Categories > Original > Drama > Beat of Their Own Drums
A/N: This one is actually set right after "Right Here", so I hope you didn't skip over that one, 'cause if you did you'll probably have no idea what's going on.
Disclaimer: I do not own the lyrics to "Undone".
Song Used: Lifehouse's "Undone".
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Seven: Undone
Puppet: Paige Waters
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I can see it in your eyes, you're hurting,
But pain is part of learning who you are,
All these truths can sometimes be deceiving,
When your whole world comes crashing to the ground...
He wouldn't look at me.
His tired eyes, one of which was swollen slightly, remained fixed on his hands, which were folded in his lap. He sat at my kitchen table, seemingly impervious to the warm, cozy feel of the homely little room, silent as a stone.
He hated it that I was seeing him like this.
He hated feeling so vulnerable. He hated knowing that this was what was best for him. He hated the idea that he was at a girl's house at this time of night; in place where my dad could come down the steps any second, see us, and instantly suspect the very worst.
But he stayed, and I was glad.
The two of us had walked (or rather, for one of us, limped) back to my house in complete silence. He hadn't enjoyed it in the slightest way, all too aware of how heavily his body was relying on the support of mine. He was supposed to be the strong, broad-shouldered boy no one would dare challenge, and there he had been, leaning against a lean girl because his power was all but gone.
Perhaps I was only making up my own story for him. Perhaps he wasn't really thinking or feeling any of those things.
But I'd like to think that I'm a perceptive sort, so pardon my pride when I say that he was most certainly thinking and feeling those things almost to a tee.
As I sat across from him, my eyes focused intently on his bruised, sullen face, I couldn't help but feel indignant about the entire ordeal.
How long had he been suffering this kind of abuse? How often did it happen? Was that the cause of all those scars? Who was the undeniable culprit damaging the poor boy's face? What exactly had happened in there before he got kicked out?
Why hadn't he told me?
We were supposed to be friends. He was supposed to trust me, and I was supposed to be there for him. How could I do that when I had no idea what was going on once he went home? Why hadn't he allowed me some sort of information so I wouldn't be so shocked, so unprepared for dealing with this sort of situation?
Poor Mac. He probably thought he had been helping both himself and me by not saying anything. If only he knew how wrong he was.
Tell me everything you need now,
Anything at all,
And I will be the one who's waiting,
Anytime you fall,
When you come undone,
When you come undone...
I stood up suddenly, and to my satisfaction his eyes lifted, startled by the sound of my chair squeaking backward. I held his stare for a moment, my mouth set in a straight, grim line, feeling neither to urge to smile nor to frown. His lips, the upper one split open slightly but relatively clean thanks to my help, parted as if he was going to say something, but abruptly closed again. His eyes lowered.
I strode to the fridge and fished an ice pack out of the utter chaos that was the shelves inside, nearly dropping what would have been a very painful stack of frozen hamburgers on my toes. I swore under my breath and pushed them roughly back into the mess, closing the door before anything else could get the chance to attack me.
He spoke for the very first time. “You don't have to do this.”
I blinked, startled by the sound of his voice after knowing the absence of it for quite some time. I scowled once I regained my bearings, wondering how he could be so proud. “Yeah, I do.”
I swaggered back to the table and, being a lot rougher than I truly meant to, slapped the ice pack to the side of his face that seemed to be the most hurt. “This is what friends do, Mac. Obviously you don't know much about that.”
I wasn't sure if it was the harshness of my hand or of my words, but either way, I must've been the cause for the tears suddenly welling up in his eyes.
Immediately I felt awful for it.
I quickly withdrew my hand, the ice pack sliding to the floor. I turned my back to him, unsure of the words to say. I couldn't say I was sorry because I knew I wouldn't really mean it; in a way, I guess you could say that I wanted to punish him for being an idiot. But I felt bad for trying to communicate that so...so primitively.
A rough, firm warmth suddenly enveloped one of my hands, and in a shock I turned to see if he had really done what I thought he'd just done.
Sure enough, the boy's big, olive-toned hand had wrapped itself around my own smaller, slightly paler ones. There was no strange feel, an awkward guilt about the gesture, however; one may think that he was just trying to see if he could get away with it and maybe something bigger after it...
But one look into those big, expressive eyes and I knew that he was only reaching out for a friend.
