Status: Active but slow updates
Nephilim
septem
“Fuck.”
He truly had gone through a lot of trouble to be there. It was hard enough to have to persuade his mother to let him leave the house after dark. She was still in a stage where whenever Brendon left, it had to be in daylight. The last time he strayed away under the stars...He didn’t come home. Not for a very long time. Considering such, he realized it was not such an unreasonable phobia. Coming home to find his mother in such terrifying disarray was nerve racking to say the least. He couldn’t even recall a day where she looked less than radiant, but on the day he returned, she was in shambles. Her hair was limp and faded, its glow gone, like a flower perishing from lack of sun. Her simple white dress, wrinkled and much too big for her thinning waist. But he held her hand and reassured her he would be at Ryan’s house and nowhere else. He would be by him at all times. His parents would be within shouting distance. They would study, perhaps (he knew this was a lie, but lying and protection often went hand-in-hand in the world he had grown accustomed to) or watch some movies (this he did not know for sure; before high school, he and Ryan were avid film critics in their own way. Maybe they could manage a flick or two between Ryan’s inkling of what might happen).
“Mom,” he spoke, smiling at her soul. Her poor, naked soul. She looked so tired now. “I’ll be okay. I’m just spending the night at Ryan’s. Like when I was a kid, remember?”
At this, her face became wan, expression melting away from fear. She squeezed his hand, raising the other and placing it upon their bow of fingers. “It’s...alright by me. Ask your father when he gets home.”
Brendon had to stifle a grimace to reign his gaze of contentment. “Of course,” he forced.
When he was a boy, he could have easily said he loved his father. His constant meetings were like mysteries to him. His presence was a gift. And yet over time, such things lost their mystic. The only thing left to their qualities was the fact that he was hardly ever home, much less when they needed him. Brendon had actually been counting on the fact that he would only need to seek permission from his mother. The fact that he would be there complicated his plan.
As soon as the front door shut, he approached his father with the mumble of a request. It was granted swiftly. Brendon nodded in polite son-like gratitude. He had felt much more accomplished when speaking to his mother, but allowance was allowance. He walked upstairs to pack his overnight bag.
After waves of farewell and a rather uncomfortable and awkward embrace from his mother in the doorway, Brendon left his house as the sun was completing its setting. The street lights flickered to life all about him as he walked to Ryan’s house, but he really did not mind. He enjoyed the fleeting moments of the light’s descent. The brushstrokes of purple and orange upon the sky were the closest things to magic Brendon could identify. They were the closest things to pleasant memories.
He began to get the feeling that something was wrong the minute he reached the one-block marker from Ryan’s house. There was something heavy in the air; something foreign and wrong. It was a scent of fruit rotting, of plants he had never seen before burning. Whatever was poisoning his breath, it was something he had never smelled in his life, and that in itself scared him a bit. His pace quickened, turning corners and passing markers faster than he had ever wanted to around Ryan’s home. He saw lights, many, many lights. And cars. Already, a whole block away, cars.
Oh, fuck no...
Music. Fast and loud and hard. Pulsing under the concrete with hypnotizing rhythms. The beats fused into the soles of his feet; he felt them. He smelled cheap food. Carbohydrates. Chips and bread. Wheat fermenting. Grapes dissolving in their juices.
Oh, fuck no, he wouldn’t...
As the sight became clearer and closer, he still did not want to believe it. There were shadows in his windows. People dancing, yelling, groping. Splashes rang out from behind the back gate. Cheers and hoots of encouragement rang out after the wet rip of water in Ryan’s swimming pool settled into fine splatters on his deck. So many cars...How many people had crammed into every single one of these cars?
Brendon stood in front of the house, breathing ragged from his running. He had sprinted, and had not even realized it. The weight of his bag was gone in the flush of his adrenaline. He felt unsteady and weightless in the swirl of sweat slicking upon his brow. Lamp light glowed in the reflection of that grime. Brendon blinked. He didn’t want to believe it, but that did not stop it.
“Fuck.” He breathed at the sight. Ryan was throwing a party. He had called Brendon to be with him, and then decided to throw a fucking house party. There was a fleeting thought that this may be the wrong house, that Ryan would never want to embarrass or hurt him like this. The idea was shattered as a pair of girls stumbled out of the front door, hanging upon one another, one tilting her head and flipping her hair so that she could throw up.
“Fuck.” Brendon sighed. He could go home. He could just turn around.
(you owe me)
Too late to turn back now.
