Yelling
by M. F. LuderPart ten
Kiss me while I'm still alive, kill me while I kiss the sky
Let me die on my own terms, let me live and let me learn
- Life of my own. Three Doors Down.
Saturday morning is no different than any other weekend. Sandy's running late, Kirsten is having trouble with the union, again, and is considering hiring another crew for the top five floors. She's already cutting into the profit margin by two percent and every hour the site is behind, it costs her more money and are you sure you want to study Civil Engineering? She still smiles at him, gives him a kiss on the cheek before saying her goodbyes.
"Don't worry," she tells him, "you'll get experience with this as soon as you hit your second year." She turns around, looking at Sandy who is taking his time smearing the cream cheese on the bagel because he might be late but this is his breakfast and bagels are sacred. "You three choose a school yet?"
Seth looks at his father, then at Ryan, who lowers his gaze to his cereal as Sandy clears his throat.
"You have until Monday," Kirsten says, "If you don't, then I'm booking a hotel close to Berkeley."
They will probably go to Berkeley first anyway. Neither Seth nor Ryan mind.
Kirsten says her goodbyes again, gives him another kiss and walks out of the kitchen after giving Ryan money for lunch and emergencies, Sandy right behind her.
When there's only him and Seth in the house, Ryan lets out a long sigh. There were no words of understanding, no promises of safety and utmost harbor, no threats against the man. So they don't know. It's okay. There's still time. It's only Saturday.
And Ryan's right, because the last time, the protection, the resolving of the situation came on a Monday. There's plenty of time.
"Spy ops?" And a nudge at his side brings Ryan out of his stupor. Ryan looks down at his half eaten cereal. It wouldn't be the first time they had breakfast while playing.
"Sure," Ryan says, standing up.
Salvation doesn't come later that day either, and by dinner Ryan knows it won't happen today.
Still plenty of time and on Monday morning, Ryan wonders if it'll be exactly like last time and things will be done by the afternoon. Because there can't be a fifth time, because last time there wasn't. There wasn't a fifth time and Ryan is convinced, certain beyond a doubt, that there can't be one this time around either. There can't. That night, Ryan lies in his bed, thinking that he's running out of days and time. He doesn't sleep that night.
By Tuesday after lunch, Ryan starts to wonder if maybe there's something wrong. If maybe the Cohens already know and they haven't said anything to Ryan. But that doesn't fit because they are the Cohens and they would have asked Ryan about it, about what happened and why he never said anything.
Unless... unless it happened like last time and everything was fixed with the other part not learning about it. Ryan hopes that's what happened.
He doesn't sleep that night either, thinking about how tomorrow has to be the day. Has to be, because it'll be Wednesday and he knows nothing will get fixed on Thursday. And the fifth time might be the one that hurts him the most.
Ryan spends Wednesday day with his heart in his throat, looking over his shoulder, turning around to look at Kirsten and Sandy every other moment. There is nothing out of the ordinary -- comments about the day and questions about school. Kirsten has already booked a hotel and Sandy is thrilled about the trip, the Cohen boys, alone, together. Seth seems just as excited, if only because it's a trip. Ryan stares down at his plate, moving around his food, appetite long ago lost.
When the night falls and the curtains are drawn, when Ryan pushes back the covers and lies down on his side, eyes closed shut, hands clutching the sheets, he knows it's done and there is no ending, not this time. It's late and tomorrow will be another day and nothing has changed.
Ryan's throat works as his breath catches. He'll go to school in the morning, pretend he has yet another history paper to get done with the same group he made up five weeks ago, and go over to Mr. Dart's house. His breathing is hard and ragged, almost no air entering his tired lungs. He'll lie to Seth, again, like he's been doing all this time, almost a pro at it by now, aren't you Ryan? He'll lie to Seth and to Kirsten and to Sandy. He'll keep on lying. His hand shakes as he pulls the covers tighter around his neck. God knows how long he'll have to keep on lying. God knows when this might end. Ryan buries his face in his pillow. There might not be an end to this. He might have to do it, to keep on going every Thursday to Mr. Dart's house, until school is done and he moves to college.
