Apparently, I’m Built Different
apparently, i’m built different
More Posts from Dancingcapybaras and Others
my brother is currently screaming about cheese in the backseat
whoever said burts bees lip glosses taste good is a filthy LIAR
AAAAAA THANKYOUU
my brain is honestly not comprehending
like what do u mean i’ve been alive for 16 years
WOAHH
this chapter was wild, IN A GOOD WAY (not the ‘mark’ though, that actually made me audibly gasp)
someone get this child OUT OF HERE
House of Wolves
batfamily + oc insert
tw: violence?
wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!
want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!
sevens chapters get me writing like 🏃🏼♀️💨
part four
❝ SOMETHING BETTER THAN BLOOD ❞
THURSDAY — APRIL 13 — 11:53PM
SEVEN WAS LABELED A FLIGHT RISK.
Therefore, he was forcibly removed from the apartment that had been given to him and was, instead, forced into a bedroom in the mansion where she lived.
It was a big place. Sitting on a hill with maybe twenty or more bedrooms, the massive victorian mansion looked straight out of old England, surrounded with a medieval wrought iron fence and situated on a constantly stormy piece of land. Time never seemed to pass there — the whole thing had a certain eerie stillness about it.
Only ten people lived in that house. Her, for starters — it was hers and she’d always been there, even when the old owner had still lived there, too. Then there was Seven, the newest inhabitant.
And then, there were the other eight.
One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Nine, and Ten.
She’d always kept Seven separate from them, so he’d never had the luxury of meeting any of the other people whose names had been replaced by numbers. And still, even being in the same house as them now, he hadn’t seen a soul.
He laid silently on a soft, four poster bed, in a dark room filled with lots of victorian furniture, rich with texture and saturated colors. It was dark outside, but there was a running fireplace right across from the bed that was casting a little golden light into the bedroom.
Seven would’ve called it nice, at least compared to his shabby apartment; but the iron bars on the windows and triple locks on the outside of the bedroom door sort of took away the appeal.
He was stuck in there, and he had been stuck for three sunrises and three sunsets. Not a single soul had come in or out. The door hadn’t been opened since he came in. The only sort of provisions he had was the water from the running sink in the adjoining bathroom, which he probably would’ve dehydrated to death by now without.
He wasn’t sure if she wanted him to die or if she was simply trying to weaken him, but whichever she wanted, she would get. He hadn’t eaten for the entire three days and he was starving; enough to pretty much resign him to curling up in the bundle of musty, textured pillows that sat in a heap at the top of the mattress.
He hadn’t managed to sleep much, if at all. Every time he tried, he had the same nightmare — the only dream he’d ever had, and the only one he would ever have.
He might’ve cried about the whole thing, but he didn’t want to expend the energy. Not if he didn’t know how much longer he’d be in there.
With a soft exhale, he ran his fingers along one of the intricately beaded pillows. It was a variety of reds, oranges, pinks and yellows. It might’ve been beautiful, if it wasn’t in this place, if it wasn’t the only thing keeping him from spiraling completely.
He could feel tiredness creeping up on him again — not that sleeping would change anything. But the fireplace sitting across from the bed was crackling minutely, and the flames were dancing so soothingly that he found his eyes closing anyhow.
Was this how the last few days of his life were going to go? Falling asleep and waking up again until, eventually, he didn’t? Until he starved to death and they had to come get a fresh corpse off of the old victorian bed?
He was nearly asleep again when there was an array of sounds at the door — metal on metal, clinking, jingling. He hardly had time to open his eyes before the door swung open.
The hallway lights were on, and there was a black silhouette there. A mass of black robes that revealed nothing underneath.
“Hello, Seven,” Her voice came, smooth and silky and sweet.
Seven didn’t even move. He simply looked at her from where he lay, trying to decide if she was coming to help him or if she was about to kill him for betraying her. Or maybe mock him for a moment and close the door again.
She stepped into the room, closing the door behind her in slow, predictable movements.
“Sorry for the delay,” She said, though Seven was pretty sure she’d planned to keep him in there and wasn’t sorry at all. “I got caught up in a few things.”
Seven said nothing.
