on the backseat.