He doesn't hear the sound at first, can barely recognize it, not until he feels his cheeks damp and the pillow sodden under his skin. Ryan tries to take a breath but it turns, at some point, with much difficulty, into a sob that makes his chest hurt and his hands shake even more. The sound makes no sense, none whatsoever, and it's not long before it's over and there's nothing but silence in the pool house. He opens his eyes for a second, looks around, and then closes them again. He lays like that, on the bed, cheek on the pillow that's wet and cold under him, not really noticing that either. He lays on the bed and lets the house pass him by, in a place between dream and reality, not resting and doing nothing but remembering touches and words and whispers and fear.
Monday afternoon, Ryan opened the door of his house, closing it behind him. He had homework to get done and needed to read about that exercise, because truth be told, he had no idea how to do whatever it was the teacher wanted him to do. Ryan never went to the Dart house on Mondays because the floors had to be done, had to be cleaned and polished, and he would only get in the way.
So he sat down at the small table in the kitchen and got out his books. The hours passed slowly, and Ryan didn't even feel them until it was Trey walking into the house, smelling rather weird and going straight to his room to change. His mom arrived sometime after that, muttering obscenities under her breath and shaking her head. Ryan sniffed once and the familiar smell of beer and marijuana lingered in the air around her. He sighed.
"What happened?" Ryan asked, half heartily, because in the state she was in, Ryan didn't actually expect an answer.
But he got one anyway.
"That bitch," his mom said, shaking her head and cursing some more. "That fucking bitch! I work my ass off for her, put up with all her shit and this is how she pays me? Fucking bitch!"
Ryan tilted his head to the side. "What? Mom, what the hell are you talking--?"
"She fired me!!! All mighty fucking bitch, Mrs. Dart! She fucking fired me!"
Ryan blinked, confused, certain he had not heard the right words because they couldn't be true. "What?"
"Fucking bitch. I'm fucking certain," she said, walking into the kitchen and getting out a bottle of beer out of the fridge, ready not to miss a beat between beer and beer, "I'm fucking certain that asshole of her husband cheats on her. Argh. Fucking bitch."
It took a moment for Ryan to process what happened, and what this meant. He watched Trey make his way out of his bedroom, hair still damp from his shower, putting on a clear white shirt. Trey, too, asked about his mother's behavior and she said it again, that she'd been fired because last night both her and dad got drunk off of their asses, Ryan saw, and this morning she still hadn't quite sleep it off. And so, when she went to work, she was still a little bit high from whatever it was she snorted last night.
So Mrs. Dart fired her. Right on the spot. Gave her the two weeks she owed Dawn and told her never to return, thank you very much, she wasn't going to put up with the help getting high on her time.
Dawn kept on fuming, bitching and half screaming, beer bottle in her hand, shaking it as she went on. She probably already spent those two weeks in coke, or beer, or both, but Ryan couldn't care less. She was fired. She wouldn't be returning to the Dart house anymore.
Ryan couldn't breathe for a moment. Trey made a nasty comment about something and Dawn threatened to slap that smile off of him as Ryan stood up from his seat. He made his way into the bedroom and closed the door after him.
His legs carried him as long as his bed, and when they gave up, he slid down onto the floor, his back resting against the edge of his mattress. Ryan could hear the screams coming from the kitchen, both Trey's and Dawn's voice, then the front door slamming closed, and about a minute later, that sound once again. They had both left.
Ryan sighed, pulling his legs to his chest. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek on his knees. The house was empty and silent, and the only sound that could be heard minutes later was soft crying that Ryan couldn't quite hear, barely even understand.
It won't be until later, years later, when the nightmare has come to form once again, when it his taken shape and it has bitten him, leaving him bloody and hurting. It won't be until he's lying down on his side, on his bed, one door from Seth and three doors down from the Cohens themselves, eyes closed shut and fingers clutching at the edge of the covers, that Ryan will realize, will come to know, that that wasn't crying, but weeping.
When morning finally breaks and the sky clears, clear blue with shades of orange, red and yellow, Ryan stops pretending he's actually fallen asleep and stands up from the bed. His head feels wrapped in cotton and his eyes hurt, his forehead pulsating at the same pace as his heart. He takes a long shower, longer than usual, keeping his eyes closed and his forehead against the cooling tile.