“Come on, sit up,” She said, moving toward him, the massive black cloak settling a few feet away from the bed. “I merely want to speak with you.”
With an exhale, he did. He sat up and scooted over to the edge of the bed, dangling his legs off the side and saying nothing. He didn’t even look at her.
“Don’t be so tense,” She spoke. She came a bit closer, and Seven felt her hand brush away some of the hair that had fallen down on his forehead. He was so tired and weak that he decided it almost felt good. “It’s only me. You know me.”
Seven didn’t even look up at her.
“I just want to ask you a few questions,” She said, still running her hand through his hair. She stepped away a few seconds later, and the lack of contact left him feeling oddly cold.
“You used to be my most faithful, loyal companion, Seven. When all of the other ones like you disobeyed me and tried their hands at escape, you were always by my side,” She spoke with a certain tone in her voice that sounded almost nostalgic, pacing the room in front of him, only a few steps in each direction before she turned again. “All I want to know is what happened.”
Seven looked down at his feet.
“I sent you to complete a job, and for the first time, you didn’t,” She continued. “In fact, you did the complete opposite. What did Beniah Ivanov say to you, Seven?”
Seven swallowed thickly.
“Tell me, Seven. How did the conversation go?” She asked, coming forward a few more steps. Her soft demeanor seemed to flee and she slammed a fist against on of the bed posts, shaking the whole thing. “What did he tell you?!”
“My name,” Seven spoke weakly.
Her anger quieted, and she took a step back. “Your name from before should hold no place inside of you.”
“I… I know. But…” He mumbled to himself. “I never knew it, so… when he said it… I was shocked.”
“So he told you your name to pause you in your tracks,” She said, and she started pacing again. “And what else?”
“He told me about… when I was a baby,” Seven continued softly. “About how he was so excited for me to be born, and that he… never wanted to stop carrying me around.”
“So he was manipulating you,” She stated simply.
“What?” Seven questioned, glancing up at her. “No… no, he was-“
“Crying?” She asked with a toxic sounding laugh. “Lots of people cry when they’re trying to talk themselves out of dying.”
Seven’s words died in his throat.
“What else did he tell you, Seven?”
Seven said nothing, and she stepped closer.
“Seven,”
“He showed me…” Seven breathed deep and shook his head, blinking twice. “He told me I was only your slave. And that you didn’t care about me or anyone else. That you were just making me do the work you can’t do.”
She laughed again, a bubbly, venomous sound. “You know that’s not true.”
Seven looked down at his feet. She took pause.
“You do know that’s not true, Seven,” She said, stepping closer. “I gave you a home. I keep you in a special place by my side no one else has ever reached. I trust you,” She spoke lowly. “You know me more than anyone else. You know I care about you. You’re my friend.”
Seven didn’t say anything… he only looked into the blackness under the hood of the cloak. And then he looked down.
“Sometimes you… hurt me,” He said slowly, carefully, like she might lash out and strike him just for that. At the statement, the small cut that was scabbed on his left cheek seemed to throb for a second.
“I don’t hurt you, Seven,” She said gently. “I discipline you, because I care about you. Just like a parent punishing their child. It may feel like pain at the time, but I do it because I know it will make you into a stronger, better person. You know as well as anyone that I only punish you when you’ve done something worth punishing. I can count on one hand how many times you’ve gone against my word.”
Seven simply looked down at his feet.
“Did he say anything else?” She questioned, stepping back and pacing the room again.
A beat of silence passed.
“He told me…” Seven swallowed thick, a sudden burn prickling at his eyes. “He said he…”
She stopped in front of him, her hood drawing closer like she was listening intently.
“Go on,” She spoke gently. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
Seven bit the inside of his cheek in a bid to make the tears stop gathering in his eyes, but it didn’t really work.
“Whatever he said hurt you,” She assumed. “Or perhaps… the opposite.”
Seven shook his head. “He said he… loved me.”
The black mass of cloak stepped away for a second. She looked over at the fireplace, as if deep in thought, and then she sighed.
Slowly, she reached forward with both hands and unclasped the front of the cloak, letting the mass of fabric fall to the hardwood floor.
