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outer-bnks · 4 years

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Two Burning Hearts Are Dared to Break (JJ x Original Character) Ch. 1

What happens after you lose one of the most important people in your life? After losing John B and Sarah, JJ and Elle realise that the only thing they have left is each other.

Picks up directly after 1x10.

Content: sadness, grief, slow burn, eventual best friends to lovers

Warnings: swearing, mentions of child abuse/bruises from child abuse, mentions of grief, mentions of anxiety, non-sexual shower scene

Inspiration: OBX the series, especially 1x10.

A/N: I’ve had this idea in my head since finishing OBX the first time. I want to make it into a slow burn series with angst and pining. Also want different love interests introduced which causes obvious tension (Topper character redemption arc). Let me know if you’d be interested in reading that.

Also, I’m Australian so beware of UK spelling habits instead of American eg. Mum vs. Mom.

Word count: 2388k

feedback/likes/comments really appreciated

It’d been roughly an hour of sitting in the makeshift SBI tent, the tropical storm raging on whilst the heavy rain pelted down around it. Pope with one arm around Kie as she continued to sob into his shoulder, her parents sitting in silence beside them. Heyward took the initiative of talking to Shoupe after he had delivered the news, pulling him away from the kids to try and gain some perspective on the matter. Members of the SBI were bustling in between the tents, continuing on with their investigation.

Across from Pope and Kie, JJ sat, head in his hands, trying to block out the sounds of everyone around him. Shoupe’s words on repeat in his head “We lost them… we lost them”. Elle sat to his right, staring blankly at the ground. Unlike JJ, her head was empty, and not the peaceful kind of empty, the kind that would slowly drive you insane. This kind of silence between the pogues was rare, each too consumed in their thoughts, or lack thereof to attempt any kind of conversation.

Elle felt JJ shift beside her, finally lifting his head from his hands. She turned to watch him, cautious of an emotional outburst. His eyes were bloodshot, his cheeks wet with the constant stream of tears that had been trailing down his face. Wiping his face clear, he stood up abruptly, gaining the attention of Pope, Kie and her parents.

“Can we leave this fucking tent yet?!” he questioned, looking towards the SBI agents guarding the entrances. As if on cue, Shoupe and Heyward entered, pulling their soaking hoods down from their heads.

“Not yet son, we need to get statements from each of you and do some questioning” Shoupe responded, hands on his hips as if to maintain his authority, but his face held a solemn look. Elle couldn't tell if it was due to the guilt or the pity.

“Questioning?! You’re going to question us about how you and your minions drove our friends right into a raging storm?!” JJ challenged, taking his signature red hat off and running a hand through his tousled hair out of frustration.

“Look, I know you’re all hurting right now”, JJ scoffed, Kie finally lifting her head from its place on Pope’s shoulder, “but this is still a criminal investigation, and you’re all accomplices as far as we’re concerned”.

“That’s absolute bullshit Shoupe, he wasn’t a criminal and you know it!” Pope exclaimed, surprising everyone in the room.

Heyward stepped forward, as if to take control of the situation, “Come on man, look at these kids. Do they look like they’re in any way to be interrogated right now?”

Holding eye contact with him, Shoupe sighed, lifting his eyes to glance around the room from one pogue to the next. “Alright, go home and get some rest. But we’re going to have to bring each of you in tomorrow”, pointedly looking at JJ he added “and we want to know the truth about everything”.

Rolling his eyes JJ looked across to Pope and Kie, who both shared the same looks of worry on their faces. Talking to the police about everything that’s happened over the past few weeks was the last thing any one of them wanted to do.

Everyone started to disperse from the scene. Kie hugging them all before leaving with her parents, her Mum’s arm holding her close as they walked to their car. The Heyward’s followed their lead, bidding goodbye to Elle and JJ before heading home. JJ turned to look at Elle after watching their friends leave, feeling an overwhelming sense of dread just thinking about returning back to his house.

Elle, like always, picked up on the fear radiating off of him, grabbing his right hand in her left and squeezing it gently. She knew there was no possible act of affection that could slow the thoughts racing through his mind right now. “Hey, come and stay with me tonight”, she offered softly. The very idea of returning to her house alone tonight caused feelings of anxiety to arise, at least if she had JJ there, her house wouldn’t feel so empty.

It didn’t take much to convince JJ. Going back to a mansion in Figure Eight with his best friend seemed a hell of a lot safer than returning to his beat up shack with his father, who no doubt was already passed out on the couch. JJ’s eyes moved from their place on their interconnected hands up to meet Elle’s eyes. They held a pleading look, silently begging him to let his walls down and accept the offer that on any other occasion he would refuse.

“Uhh, yeah.. Okay”, he nodded softly.

“Alright then”, Elle turned back to the seat that she had occupied, picking up her keys and beginning to drag him along with her, “let’s get the hell out of here”.

