― 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒃𝒐𝒚.
❝ and he knows
that a boy who
likes boys is
a dead boy.
unless he keeps
his mouth shut. ❞
or, in which daxton shields's heart is an abandoned house that new friends want to rebuild & mov...
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DEAD BOY (book one). °• CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE •°
" IF WE LOSE ANYONE ELSE, I'LL LOSE IT. I'LL FUCKING LOSE IT, CHARLIE. "
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DAXTON SHIELDS REALIZED HE HAD LET A LOT OF PEOPLE DOWN. Charlie, for starters. He was never a good brother. All he ever did was push the other away. It took a long time before he accepted help when he should have done so sooner. Daxton could have done so, so much better when it came to him. Then there were the Losers. Daxton was so afraid of meaning something to a group of people who loved him despite it all, he shut them out. He believed that they abandoned him and that belief slowly turned into a rage that he released onto Mike, who especially deserved much better. And Richie, Richie Tozier... There was so much to unpack there. Daxton felt a twinge of sickness every time he thought about it.
They book it out of the Griffith's house with a kiss on the cheek to Jo and trembling knees. Daxton is still shaken up by the experience and trying to splutter to Charlie what happened. The threats and memories continue to echo.
You will destroy him like you destroyed us.
The dirty little secret will come out someday, Shields.
If I don't leave now, I'll be stuck here. Until the day I fucking die.
His head was starting to pound with the thousands of words of how Daxton Shields was a piece of shit.
The extra dog tag Daxton realized was still dangling across his neck suddenly felt as if the chain was shorter, tighter, and choking him. He clawed at the necklace until it tore off. "My token," he mumbles without meeting Charlie's eyes since he knew the gaze would be full of puzzlement. Daxton takes a deep breath. "I - I came back to Derry. I felt so weak. I just wanted to fucking feel something - "
"Dax," Charlie says his name softly, but his brother cuts him off by stuffing the tag in his denim pocket.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make it about me." Daxton clears his throat and pretends there aren't tears stinging his eyes. He's mastered this skill a long, long time ago. Longer than he could remember.
But this Daxton could remember. He knew he could promise himself, Charlie, the Losers, and everyone he loved that he could do better. He would be better. He's never done such a thing before, would have never considered it because when he was thirteen, being cold was how he got by. Daxton learned quickly that the world was cruel so he would have to be too. But it was the other eight Losers who taught him that while he could be beaten, thrown to the side of the road like garbage, there could be eight hands reaching out to help him on his feet again if he let them in. He ended up biting back in fear these hands would join in his beatings. Daxton could never thank them enough for it.
