Work Text:
The leaky bathroom tap of Eden’s Twilight dripped pitifully into the sink, its repetitive cadence barely audible above the distant, pounding music. The purple LED lights flickered in and out, illuminating the array of abstract cock drawings that adorned the walls like a modern art exhibit. It stank like piss, sweat and artificial fresh linen air-freshener.
Andrew wiped the blood from his lips for the fifth time, relishing pain as he spat into the sink. His face was on fire, a burn that continued to grow the longer he stared at his blood running down the drain. He was real; he was here. This was proof of it all. And yet, Neil still existed.
The annoying little bastard stood by his side, wordlessly, scrubbing roughly at his hands under the tap. He’d long since washed all the blood off, but he was still meticulously cleaning under every nail as if it had permeated into his skin. It was useless. They both knew better than most that no amount of soap would wash the memories from his fucked-up little head.
Neil hadn’t said a word to him since they’d entered the bathroom. Even so, Andrew could feel the rage radiating off him in sharp waves. Maybe Andrew had finally done the inevitable: fucked it up beyond repair, ruined everything, got the outcome he deserved.
“You need to see Abby,” Neil said, so quietly that it could have easily been drowned out.
Andrew sighed. He was fine, physically at least. So what if he had a few bleeding knuckles, a split lip and maybe even a broken rib? Help wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t make him any more stable.
“No.”
“Why are you being so difficult?” Neil asked, staring him down.
Wasn’t that the age-old question?
Andrew had always been destructive, more so the older he became, but he had never protected himself from the carnage. In fact, he was his own fatal victim, the one with self-inflicted wounds and a hand shoved unceremoniously through his chest with his heart in a death grip. It was therapeutic, a way to establish control. And whilst he no longer physically bled, that didn’t stop him from finding other ways to make it hurt.
Anger was a way for him to punish himself and cope with situations that felt out of his control. It was a familiar fallback, a way to isolate. If nobody could get near, then nobody could hurt him. It was easier that way, better that way. Most people were happy to leave him alone, stick a label of monster on his forehead and never look further than the blades strapped to his forearms.
“Andrew.” Neil stepped into his space, momentarily catching Andrew’s gaze. “Look at me.”
“Go away,” Andrew said through gritted teeth, but made no effort to move away.
Neil was different. Neil noticed. He paid attention to things and saw neglect before Andrew had even clocked the appearance of his bad habits. Most of the time, he pushed just enough to help. Sometimes, he was collateral damage in Andrew’s tornado of destruction.
“No. You can’t walk away from this and expect it all to be fine,” Neil pressed. “It’s not fine, Andrew.”
“Oh, and you’d know all about being fine, wouldn’t you?” Andrew spat, stepping around Neil to get away from him. “Hypocrite.”
“Are you even listening to yourself?” Neil scoffed, clenching his fists. “Look in the mirror.”
Against his better judgment, Andrew let his eyes flicker to his reflection. His eyes were sunken into his skin, dark circles adorning pale skin from a week of sleepless, graphic nights spent staring at the ceiling. His cheek was red, sore and beginning to swell just below his eye, likely forming into an angry first-shaped purple bruise. Andrew reached up to touch his split lip with bruised and bloody fingers. It probably needed stitches.
He was a wreck, once again of his own volition.
“What’s going on, Andrew?” Neil asked, softer than Andrew deserved. “Talk to me.”
“Go away,” Andrew repeated without heat. Stay went unsaid.
“If you want me to leave, I will,” Neil whispered, meeting Andrew’s eyes in the mirror. “Tell me no and I’ll go.”
Andrew couldn’t resist falling into Neil’s ocean eyes. He was fixated by them, swimming so deep he couldn’t escape their warmth. Like a sailor at sea, he was pulled overboard and left battling against the waves by a siren. He had no choice but to drown in them.
Turning to bury his forehead into Neil’s shoulder, Andrew took in his first shuddering breath. It felt like inhaling nettles, thorns digging into his throat and ripping him open. His guard fell, and a deep-seated exhaustion was all that remained.
It had all happened so quickly, not that he could forget every single excruciating detail.
He hadn’t wanted to go to Eden’s that night, but they had somehow ended up there. Andrew could hardly recall the day, going through the motions without ever truly being present in his body. He was all open ends, a faulty wire near a bathtub waiting to wreak havoc on any unsuspecting idiots who dared to get close. He’d shrugged off Neil, skipped practice and worked through an ungodly amount of cigarettes before deciding he wanted to drive to Columbia. One thing had led to another, and he had ended up with a car full of idiots, a bottle of cheap Corona in his hand, and Neil glued to his side.
It had been fine; he had been fine. He’d been coping with it, letting the thrum of bodies wash over him, pretending that every touch didn’t feel like a dashboard lighter against tanned skin. He had ordered the drinks as usual, taken three shots whilst waiting in the hopes of feeling something other than a hatred for himself that had been festering. He had been so close to the table, so close to zoning out to the beat of the new maneater remix, so close to warming up Neil’s cold hands with his own.
Some drunk bastard just had to ruin it.
One moment, Neil had been by his side, a welcome shield against the world, and the next, he was being shoved out of the way by a man twice Andrew’s size. Andrew had swung before he had even processed the situation. Despite his height, Andrew was in no way weak. He could bench press more than Neil weighed, and it showed in his punch.
The man staggered backwards, hand flying to his face and coming back bloody. His eyes narrowed, glowing almost in a rage that Andrew understood. If he wanted to fight, there was nothing in Andrew’s body that urged him to stop. It was stupid to pick a fight with someone much bigger than you. It was especially idiotic to pick a fight with someone who wasn’t alone.
Andrew hadn’t cared. Or at least, he hadn’t thought.
The altercation was a blur of fists and screams, blood and shattered glass and Eden’s Twilight bodyguards trying to break up what could only be described as a full-on brawl. Although he’d started it, Andrew sure as fuck hadn’t expected it to turn into a free-for-all. Somehow, in the mess of fists, he’d ended up getting his ass hauled away by Roland and thrown into the bathroom and locked inside to cool the fuck down before he got arrested again.
In hindsight, it was a blessing. In reality, it was all so fucking stupid.
“Roland said that guy has been itching for someone to fight him,” Neil said, tentatively hovering a hand over Andrew’s head.
“I don’t regret it.” Andrew nodded, sighing as Neil ran his rough fingers through Andrew’s hair. “But I could have handled it better.”
Neil scoffed. “I don’t need you to defend me, you know that. But this isn’t about me, is it?”
Andrew let silence stretch between them as if it would soften the blow. It took him a full minute to get his mouth around the words, and even then, they came out stilted.
“I want to be better,” Andrew said. “It…makes me frustrated that I am not.”
With a gentle grip, Neil lifted Andrew’s head to meet his eyes. “There is nothing I can say that will make it better. There is nothing I can do that will change what has already been done to you. But I can listen, Andrew. Give me a chance to try.”
The words made Andrew’s baggage feel just a little lighter, as if being carried up a steep hill by two broken souls instead of one. The past would never fade or change, that much was for certain, but it would never be reality again. They would never hurt him again.
Maybe it was time he stopped hurting himself too.