Beneath it was a girl Seven had only seen a handful of times. Pretty, with long dark hair and big brown eyes. She was wearing an old style dress, blood red and long, a velvety looking fabric with gold embroidered adornments along the bell sleeves and bottom hem. She had big red crystal earrings dangling from her ears, and a necklace and ring to match. Her lipstick was dark red.
“He may be your brother by blood,” She said softly, coming just a bit closer to him. “But he doesn’t love you. He was just trying to get in your head, to twist your mind and make you think twice about doing your job. He doesn’t know anything about you. He hasn’t seen you in twelve years, how could he possibly love you?”
Seven didn’t say anything, but his eyes stung more, so he looked down.
“He was manipulating you to save his own life,” She continued. “If he really cared about you, and he was really concerned about how I treat you, don’t you think he would’ve tried to get you out of my grasp instead of letting you walk right back into it?”
Seven said nothing. She came closer, kneeling down in front of him so her face was in his line of sight.
“I’ve been the one taking care of you for your whole life, Seven. Not him. He doesn’t know you. I do. He isn’t allowed to say he loves you because he doesn’t know if he does or not,” She explained softly. One of her hands drifted up to rest on Seven’s cheek and, when she didn’t have the cloak on, it didn’t feel as scary. He couldn’t help but lean into it in his weakened and emotional state. “I want to know why you’re crying, Seven. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Seven’s eyes drifted back down to his feet. “I…” He tried to blink away the tears but they fell instead. “I don’t know.”
He felt her thumb rake one of his tears away. “Well. There is something I do know.”
Seven looked up at her, and she had a smile pulling up on each side of her mouth. She never smiled.
“He saw you once as an infant, and didn’t care about your wellbeing for a second afterwards. He claims you’re being used, but he never tried to get to you. He never put a shred of effort into you…” She mumbled, smile brightening just a little bit. “And he says he loves you. If he can love you after all of that, then think of how much I, the one who always looked after you, who's been with you, who’s cared about you endlessly for your entire life… think about how much that means I love you.”
Seven sobbed.
She sat up onto her knees and coaxed him into a hug. He didn’t really hug her back, his hands stayed in his lap, but he did let his head fall down onto her shoulder, and he let his tears flow more freely there.
“I know it hurts, but you don’t need him,” She said softly. One of her hands was smoothing down the hair on the back of his head. “We all want our family to love us, yes, but we can’t despair over it if they don’t. We just have to find something better than blood. And I think we already have.”
Seven said nothing, but pressed his head further into her shoulder.
For a few minutes, she let him cry.
“Now,” She breathed. “I bet you’re starving. I wished to speak to you sooner, but a few other things demanded my attention.”
She pulled out of the embrace and smiled faintly at him, both of her hands coming up to rest on either side of his face for a split second before she stood, grabbing her cloak and clasping it around her shoulders again. She left her hood off this time.
“Come on, I’ll take you down to the dining room,”
Seven followed her without much thought.
He followed her along a long, carpeted hallway, lined with bedroom doors, down a massive curling staircase, and through a lavish entryway, his eyes sticking on the various huge pieces of art and sculptures that seemed to be everywhere. They turned through a large cased opening, and inside was a dining room.
It was all a dark wood, with a massive, long table in the center, a crackling fireplace on the wall opposite to the door, and victorian style furnishings and finishing all around.
“Alright. Come sit,” She stated. She moved to the head of the table nearest to the fireplace and pulled out the chair, so Seven sat, silently. “There is… one more order of business I have to attend to, now that you’re living among the other eight. But right after, I’ll have my maids fix you food, whatever you like, and as much as you want.”
Seven glanced over his shoulder at her. She was looking at the fireplace, the flames flickering in her brown eyes.
“Because you’re now technically a part of the same group as them, you need their mark. Just for official purposes, nothing to do with you,” She muttered. “If it were up to me, you wouldn’t get one at all. But you must. Just know, that getting this mark doesn’t change anything between me and you, alright? It’s just a routine procedure that holds no merit in our relationship.”
Seven wasn’t sure what she was talking about. He guessed it was something the other people with names like his had to do, but he’d never met them, so he wasn’t sure what it was. “…Okay?”