“You're right. I don't.” He agreed softly, “Can you teach me?”
I squeezed his hand gently. “Tell me what happened.”
You know I can't be like everybody,
'Cause I can't tell you what you want to hear,
I don't know if I can make it better,
All I know is I will be around...
His current 'dad' wasn't even his real dad. His real biological father had died from cancer when he and Keefe were three years old. His mom remarried when the boys were only six.
His step-dad was an alcoholic and, for some reason unknown to him, started coming home late and drunk when the twins started going to high school.
When he came home from the pub, his step-dad was in no mood whatsoever to deal with even the smallest mistakes.
His step-dad didn't pick on Keefe much because the other boy was all too eager to strike the older man back, withholding little to no affection for the man, with or without any booze in his system. The boys' mother was a usual target, but he thought it his duty to protect his mother from her mistake.
His step-dad beat him at least twice a week.
Usually, his step-dad literally kicked him out of the house. When that happened, he somehow managed to drag himself around the house and climb into the backyard where he would sleep (or rather he would try to sleep) in the cold outdoors.
Usually, his step-dad wouldn't even remember the event the next morning and life would go on normally...until the next episode occurred and the cycle would repeat itself all over again.
They didn't turn him in to the police because it would force them into debt.
Tonight, he hadn't even done anything to deserve such punishment.
I had never seen Mac cry before that night. Tears of a crushed spirit trickled endlessly from a pair of gentle, dark eyes, making it clear that his soft heart could take no more. Words of an angel with broken wings, who had not been able to utter them until then, caused a softening of my own heart and induced the tears of yet another soul.
I held him for a long time, not once thinking of Nick, of my dad, or of anyone else. For what seemed like forever I could only think of the bruised, broken human being clinging to who appeared to be his one and only friend. It was impossible to be angry at him now.
The worst part about it was that I couldn't promise him everything was going to be okay because I had no way of promising that. There was nothing I could say, nothing I could do that would make his bruises go away; that would take his step-dad out of the picture without harming one or both of our families long-term.
But there was one thing I could do.
“I'm always here if you ever need anything...”
Tell me everything you need now,
Anything at all,
And I will be the one who's waiting,
Anytime you fall,
When you come undone,
When you come undone...
He sniffed and pulled away without much warning. “I don't like crying in front of you,” he muttered gruffly after a long, somewhat awkward pause, “you probably already thought I was a wuss and this is just making it worse, huh?”
I shook my head and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, taking a deep, shuddering breath as I tried to regain my composure. “'Course not.” I answered.
He blinked gratefully at me. “Keefe makes fun of me for crying,” he admitted, tilting his head slightly to one side, “he says that it's just another weakness that we need to learn to overcome.”
I wasn't surprised. I never liked Keefe. He was so rigid, so obsessed with being the strongest that he couldn't see that he was hurting the ones who loved him the most. It was a wonder to me that he and Mac ever managed (and continue to manage) to get along without killing one another first.
“Keefe is wrong,” I stated firmly, liking the surge of power that came with those words regardless of the fact that the other O'Kane lad was not around to hear them, “it takes a lot more courage to let go of your tears than it does to hold on to them.”
Mac's damaged face somehow managed to crease into a pleased smile. “Thank you,” he murmured, reaching out and taking my hand in both of his, “you don't have the slightest clue how much it means to me to hear you say that.”
Satisfied now that the storm seemed to have blustered past, I squeezed a smile of my own, but when I searched for words I simply couldn't find any. My eyes were drawn to the curious tangle of our hands, suddenly remembering Nick and wondering what he would think if he knew this was what I had ran out on him for.
He would understand, wouldn't he?
What had taken place here tonight was huge, after all. This was a very serious matter that had to be handled with great care in order to keep the damage it made to a minimum, so surely Nick would find it in his heart to forgive both of us if we needed some time to figure this out, right?
It occurred to me that I probably couldn't tell him the full truth. I trusted the boy with my life, but it just seemed so wrong to tell him what was happening. Mac and Nick simply didn't get along; why drag in the second half of the quarrel when he could just as easily not even know?
But I didn't want to lie to him...I had to tell him something, after all.
I shook my head a little, mostly to myself than anyone else. This was neither the time nor the place to be thinking about that.
When all your plans you made are lying on the floor,
And all your dreams are turning into nothing more,
When all your hope is left, you know you're not alone,
Just hold on,
Hold on...