----

The car ride was silent. The only sounds coming from the engine of Elle’s jeep as they drove through the Cut, the water pelting down onto the exterior of the car. JJ sat next to her, his gaze never wavering from the window to his right. The torrential downpour had soaked through their clothes, leaving Elle shivering slightly as she gripped the wheel. She’d always loved driving, especially around the Cut. The scenery was similar to that on her side of the island, but the feelings that it evoked were the opposite. The Cut felt more like home than Figure Eight ever would, but there was a nagging thought that that feeling was due to the boy sitting next to her, and not the Cut itself.

Passing over the bridge into Figure Eight, it was only a matter of minutes before they had arrived at the Sterling residence. The grand house stood on a large block of bright green land, surrounded by a carefully maintained flowerbed, displaying the hard work of the Sterling’s gardeners. The outdoor automatic lights switched on as Elle and JJ made their way to her front door. JJ had only been inside Elle’s house a handful of times, despite their 4 year friendship, but he still doesn’t think there'd be a time where he wouldn’t be astounded by the sheer size of it and the never ending staircase that greeted you as you entered the front door.

“Are you hungry? I can grab us some food before we head up to my room” Elle proposed, pointing towards the kitchen.

JJ denied the offer, in spite of the slight grumble that came from his stomach. He was worried that anything he tried to get down might not stay there.

Elle nodded, leading them up the stairs to the second floor which held her and her brothers bedrooms, as well as another living area. JJ felt out of place in his wet, muddy clothes and bruised skin, a strong contrast to the white walls and clean carpet.

Entering her room, JJ stood awkwardly, noting her large queen sized bed with a quilt cover that matched her blue and white colour scheme, and the walk-in wardrobe to the left of it. He wondered why she’d needed such a closet when her wardrobe consisted of tank tops and shorts throughout the summer.

“Did you.. uh.. wanna take a shower? There’s towels in the cupboard under the sink and shampoo and conditioner inside the shower if you need it” she asked whilst rummaging through some drawers in her closet. She pulled out a pair of soft black shorts and a tee that she had borrowed from JJ when staying over at the Chateau a few weeks ago, holding them out to JJ shyly, “these are yours, freshly washed. Think they might be a bit more comfortable than what you’ve got on”.

JJ had to glance down to remind himself of what he’d been wearing. She was right, the combat boots adorning his feet were sturdy and heavy, his shorts stiff from a mixture of dried rain and mud, whilst his button down clung to his body, entirely saturated. Glancing back at Elle he accepted the clothes, offering what he could muster up of a smile.

“Yeah..thanks”, making his way toward the on suite bathroom that was to the right of her bed.

Elle busied herself by searching through her drawers for clothes to change into, when she heard JJ began to speak.

“Um, Elle, would you mind uh”, she turned, watching him stutter over his sentence.

“Yeah?” she encouraged softly, curious as to what he was getting at.

“I… uhm, well, I don’t really wanna be alone right now”, he confessed, mumbling the last part whilst avoiding eye contact by focusing on how his boots were dirtying her floor.

Taken aback by his admission of vulnerability, Elle’s brows furrowed slightly, somewhat confused of what he was asking.

With caution, she pressed “Do you want me to come into the bathroom with you?”.

“Well like, yeah… if you don’t mind”, finally lifting his gaze to meet her eyes. Compared to the pleading look they held back at the tent, they were curious and inviting. JJ would never understand how her eyes were able to show every emotion she was feeling.

Giving him a reassuring head nod and a comforting smile she responded, “Of course I don’t mind”.

Turning back to her drawers, she grabbed out a pair of pyjama shorts and a run-down oversized t-shirt she had bought from the country club’s charity fundraiser a few years back. Opening up her underwear drawer, she spotted her pale blue bikini. Grabbing it out, along with a pair of clean underwear, she walked over to where JJ was leaning against the bathroom door, watching her.

Contrary to Elle’s usual confidence that she displayed, nervously, she held up her bikini whilst proposing her idea “I know you don't want to be alone right now, and to be honest neither do I. Would you mind if I hopped in the shower with you?”

His blue eyes widened slightly, with both surprise and affection. Under any other circumstance he would make an inappropriate or flirtatious comment, when faced with this kind of situation. God, he really wished they were under any other circumstance right now.

Despite the heavy feeling in his heart, he cracked a small smile and joked “As long as you wash my hair”.

Elle giggled, a sound that he hadn’t heard in a few days. Since the gold game had taken a turn for the worse. He’d missed it.

Following her into the bathroom, he stripped down to his boxers, whilst waiting for the water to warm up. Once he’d stepped in, he relinquished in the feeling of the hot water running down over his head and down his body.

Elle, now in her bikini, his favourite bikini to be precise, stepped in after him, sighing at the feeling of the hot water slightly scalding her body, after being uncomfortably damp for so long.

