~TRYSTAN~
The police don't know what to do with him. Trystan is too old or too young. The cops don't want to throw him in jail, but they haven't released him yet, either. Trystan sits in the police station after questioning that took too long. He didn't say much. There wasn't much to say.
The police station is busy even though it's getting late. It seems like the later it gets, the more stupid people become. Trystan is sitting in an old beat up wooden chair by the detective's desk. The cop sits next to him filling out paperwork, not saying much. Trystan's gaze is carefully placed on the floor where it can't attract trouble. His arms are folded over his chest and he's slumped back in his seat. There isn't anything that he wouldn't give to be somewhere else. This trip, this whole damn night, is going to ruin his shot at the army. Trystan stares at his toe, the once-white part of his Converse, as he thinks that plan was shot to hell anyway. Mari loves him. Mari wants to be with him.
And now this.
Trystan rubs his hands over his face and back through his hair. He stretches and looks over at the cop. "Can I go?" He's polite. It's a stupid question. After everything that happened, Trystan's sure they won't release him.
"Not yet, kid. Let me finish this and you can sign it. If the girl's family presses charges, we'll deal with it then. I don't want to throw you in a cell with the guys that are in there tonight. Too much shit has happened. They'll rip you apart before you even get a chance to turn around." The cop has a wrinkled dress shirt on. His tie is loosened around his neck. His face is covered in wrinkles and his skin weathered like old leather. There are too many creases and he has that smoky smell that comes from lighting up too many times each day. The cop doesn't look up at Trystan.
This is the first time anyone told him what was going on. Since they dragged him into the station, no one said anything to him. Trystan doesn't want to ask, but he can't help it. "Did they say if they're going to press charges?"
The cop nods, not looking up from his paperwork. "Not yet, but she's a minor. They'll probably talk to their lawyer in the morning and we'll hear back then." He glances up at Trystan and points a pen at the string of bruises blossoming around Trystan's neck. "From the look of things, it could have been a lot worse. You're lucky."
Trystan laughs. The sound is so bitter that he can taste it. "If that was lucky - "
The cop cuts him off. He looks straight at Trystan and narrows his eyes. "Damn right, it was lucky. Lucky she showed up. Lucky your old man didn't break her ribs. Lucky you're still breathing. You were lucky, Trystan. No one else stepped in. That parking lot was filled with people. They all minded their own business and let your dad strangle you. That girl saved your ass." His old eyes hold Trystan's for a moment and his expression softens. "If you've got some family you can stay with until you graduate, do it. These things don't end well. Once you pass that point, once you fight back, there's just going to be more of it." Trystan holds the cop's gaze for a second and nods.
Trystan gets what the detective is saying. Don't go home.
Trystan slides down further in the seat. His arms are flexed tightly across his chest with his head lowered. It's the only way to hide the marks on his neck. He swallows hard and waits, thinking. Too many thoughts, too many images flood his mind. Everything in his life sucks, everything expect Mari.
When Trystan thinks about what she did, how she raced in like she wasn't the least bit afraid - oh God. If there was a rewind button on life, Trystan would press it. He would go back and delete the whole thing. If he'd never went home, this wouldn't have happened. As it is, it kills him that Mari was hurt and he couldn't stop it.
There are too many things wrong with his life, too many things that he can't fix.
_____
A noise startles Trystan awake. He rolls over on the old couch and flinches. His shirt is on the floor and he's wearing nothing but his jeans and a tattered blanket from the prop bin. When Trystan had nowhere to go, he decided to break into the school and sleep in the prop room. No one comes down there early in the morning, which is confusing him now.
Trystan blinks again and yawns. A pair of brown eyes and soft dark hair comes into focus. "Mari?" he asks, still half asleep. He wonders if he's dreaming. Trystan blinks again, but his throat is still aching. It feels like his body was ripped apart last night and reassembled. Add to that the shame he's feeling and Trystan can barely breathe.
Mari reaches for him and smoothes her hand across his cheek. Her touch is warm, gentle. "Did you sleep here?" Her eyes slide over his chest and then back up to his face.
Trystan stretches and sits up, letting the blanket fall from his body. He really doesn't want to answer. It isn't that he doesn't trust Mari, it's that he wishes that part of his life didn't exist. But, after last night he owes her. Trystan rubs the sleep from his eyes and says, "Yeah. I had to. I couldn't go home."
"What happened last night after I left? I tried to stay, but they wouldn't let me do anything. The police treated me like a child. It..." her gaze is on the side of his face. She lets out a sigh and closes her eyes for a second. When she reopens them again, Mari looks at the same spot on the floor as Trystan. They both have that vacant gaze.
"I was worried about you." She bumps his knees with hers.
"I'm fine," Trystan says, but deep inside he's not fine. Somehow Mari got sucked into his private hell, and that makes it worse. Trystan couldn't stop it. When he finally passed out on the couch last night, the whole nightmare unfolded again and again as he dreamed. That's the problem with his life, there is no escaping it, not even in sleep. Trystan glances past Mari, looking for his shirt. "What about you? Did your Dad..."