“Hey,” Mac's voice, accompanied by a light squeeze to my hand, drew me from my own mind, “can I...can I ask you to do a really big favor for me?”
I looked at him curiously. “Yeah. What do you need?”
His face was gravely serious. His jaw was set with a characteristic determination and his eyes, though somehow still retaining their sweet, innocent gleam, were a bit frightening with their startling intensity. “I need you promise me that if...if something ever happens to me...” he swallowed hard, his slightly protruding Adam's apple bobbing up and down again, “ya' know...i-if my step-dad...”
I felt my heart twist at the very thought of what he was trying to say. It was only then that I realized how solemn of a problem this was, and for a moment I felt completely overwhelmed. What was I supposed to do with this huge secret weighing on my mind all the time now?
“You don't think he'll really...?” I couldn't even bring myself to say it. The idea of Mac dying at the hands of his step-father was all too scary.
Mac shook his head calmly. “I don't know. That's why I'm asking you to do this for me.”
I pressed my lips together. How could he talk about this without looking or sounding scared at all?
“I...I need you to promise that you won't forget me,” his voice was so soft yet so sure, as if he had been hoping for a moment to say those words for quite some time, “'cause I-I know I won't forget you.”
His big, dark eyes were even larger now that they were set in an expression of wide-eyed, pleading innocence, and I couldn't help but think of a puppy begging helplessly for a piece of food held just out of reach. Not once did I think about how what he was saying was something that Nick and probably only Nick should be telling me; how could I think of him when confronted with such a heartfelt plea?
After quite a few seconds ticked by I finally found my voice again. I nodded and smiled softly at him, gently pulling my hand out from his and resting it back at my side, thinking it a bit too awkward should they stay where they were. “I won't forget. I promise.”
Before I had a chance to pull away from what I knew was wrong Mac had already kissed my cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered again, “you've given hope to the hopeless.”
Tell me everything you need now,
Anything at all,
And I will be the one who's waiting,
Anytime you fall,
When you come undone,
When you come undone.
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A/N: I'm actually really proud of this one. It all felt very real to me while I was writing it, and the words just seemed to flow in a way that I wish they always did. Mac's just so in love with that poor girl...
Disclaimer: I do not own the lyrics to "Undone".
Song Used: Lifehouse's "Undone".
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Seven: Undone
Puppet: Paige Waters
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I can see it in your eyes, you're hurting,
But pain is part of learning who you are,
All these truths can sometimes be deceiving,
When your whole world comes crashing to the ground...
He wouldn't look at me.
His tired eyes, one of which was swollen slightly, remained fixed on his hands, which were folded in his lap. He sat at my kitchen table, seemingly impervious to the warm, cozy feel of the homely little room, silent as a stone.
He hated it that I was seeing him like this.
He hated feeling so vulnerable. He hated knowing that this was what was best for him. He hated the idea that he was at a girl's house at this time of night; in place where my dad could come down the steps any second, see us, and instantly suspect the very worst.
But he stayed, and I was glad.
The two of us had walked (or rather, for one of us, limped) back to my house in complete silence. He hadn't enjoyed it in the slightest way, all too aware of how heavily his body was relying on the support of mine. He was supposed to be the strong, broad-shouldered boy no one would dare challenge, and there he had been, leaning against a lean girl because his power was all but gone.
Perhaps I was only making up my own story for him. Perhaps he wasn't really thinking or feeling any of those things.
But I'd like to think that I'm a perceptive sort, so pardon my pride when I say that he was most certainly thinking and feeling those things almost to a tee.
As I sat across from him, my eyes focused intently on his bruised, sullen face, I couldn't help but feel indignant about the entire ordeal.
How long had he been suffering this kind of abuse? How often did it happen? Was that the cause of all those scars? Who was the undeniable culprit damaging the poor boy's face? What exactly had happened in there before he got kicked out?
Why hadn't he told me?
We were supposed to be friends. He was supposed to trust me, and I was supposed to be there for him. How could I do that when I had no idea what was going on once he went home? Why hadn't he allowed me some sort of information so I wouldn't be so shocked, so unprepared for dealing with this sort of situation?
Poor Mac. He probably thought he had been helping both himself and me by not saying anything. If only he knew how wrong he was.