Observing her movements, JJ watched as she picked up a body sponge and pumped some body wash onto it. Turning back to him she motioned for him to turn so that his back was facing her. Beginning at his shoulders, Elle moved the sponge in circular motions, the grime starting to lift off of his tanned skin. She worked quietly, focusing on the task at hand, distracting herself from the thoughts of the past few hours that threatened to enter. JJ remained silent while Elle worked, attempting to relax under the water and her gentle touch.

Once she had completed his back, she applied some pressure to his right arm, turning him to face her. They met eyes, a mutual feeling of vulnerability connecting them. Moving her eyes away from his face, as to contain some kind of break down, she began the circular motion from his shoulders and collar bones, down to his torso. Elle sucked in a breath after being faced with the dark purple bruises that covered his toned body. She doesn’t think she will ever be able to remove the images of these bruises from her brain. Anger surged through her temporarily at the acts of violence that had led to such bruises to arise. Elle crouched down slightly, now eye to eye with the marks and using a gentler motion than before, cleaned over them, wary of applying too much pressure and causing him even more pain than he’s already in. She let the water wash off the soap from the injuries, softly pressing her lips to the area, kissing lightly, before moving onto the next mark.

JJ sucked in a breath at the act of affection, watching her press the kisses to his skin. No one had ever treated him with such care, as if he were porcelain and pressing too hard may just shatter him. His heart swelled with a feeling he couldn’t describe, tears prickling at his eyes. His breathing began to shallow, willing himself not to break down completely.

By the time Elle had returned to a standing position, JJ had tears streaming down his face. With the same gentle touch as before, she wiped under his eyes, ridding them of what she thought were tears, it was hard to tell amongst the water of the shower head. She searched his face, trying to decipher his emotions. Did she hurt him? Had she gone too far? Had she crossed an unspoken boundary that wasn’t supposed to be crossed? JJ cut off her overthinking when he pulled her into his body, holding onto her for dear life. Elle tightened her arms around him, his body shaking while he sobbed into her neck, the warm water running over them, blocking out the sounds of his whimpers.

With more emotion than she’d ever heard in his voice, he finally spoke “He’s gone Elle. He’s just gone.” Between sobs, and spluttering he continued, “What am I supposed to do now? He’s gone. He was all I had”.

Elle joined him then. She tightened her hold on him even more, as the tears beginning to fill her eyes, turned into streams of tears, and then into a full-blown breakdown. They stood there, under the water, holding onto each other desperately, crying. Crying for everything that they’d been through. For everything that they’d lost. For John B.

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words-with-wren · 5 years

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Whump Prompt 2 - Hunger

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy.

Summary: Ben has always looked out for his brother, no matter what.

Word Count: 1,680

A/N: HHhhhhh I’m not good at doing lists. But here, here’s prompt number two. Enjoy! DO NOT TAG AS SHIP OR I WILL FIGHT YOU ADOPTED SIBLINGS ARE STILL SIBLINGS.

Everything blurred together into a ball of fear and terror while he was trapped, but after the relief of being let out had faded a little, the first thing Number Four noticed was the hunger. Maybe it should have been the thirst, and sure - he was thirsty - but he hadn’t eaten since the day before.

Besides, satiating his thirst was easier - he only had to slip into the bathroom. Hunger was a little more difficult - Number Two and Number Five were in the kitchen, and there was no way Number Four was going to face them, not in the state he was in. Likewise, he didn’t want to make Grace get him anything - he wasn’t a kid anymore.

He managed to escape to his room unnoticed - not difficult, really. No one really noticed him. Wiping water from his thirsty gulps in the bathroom and the last of his tears from his face, he crawled onto his bed and huddled into himself, trying to relax.

The soft sound of Number Seven’s violin filled the house, and he realised that finally, he was home. He let out a small sob and scrubbed his cheeks as the last of his tears fell, tears of relief he hadn’t been able to show until he was alone.

He had tried to hug his father - that’s how relieved he had been to leave the darkness and the dead of the mausoleum. When his father had opened the door and stepped aside to let him out, Number Four had rushed to him. The relief of being able to leave - of being free from the dark and the small space and the cries of the dead was so much that he had wanted nothing more than the security of a living touch.

But Sir Reginald Hargreeves had just pushed him aside with a sharp “That’s enough of that nonsense, Number Four,” and turned to lead the boy home.

Now he was alone and he was safe. He wanted nothing more but to curl up and sleep - he was so tired - but the hunger gnawed at his belly. Why hadn’t he eaten lunch yesterday? He hadn’t expected to be locked in a mausoleum overnight, that was why.

He could still hear them. Calling out for him, whispering, reaching for him. Fainter than when he had been locked up, but he couldn’t quite ignore them. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forget their cold touch and whispering voices.

A knock on the door caused him to look up, blinking back the tears.

“Go away,” he said shortly, not in the mood to talk to any of his siblings. Not in the mood to talk to anyone, really.

But the door pushed open and he scowled, scrubbing his cheeks to remove the last traces of tears. Number Six stuck his head around the door, concern showing on his face.