He has the usual breakfast, a cup of coffee and a bagel, though the coffee is barely touched and the bagel is left behind on a napkin. Neither Kirsten nor Sandy notice, because they each have things to worry about, and Seth is half freaking out because he just remembered he has a Literature paper due Monday and he hasn't started reading the book yet, and he certainly doesn't want to spend the whole weekend doing that.
Ryan lets Seth take the keys to the Rover because Ryan admits he's in no shape to do the driving today. School is a matter of hitting his pencil against the edge of his seat and watching the clock on the wall above the blackboard. And by the time it's over, by the time they make their way out into the parking lot, Ryan's head is pounding, his hands shaking as they sweat, and he’s at the very end of his rope. He doesn't have the heart to lie at the moment, telling himself there's no point in delaying the inevitable, but it doesn't seem to matter either way.
He has papers to get done, he knows. Biology for Monday and then there's those Calculus problems for next Tuesday that he really needs to get started, and a Physics research project for yet another week, but Ryan imagines it's going to be long and difficult and he could very well get a start on it now. Still, he does neither. He sits down at the kitchen table and stares down at the chapter the biology teacher asked them to review for tomorrow. He stares at the pages, the words blurring together into a set of black lines on white paper, making no sense whatsoever. He blinks and rubs his eyes and tries to absorb something from the text, to understand and actually learn, but he can't.
It's like time is clicking by, passing him, while he's standing still and trying his best to catch up with something he doesn't want to even see again. He's forcing himself to go through the motions, to go to school and pay attention, to do his homework and lie to the Cohens. It starts to weigh on him, so very heavy it feels like it might break something inside him, and Ryan doesn't really know what.
He can barely focus on the book, let alone what he's supposed to be reading. His breathing is hard and difficult, his hands keep on shaking and Ryan has to keep them either clutching the pencil or in his pockets, because Seth will notice, sooner or later, and that's something Ryan can't allow.
Ryan looks over his shoulder at Seth, lying down on the couch in the den, book on his stomach, blinking every other moment, more asleep than awake. He sighs, shaking his head and pressing his forehead against the book. God. This is impossible.
Why don't you go over there? You know you want to. You know you miss him.
Shut up.
You know that. Go on. You know you want it, don't you beautiful? Don't you, my darling?
Ryan feels the bile in his throat and he bites down on his lower lip. He checks his watch and when he realizes it's almost five, he lets out a long sigh. How is it possible for time to go by so quickly when all he wants is for it to still and not move anymore? But that's not happening, it's ticking away and Ryan's running out of time.
But it isn't supposed to be like this. Ryan closes his eyes, head lowering. It isn’t. Somehow, things are supposed to get better, to be fixed. Last time... that's how it went last time, and this time it shouldn't be different. They're going to fix it. They have to. But they've gone past the fixing point. It's the fifth, and it's time.
Ryan sighs, pushing back the chair and closing his book. "Seth?"
Ryan hears Seth groaning and when there's no response, Ryan makes his way to the back of the couch. Seth's drooling over the cover of the book, hand over the book, head resting against the side of the couch. Ryan feels the tension in his jaw lessening, as the back of his eyes start to sting and his chest tightens. He reaches out, touching Seth's cheek with his fingertips. Seth blinks once, twice before catching Ryan's gaze. The smile Seth gives him blinds him as it catches Ryan off guard, and it takes him a moment to find his breath again, and it's easier to smile back. And then, as Ryan thinks of the words he has to say, the smile is gone.
"I have that history thing," he says, pulling back his hand, head ducking. Seth sits down on the couch, craning his neck to the side, hearing bones popping. "I won't be too long."
"Dude, really," Seth says, turning around on the couch and folding his arms on top of the back of the same, "I'm getting tired of your history papers. God. So boring."
Ryan gives him a curl of his lips that can barely pass for a smile and shrugs. "Yeah, well." Me too. "I'm sure it won't be much longer." I hope.
"You taking the car?"
Ryan nods, leaning forward, folding his arms by the side of Seth's, forearms touching. "Yeah, I am." He swallows thickly. "I won't be long."
"You'll be back for dinner, right? Coz you know how mom is."
Ryan lifts his arms from the couch, his legs still touching the tapestry. "Yeah. I know."