She turned away from him, toward one of the dining room entrances that seemed to lead to a kitchen, saying something in a language he didn’t understand. What did they speak in South Africa? Afrikaans?
A man in a butler’s uniform came in at her call. She said something else, but Seven didn’t know what.
She moved up next to the chair he was in, and the butler went to the fireplace, pulling what looked like a fire poker out of it. At the end was a large, flat piece, with metal protruding from it in the shape of words. The whole thing was red hot.
With a start, he realized what the mark must’ve been.
“No,” He gasped, looking back up at her, tears already springing to his eyes at the thought of the searing pain. “No. Please, Red, please.”
“It’s alright,” She spoke. The butler pulled his chair away from the table with a screech along the floor, and Seven almost flew out of it.
“Look straight down,” The butler ordered.
“No,” He sobbed. “Red, please-“
“It’s alright, Seven,” She said, kneeling down in front of him, taking both of his hands in hers. “It’ll only last a moment. I’m right here.”
“No-“
The butler shoved Seven’s head down roughly, and he sobbed, squeezing Red’s hands as tight as he possibly could.
The burning metal came in contact with the back of his neck, and he wasn’t even conscious long enough to hear himself scream.
—
Once Seven was unconscious, the butler carefully put the metal back into the fireplace, stealing a glance at the perfectly sized ‘SLAVE’ that was red and irritated, burned onto the back of his neck.
With a long sigh, Red stood, wiggling her hands out of the boy’s with a cringe. “Take him up to his room, and leave him with some food,” She ordered blankly, every trace of care or gentleness that had been on her face mere moments ago completely vanished.
“I told him I loved him, made him cry. He won’t be leaving anytime soon,” She spoke. “Children who crave love cave the quickest.”
The butler merely nodded, gathered Seven into his arms, and left the room.
“Oh, and-“ She started, glancing back at him. “Leave him a note from me that says something sweet, and that I had something I had to do. I don’t feel like thinking about it right now.”
The butler bowed with a nod, and left the room with the boy bundled up in his arms.
—
tag list that KINDA works
@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun
@xiaonothere
@skylathescholarly @flyrobinflyy @bookwarm0-0
@custommadeazula
I’ve not been well over the holidays so decided to mock up how i’d illustrate PJO instead lol - all in lorem ipsum so I don’t get in trouble with the big mouse!
Help me get my children out. I want to see them safe. Help my family
AAAAAAAHH
literally had to take lil breaks in between reading ‘cause OU MY GODDD
Project: Killcode
batfamily + oc insert
tw: none
wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!
want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!
aha…. ha… ha… they’re not okay
part thirty
❝ HYPOCRISY ❞
SUNDAY — JULY 29 — 5:11AM
WHEN BENTLEY OPENED HIS EYES ON SUNDAY MORNING, IT WAS REALLY BRIGHT IN HIS BEDROOM. And warm. And the ceiling was really… orange? And weeping willow-y? And his bed didn’t feel like a bed at all?
With a sudden gasp, he sat bolt upright, panic and adrenaline flooding his veins like gasoline and sending a wave of volatile dread seeping through his entire body. His eyes flicked to the golden sunrise, to the fountain, to the grass he was sitting on, to the trees above him, to the building he was supposed to be in, to the Chloe that was laying on the ground next to him.
There was no way he had…
Chloe startled awake at his outburst, her face twisting up in confusion, eyes flicking around just like his had before she shot directly onto her feet. “Oh shit!”
Bentley pushed himself off of the grass, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. “Oh my God.”
It wasn’t super late in the morning, at least, judging by the dim sunrise. He dug his phone out of his pocket in a panic and, squinting into it, he was extremely relieved to see that he had no texts. It was 5:13am.
Asten was so back at the dorm already.
How had they managed to fall asleep out there? He couldn’t even seem to fathom deciding to sleep on the ground when he wasn’t even supposed to be outside in the first place. All he’d been thinking about the previous night was Chloe and how stressed out her breakdown was making him. He never once thought about going to sleep. And yeah, he’d been pretty tired, but… sleeping there hadn’t even been an option in his mind, yet somehow, he… they…
“How the hell did we fall asleep?!” She half-shouted, whipping her phone out of her pocket and cringing at the screen. “My roommates all knew I was coming out here to meet you! They’re gonna think we slept together!”