“I said go away,” Four muttered. But Six didn’t listen, pushing the door open and marching into the room, crossing his arms and glaring at his brother.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked shortly.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Dad said you were doing special training.”

“I was.”

“What kind of training?”

“Training training.”

“Have you been away all night?”

“Yes.”

“Are you okay?”

That question stopped Four’s short and unresponsive answers. No one had asked if he was okay before - and if anyone wasn’t okay, wouldn’t it be Six? His power was terrifying and he clearly didn’t enjoy their life as superheroes. So why was Six asking if he was okay?

“Fine,” he muttered, but he had hesitated too long.

Six moved across the room, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking at him. Four didn’t meet his eyes, trying to ignore the foolish urge to hug his brother. He still wanted that living comfort, needed the reassurance that he wasn’t still with the dead.

“Must have been a tough training lesson,” Six said quietly. Four didn’t answer, but his stomach growled loudly. Six picked up on it. Of course he did - he always picked up on everything. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Breakfast,” Four muttered. Six frowned.

“This morning?”

When Four didn’t answer, he sighed.

“I’ll get you something to eat,” he said quietly, dropping off the edge of the bed.

“You don’t have to,” Four said quietly - but he was hungry. He wanted food, but more than that he wanted a hug. He tried to tell himself that was silly - he wasn’t a kid anymore and he didn’t need hugs anymore. But he wanted one, wanted the solid touch of another living human so much.

“I want to,” Six said, and then he slipped out of the room. Four watched him go, suddenly wishing he had stayed. Being alone meant he could hear the dead again, hear their whispered and calls.

He shuddered, wishing there was some way to block them out.

Six wasn’t gone for long, and he returned with a plate heaped with sandwiches and cookies.

“Mom made cookies so I grabbed some as well,” he said, scrambling onto the bed again and handing Four the plate. Four didn’t hesitate, he dug into the meal and for a moment there was silence as he filled the aching hole in his stomach.

“So,” Six said again, slowly. “What was the training like?”

Four didn’t answer. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to remember. They were still calling for him, whispering his name, trying to get his attention. They were always there, a constant background noise that drove him insane!

“I just want them all to stop!” he said suddenly, surprised and slightly embarrassed to find tears on his face again. He blinked rapidly, looking down and rubbing his sleeve across his face. “Sorry.”

But Six didn’t seem to care - instead, he reached across the bed and pulled Four into a hug. For a moment, Four didn’t know how to react - sure, he had wanted a hug, but he hadn’t expected to get one.

Then he let out a small sob, holding Six close as though letting go would mean losing his brother forever, as though letting go would mean losing himself to the whispers of the dead. Six was solid. Six was alive. Six was here and Four was safe.

“You're my brother and you don’t ever have to say sorry, okay?” Six said, and Four nodded, suddenly not caring that tears were sliding down his face.

~*~

“Klaus. Hey, Klaus! Wake up.”

Klaus groaned, blinking his eyes open to the blaring light.

“No, g’away,” he muttered, closing his eyes again. Someone snapped their fingers in his face and he groaned again, looking up at Ben who was standing over him. “Oh, it’s just you.” He waved his hand in the general direction of his brother, feeling a slight tingle as his arm passed through him.

Ben moved back, crossing his arms and leaning against the dumpster Klaus had passed out behind. Klaus sat up as well, already rummaging through his coat for the pills he knew he had on him.

Ben didn’t say anything, watching his brother for a long moment. He wished he could do something to make him stop - it broke his heart every time he saw his brother stuff himself full of that crap.

Klaus found the pill he was looking for and leaned back against the wall of the building behind him, closing his eyes again. Ben watched him for a moment longer, then knew he had to do something.

“Klaus,” he said sharply, and his brother looked up.

“Whaat? You’re always nagging Benny.” He waved his hand tattooed with goodbye half-heartedly at him. Ben didn’t react.

“When was the last time you ate - and scraps from a dumpster don’t count.”

“I dunno, like, yesterday? Who caaares.” He stumbled to his feet, swaying a little and tried to sling an arm over Ben’s shoulder. When he stumbled forward, Ben not having any solid form, he giggled to himself.

Ben clenched his teeth, wishing he could do something more than just be another voice in Klaus’ head. He wanted nothing more than to drag his brother to rehab and keep him there until he figured himself out.

But he also knew that as much as he hated seeing his brother addicted to crap, it helped - in a way. He remembered what it was like when they were kids - the number of times he had found Klaus a mess, crying because of the ghosts in his head, because he had been trapped in the mausoleum - something Ben hadn’t found out about until after he had died.

He wasn’t sure what was worse - Klaus a mess because of the ghosts, or because of the drugs.

He couldn’t solve all his brother’s problems, but he could help in what ways he was able. Moving after Klaus, he quickly caught up as his brother stumbled out of the alley.

“It’s been a week,” he said, picking up on the unfinished conversation. “A week since you’ve had a proper meal.”