Seth tilts his head to the side and seems to want to say something else, to ask a question that Ryan can't imagine handling, let alone fathom the answer, before Seth shakes his head. Seth's blushing, Ryan notices, and then Seth's hand reaches out to touch the cotton material of Ryan's shirt, fingers not really grasping his right forearm.
"Don't be late," Seth says, his voice low and barely a whisper.
Ryan nods, confused. "Yeah." He thinks about asking Seth about something, but the thought is gone as he blinks and remembers the time and where he's supposed to be going. "Sure."
He turns around and leaves the kitchen, taking his backpack with him for pretend, not looking over his shoulder. He closes the front door after himself with an ominous sound.
Ryan makes his way to the Dart house not quite seeing the way, half surprised he makes it there in one piece. He parks the car, backpack on the passenger seat, and lets out a long sigh. His hands clench over the steering wheel and he tries to breathe, only to find he can't, not quite, and everything inside him hurts. His legs ache from last week, and his shoulder, the marks there, the teeth marks, sting along with his pulse.
He pushes the door open and knocks, and this time it's Mr. Dart who opens it for him, not the maid.
"I've been waiting for you," the man says, and Ryan only ducks his head and walks in. Mr. Dart's hand reaches out to touch Ryan's shoulder and he flinches. "I've missed you." He closes the distance and presses his chest against Ryan's back, whispering sweet nothings into Ryan's ear. "God, so beautiful. How I've missed you."
Ryan's shuddering, hands clenching at the edge of his shirt, telling himself it won't be long now, before he knows it, he'll be back home, sitting down for dinner, Seth and the Cohens by his side. He just has to get through today, through this hour, not think, barely even breath, and everything will be fine.
When Mr. Dart lets him go, Ryan takes a staggering step forward, pausing as he is hit with a moment of vertigo and the bile is back in his throat. He swallows it down and takes another step in direction to the study.
"No."
Ryan looks over his shoulder at Mr. Dart. He smirks, head cocked to the side, tongue sneaking out to wet his upper lip.
"No," Mr. Dart repeats. "Let's go upstairs. To my room."
Ryan feels his nostrils flare, his throat working as he swallows. His bedroom. Mr. Dart's bedroom. He doesn't know what shocks him the most, the knowledge of it or the shaking of his hands. But he nods and turns toward the staircase. He's on the second step when he feels a hand on his hip, clutching possessively, more whispered words in his ear. Ryan closes his eyes and wishes he could do the same with his ears. After a moment, Mr. Dart lets him go and Ryan makes his way up to the second floor.
"Second door, on the right. But you remember, don't you?"
Ryan doesn't say anything, only pushes open the second door on the right. The bedroom is wide and lit by the last rays of sun through the pulled curtains. There's a large bed taking up the center of the room, expensive covers on top. Exactly like last time, and Ryan doesn't need to be told what to do.
He takes off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor even though there's a chair not four feet to his side. He shudders for a moment as a draft catches his bare chest, and he lets out a soft sigh of fear. He swallows thickly as he undoes his belt, unbuttoning his pants and pulling down the zipper. His hand shakes, but he pays no notice. He lets his pants fall to the floor, toeing off his shoes and placing it by the side of the chair. He sighs, thinking wildly that he'd rather his shirt not wrinkle. In nothing but underwear, Ryan crosses the space and puts his shirt on top of the chair, his pants draped over it, his sneakers by the legs of the chair. He takes a deep breath, holds it in his throat for a second, and pushes down his underwear. He's shaking, not certain if it's from the draft or the fear, not really caring which one, and places it on top of his pants. Close your eyes and don't think. Just close your eyes. Ryan does that.
After a moment of hesitation, Ryan opens his eyes once again. Mr. Dart is standing by the bed, smirk on his lips, and even through his trousers, Ryan can see Mr. Dart's erection.
Ryan feels like he's going to be sick, but there's nothing else to do, is there, but make his way to the bed. With a shaky hand, he climbs onto it.
"There, there, my beautiful."
