“Is that true?” someone said. Foxy. Asher opened his eyes to glare at him. “Are you just like your mom, Asher? Do you sleep around?”
So what if he did? Asher gathered saliva in his mouth to spit at Fox-Face, but another invisible knife rammed itself into his skin before he could get it out. His vision blurred. Fuck it! This was getting—
Faces rushed by in front of him. Bodies. Naked men. He knew them. Vaguely remembered them. Guys he’d fucked. Had it really been this many? Some, he couldn’t recall at all.
“Remember this one?” Foxy said as the image in front of his eyes focused in on one of the guys. Some guy in his late twenties who looked like he could use a few hour in the gym.
Asher had seen him before, but… He shook his head as if it would make the picture go away.
“He got you drunk, he took you to a hotel, and he took your virginity.”
Come to think of it, Asher really didn’t remember much of that night.
“He left while you were still trying to figure out what had happened.”
Shut up. It was hard to think while Foxy’s voice droned on. “He wanted you because you were pretty. You knew that. That’s all people ever want you for. But the next night you went and did it again with some other man. Do you remember why?”
Asher kept quiet. How was he supposed to remember what he’d thought at sixteen? He’d done it because sex was pretty damn awesome?
“Because you liked the attention. Because you’ve always wanted people to look at you.” Foxy paused for a moment. “You’re so simple.”
Asher grimaced. He couldn’t argue with what Foxy said, but was it really so bad to want attention? To be simple?
“Sometimes simple is good.” As the words left his mouth, Asher looked at the flames. José was still here somewhere, listening to all this. Foxy gave a short laugh.
Bastard.
What the hell was so funny?
“That’s cute, really,” Foxy said. “That elf told you that didn’t he? You think he meant that? You think you can trust something a man says before having sex with you? Really, Asher. You should know better.”
If Foxy hadn’t taken a hold of his one usable hand at some point, Asher would have punched him now.
“I do mean what I say,” José spoke up, and even though Asher couldn’t see him, he glanced at the flames.
“Tsk,” Foxy made a disapproving noise, “be careful with what you’re saying, elf. This one might end up liking you. And what would you do then? You’d have to be the one to do the leaving.” What was that supposed to mean? Foxy turned back to Asher. “But you wouldn’t mind that, would you? Deep down you know you deserve it.”
“Shut up!” José sounded angry. “Just, shut up already! None of this is any of your damn business.”
“Scared I’ll tell your pet what you really think of him?”
Asher groaned. Why did people have to talk about him like he wasn’t there? Like he was some kind of pet?
“I don’t care what anyone thinks,” he cut in.
“That’s your solution to everything, isn’t it?” Foxy said, glancing back at him. “But you do care, and you know what it makes you? Pathetic.” He smirked and leaned in closer until Asher wanted to sink into the ground to get away.
“Let me tell you a secret,” he said, whispering into Asher’s ear. “He thinks you’re an idiot, he thinks you’re stupid, and he was going to ditch you as soon as you get out of here. He doesn’t want you. You know that. No one ever has. No one ever will.”
The words stung more than they should have. They were only words, but they caused this weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. Like his insides had just been flipped upside down. It was stupid. Of course José didn’t want him. Foxy was right. He did know that. But it was all right. Asher didn’t need to be wanted, had never needed that. So how had he started thinking that maybe, maybe sex with Blind Guy was different from all the other times he’d been screwed? Just because Blind Guy had made a big deal out of it? Ridiculous. Asher closed his eyes and inhaled, tried to push this unwarranted feeling of dread down as it rose.
“Oh no, you’re not doing that.”
Before Asher could quench the hurt in his stomach, a different sort of pain flared up in his head. Asher gritted his teeth, tried to fight off the intrusion. Enough already.
“I’ll tell you when it’s enough,” he heard Ketsu say as pins and needles cut through his defenses, sinking in deep, making his eyes water. The world went black around him—only to explode into a chaos of voices and colors.
