FicWad

He's sleeping and has been for the last couple of days. He seems exhausted and worn out, battered and broken. I'm not surprised, not after the way Bill's treated him. He lies on his front, his bony back slowly rising and falling. Occasionally he twitches and moans in his sleep, obviously having nightmares of what's happened. In those moments, I lie as close as he'll allow me and gently stroke him. I want him to know that I'll never intentionally hurt him. Never break him like his evil ex did.

We haven't seen anything of Bill but we've seen nothing of the police either. We're living in a limbo of not knowing whether we're going to die at the hands of Bill or the hands of the law. But sooner or later I have a feeling we'll be hearing from someone. I called my mom for the first time in weeks. She begged me to move back. Begged me to pick up my stuff and move Izzy and myself into my basement room. I got the usual talk about how she doesn't care that I'm gay, she just wants me home and safe. She says we're not safe here, not safe where psycho boy Bill can find us. And she's right; we're not safe here. As always, mom knows best. I just haven't put the idea to Izzy yet.

I look at him, my eyes sweeping over the gentle curve of his back. The wounds are healing well but there's going to be some scarring. Bill beat him pretty badly but luckily Izzy's got fair skin so hopefully the scars won't show up too much. I don't care whether they do or not, but I'm worried about the effect they'll have on him. The effect of being permanently scarred by the man he was trying so hard to escape. Will it knock his confidence more? If it does, I'll just have to rebuild it again. That's not a problem. I'll love him no matter what. He could have three heads and be from Mars but I'd still love him. It's what's inside that counts.

~~~~

My dreams make me sick but I can't tell Slash, can't tell him of the horrors I endured at Bill's hands. The knife I stabbed him with was used to threaten me. He'd tie me up and hold it to my dick, threatening to cut it off and feed it to me if I went back to Slash. Thank fuck Slash came back for me. I'm scared, scared for myself but mostly for Slash. He doesn't deserve any of this. He deserves to be with someone who's not going to get him killed. I really should up and leave but every time I look into those big, brown eyes I know I can't. Even if I get killed, it'll kill Slash if I leave him. As sappy and stupid as it sounds, I'm realising that I'm his first true love. He doesn't want anyone else and he proved that when he came back for me. He didn't care that I'd willingly fucked Bill, he just wanted me back. If that isn't commitment I don't know what is. And you know what? I fuckin' love Slash, love him more than I ever loved Bill. And you know why? It's because he gives me something to live for. He smiles when I wake up and kisses me when I get in from work. And he's not so much as raised a hand to me. Sometimes I think the way he looks to me is pathetic. But then I realise that this is what love really looks like. Love is wanting to be with that person. Love is holding their hand while watching the sun set. Love is curling up under the blankets and laughing till you cry. Love is... Slash.


~~~~

While he sleeps I decide to move some of the boxes to Izzy's car. I know I should ask Izzy about this but we really need to get out so I'm making an executive decision. The tiny pile of boxes have remained in a corner, only Izzy went through them to find some clean clothes. We had a bonfire for his bloody clothes and it was a great release. It felt like we were getting of a small part of Bill. Even if he hasn't been dispatched to Hell then some of him has.

There's only one way into Izzy's battered little car. Kick it. Seriously, the driver's side door is so dented that it can only be opened by a carefully placed kick. And forget about getting in through the passenger door. That's fucked beyond all repair. Not that we can afford to repair it. So it's climbing through the windows. Or, if you're really skinny then you slide through the sunroof. It's all very Dukes of Hazzard. We had a giggle doing that the other day. It was one of those crazy moments of spontaneity and we had nothing better to do. So we hummed the theme tune and dove through the windows while the other drove.

I put the boxes into the back seat and kick the door shut before heading back upstairs. Izzy is still stretched out on the mattress, the blanket bundled into his waist. It hurts him if the scratchy material touches his back. Kneeling beside him, I gently nudge him with my hand.

"Izz," I whisper. "Izz, wake up."

He stirs and murmurs, fists rubbing at his eyes. I do it again, not wanting to hurt him but really needing him awake.

"Izz. Izz, you need to wake up."