“I ate yesterday! A wonderful bagel.” He kissed his fingers and flourished them. “Magnifique!”

“Dumpster diving doesn’t count,” Ben said, used to his brother’s antics by now.

“You worry too much,” Klaus said, going to gently shove him. Ben stepped quickly out of the way before he could, not wanting to see the confusion on Klaus’ face as his attempts at touch failed. Not wanting to feel the same disappointment as Klaus’ hands passed through him instead of the solid, warm, living touch he longed for.

“You need to eat,” he said, stepping quickly in front of Klaus. His brother let out a sigh, throwing his hands in the air.

“Fine! I’ll go get something to eat - happy now?” He turned sharply, as though he was going in a particular direction, and stormed off. Ben had no choice but to follow.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, not sure if Klaus heard him.

He’d been looking out for his brother since they were kids - he wasn’t about to stop now that he was dead.

#the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #klaus hargreeves #ben hargreeves #klaus angst #whump #klaus whump #umbrella academy fanfic #drug use #drugs #touch starved #at least a little

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sending-the-message · 7 years

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My Lucky Charm by Pippinacious

I thought I knew what it was to be afraid. I thought I knew it when I was ten and realized I didn't like girls in the same way all the other little boys seemed to. I thought I knew it when I was fourteen and had my first kiss with Stacey Andrews behind the school and felt absolutely nothing. I thought I knew it when I was sixteen and couldn't lie to myself anymore.

I was sure I knew what fear was the first I said I was gay out loud to my parents.

Dad left the room and Mom sat very still in her chair, her eyes downcast and fixed on the arm of the sofa. She was quiet for a long time, until I wanted to beg her to speak, to say something, anything, but my own throat was too tight to let any words pass. Finally, she looked up.

“Do you know why I call you and your brother and sister and father my hummingbirds?” She asked softly.

I shook my head, a jerky, nervous motion. I'd never thought much about the nickname, it was one she had always used. I had just thought it was because she liked the small, colorful birds.

“Because a group of hummingbirds is called a charm,” she said, “and my life has never been so charmed as when I met your dad and had you kids. God gave each of you to me exactly as you were meant to be and I will never love you any less for being who you are. I don't care who you bring home, James, I only care that you are loved and you are happy.”

When Dad returned to the living room, he found Mom and me hugging and crying and he snorted before retaking his seat in his recliner, a sandwich and beer in his hands.

“You manage to get it all out?” He asked around a mouthful of food.

“Oh shush,” Mom said, wiping her eyes.

“What?” I looked between them, uncertain and still a bit on edge since Dad hadn't really reacted yet.

“We've suspected for years, Jimmy,” Dad said plainly. “Mom’s had that speech prepared for a while in case you came out.”

“I just wanted you to know that we love you no matter what,” Mom gave Dad the stink eye and he shrugged.

“You still the same Jimmy you been the last seventeen years?”

“Y-yeah,” I said.

“Then do you need me to give you some kinda monologue about how nothing has changed and you're my son and the only thing I've ever cared about is your happiness?”

“No,” I said and the beginning of a smile tugged at my lips. He'd said everything I needed to hear under the guise of a gruff dismissal.

“Alright then, can I finish my show?”

Even with their support, the fear I thought I'd known didn't go away. It just got bigger, changed into something new. It was no longer a hypothetical fear of “What if people know”; it was now “They know, what will they do?”.

Not everyone I came out to was so accepting, and not everyone kept it to themselves. I lost friends, lost my spot on the swim team, had rumors started about me. I received threats and anonymous notes in my locker telling me go kill myself. As far as I knew, I was the only gay kid in our small school and some of the other students made it their mission to let me know just how isolated I was.

I endured though, with the help of my siblings and my parents and the friends that I still had, and I graduated high school with a full scholarship to a state university hours away from my hometown. It felt safer there, more accepting, and everything I'd lost to the small minds I'd left behind, I regained quickly; my confidence, my happiness, a sense of belonging.

Little by little, that fear that I carried with me started to fade into background noise, still there, but out of focus. I did well in my classes, discovered a previously untapped love of computer science that led to a change in my major, joined a programming club with some of my classmates, I even went on a few dates with a guy I met in my dorm.

“I knew you'd do great, hummingbird,” Mom told me over the phone during our weekly phone call. “Shout out if you need anything, ok? I love you!”

My first semester was an amazing time and I was able to put a lot of high school’s negativity behind me.

And then Dad called.

There'd been an accident when Mom was on her way from work. A drunk driver going too fast down the wrong way hit her head on. He lived. She didn't.

I went home for the funeral. I helped carry my mother’s casket. I tossed a calla lily, her favorite, into her grave after she'd been lowered in. I accepted the whispered sympathies and apologies of the mourners in line with my family. I listened to my dad sob alone in his room for the first time in my life that night.

But I didn't cry. My grief was sharp and constant and there were moments I thought I'd suffocate beneath it, but for some reason, I couldn't cry. I just lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling and thinking of my mom and how different life was going to be without her.