Flashes of children unpacking presents. Laughter. “You want something for your birthday? There, take an apple. They’re good for your health.”
His child self sitting alone in the sandbox of the dimly lit playground, drawing flames into the sand with his finger. “Hey, kiddo, where’s your parents?”
Asher looked away to find himself in front of a two story house with a small flower garden out front. “Come, Ash, meet your little sister.”
This isn’t real, he told himself. This is all in my head. This is all in the past. But with all the noise around him, he hardly heard himself.
The images faded and new ones formed in front of his eyes. People he hated. People who hated him. Teachers, children and their parents, homophobic teens, his mom, his grandparents, his dad.
Their voices rang through his mind like gunshots.
“We don’t want you here.” — “I pity your mother.” — “Why don’t you just go and die?”
I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care, he chanted the words like a mantra, tried to make his own voice louder than the ones barreling in on him.
“Burn yourself for all I care.” — “Go fuck yourself, you stupid faggot.” — “We’d all be better off if it weren’t for you.”
The voices grew louder, intermingled until he could not pick them apart anymore. He wanted to cover his ears, but his hands would not move. He had to listen to it all, as if someone had put earphones on him and turned the volume all the way up. Until something snapped and all he heard was himself scream.
The noise around him faded, leaving only the sound of his own fast breathing. He kept his eyes closed and reveled in seeing nothing. It was like that moment just after a nightmare when you woke up and waited for the panic to ebb away. Only this time it didn’t. Because it wasn’t a nightmare. It was his life.
“See how people treat you?” Foxy’s voice. “You’re trash to them.”
“Fuck you.” Asher hated how weak his voice sounded. Hated how weak he felt. He needed a moment to himself to sort through his thoughts. Or to burn something to make them all go away.
“Do you need more convincing?”
He hated Foxy, too, because Foxy wouldn’t just fuck off and leave him alone. No, Foxy was attacking again. Asher felt the sharp press of Foxy’s blade on his mind. Asher couldn’t fight it. It hurt for a moment, a red hot flash—and then…
He was seven years old, sitting at his grandparents’ dining table. He’d never liked this part of Christmas, and this year was worse than normal. His mom had been fretting all day. Asher looked up when his grandpa cleared his throat. “I’m glad you got rid of that idiot, Katey,” he said, addressing Asher’s mom. Asher stared down at his plate and rolled the peas with his fork.
“She didn’t get rid of Dad, Dad got rid of her.”
“Asher!”
“What! It’s true! And that’s why Mom’s always angry, ‘cause Dad said she’s a—” A slapping sound rang in his ear and something burned his cheek. Wide eyed, he stared at his mom, at her hand which hovered in the air beside his face. He pushed his chair back, got up and ran into the hallway.
“Can’t you get your son under control for one evening of the year?” he heard his grandfather say as he slipped into a random room.
“I’m sure it’s the genes.” Grandma’s voice. Asher backed farther away from the door and looked around for a place to hide. Seemed like he had run into his grandparent
s’ bedroom. When footsteps approached the door, he dove under the bed.
“Asher!” His mom entered the room and closed the door behind herself, “I know you’re in here.”
“Go away!”
She walked up to the bed, grabbed his legs and dragged him out.
“Lemme go!” He kicked at her, tried to get free until she grabbed him by the shoulders and sat him up against the bed frame.
“Stop that nonsense!”
He glared at her.
“And stop acting like I’m some sort of monster. Like it or not, I’m all you’ve got now.”
“I don’t want you.”
“Yeah? I don’t want you either, but guess what, nobody cares!” She was staring him right in the eyes as she said it. “That’s life, Asher, you don’t get what you want.” She let go of him and got up again. “What? You gonna cry now? Oh boo-hoo!”
Asher drew his knees toward himself and hid his eyes behind them. He took a deep breath. “I want Dad.”