He turns his head towards me and his eyes lazily open. A little smile ghosts his face before disappearing. I stretch out beside him and gently stroke his hair.

"Get your stuff." I keep my voice quiet, not wanting to panic him too much. "We're getting out of here."

"Mmmm." He rubs his eyes again, not fully awake. "Where?"

"My mom's place."

He looks at me, eyes heavy and glazed, trying to take in what I'm saying.

"Why?"

I sigh. "Because we're not safe here. We have to go."

He stares sleepily at me before sighing and sliding from the bed, not protesting about my decision to go. I watch as he tiredly dresses, flinching as he drops a baggy white shirt over his head. Carefully I take him into my arms, staring into those hurting eyes before planting a gentle kiss against his lips. I smile, hoping to make him feel better but he just carries on staring at me, his eyes dead and unfeeling. I want to know what will bring back the gleam of happiness but right now that seems unachievable. Maybe when we're settled into my mom's I'll be able to properly start piecing him back together. And maybe I'll finally discover what lies behind his eyes and deep in his soul.

With a final kiss, I turn and walk back down to the car. The stairs groan and complain beneath my feet, threatening to fall away from beneath me. For the final time, I walk out of the battered door and towards the car. Part of me is elated to be leaving but part of me feels like I'm walking to my death. There's a knot of dread in my stomach, a strange sense telling me that not all is well. I know all isn't well. It hasn't been since Izzy and I first got together. He's mentioned about breaking up to save me. But I don't want to. I love him and I've told him this a million times. If he dies then so will I. Maybe not at the same time as him, but soon afterwards.

I struggle to get the door open, the box weighing me down. Finally it gives and I shove the box into the back seat. It's the last one I packed when I was originally going to move out. My handwriting is scrawled down the side, Izzy's name locked together by a hash through the Z's. I don't normally do that but it seemed appropriate at the time, like I was locking away a part of me. Like I was locking Izzy to me in some arcane marker-penned ritual. Slash and Izzy. Izzy and Slash. Together forever in ink.

I hear feet crunching on gravel and turn to look. Izzy stands beside the closing door, pale, his thin arms wrapped around himself. He looks tiny and fragile, hiding within the folds of his oversized shirt, black hair straggling his face. Sighing, I walk up to him and gently wrap him in my arms. I try not to catch the wounds on his back but he still grimaces as I touch him. I rest my forehead against his, looking into those soulful eyes. The eyes which show so little yet tell so much.

"Come on," I whisper. "Time to go."

He shivers a little, long fingers rubbing his bare arms. "I'm scared Slash."

"I know. I am too." Gently I kiss his nose. "But we're going somewhere better. I promise."

My hands stroke through his hair, brushing the fine strands away from his face. He flinches a little, as if he wants to be hidden behind it, as if he doesn't want me to see the pain. I press my lips to his, savouring the little bit of warmth that's coming off his body.

"I love you," I say, quietly. "And I'll always love you."

Those brown eyes just blink. Gently I kiss him again and this time he responds, his arms loosening from around him, one hand rubbing my shoulder. It's just a little gesture but it means the world to me, means he's getting ready to hopefully start the healing process.

We haven't made love since he came back. It's not that I haven't wanted to but I know he's been badly damaged. Not just physically but mentally. Izzy's not really responded to me, not really let me know anything. All I've received is the occasional kiss. He hasn't really spoken about it, hasn't really spoken at all to be honest. He's just sat, looking out of the window, insides ripped apart. But I'll wait. I can wait forever for Izzy. And if this lifetime isn't enough then I'll catch up with him in the next one. But I'm looking forward to that day, that moment, when he'll unravel for me and let me back in. When he'll let me hold him close and make love to him again.

I gently guide him to the car, kicking the driver's door open and guiding him into the passenger seat. He sits, staring straight ahead as I get in, not saying a word or moving a muscle. As I start the engine, something passes by one of the mirrors. I frown and put my foot down, pulling away. I can't help but feel something's not right.

As I pull onto the road, a vision appears in the rear-view mirror. A vision of bandages, seething anger and red-hair. With my heart in my throat, I floor it and skid along the road, saying nothing to Izzy.