A week later, I hugged my dad and my brother and my sister and I went back to college.

Things changed quickly even though I didn't mean for them to. I was distracted and flighty and I lost interest in my schoolwork. My dorm room suddenly felt like a cage and I paced restlessly with a constant need to be on the move, to be busy and unthinking. I got my hands on a fake ID, something I'd never even considered before, and started going out to clubs and bars with older friends.

I drank too much, stayed out too late, ignored the little nagging voices in my head that said I needed to get back on track. Every night was spent out, every day spent in bed, hungover and ill, but I just kept doing it. There was freedom in recklessness, pain and remembrance both far away things, and I hid from Mom’s death in the bottom of any bottle I could get my hands on.

I was a sloppy, careless drunk. I was an easy target.

It was just after two AM. I had stumbled out of the club after a fight with my not-quite-boyfriend, who had become concerned with my drinking, and was stomping back towards campus. I had just wanted to have a good time, and he'd ruined the whole night. I made it a couple blocks before dizziness and nausea overtook me and I had to rest against the side of a building while the world spun around me.

I hadn't realized I was being followed until someone’s fist slammed into my stomach.

The taunts seemed to come from all directions, ones I naively thought I had escaped: queer, fag, cock sucker. Something about me “gaying up their club” and how nobody wanted to see a couple of guys making out. I was able to focus enough to see it was two of them, obviously a bit drunk themselves, egging each other on and taking turns hurling insults. Trying to walk away just riled them further.

The street, a quiet row of closed shops and dark alleyways, was empty and the punch had sobered me just enough to know I was in a very bad position. I tried to run, hoping if I could back to a better populated place, they'd be scared off, but my legs were like jello and the ground pitched and heaved unsteadily.

It didn't take long for them to catch me.

I was dragged back to a car, where one of them kept me pinned against the backseat, out of sight from the window, while the other sped off. They cheered and mocked and shouted the whole, long drive, taunting me with things they planned to do to me.

The car was parked alongside a long, unlit road and they dragged me between them, down a ravine, into the thick line of dark trees.I begged and pleaded, tried to pull away, but they were too strong.

I had thought I knew what it was to be afraid. I learned a whole new level of fear that night.

I was afraid of my helplessness and of the pain. I was afraid of all the blood and the cracking bones and of the way one eye swelled shut and I couldn't see. I was afraid of the things they said and even moreso of what they did.

I was afraid I was going to die.

I think they thought I had. I faded in and out of consciousness and, every time I came to, I thought this was it, the last time I'd wake up. Their torture lasted until the sun started to come up and the alcohol had fully worn off and they could finally really see what they had done to me. I couldn't move, could barely breathe, and I just lied there with only a single thought, shouted out in a child’s wounded voice, echoing in my head: Mommy, Mommy, Mommy.

They swore and spit on me and laughed still, but there was a nervousness now.

“What do we so with him?” One asked.

“We gotta get rid of him.”

“Let's just leave him.”

“You want to get caught and let this fag ruin our lives? We gotta get rid of the body. There's some shovels and shit at my house. We'll get them and come back.”

They argued all the way back to the car. It roared into life in the distance and there was a squeal of tires and then they were gone and I was alone. All I could smell and taste was iron, all I could feel was fire and ice. My sight was hazy. Tears leaked freely from my eyes, stinging in hot trails down my face as darkness seeped into my mind again, accompanied by that same little boy voice calling out for his mommy.

Something brushed against my cheek. Despite how soft it was, it sent an electric shock of agony up my broken face and instinctively, I pulled away, which only sent more waves of pain rolling through me. It did it again and I let out a gurgling groan. Again and again, it kept touching my cheek until I opened my eye and searched feverishly for the source of my torment.

A hummingbird, bright green and red even in my bleary vision, was hovering over me.

It turned its tiny head this way and that and then whizzed in a fast circle around me, chirping wildly. When I didn't move, it was at my face again. Very gently, but deliberately, it poked the end of my nose with its beak. I sputtered at the touch, which might as well have been a fist upon my broken nose, and it fluttered in place just above me, its wings beating too quickly for me to keep up.

When I still didn't move, it poked me again and again, until I pushed myself on to my stomach to keep it away from my face. But it was persistent and kept needling at me, beating at my head with its wings, chirping and swooping. I could barely stay conscious and didn't know what to make of my newest attacker.

It went on and on, and I dragged myself a little bit away in an exhausting, excruciating attempt to get it to leave me alone.

But then a second hummingbird joined it, buzzing around my head and jabbing its beak into my scalp and neck. I couldn't lift my arms to swat at them, I could only grab at the ground and wiggle my way forward while the pair took turns dive bombing me.

A third appeared, and then a fourth, and they were all over me, until I was screaming weakly at them to stop. Their chirps were loud and endless and ringing and they picked at my clothes and hair and drilled their tiny beaks into my flesh. Every time they connected was like nails raking across my skin. When I tried to lay still and cover my head, it only got worse, they became agitated and louder, more violent. They only let up when I hauled myself away, inch by agonizing inch. When I stopped, they'd dive again.