“Tough luck. If your daddy wanted you, he’d be here right now.” She opened the door. “And if I don’t see you back at the table in five minutes, you’re grounded for the rest of the year.” With that, she left.
Asher rested his head on his knees, trying to get a grip. Crying wouldn’t make things better. It never did. So why couldn’t he stop?
The feeling stuck with him even as the memory faded. He had trouble remembering where he was, and what was happening. His head was a mess; he couldn’t think clearly. It was as if his thoughts had been run through a translator and converted into a language he didn’t speak. His head hurt, and so did his chest. Someone was saying something, but he couldn’t unscramble the words.
A sharp pain shot through him and suddenly brought the world back into focus. Fox-Face stared down at him. The bastard had yanked Asher’s left arm up over his head, using Asher’s injuries against him.
“I got your attention now? Good,” Fox-Face said. “Answer me this, why should you care about other people when they don't care about you?”
“That’s just not true,” someone else said. Asher let his eyes trail to the left. Blind Guy. Was it true? Wasn’t it? Asher wanted them both to just leave him alone.
“Oh, you have no idea, elf,” Fox-Face said. “You hardly know your pet, do you?” He looked back at Asher. “You love burning things, don’t you? Isn’t that what you want to do?”
What he wanted to do? Sleep. For ten years or so. And then burn something. Something really big.
“You’ve got to admit,” Foxy said, “it’s what you were born to do.” Asher closed his eyes, and a thumb ran over his cheek, wiped away something wet he hadn’t noticed there. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
An image of a burning house, his parents’ house flashed before his eyes.
Oh God, not again.
But that was not the memory he was being dragged into. As his consciousness slipped, he found himself in their apartment, in his bedroom. Almost ten years old—and pissed off.
His eyes darted around the room, searching for something to throw. The pillow on the bed looked good. He picked it up and hurled it against the wall. Not finding anything else, he forced himself to take a deep breath. This was all wrong.
He had decided to stop caring about stupid things like Mom and Dad. There was nothing he could do about the way his mom ignored him, insulted him or blamed him for things that were out of his control.
It wasn't his fault her date hadn't gone well, not his fault that the stupid guy didn't want to date someone who had a kid.
He'd been born. And no matter what Mom said, he wasn’t going to feel sorry for that.
Closing his eyes, he inhaled. Once, twice. Footsteps sounded in the hallway.
“Asher?” his mom called. “I told you not to leave you stuff lying around! Why can't you follow the simplest rules? You know I can't even blame Daniel for not wanting to trouble himself with you.”
Keeping his eyes closed, Asher tried to block her words out. What she was saying wasn't important, didn't matter.
A door fell shut in the hallway. The door to the living room, probably. So she was going to watch TV, was she?
Asher opened his eyes. It was all going to be alright. He glanced around his room. He didn't own a lot of stuff. When they'd moved here three years ago, they hadn't taken much from the old house. Most of his toys had burned in the fire. But that was alright; he was too old for toys, anyway. And he had something better.
He walked over to the desk and opened the drawer. There, inside, lay the shiny blue lighter he'd stolen from his mom last week when she had been out. She'd always forbidden him from touching any lighters or matches, but he was done playing by her rules.
He took the lighter and clicked it on, as he'd done all week, every time he was upset. And like all those other times, a weird feeling of calm settled over him at the sight of the flame. He clicked it on, off, hypnotized by the beauty of the little thing.
But calm wasn't all he felt. There was always something else too, a sort of urgency underlying the peace. This wasn't all he wanted to do. He had a lighter, and he had to use it. Not just play with it. This fire wanted to burn, and Asher would let it. Before he knew what he was doing, he was standing in his mother's room, in front of her bed.
The velvety blue dress she'd worn last night lay draped over the covers. Asher had seen her parade around in it in front of the mirror. She'd felt so pretty in it before going out. He was sure it was her favorite. And he was going to make it a little prettier.