Bentley ran an anxious hand through his hair, glancing at her in confusion. “…Didn’t we?”
Chloe looked at him with this absolutely gobsmacked, absolutely appalled look on her face, before she seemed to realize… something. “I’m not even going to begin to explain that to you.”
Bentley had no idea what she was talking about.
“God, I… I’m so sorry, Bentley, I didn’t mean…” Chloe scrolled through something on her phone, her cheeks flushing red, cringe deepening. “I’m so sorry!”
“It’s… okay,” He replied, though the fact that he was practically already vibrating from anxiety proved otherwise. He was so dead. Asten was literally going to murder him.
“It’s so not okay! Can you even imagine the rumors that’re going to spread if I don’t shut them up fast enough?!” She basically yelled, tugging at her sort of messed up ponytail. “No, no, no. This is so not how this was supposed to go.”
Did she mean that everyone would think they, like, kissed? Or something? What did that have to do with sleeping next to each other?
When Bentley said nothing, but looked back down at his shoes, she continued: “Your roommates went to that party, right? There’s still a chance they’re not back yet — you should go, now. This is such a disaster…”
“Last time they came back before sunrise…” He trailed off.
“Shit. I’m so sorry, Bentley, I didn’t… and… God,” She ran a hand over her face. “Okay. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s all going to be fine.”
Bentley didn’t say anything just kinda… stood, thinking about how much Asten was going to kill him.
“Hey,” Chloe’s hands were suddenly on his shoulders, and he locked eyes with her, brown on brown. “It’s gonna be fine, just go now before anyone sees. And… and don’t sleep with anyone till you’re married!”
Bentley didn’t say anything to that (because didn't they just sleep together?!), but he did get out of his own head enough to comprehend that he needed to go back to his dorm. Like, yesterday.
So, without a word, he turned, and he went.
He was about halfway there when he realized he didn’t have his keycard.
Which meant someone would have to let him in.
“Shit,” He groaned as he came out of the stairwell on their floor, the sixth floor. He took a quick glance both directions down the long, wainscoted hallway, and when it came back empty, he quietly moved toward their door and whipped his phone out of his pocket.
He tapped on one of his very first contacts. It rang… and it rang…
“Bentley?”
Bentley sighed heavily, running a hand over his face. “Hey, Bell… I need you to let me into the dorm without waking anybody up.”
He heard Bellamy exhale. “That won’t be hard. I’m the only one here.”
Bentley creased his brow as he walked up to their room. “What? I’m at the door.”
Hardly a half-second after he spoke, the call ended, the lock clicked, and the door opened. Bellamy was standing on the other side — his hair was sort of messed up, and his big brown eyes were dull and sleepy. He was wearing some blue pajamas that reminded Bentley of the sailboat ones he used to wear.
“Sorry, Bell, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” He cringed as he stepped through the door, kicking it closed behind him.
“S’ okay. I don’t sleep much anyways,” Bellamy replied quietly, shoving his phone in the pocket of his pajama pants. Bentley glanced around the dorm, his gaze landing on all four of the bedroom doors that were just… sitting wide open.
“Where’s Varian? I thought he didn’t go to the party,”
Bellamy shrugged, walking over to the living area and plopping down on one of the couches. “I don’t know. Did you go to the party with them? I thought you were here all night…”
“I’m sorry, I would’ve stayed if I’d have known you’d be by yourself,” Bentley cringed (He was really good at this stuff, wasn’t he?) “But no, I didn’t go to the party — I had to talk to someone.”
Bellamy creased his brow at him. “All night?”
“I fell asleep on accident,” He replied, making his way over to the couch and plopping down next to him. “After I saw what happened to everyone last time they partied, I decided it wasn’t for me.”
Bellamy didn’t say anything, but just kinda looked down at his hands and fiddled with his pajama sleeves. Bentley could hear the little machines whirring beneath them.