For such tiny birds, they were able to inflict a great deal of pain.

More still came, until the air seemed alive with buzzing, vibrating wings and chirps that turned to screeches. They surrounded me, buffeting me and poking and prodding and screaming, and I kept trying to move forward and escape, but they followed, unrelenting. If I tried to turn off in a different direction, they'd swoop as one against my side until I was forced back on to my original path.

Every tiny movement hurt in ways I'd never imagined, but it was worse to be still, when the hummingbirds would attack, and so I did my best to keep my head down and to keep moving, to try and find some shelter from the birds. It seemed an endless, hellish hunt for relief.

It wasn't until I felt the warmth of open sunlight on my battered body that I dared to look up.

Somehow, impossibly, I had managed to crawl from the cover of the woods into the open ravine. There were cars speeding past overhead. There were people who could help me. I tried to shout, but I had no voice, no strength, and I slumped against the ground, praying for someone to notice.

Overhead, the hummingbirds had risen in and circled where I lay until they looked like a tornado of shining feathers.

Cars started to slow and then a few pulled over. People were getting out of their car and taking pictures and admiring the hummingbirds, which started to swoop again so close that I could feel the rush of wind as they passed.

“Hey, is that...there's a person down there!” I heard someone say distantly.

“He's right!” Someone else agreed.

As a handful of people started to slide down the ravine towards me, the hummingbirds rose once more and disappeared back into the tree line, until only one was left. It had settled on a thin branch and was watching with sparkling black eyes.

An ambulance was called and, as I was loaded onto the gurney and carefully carried back to the ravine’s slope, that final hummingbird sang one more time and the took off.

I was in the hospital for weeks recovering. I gave my statement to the police, tried to remember everything I could about the two who had almost killed me, and then I focused on healing. It took me a long time to shake the anger, longer to start overcoming the fear, and it was only then that I started to think of those hummingbirds.

Those hummingbirds who had pushed me forward. Those hummingbirds who had ensured that I didn't stop and give up. Those hummingbirds, who had made sure I survived.

Everyone else who was there that day agrees it was a miracle that those hummingbirds happened to be there when I was to attract people’s attention. They say that they were my lucky charm. I disagree, though.

Shout out if you need anything, she had told me during our last phone call, and I had done just that, crying out in my mind for her when I needed help, just as I always had.

No, it hadn't been a miracle that saved me.

It had been my mom.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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themaraudingmisfits-blog · 7 years

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What ‘going home’ has come to mean to me...

Often I feel that my entire family is like a pack of crazy gypsies, always on the move, we’ve packed and unpacked our stuff so much that some of it just likes to stay in boxes, ready to go whenever that ominous time comes. The proof of how much we go around the country is like duhhed because I’ve been to seven different schools over the span of my very small and seemingly insignificant life. We are wanderers, discovering new places, carving out new niches to fit into, in my case that would be new candy shops and little bookshops by the corner of the street , my mom would smile away to glory at finding the bestest grocer’s near our new homes or the local restaurant which can cook up steamy hot south Indian idlis and puttu which have some sort of semblance to the ones grammy makes ,for papa it was often about making new friends to take along on his morning walks , it also meant conquering little parts of the new kingdom- it was always a battle between me and my sister as to who would get which new room, learning new languages- however funny and foreign they might be we still had to master the rudimentary stuff like yes, no, we won’t give more money than that, how much does it cost and other haggling terms and maybe a few cuss words too along the way, it was also about getting into good schools which meant fidgety waiting rooms and scary enough to make your knees shake sorta interviews and making new friends who genuinely want to be friends with you not because you’re the new southie in the block,a naïve homework doing oily haired dork(I’ve met a lot of people who latch on to me to totally use the whole nerd factor, only to realize that I ain’t Ms. smartypants who can do math in her head) but they start hanging out with you because you both have the weird DNA and think of stuff like the fact that star wars is just about the yoda hand thingy (I will get around to watching it…after I die…coz then I have all of eternity) and after all these routine three yearly rituals were done, the rest would just fall into place often as messy as tangled up as a ball of yarn, but, we’ve gotten used to the mess.

Sounds fun right? Every place, a new adventure, exciting but hugely terrifying too, there were days when I was scared of what was out there, when I had no clue what I was looking forward to, the worst part was the arduous task of fitting in or at least trying to fit in, leaving the comfortable shells we’d grown into at the last place we stopped by, only to start over AGAIN. Finding the aforementioned friends wasn’t some stroll in the park, it took a lot of pure dumb luck and I’ve realized after a dozen or so failed lottery attempts and getting drenched on what started out as perfectly sunny days and a whole lifetimes worth of unlucky events that I’m not the chosen kind who trip on four leaf clovers every other day, so often I’d find my unlucky self stuck with a bunch of doddering fools for friends during the first year or so and then I’d eventually find my tribe, the crazy ones, so I guess I was lucky, maybe not going where I wanted to go but ending up where I needed to be.