A hand on his left hip as Ryan kneels before the headboard. Ryan remembers a time, so very long ago, when something like this had happened. He was younger, so much younger, and much more afraid, he thinks. But then the hand moves down to his bare thigh and to the front, touching the tip of his cock and Ryan inhales sharply. His hands reach forward to find balance on the backboard, and he closes his eyes shut. Younger, yes, but he's no longer certain about the difference in fear.
There's the movement of clothes as the hand leaves his crotch and Ryan tells himself not to open his eyes, it won't change anything. It won't. A moment latter, longer after he has started to shiver, not certain if it's from the draft that keeps on entering the room or from the panic he feels rising in his throat, the hand is back, on the nape of his neck. Ryan feels the bed dipping under the weight, and then there's a chest against his back, lips on his jaw and hands clutching his hips.
The sound of something falling makes Ryan turn around, look over his shoulder at where he left his clothes. He can see the clear outline of his cell phone two feet from the chair. It fell from his pants pocket, the pants being upside down on top of the chair. He sighs, turning back around, and closes his eyes. Ryan doesn't say anything, does his best to disconnect himself from the here and now. He thinks about homework and papers, he thinks about what he'll have for dinner. He thinks about the weekend and how Seth will probably want to go to the movies, again.
He gasps, pressure against his ass taking him by surprise. He closes his eyes shut, so tight his forehead starts to hurt, and then there's more, and he's gasping and he can barely take it. Everything burns, and he should be used to this by now and he chuckles in the back of his throat at the absurdity of it, turning into something like a sob that is muffled by a groan that comes from Mr. Dart. He can barely breathe and he feels like he might choke up, there's so much pressure in his ass and on his thighs. Always pressure in his thighs. He doesn't understand why, why one thing is connected with the next and he knows his thoughts are jumping from one to the next, not making any sense. The hand on his right hip holds on tight, the left one moving to his neck. More kissing and licking. Words that he doesn't want to listen to, but he hears, words like "So tight, so beautiful", like "Mine, all mine. So beautiful."
Ryan can barely breathe and when the pressure is too much, when he actually feels like he might throw up on the bed, Mr. Dart pulls away. Ryan is left gasping, forehead against the backboard, pain in every pore and sweat on his brow.
It takes him a moment to gather up his focus and for his whole body not to tremble as he looks over his shoulder and at Mr. Dart. The man is looking back at him, smirk on his lips, head tilted and cock in his hand. Ryan closes his eyes, half shaking, half nauseous.
Mr. Dart presses himself against Ryan's side, cock against his hip, and lips against his ear. "I want this to last," he says, placing a wet kiss on Ryan's chin. "I want to enjoy you."
Ryan doesn't say anything, doesn't even know if there's an answer to that. So he keeps quiet, eyes closed, one hand reaching for the backboard to keep his balance. Ryan tells himself to breath, in and out, as there are more kisses placed on his chin and his jaw, on his neck and his collarbone. He feels something against his thigh, against his very cock, but pretends not to know what it is. His head starts to hurt, and some time later, his eyes start to sting. He doesn't say anything. When his knees start to complain about the position and a hand keeps on touching his inner thigh, rubbing and stroking, Ryan thinks that he might not be able to put up with much more of this.
He stopped listening long ago, around the time his right shoulder started to hurt and sting, and it takes him a moment to realize someone is talking directly to him, not just talking around him.
"Turn around," Mr. Dart says, and Ryan opens his eyes enough to look at the man. He has his cock in his hand, stroking lazily, smirk on his lips, precum on the head.
Ryan bites down on his lower lip, hard, tasting bile on his tongue, and grips the backboard with both hands, bracing himself. It doesn't take long, or if it does, he might not have noticed as the pain builds up on his legs and ass. There's movement, a constant pumping into his ass and he can feel an unbearable pain inside him, so very deep, he actually feels his control slipping and tears on the corners of his eyes. Even with his eyes closed, Ryan can imagine how this looks from the outside, from someone standing by the door, and his intake of breath turns into a groan of pain and shame.
"I know you like this," is muttered against his ear, tongue coming out to lick the earlobe, and Ryan feels drool on the lobe. "I know you love this. You want this... Ahh... don't you? You want this."