Without thinking, he held the flame to the cloth, wanting to feed it.
A thin wisp of smoke rose up as the material smoldered under his fingers. Asher stared at the burn, transfixed. It spread from the corner, darkening the blue color, making its way across the rest of the hem. The smell burned in his nose, but Asher wasn't going to stop. Not before the flame had been fed. Not before it had eaten up all that burning inside of him.
“Asher!”
Someone called his name. Asher didn't look up or recognize his mom's voice before she yanked his arm and ripped the lighter out of his hand. He blinked at her through the fog in his mind.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she shouted.
Asher only smiled at her.
This time, as the memory faded, Foxy’s voice in his head was the only thing focusing him, keeping him awake. He was so damn tired his eyes were too heavy to open and thoughts were too hard to think.
“Looks like this is your limit,” Foxy said. “If I push any further, your mind might shatter into a thousand tiny pieces.” Something like a small, precise needle sank into Asher’s forehead, threatening to go further.
“Whatever you do,” Asher found himself saying, “just do it quick.” He only wanted this to be over, whichever way. Foxy huffed.
“You’re no fun anymore.” A bit of the pressure lifted and Asher exhaled. Foxy let go, and Asher blacked out before he could even feel relief.
Chapter 23 - Sleepless Dreams
José exhaled as the link went dead. Asher was out. The damned flames were still burning though, and the fox was still around. So he kept grinding his teeth and waited for the fucking fox to fuck off.
Ketsu walked through the fire, coming over to him. José made himself sit still, even as his blood pounded in his ears. He wanted to punch Ketsu, but it wouldn’t help.
“Let this be a warning to you,” Ketsu said. “Next time I come in here and you still refuse to cooperate, we can have a repeat of this.”
“You’re going to hurt Asher to get to me?”
“I found your weak spot, didn’t I?”
José took a deep breath to keep himself from attacking the fox. “You’ll end up breaking his mind. You can’t risk that.”
“I don’t need his mind intact when I’ve got you to command him.”
“I’m never going to order him to kill.”
“You will.” That god-awful certainty in Ketsu’s voice made it harder for José to keep
his fists to himself. But then the cell door opened and Ketsu stepped through before locking it from the outside. He stopped and gave a short laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“That you actually let this happen. You see, he was really starting to like you.”
Smart of Ketsu to step outside before saying that. José had never wanted to bash anyone’s face in as much as he wanted to bash Ketsu’s face in just then, and rational thinking would not have stopped him. Bars, however, did.
“You are so sick.”
“Me? Oh, I promise you, that dragon was broken before I ever laid a hand on him. I simply dug my fingers into the cracks. I do have to thank you for your contribution.”
“I am going to get out of here, and then I am going to make you regret this.”
Ketsu chuckled, and it was the most nerve-grating sound José had ever heard. “All this fuss about an idiot,” he said.
“He may not be the smartest person, but that gives you no right to torture him. I promise you, once I get my hands on you—”
“Promises, promises. You’ve lost this battle, elf. You only need to admit it now.” With that, Ketsu finally left.
The flames vanished, and José rushed over to where Asher lay motionless on the floor. He cradled Asher’s head in his lap, careful not to move him too much—and fuck the no-touching rule. Asher didn’t stir.
“I’m so sorry I got us into this mess. I’m going to get you out of here. I promise.” Maybe Asher was an idiot, but he was his idiot, and José was going to take care of him. “I’m not going to let him do that again.”
He had no idea how he was going to achieve that, but he’d figure something. He had to. He’d rather cut his own hand off than bear witness to another session like that. When Ketsu had been inside Asher’s head, Asher’s emotions had taken over their link like a whirlwind that José couldn’t block. Shame, disappointment, anger, and underlying it all, an overwhelming sense of loneliness. The latter was always there, every time José tapped into the link, something second nature to Asher, but until it had become amplified enough to make José’s own blood run cold, he hadn’t recognized it for what it was.
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