“What’s wrong?” He questioned. Bellamy glanced back up at him, looking sort of surprised, but quickly looked back down.
“Nothing,” He muttered.
“Bell…”
“It’s okay, really. I don’t want you to feel bad…” He trailed off, and Bentley sat up a little straighter, turning toward him slightly.
“Feel bad for what?”
“I…” Bellamy started quietly, glancing at Bentley then down at his hands again, tugging at his own sleeves. “I… I had a nightmare and… when I woke up, nobody was here…”
Bentley internally threw himself off a cliff.
Of course Bellamy would. Why wouldn’t he? With Bentley’s relationship with luck, he was surprised his roommates didn’t just straight up die in the middle of the night.
Bentley exhaled heavily, watching as Bellamy continued to pick at his sleeves. “I’m really sorry, Bell. Was it bad?”
Bellamy just kinda looked down at his lap. “The dream wasn’t so bad, but then I got up and no one was here, and…”
There was a familiar little quiver to his voice that made Bentley feel even worse about leaving than he had about Chloe.
Bellamy sniffed lightly, turning away. “It was really scary…”
Bentley sighed lightly, lifting his right arm and draping it loosely round Bellamy’s shoulders. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left.”
“It wasn’t your fault I had a bad dream,” He shrugged, wiping at his eyes without turning back around. “It just freaked me out, is all. I thought you were at the party and I didn’t want to bother you…”
“You can call me for anything, no matter what I’m doing. I’ll answer — I promise,” Bentley replied, squeezing his shoulder lightly. “I hate that you were by yourself.”
“It’s okay… it really wasn’t a big deal, just… sometimes I can’t tell if I’m awake or asleep, and it made me really scared…” Bellamy continued, and Bentley frowned.
“That’s how a lot of my nightmares are, too,” He replied quietly, with a soft sigh.
Bellamy looked over at him. “I heard that you had one the other night. Was it bad?”
Images flashed through Bentley’s mind in quick succession — Varian bleeding out in Dick’s arms, Rockie getting shot right in front of him, Asten falling off the roof, Nico getting his head beaten in... “Yeah. It was bad.”
“I thought so. I heard you… screaming. But I didn’t know if I was actually awake so I… didn’t come out. I’m sorry…” Bellamy trailed off.
Bentley patted his shoulder. “It’s okay, Bell. I wouldn’t have, either.”
Bellamy sniffed again, glancing forward at the floor ahead of them with a few quick blinks, bringing a hand up to rub at his eyes.
“Do you want me to do the frogs again? You seem tired,”
“No, that’s okay,” He replied with a small shrug. “I’m not that tired.”
Bentley watched him, observing quietly for a few minutes as his blinks got progressively longer.
“Are you sure about that?” He asked with a soft smile, squeezing his shoulder lightly. “It’s okay to be tired. I’m tired and I just woke up.”
Bellamy smiled faintly in amusement, glancing over at him for just a split second.
Bentley sighed lightly. “It’s okay, you can go to sleep. I won’t go anywhere — I promise.”
"...are you sure?" Bellamy muttered.
"I'm sure. Unless you'd rather be alone,"
"No. No, being alone is..." Bellamy trailed off, picking at his sleeves. "Scary..."
A beat passed.
"My head hurts,"
Bentley rubbed his shoulder lightly. "Do you want some medicine?"
"No..." He muttered, fiddling with his fingers some more, like he was nervous about something. "Can I just..."
Bentley watched him carefully, but he never spoke again. He just sort of looked down at his lap. "Can you just what?"
Bellamy shrugged and looked away, abandoning his question entirely.
"You can ask. I can already tell you the answer is most likely yes," Bentley replied, earning a faint smile in response.
"I... was going to ask if I could..." Bellamy trailed off, continuing to pick at his sleeves. "If I could maybe..." His eyes flicked down to Bentley's shoulder, and suddenly, he seemed to understand.
"Oh, yeah," He replied immediately. "I'm not gonna say no to that."
“Are you sure?”
Bentley hummed. “Super sure.”
With that, Bellamy settled himself down on the couch and grabbed one of the blankets from the back of it, draping it over himself. Then, with an attentive glance to Bentley, subtly and tentatively moved until the side of his head came to rest on Bentley’s shoulder.