Ryan doesn't need to say anything, because then the hands on his hips tighten, and Mr. Dart bites, hard, into his shoulder, and the rhythm, the feeling of balls against his ass cheeks intensifies until it's lost and there's a long groan from the man's lips. Ryan feels Mr. Dart's cheek against the nape of his neck, soft whispering from behind, his left hand touching Ryan's side, and Ryan rides it out, like a wave that might turn him over, but he knows it will die away onto the shore. This too, will die away onto the shore.
It's not long before Mr. Dart pulls away, groaning and sighing, and Ryan clenches his cheeks, the pain shivering up to his back and neck. He bites on his lower lip and rests his temple on the dark wood. It'll go away, he tells himself, the wave will go away.
After two breaths, when he thinks he might be able to turn around and not fall flat on his face, Ryan does so. He's about to climb off the bed, for the first time noticing the darkness outside the windows, dawn long ago set, when a hand on his shoulder stops him. He turns to look at the foot of the bed, Mr. Dart grinning, cock spent.
"Don't go yet. Give me a minute."
Ryan doesn't know what the man is saying, what he's asking, except that it's getting late and he might miss dinner and then what will he say to the Cohens, to Seth? He'll get in trouble and it's bad enough he has to lie to them as it is. And as he's trying to process the words and understand, Ryan notices that Mr. Dart is touching himself, at the base of his cock first, then sliding his finger down to the tip. Ryan shakes his head, head lowered, eyes closed shut.
No, no, no. Not again. No. Not again.
He hears the harsh breathing of Mr. Dart and tells himself to breath, to keep calm, to ride it out. Just ride it out.
Still kneeling on the bed, Ryan feels the dip of the same as Mr. Dart climbs in, then there are hands on his shoulders and lips on his neck. Ryan closes his eyes as tight as it can get, thinking about nothing but school and home and tomorrow. Tomorrow, Friday, and things to get done and classes to pay attention to and then Saturday. He groans as the hand moves lower and Mr. Dart confuses disgust with desire.
"Yes, yes, I know you like it. I knew you would."
Ryan thinks of Seth, of his babbling self and how maybe, next week, Seth might convince Kirsten to get them the new games that come out. Seth has a six name long list, and he's certain Kristen will give in, as she usually does, if the two of them smile at her and promise their grades to stay in the percentage they are. A tongue darts out to touch his collarbone and Ryan shudders.
"Turn around."
Ryan does as asked, leaning forward, hands on the backboard, and eyes tight shut. It's okay, he tells himself. It's ok. It's going to be okay. He won't last too long. There's laughter bubbling on hysterics in the back of his throat as he knows this as well, a memory of something that happened years ago about this very same thing. Mr. Dart didn't last long then, Ryan knows he won't now either. His legs ache against the assault, his ass stinging as it seems to rub raw against skin. His ears blink out on him and he doesn't hear anything for a moment, nothing but blackness matching the ones behind closed eyelids and then, in a second, they seem to unplug and there's panting in his ear, harsh breath against the nape of his neck.
It lasts longer than he thought, but not too long. His legs ache too much and his hands have gone numb at the same time his forehead starts throbbing. When Mr. Dart is spent, face against Ryan's hair, Ryan wonders about the time and what exactly he'll have to tell the Cohens tonight. Project ran long doesn't seem to cut it.
Ryan doesn't notice when Mr. Dart pulls out, only notices the absence of a body against his back, and he moves backward, hands shaking, opening his eyes slowly. Mr. Dart is standing by the foot of the bed, smirking at him, and Ryan hurries off the bed and toward his clothes.
"You're amazing," Mr. Dart says, leaning back on the bed against the plush pillows, head tilted to the side, fingertips touching his lower lip. "Beautiful. So beautiful."
He sends Ryan a blown kiss as Ryan turns his face away.
"I've been thinking about it. Once a week is too little. We should make it Tuesdays and Thursdays as well."
"What?" The word is out of Ryan's lips before he can think better of it, but he has to ask about it anyway. "I can't."
Mr. Dart's gaze hardens, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean, you can't make it? Of course you can."
Ryan shakes his head. "No, no. I can't. I... what am I supposed to tell them?" And Ryan knows he's grasping at straws because what the man wants, he'll get, but Ryan can't stop himself.