He truly had gone through a lot of trouble to be there. It was hard enough to have to persuade his mother to let him leave the house after dark. She was still in a stage where whenever Brendon left, it had to be in daylight. The last time he strayed away under the stars...He didn’t come home. Not for a very long time. Considering such, he realized it was not such an unreasonable phobia. Coming home to find his mother in such terrifying disarray was nerve racking to say the least. He couldn’t even recall a day where she looked less than radiant, but on the day he returned, she was in shambles. Her hair was limp and faded, its glow gone, like a flower perishing from lack of sun. Her simple white dress, wrinkled and much too big for her thinning waist. But he held her hand and reassured her he would be at Ryan’s house and nowhere else. He would be by him at all times. His parents would be within shouting distance. They would study, perhaps (he knew this was a lie, but lying and protection often went hand-in-hand in the world he had grown accustomed to) or watch some movies (this he did not know for sure; before high school, he and Ryan were avid film critics in their own way. Maybe they could manage a flick or two between Ryan’s inkling of what might happen).
“Mom,” he spoke, smiling at her soul. Her poor, naked soul. She looked so tired now. “I’ll be okay. I’m just spending the night at Ryan’s. Like when I was a kid, remember?”
At this, her face became wan, expression melting away from fear. She squeezed his hand, raising the other and placing it upon their bow of fingers. “It’s...alright by me. Ask your father when he gets home.”
Brendon had to stifle a grimace to reign his gaze of contentment. “Of course,” he forced.
When he was a boy, he could have easily said he loved his father. His constant meetings were like mysteries to him. His presence was a gift. And yet over time, such things lost their mystic. The only thing left to their qualities was the fact that he was hardly ever home, much less when they needed him. Brendon had actually been counting on the fact that he would only need to seek permission from his mother. The fact that he would be there complicated his plan.
As soon as the front door shut, he approached his father with the mumble of a request. It was granted swiftly. Brendon nodded in polite son-like gratitude. He had felt much more accomplished when speaking to his mother, but allowance was allowance. He walked upstairs to pack his overnight bag.
After waves of farewell and a rather uncomfortable and awkward embrace from his mother in the doorway, Brendon left his house as the sun was completing its setting. The street lights flickered to life all about him as he walked to Ryan’s house, but he really did not mind. He enjoyed the fleeting moments of the light’s descent. The brushstrokes of purple and orange upon the sky were the closest things to magic Brendon could identify. They were the closest things to pleasant memories.
He began to get the feeling that something was wrong the minute he reached the one-block marker from Ryan’s house. There was something heavy in the air; something foreign and wrong. It was a scent of fruit rotting, of plants he had never seen before burning. Whatever was poisoning his breath, it was something he had never smelled in his life, and that in itself scared him a bit. His pace quickened, turning corners and passing markers faster than he had ever wanted to around Ryan’s home. He saw lights, many, many lights. And cars. Already, a whole block away, cars.
Oh, fuck no...
Music. Fast and loud and hard. Pulsing under the concrete with hypnotizing rhythms. The beats fused into the soles of his feet; he felt them. He smelled cheap food. Carbohydrates. Chips and bread. Wheat fermenting. Grapes dissolving in their juices.
Oh, fuck no, he wouldn’t...
As the sight became clearer and closer, he still did not want to believe it. There were shadows in his windows. People dancing, yelling, groping. Splashes rang out from behind the back gate. Cheers and hoots of encouragement rang out after the wet rip of water in Ryan’s swimming pool settled into fine splatters on his deck. So many cars...How many people had crammed into every single one of these cars?
Brendon stood in front of the house, breathing ragged from his running. He had sprinted, and had not even realized it. The weight of his bag was gone in the flush of his adrenaline. He felt unsteady and weightless in the swirl of sweat slicking upon his brow. Lamp light glowed in the reflection of that grime. Brendon blinked. He didn’t want to believe it, but that did not stop it.
“Fuck.” He breathed at the sight. Ryan was throwing a party. He had called Brendon to be with him, and then decided to throw a fucking house party. There was a fleeting thought that this may be the wrong house, that Ryan would never want to embarrass or hurt him like this. The idea was shattered as a pair of girls stumbled out of the front door, hanging upon one another, one tilting her head and flipping her hair so that she could throw up.
“Fuck.” Brendon sighed. He could go home. He could just turn around.
(you owe me)
Too late to turn back now.
♠ ♠ ♠
I'll be amazed if anyone is still reading this, but after finding the rest of the chapters on my hard-drive, I decided to forgo self-consciousness and finish this monstrosity.