Mari stirs and sees his shirt. She reaches for it and hands it to him. Trystan pulls the fabric over his head as she speaks, but her eyes lift to his neck and lock there. She can't tear her gaze away. "Dad doesn't listen to me. He doesn't hit me, but sometimes I think he will. Oh God, Trystan. Why didn't you tell me? I had no idea - "
"There's a reason why you had no idea. I love you, Mari, I really do - but I can't talk about this. It isn't something that I want to share. I'm completely horrified that you walked into it. I'm horrified that he hurt you. I..." Trystan's jaw drops open and for the first time since it happened, he really looks at Mari. He meets her gaze and holds it. She's his refuge. Mari is his glue, his balm, his other half. Her brown eyes are wide. Her narrow fingers are gripped tightly in front of her waist, like she thinks she did something wrong. "I just want to get past it and now I can't even hide it. Everyone is going to see my neck and know."
Mari is wearing an oversized flannel shirt. Without a word, she unbuttons it, revealing the cami beneath. Trystan doesn't realize what she's doing until she holds out the flannel to him. "Take it. It has a collar. And I have access to the stage make-up. That will cover up the marks in front. No one will know. Everything will be okay." Even as she says it, Trystan knows Mari doesn't believe it. There's a look in her eye, but he doesn't press her about it. Instead he nods and takes the shirt, grateful.
Mari changes the subject and talks about other things while she dabs thick, cold, goopy, foundation on his neck. This will work. It covers everything. Her fingers are so soft and work so fast. Trystan waits until she stops talking and asks, "What made you come here this morning? School doesn't start for another hour or more." Part of him thinks that she was looking for him. The other part thinks something happened, something with her dad.
Mari's shoulders tense. She stands taller and her eyes dart away. He's right. F*ck, he didn't want to be right. She licks her lips and finishes covering up his mangled neck. "I had to get out of my house. You know how it is."
"Yeah, I know." He's quiet for a moment.
Mari is wearing one of those cami's with the lace at the top. It hugs her body, closely fitting to every curve. His eyes drink her in. In the back of Trystan's mind, he knows that he's going to lose her. Life isn't fair and he knows that, but losing her so soon is unbearable.
Mari's dark hair falls down her back in a cascade of thick curls. They sway and fall over her shoulder as she works. Mari moves around him, not feeling his eyes on her skin as she picks up the make-up and puts it back in the kit. Trystan feels so torn. He needs her, but she'd be so much better off without him. Trystan has nothing to offer her. He only brings pain and shame. He swallows hard, trying to ignore the guilt that's choking him.
When Mari turns around, she has a soft smile on her lips. She isn't afraid of him. She doesn't pity him. Mari acts like Trystan is the same guy he was yesterday, before she learned his secret. She sits down next to him and helps him pull her shirt on. It was too big on her, but it's about the right size for him. She buttons it up, a few of the top buttons she leaves open, and smiles at him.
Mari places her hand over his heart and says, "No one will know."
Their eyes lock. A rush of emotion floods through him. Trystan feels too much. After everything that happened, he just wants to hold onto her and never let go. Acting on the urge, Trystan leans in and gathers Mari in his arms and holds her tight. She winces as he does it, which makes him let go. "You're hurt."
Trystan's blue gaze slips over the cami. He doesn't see anything. Slowly, he inches his hand toward the hem of her shirt. Mari is very still, her dark eyes tracking his hands as he takes the bottom of her cami and slowly slides it up. An angry purple mark mars her perfectly pale skin. He can't breathe. Things can't be like this. She's hurt because of him. He shouldn't do this. He shouldn't be here with her and he sure as hell shouldn't be touching her, but he can't stop. It's still early. No one is here. Trystan could slide his fingers along her soft skin and press his lips to hers. She could take him away from here with a taste of those lips. Trystan could be higher than high in a heartbeat if he just leaned in and kissed her.
Mari's eyes drift to his lips. His hands are still on her shirt, his fingers are so close to her skin that it aches not to touch her. Mari takes a jagged breath and looks up at him. Her eyes are molten chocolate. They shimmer with golden heat. The way she looks at him makes Trystan's heart beat harder. Suddenly, he's hot all over. His body is responding to her. He wants to lean in. Trystan wants to be with her, but he doesn't move.
Trystan's lips are a breath from Mari's. The stay like that too long, impossibly long. Lingering thoughts tease him, telling him to take what he needs - that she'll let him - that Mari needs him just as much. But he can't. He can't drag her into this more than he already has. Guilt juts up between them like a wall.
Trystan blinks and breaks their gaze. He turns his face away from Mari without explanation. He sucks in air and runs his hands through his hair and down the back of his neck.
She deserves so much more.