Mr. Dart closes the space between the two of them, oblivious to his nudity, looking at him with darkness in his eyes. "I don't fucking care what you tell them, but you'll come here, do you hear me? You'll come here Tuesdays as well." When he's standing before Ryan, breath against Ryan's lips, he whispers out, "Unless you want me to tell Kirsten what a little whore you are. Is that it? You want her to know?'
Ryan's heart pauses in his chest, deciding not to beat anymore, not for a second, long enough for Ryan's chest to feel so tight he can't breath.
"Is that it? You want her to know? You want me to tell her how you beg for it?" Mr. Dart's hands go to Ryan's neck, thumbs pressing on Ryan's pulse, holding so tight Ryan starts to gasp. "You want me to tell her how you bend over whenever I want you to?" He tightens his grip once more before releasing Ryan, who leans to the side, sputtering. "You're nothing but a fucking whore, kid, remember that."
"I can't..." Ryan breathes out, shaking his head.
"Are you not fucking listening to me?" Mr. Dart's hands go to Ryan's neck once again, clutching Ryan's neck so hard it makes Ryan see black for a second, blinking, trying to focus on Mr. Dart's face. "You'll come when I tell you to, do you hear me, you little bitch?" He leans in close, lips almost against Ryan's, as Ryan scrapes his hands around his throat. "I'll tell her, you whore. I'll tell Kirsten about it, about how her darling son is nothing but a whore. Better yet, you want me to go after that brother of yours? You want me to go after Seth next?" He licks his lower lip, tongue curling to touch Ryan's cheek, who grimaces under the touch. "Yes, yes, that tight ass." Mr. Dart groans. "That sweet mouth. I wonder if he's a screamer. I'm sure he is. He certainly looks like one."
Ryan closes his eyes in pain. No, no. I won't let you I won't let you touch him. I'll kill you first.
"I'll take him first, then you, is that what you want? You'd like to watch me fuck him?"
Ryan opens his eyes, finding Mr. Dart's dark gaze, before punching the man on the chest. Mr. Dart staggers back, hand going to his chest. Ryan dashes for the chair, picking up his cell phone from the floor. He skids to the door when he hears Mr. Dart calling, "You won't go anywhere, you whore."
Not looking behind, Ryan runs barefoot down the hallway and to the stairs. His hands shake as he flips open the cell phone, reaching the front door a second later. He pulls it open, the door not budging.
"Oh, shit. Come on!" The lock holds the pressure, the door rattling against the movement. Ryan looks over his shoulder, seeing Mr. Dart coming down the stairs. Ryan shakes his head, pulling the door one last time before turning around and running down one side of the living room and to the hallway. There's a backdoor passing the drawing room that leads to the back yard. He can get out through that.
Hands shaking, legs wobbly, Ryan falls to his knees as he reaches the door of the study. Mr. Dart places both hands on Ryan's shoulder as Ryan staggers to his feet. Mr. Dart pushes Ryan to the wall, hitting his shoulder hard, grimacing in pain.
"You think you can get away from me, you bitch."
Hands on his shoulder, Mr. Dart shoves him against the wall once again. The cell phone slips through his fingers, falling to the floor and skidding somewhere behind the desk. Sliding to the floor, Ryan rests his head against the wall as Mr. Dart pushes him onto his back on the floor. He straddles Ryan, sitting over Ryan's hip, smirking down at him.
"You bitch." His hands go to either side of Ryan's head, holding tightly onto the hair before slamming it against the wooden floor. "You fucking bitch." Mr. Dart's hands move down to his throat, chocking the air out of Ryan's lungs, before lifting his head from the floor only to slam it down once again. "You fucking bitch."
Ryan groans, black and gray edging his vision. His throat and lungs hurt and all he can think of is how he won't let Mr. Dart touch Seth, no fucking way, I'll fucking kill you first. Ryan lifts his legs with as much momentum as he can, hitting the man on the back. Mr. Dart sways to his side and Ryan punches him in the mouth, taking advantage of that moment, pushing himself back with his hands.
He closes the distance to the other side of the room, sitting on the floor, back against the wall, left leg against the edge of the desk. He's panting, breathing hard and his hand trembles as it goes to his mouth.
Mr. Dart scatters to his feet, looking shaky but determined.