Tell me everything you need now,
Anything at all,
And I will be the one who's waiting,
Anytime you fall,
When you come undone,
When you come undone...
I stood up suddenly, and to my satisfaction his eyes lifted, startled by the sound of my chair squeaking backward. I held his stare for a moment, my mouth set in a straight, grim line, feeling neither to urge to smile nor to frown. His lips, the upper one split open slightly but relatively clean thanks to my help, parted as if he was going to say something, but abruptly closed again. His eyes lowered.
I strode to the fridge and fished an ice pack out of the utter chaos that was the shelves inside, nearly dropping what would have been a very painful stack of frozen hamburgers on my toes. I swore under my breath and pushed them roughly back into the mess, closing the door before anything else could get the chance to attack me.
He spoke for the very first time. “You don't have to do this.”
I blinked, startled by the sound of his voice after knowing the absence of it for quite some time. I scowled once I regained my bearings, wondering how he could be so proud. “Yeah, I do.”
I swaggered back to the table and, being a lot rougher than I truly meant to, slapped the ice pack to the side of his face that seemed to be the most hurt. “This is what friends do, Mac. Obviously you don't know much about that.”
I wasn't sure if it was the harshness of my hand or of my words, but either way, I must've been the cause for the tears suddenly welling up in his eyes.
Immediately I felt awful for it.
I quickly withdrew my hand, the ice pack sliding to the floor. I turned my back to him, unsure of the words to say. I couldn't say I was sorry because I knew I wouldn't really mean it; in a way, I guess you could say that I wanted to punish him for being an idiot. But I felt bad for trying to communicate that so...so primitively.
A rough, firm warmth suddenly enveloped one of my hands, and in a shock I turned to see if he had really done what I thought he'd just done.
Sure enough, the boy's big, olive-toned hand had wrapped itself around my own smaller, slightly paler ones. There was no strange feel, an awkward guilt about the gesture, however; one may think that he was just trying to see if he could get away with it and maybe something bigger after it...
But one look into those big, expressive eyes and I knew that he was only reaching out for a friend.
“You're right. I don't.” He agreed softly, “Can you teach me?”
I squeezed his hand gently. “Tell me what happened.”
You know I can't be like everybody,
'Cause I can't tell you what you want to hear,
I don't know if I can make it better,
All I know is I will be around...
His current 'dad' wasn't even his real dad. His real biological father had died from cancer when he and Keefe were three years old. His mom remarried when the boys were only six.
His step-dad was an alcoholic and, for some reason unknown to him, started coming home late and drunk when the twins started going to high school.
When he came home from the pub, his step-dad was in no mood whatsoever to deal with even the smallest mistakes.
His step-dad didn't pick on Keefe much because the other boy was all too eager to strike the older man back, withholding little to no affection for the man, with or without any booze in his system. The boys' mother was a usual target, but he thought it his duty to protect his mother from her mistake.
His step-dad beat him at least twice a week.
Usually, his step-dad literally kicked him out of the house. When that happened, he somehow managed to drag himself around the house and climb into the backyard where he would sleep (or rather he would try to sleep) in the cold outdoors.
Usually, his step-dad wouldn't even remember the event the next morning and life would go on normally...until the next episode occurred and the cycle would repeat itself all over again.
They didn't turn him in to the police because it would force them into debt.
Tonight, he hadn't even done anything to deserve such punishment.
I had never seen Mac cry before that night. Tears of a crushed spirit trickled endlessly from a pair of gentle, dark eyes, making it clear that his soft heart could take no more. Words of an angel with broken wings, who had not been able to utter them until then, caused a softening of my own heart and induced the tears of yet another soul.
I held him for a long time, not once thinking of Nick, of my dad, or of anyone else. For what seemed like forever I could only think of the bruised, broken human being clinging to who appeared to be his one and only friend. It was impossible to be angry at him now.
The worst part about it was that I couldn't promise him everything was going to be okay because I had no way of promising that. There was nothing I could say, nothing I could do that would make his bruises go away; that would take his step-dad out of the picture without harming one or both of our families long-term.
But there was one thing I could do.
“I'm always here if you ever need anything...”
Tell me everything you need now,
Anything at all,
And I will be the one who's waiting,
Anytime you fall,
When you come undone,
When you come undone...
