Rage With Benefits

Chapter 34: Home

Everything hurts. And he's not just saying that because he's being forcefully glued on the cramped backseat of his car in the middle of winter, surrounded by his own sweat, which didn't even make sense because it was cold as fuck. Everything hurts, not just because he can't feel his legs under the pile of clothes stacked up on his lap that he managed to scout out of his locker, but because his life is hitting all sorts of dead-ends, and it all seems like every decision he is to make at this point is just going to lead him into another, which sucked. It sucks more than his maxed-out credit card, more than his empty stomach, and it sucks more than his shitty-ass car in which his shitty-ass father was decent enough not to take away from him. It just sucks. Everything hurts, and everything sucks.

But nothing ever sucks more than having to see the boy you confessed all of your love for hang out with his ex-boyfriend every minute of every day. The same boy who despises your very existence and couldn't even be bothered to spare you a second of a glance every time you meet in the hallways. No. Nothing ever sucks more than that.

Bryce leaned back in his seat, mind wandering over the events of the past week. From him losing access to the rest of his credit cards which forced him to rely on the very little pocket money he had left in his glove compartment... to Ian. Ian, and his ex-boyfriend Noah.

The blond scoffed, glaring at himself in the rearview mirror. We're they back together? If they're back together, is it casual? Or are they picking up from where they left things three years ago?

Stupid Noah and his stupid car bringing Ian to stupid school, he thought. But best of all, stupid him for not being able to do anything about it.

He hasn't gone to school for days. Not even he knows how long it's been but as of the moment, it doesn't feel like it matters. Bryce had lost basically everything he had in his life and locking himself up in his car seems like the best way to cope. So here he was, alone, in his car, doing God-knows-what with his life as he waited for something. Anything that may push his will to live, or at least push him to get off his ass and taste the air outside.

Thud.

Bryce jumped from his seat at the sudden noise. It was close, almost as if it was coming from right beside him. For a moment he thought he was just imagining things. Perhaps he's finally gone crazy.

"What the hell was that...?"

Thud. Thud. Thud.

That was until three more came, and this time he could see two black figures; they appeared round, perhaps fists, or crazy birds banging against his fog-covered window. He reached for his keys on the dashboard to use as weapons in case it was a loose serial killer looking for depressed brains to harvest, holding them up in a defense position, ready to attack.

Except when he finally opened it, Bryce realized right away that it wasn't a serial killer.

"Ian?"

It was Ian, barely wrapped in what Bryce could only call as a poor excuse of a jacket, head bare and shoulders shaking as he rubbed his hands up and down his arms, bloodshot eyes staring at the blond with so many tears and anticipation. Bryce immediately dropped his keys and rushed himself out of the car, panic and worry striking his very core.

He was crying. Why was he crying?

"Ian! Jesus...!" he yelled, wrapping his hands around Ian's body as he pulled the boy closer to the car so he can grab one of his shirts to cover his head. "What the hell are you doing?! It's fucking cold!"

Ian remained quiet, as if he forgot why he was there, and just stared up at Bryce with his tear-stained face and red eyes. Why is he crying? Bryce wanted to ask, but he can't seem to take his grip off of Ian.