Post by Deleted on Jan 5, 2019 20:27:35 GMT -6
Rage and Grace
“Geez. I looked for hours and I couldn’t find a single freakin’ book that looked like it was made outta human skin.”
“What would you even do with the Necronomicon if you found it?”
Laughing, Mike reached over and gave their partner’s emerald green scarf- a Christmas gift from their grandmother, they’d gotten a matching sunset orange one- a playful tug. They’d just spent an interesting afternoon exploring Harvard’s Widener Library, an obvious stopover after their morning interview at WHRB. As tense as Mike had been about venturing out into Boston given their dislike of the city, they had to admit it’d been a pretty fun day- Harvard Yard was a lovely place despite the cool and overcast weather, and nosing through the seemingly endless stacks of books had been surprisingly enjoyable (to Mike, anyway- John’s enjoyment at such a vast collection of literature was a given.)
It was enough to almost forget the reason their feelings toward the home of the Red Sox slanted so negatively.
“You hungry? I read the clam chowder here’s to fuckin’ die for and it’s a good day for something wa--”
They stopped in their tracks, words dying at their lips, eyes going wide. No. Out of all the people and all the places in this entire goddamn town, the one person Mike never wanted to see again couldn’t be here. The odds were ridiculous. This was ridiculous.
They would’ve laughed at how ridiculous it was, if they weren’t frozen in place, breath coming in quick, short puffs. Right there in front of them, on a bulletin board covered with flyers of upcoming events on campus, was the smiling face of Steve Archer, youth evangelist, former Patriot, fine upstanding citizen. Apparently he was giving a lecture on campus today to promote his new book. Which probably contained his own brand of Jesus approved relationship advice.
Mike felt like they were going to throw up chowder they hadn’t even eaten yet.
“Hey. You okay?”
His tone was low, just enough for them to hear. He placed on a hand on Mike’s shoulder.
It took a moment for it to register. It wasn’t unlike what happened once before when confronted with Archer’s image, only this time there was no TV to break. Mike’s shoulder was shaking beneath their partner’s hand.
“...this isn’t fucking fair. He doesn’t deserve a goddamn Harvard lecture. Or a single fucking book sale. He deserves to be rotting somewhere outside of civilized society.”
Reaching out, Mike pressed their palm to the flyer and savagely pulled their fingers inward, the handsome, smiling face crumpling and tearing in their grip.
“...got half a mind to crash his fucking self promotion party. Tell those kids just what kind of asshole he is.”
John had listened quietly as Mike explained this prior association. It was more than that but he didn’t pry. What they gave him allowed him to ascertain what happened. Justifying the seemingly allergic reaction.
The flames were starting to rise…
“You can if you want.”
His voice lent to what he thought of the idea.
“...you don’t think I should.”
They uncrumpled the paper, looking down at the marred image.
“You’re probably right. I should probably let it be. But you know what I told you about what he has to answer for. You have no fucking idea how tempting it is. Everything he did to me and he got away with it. He blamed me for instigating everything and he got to walk because people bought his stupid fucking self defense story. Easy to get people to believe you when you shed a few crocodile tears, you’re a fucking New England Patriot, and the other party can’t speak up cuz they’re in a goddamn coma. Nobody knows the truth. Everybody believes he’s just a good guy who made a fucking mistake but gets a bye now because fucking Jesus.”
John looked around. Students, staff, whoever, going about their day - paying them no mind. Mike’s temperament sizzled as John stood there like a wall. He refocused his gaze back on his friend.
“It’s like screaming it from the rooftop. But no one is listening.”
He mused into the air - his words having no particular aim.
“...and it’s not fair…”
Mike looked up. Lowell Lecture Hall. It was a five minute walk. Five minutes to walk in, throw the door open, and scream at the top of their lungs everything he says is a fucking lie, he’s no devout family man, he’s an abusive, savage monster who tore me apart in every fucking way…
And then what? Steve shakes his head, clucks his tongue, and apologizes for the interruption. Says something like I’m so sorry you’re still so angry. You need to let it go. I’ll pray for your peace of mind. And he comes out looking like a saint calmly addressing a screeching, enraged harpy.
Mike looked up at their partner, their best friend, their rock. Their eyes shimmered wetly, teeth gnawing at their lower lip.
“...what do I do?”
“Don’t.”
He could buy into the fantasy of it. But that is just what it was - a fantasy.
“He’s went and created this narrative. Profited off of it. And you’re right, it’s not fair. But understand there is nothing more than he would want than an angry validation of everything he’s done.”
John stopped. Took a deep breath. He tiptoed into territory he rarely liked to go but figured that it may help.
“I’m angry, too.”
His brow furrowed slightly.
“Angry at what you’ve been through.”
And sighed.
“What I’ve been through, too.”
As if an admission. Then drawing towards his point.
“Not worth delving into that darkness. Then you start justifying cruelty because it is for something. Something you can’t even change. Because it already happened.”
Mike stood silent a moment, thinking this over in earnest. The wind tousled their hair (what little of it stuck out from under their hat) and the ends of their scarf. Sniffling, they raised a hand, rubbing the back of it over their eyes.
“I dunno if karma’s a real thing or not. But I’d kinda like to believe that sooner or later everything comes out in the wash. Sooner or later… he’ll slip up and everybody’ll know just what he is. Just like… like everybody’s getting to know just the kind of person you are.”
All the jeering and hate mail had dwindled to next to nothing. Every day, Mike found they had less and less to delete. Every so often, someone would squawk, but almost before Mike could do anything, the hater would be shouted down.
Maybe it didn’t make up for everything that was lost. But it couldn’t hurt.
“On the other end… if any good came out of any of this fuckery. What happened to me, what happened to you. That path led here. And I wouldn’t trade here, trade this, for nothin’, least on my end. Even if nobody ever knows what a gob of skunk diarrhea Steve is, I can… I guess I can live with that, long as I have you.”
One hand reached for his. He reciprocated.
“Partners. We’ll help each other.”
Both of them just kind of stared at each other. Very aware of their public display. Wordless. No action needed. Implied.
“I’m guessing you’ve had enough of finer education. Your turn.”
“I dunno, you sure you don’t wanna duck back into the library for a few more weeks?”
“Maybe.”
Mike laughed. It felt like a valve being released.
“I’m famished. Let’s find some good eats and then head back to the hotel.”
Their free hand casually tossed the wadded-up, mangled paper into the trash, where it belonged.