He sniffed and pulled away without much warning. “I don't like crying in front of you,” he muttered gruffly after a long, somewhat awkward pause, “you probably already thought I was a wuss and this is just making it worse, huh?”
I shook my head and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, taking a deep, shuddering breath as I tried to regain my composure. “'Course not.” I answered.
He blinked gratefully at me. “Keefe makes fun of me for crying,” he admitted, tilting his head slightly to one side, “he says that it's just another weakness that we need to learn to overcome.”
I wasn't surprised. I never liked Keefe. He was so rigid, so obsessed with being the strongest that he couldn't see that he was hurting the ones who loved him the most. It was a wonder to me that he and Mac ever managed (and continue to manage) to get along without killing one another first.
“Keefe is wrong,” I stated firmly, liking the surge of power that came with those words regardless of the fact that the other O'Kane lad was not around to hear them, “it takes a lot more courage to let go of your tears than it does to hold on to them.”
Mac's damaged face somehow managed to crease into a pleased smile. “Thank you,” he murmured, reaching out and taking my hand in both of his, “you don't have the slightest clue how much it means to me to hear you say that.”
Satisfied now that the storm seemed to have blustered past, I squeezed a smile of my own, but when I searched for words I simply couldn't find any. My eyes were drawn to the curious tangle of our hands, suddenly remembering Nick and wondering what he would think if he knew this was what I had ran out on him for.
He would understand, wouldn't he?
What had taken place here tonight was huge, after all. This was a very serious matter that had to be handled with great care in order to keep the damage it made to a minimum, so surely Nick would find it in his heart to forgive both of us if we needed some time to figure this out, right?
It occurred to me that I probably couldn't tell him the full truth. I trusted the boy with my life, but it just seemed so wrong to tell him what was happening. Mac and Nick simply didn't get along; why drag in the second half of the quarrel when he could just as easily not even know?
But I didn't want to lie to him...I had to tell him something, after all.
I shook my head a little, mostly to myself than anyone else. This was neither the time nor the place to be thinking about that.
When all your plans you made are lying on the floor,
And all your dreams are turning into nothing more,
When all your hope is left, you know you're not alone,
Just hold on,
Hold on...
“Hey,” Mac's voice, accompanied by a light squeeze to my hand, drew me from my own mind, “can I...can I ask you to do a really big favor for me?”
I looked at him curiously. “Yeah. What do you need?”
His face was gravely serious. His jaw was set with a characteristic determination and his eyes, though somehow still retaining their sweet, innocent gleam, were a bit frightening with their startling intensity. “I need you promise me that if...if something ever happens to me...” he swallowed hard, his slightly protruding Adam's apple bobbing up and down again, “ya' know...i-if my step-dad...”
I felt my heart twist at the very thought of what he was trying to say. It was only then that I realized how solemn of a problem this was, and for a moment I felt completely overwhelmed. What was I supposed to do with this huge secret weighing on my mind all the time now?
“You don't think he'll really...?” I couldn't even bring myself to say it. The idea of Mac dying at the hands of his step-father was all too scary.
Mac shook his head calmly. “I don't know. That's why I'm asking you to do this for me.”
I pressed my lips together. How could he talk about this without looking or sounding scared at all?
“I...I need you to promise that you won't forget me,” his voice was so soft yet so sure, as if he had been hoping for a moment to say those words for quite some time, “'cause I-I know I won't forget you.”
His big, dark eyes were even larger now that they were set in an expression of wide-eyed, pleading innocence, and I couldn't help but think of a puppy begging helplessly for a piece of food held just out of reach. Not once did I think about how what he was saying was something that Nick and probably only Nick should be telling me; how could I think of him when confronted with such a heartfelt plea?
After quite a few seconds ticked by I finally found my voice again. I nodded and smiled softly at him, gently pulling my hand out from his and resting it back at my side, thinking it a bit too awkward should they stay where they were. “I won't forget. I promise.”
Before I had a chance to pull away from what I knew was wrong Mac had already kissed my cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered again, “you've given hope to the hopeless.”
Tell me everything you need now,
Anything at all,
And I will be the one who's waiting,
Anytime you fall,
When you come undone,
When you come undone.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A/N: I'm actually really proud of this one. It all felt very real to me while I was writing it, and the words just seemed to flow in a way that I wish they always did. Mac's just so in love with that poor girl...
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