"Sorry if that’s… weird, I just…”
"It’s not weird," Bentley replied, smiling faintly as he adjusted his arm so it was comfortable for both of them. "I've probably spent more time in the last three years sleeping with someone else next to me than alone -- so I don't mind. It's actually nice."
“Oh… okay,”
A few moments of silence passed, and Bellamy settled in farther, adjusting his head against Bentleys shoulder with a quiet sigh. “Y’know, I… think you’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”
Bentley said nothing, only glanced at him. By the time he’d managed to work up a response, Bellamy’s eyes were comfortably closed, his breathing had evened out, and the machines on his arms slowed until he could barely hear them anymore.
If Bellamy kept talking like that, Bentley was gonna have to ask Bruce if they could take him home.
—
“-must’ve woken up and came in here,” Was the first thing Bentley’s ears registered when his senses started coming back to him. He was laying somewhere, but it wasn’t his bed. It was…
Oh yeah — the couch, in the living area. He wasn’t sitting up anymore; He seemed to be laying across it, and there was a blanket thrown over him that hadn’t been there before. Bellamy’s presence had all but vanished from his right.
“You think he noticed you were gone?”
“I hope not. He was dead asleep when I left,”
It was Asten and Valor whispering — though Bentley probably wouldn’t have been able to tell in his half-awake state if it weren’t for their opposing accents.
“Are you gonna tell him?” Valor questioned.
“Unless he noticed I was gone, no. I’m not hungover anymore, so it shouldn’t matter,”
He wasn’t hungover, so it shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter that literally yesterday Asten had given Bentley a speech about not keeping secrets, and then did something the same night that he planned on keeping secret. (What kind of world was Asten living in where he could just… be all hypocritical like that? Bentley wasn’t allowed but he was?)
Bentley fought the urge to huff dramatically and, instead, stayed eerily still on the couch, pretending to sleep. (He was pretty good at that.)
“You’re welcome, by the way, for being the puke dad again,” Came a third voice, with a distinct Russian lilt.
“Yeah, yeah, thanks for waking up and coming to the hangover rescue. Where’s Koa and Rockie?” Valor questioned.
“Koa’s throwing up outside. I think Rockie’s out there with him,”
“Jesus, that kid gets sicker than anyone I’ve ever met in my entire life,” Valor sighed.
“He also gets drunker than anyone else,”
“Because he's obsessed with beer pong. He played it at least thirty times last night,”
Bentley just listened as the voices moved about the dorm, a few doors opening and closing and sounds bouncing around. An unidentifiable amount of time later, the distinct sound of the dorm door opening and closing pierced the air — it must’ve been Koa and Rockie.
A few more voices came and went — small talk, mostly. Bentley didn’t listen because he was too busy being absolutely pissed that Asten had the audacity to be such an arrogant hypocrite after he made Bentley cry about it the day before.
Eventually, the voices faded into the other rooms, and the dorm went quiet again.
Bentley, extraordinarily angry but not mean enough to disturb everyone’s sleep, forced himself back to bed on the couch.
He’d talk to Asten later.
Later came sooner than he wanted it to… but at the same time, took all too long to come around.
He shuffled back into his and Asten’s bedroom at nearly eleven in the morning. The dorm was practically dead — not a soul had come out into the living area since they’d all returned earlier. Part of him kind of wanted to cry (because he couldn’t be mad like a normal person.) and the other part of him wanted to, like, burn something down.
For now, he decided to find somewhere in the middle to float.
He went into his and Asten’s room, kicking the door closed behind him and glancing at the top bunk. Asten was laying up there under his blankets, but his arms and phone were sticking out, and his screen was on, signaling that he was awake.
“Hey, B,” He greeted casually. “Why were you in the living room?”
Bentley breathed in and out, staving down some of the anger that threatened to make him, like, yell. “Bellamy had a nightmare. We were both in there, but he left,” He replied curtly.
He pulled his desk chair out and sat on it, then heard Asten shift, as though he were trying to look at him from his bed. He must’ve given up because his head never appeared from under the covers.