We’ve given up on “permanency”, yes, I’m using air quotes coz it’s as fictional as me waking up early on Sunday mornings and going to church. At this point the only constant thing is change, from idlis and sambar to parathas and aam ka achar to fish curries and pongal and payasams made by doting ma’s and paati’s and amma’s, from making new best friends, secret codes and bracelets, conjuring up new games ( which actually just have different names in different states), getting over the awkwardness of being a teenager, giggling over boys and groaning over homework, only to do it all over again with another best friend maybe from Delhi or Calcutta or Cochin or Dubai or whatever…culture shocks, food shocks, people shocks…I’ve gone through it all.

“Delhi has come to belong to everyone who lives in it, but no one belongs to Delhi”

“More dreams are realised and extinguished in Bombay than any other place in India”

“When in Chennai, it seems no man would wait for Time and Tide... Everyone’s always on the move”

One thing that I learnt is that I can easily write off a chameleon as my animagus coz I slowly figured out that just like all the other newnessess I could be a totally new version of me too, moonlighting as a quiet and shy thing, a geeky and focused chick, the loud rambunctious don’t-care-Treasa and any number of avatars, all of whose skins I fit into perfectly even now. I’ve sort of lost track of the real me in the midst of all this and I’m still figuring it out because I felt happy being any of those people, it was almost fulfilling in different ways…maybe I don’t need to figure it out, maybe my hapless friends will have to deal with me as Mr Jekyll AND Mr Hyde. I pity these so called “friends” or as I like to call them victims.

With all the packing and redecorating, I often tended to feel a bit homeless. I felt lost, jealous even, of the friends who’d grown up with that the same set of friends from the diaper days, the swing set in the backyard sort of families, with their favorite spots and those hearts they carved in the trees and the creepy place they all sneak off to smoke pot for the first time and what nots, I felt like I didn’t belong anywhere. But I also DON’T want to settle, it’s scary, being stuck at the same place with the same people FOREVER, it’s a concept quite foreign to me. Maybe I’m not made for this settling down business, I’m terrified of being around for too long because there’s always this nagging feeling that it’s all going to go away soon, then why settle in the first place, be it with them folks out there or them places. But then again, I’m torn between wanting something I’ve never had, the sort of stuck in a place with the same bunch of people feeling which I’ve never experienced and which is scary as hell and the need to wander which I’m so oh so comfy and snuggly with now . It sucks to be this little bundle of contradictions.

Now I’m just a lousy nomadic twenty something with the wind blowing in my hair and maybe I’ll die a sad lonely death in a seedy motel in Croatia with nothing to call my own, and THAT is a pretty depressing thought on a cloudy night under the never sky and now that I’m almost done with college moving will take on a newer, scarier meaning. NO parents, NO siblings, NO familiar beds and cereal bowls to return to…I’m on my own, hostels, cars, aunts and friends and abandoned flats…I can sleep anywhere now, even the smallest bits of permanency has vanished…poof…my toothbrush is missing…poof…I can’t find my jammies…poof…there will be no favorite side of the bed or that spot where I get the right amount of moonlight for my odd reading habits…

But swoosh, the wind blows and the sky clears up and I see a sky adorned with stars, and my mind wanders again… a pair of arms come around me making me feel the warm your heart kind of feeling, a friend I go way back with calls, sobbing coz her she can’t find her favorite sweater and her self esteem is on a downward spiral coz of some dick of a fling, or when my mom comes and strokes my hair and smiles the crinkly eyes kind of smile or when the scrumptious smell of my favorite dish comes wafting from my aunt’s kitchen… and no matter whichever one of these it is I have the same thought running through my mind, it’s lovely to be home again, and that gets me thinking that s home for me maybe is my goofy friends and all the hugs and crying over the phone and meeting up after a gazillion years, the new ones and old, the love my mom puts into cooking spectacular dishes for me, the over protectiveness of my dad when I talk to him over the phone, the gadding away time in cars and beaches and cliff tops, finding the right kind of popcorn or the perfect outfit with that girlfriend for the perfect night out after he dumps you, the anything and everything and anyone and everyone who makes you feel loved, wanted and sinfully happy for even a tiny moment. The stars seem to shine brighter now, leaving me a more hopeful for what’s to come…

One day I will move again, leave these homes, cities and countries, I am restless that way, I want to roam the world, I want to make more friends, I want to have lovers, lovers of books and starry nights, lovers of old houses with crumbling walls on stone paved streets, lovers of misty days and hot cocoa, lovers of new places and new me’s and yet through all of this I will still have those same comforting arms to return to, the familiar voices over the phone and letters lovingly written or surprise visits and reunions… I will always have a home to go to.

#randomrants #moving #allacrossindia #goinghome

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