Ryan shakes his head. No, no. Fuck. No. You won't hurt him. I won't let you. You won't hurt him anymore.
Mr. Dart smirks, head tilted, even as walks unsteady on his feet.
Ryan's left hand reaches blindly for the edge of the desk, pulling open the third right drawer. His fingers search for something, anything, and they fall onto a steel handle. He grasps it tightly and lifts it. Mr. Dart walks toward Ryan, slowly, bleeding from his lower lip where Ryan hit him.
Just aim and shoot, Ryan's brother tells him in his ear. Just aim and shoot, little brother. It's not so hard.
Ryan does exactly the same thing. He holds the gun with both hands, right index finger finding its place on the trigger. He bites his lower lip, his whole body trembling. I won't let you hurt him anymore, he thinks. I won't let you touch him again, do you hear me? I won't let you touch him anymore.
Mr. Dart doesn't lose the smirk, only snorts. "You don't have the balls, you bitch."
Just aim and shoot, little brother. Not difficult at all. Aim and shoot, just like I told you to.
I can't.
If someone is pointing a gun at you, I'd rather you shot first. Ryan feels another hand on top of his, guiding his thumb as it touches the hammer. Better him than you, little brother.
Mr. Dart licks his lower lip with the tip of his tongue, his right hand closing into a fist. "Just wait until I get my hands on you, you whore. You're going to scream for me. You and that brother of yours."
Shaky thumb pulls back the hammer and Mr. Dart pauses for a minute, seeming to think of Ryan as a threat for a ticking second before shaking his head. "You fucking--"
Ryan doesn't hear the sound of the first bullet going off. He doesn't notice he has fired until he sees a red splotch forming on Mr. Dart's shoulder, the man staggering back to his left. Ryan gasps.
"You little--"
The second time, the sound is deafening as the shot is fired, and Ryan closes his eyes, head hanging forward. He pants, trying to take in a deep breath, the gun weighing too much on his hands. It falls to his leg before sliding down to the floor and when Ryan looks up, he hears something falling to the ground. It's Mr. Dart on the ground, face to his side.
Ryan lets out a sharp breath, head hanging back against the wall. His heart hammers in his chest, so fast and so loud, it's the only thing he can hear. His hands feel like lead on his lap and his legs start shuddering from the cold of the room.
He doesn't know how long he sits there, doing nothing but breathing and closing and opening his eyes, hands hurting so much from the cold and his inner thighs screaming in a different kind of pain. He barely registers time passing until there's a shrill sound that makes him blink and turn around, looking at the room. He sees a light blinking from the corner of his eye, and when he turns to look at his left, head tilted to the side, he sees his cell phone under the desk, by one of the legs of the executive chair. Ryan reaches out for it and stares at the liquid screen.
There are two words there but he can't recognize it. He can barely even see them, and cold fingers flip open the cell phone, lifting him to his ear, though not quite touching his skin."Ryan? Ryan, sweetie, where are you? It's late."
Ryan blinks. He should recognize that voice. That voice is familiar and it sounds like home, but he can't. His mind isn't working and he barely even hears the words.
"Ryan? Ryan what's wrong?"
Ryan blinks, gaze shifting from his left hand over his leg to the body on the floor. "He's on the floor," Ryan breathes out, his voice barely above a whisper.
"What?" There's a pause. "Ryan, what are you talking about? Ryan, what--?"
"I think he's dead."
"Ryan? Ryan, what happened? Where are you?"
The questions continue, but Ryan doesn't seem to hear them any longer. His gaze is fixed on Mr. Dart, he's breathing shallow and Ryan can see the way a pool of dark blood starts to form on the left side of Mr. Dart's head. It's okay, Seth. He won't hurt you anymore.
Kirsten's questions continue, but he hears none of them, nor the way her voice develops an anxiousness to it, or how she starts to cry and whimper in between her words. He hears nothing, his finger barely holding onto the cell phone from his ear, and he breathes out as his fingers finally give out. He leans back against the wall, stretches his legs on the floor and leans back, grimacing as his head touches the wall. He breathes out and closes his eyes. It hurts no longer.
Started: June 9th, 2005. 7.15pm
Finished: September 8th, 2005. 11.13pm
Final word count: 41,538 words.