“I didn’t hear you leave,”
Was he seriously trying to make Bentley think he was home all night?
Bentley shrugged with a short huff. “Not sure you could hear the door from Mason’s house, anyway.”
Asten’s head did pop out, then, and he sat up on the bed. “Did-“
“I’m not stupid, Asten. I was awake when you left, and I was awake when you were telling Valor you weren’t gonna tell me,” He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “What the hell?”
Asten didn’t say anything, but worked his way off the top bunk and sat on Bentley’s instead, crossing his arms. He looked tired, like he’d just woken up, but sort of offended at the same time. “Not everything I do is your business, B.”
Bentley narrowed his eyes at him, wanting nothing more than to set his hair on fire. “You lied to me.”
“I didn’t lie,” Asten scoffed.
“Well, you didn’t tell me the truth,” Bentley spat, leaning back in the chair. “There’s no gray area between an honest person and a liar.”
“What-“
“You just gave me an entire spiel over keeping secrets just to go and keep secrets. So what, you’re allowed to but I’m not? I’m supposed to let it slide when you do it, but you’re allowed to get upset at me? Sounds pretty hypocritical,” Bentley hissed. Asten’s eyes went cold again, his expression darkening.
“You have to tell me where you’re going because you’re an innocent little nepobaby who’s naivety will get you killed,” Asten spat back. “You don’t know half the shit that goes on in this world — I do.”
“… So, because you had a shitty life, the rules don’t apply?” Bentley asked, tapping his fingers on his arms. “You’re allowed to go do whatever you want and expect me to just sit here at your command like a dog?”
“I’m trying to protect you,”
“Bullshit. That just sounds good. If you were actually trying to protect me, you wouldn’t leave the three youngest roommates in the dorm overnight just to go get drunk out of your mind,” Bentley was practically fuming at the ears, but he made doubly sure not to raise his voice too loud. “I wouldn’t even care about you going out and getting wasted if you’d just tell me first!”
Asten rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Why’s it such a big deal all of a sudden?”
“It was a big deal to you yesterday,” Bentley replied. “But I guess that doesn’t matter, since you’re a hypocrite and all.”
Asten was glaring daggers. “Bentley.”
“Tell me I’m wrong,” He ordered, locking eyes with Asten and forcing them to stay there no matter how uncomfortable it was. “You said something. You did the opposite. Tell me you’re not a hypocrite.”
Asten was pissed — Bentley could tell. He had this cold sort of feeling that radiated from him when he was really mad; one that would make passersby afraid he was gonna punch them if they got too close. He opened his mouth to reply, but Bentley beat him to it.
“I may be younger than you, but you can’t walk all over me anymore. You helped train that into me,” Bentley muttered. “So if you’re allowed to go do whatever you want whenever you want without telling me, so am I.”
“Bentley-“
“And I’ll start by telling you, now that it’s convenient for me, that I snuck out of the dorm and stayed with a girl last night. All night,”
Asten’s horrendously-pissed-and-angry face cracked a little to reveal something like disbelief, and vaguely, shock. “Yeah, sure you did.”
“Unlike you, I’m not a liar. Ask Bellamy, he had to let me back in this morning. Or you can consult my call history and find where I asked him to let me in,” Bentley replied, pulling his phone out of his pocket and tossing it on the desk with a bam! “Or maybe you can dwell on the fact that I was sleeping in the living room in different clothes than I went to bed in?”
Asten didn’t say anything, but his mouth was open, like he was debating on it.
Then he huffed deeply, like he was really irritated. “Who was it?”
“Not everything I do is your business,” Bentley mocked, rising from the desk chair and pushing it in, grabbing his phone and shoving it back in his pocket. “I’m done arguing with a wall.”
“Where are you going?” Asten asked as Bentley approached the door.
He swung it open, glancing back at Asten just long enough to say: “Maybe I’ll tell you when it’s convenient.”
Then he left their room, and he left their dorm, going nowhere in particular.
Everything in high school was bullshit.
--
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☆ just a bundle of nervous energy ☆ call me Vela! ☆ 16 years old ☆ we do messy book rants, brain dumps, and all kinds of dumbassery
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