Dylan Marceau Grey.
Cigarettes; Coffee; Music; Moths; Goth;
This is the way the world ends; Not with a bang but a whimper.
The early morning chill seeped into Elliott’s skin, and he was suddenly very grateful he’d thought to grab his trenchcoat before leaving the house. He wasn’t used to being outside before noon, and the summer months were the few that were hot anyways, with the restart of school signaling the quick drop in temperature that was sure to occur. That already was occurring, no doubt.
Elliott hardly reacted when he noticed Dylan, an eyebrow raising slightly, but that was it. He was a bit surprised to see the kid, wondering how he found Elliott and Henrietta’s spot so quickly — maybe Henri had clued him in. He also wasn’t exactly disappointed to see him or anything, considering it had been so long, after all. But none of this registered on his face, which was carefully neutral as always. After so many years of practice, Elliott was a pro at keeping even his subtlest of emotions tightly under lock and key, to the point where even he wasn’t sure he could identify them half the time.
He took the thermos gratefully, trading it for his half-spent cigarette. The coffee seemed to warm his whole body from his throat out, and it was a big relief to the pounding headache he was sporting. He made a mental note to get up a little earlier tomorrow so he could make some of his own coffee, instead of just mooching off Dylan.
“More than usual,” he mumbled in response to Dylan’s sarcastic question, accompanied by a gratuitous eye-roll. He’d gotten a good six hours of sleep the night before, which was more than he could say about most nights. Even still, it didn’t do much to help the ever-present bags under his eyes, the drawn look his face always had. He did look like shit, but it was no different than usual. He took another sip of coffee before offering the thermos back. “What about you, pumped for high school?” Elliott scoffed, not even able to make his own question sound convincing.
Dylan took the half-spent cigarette and breathed in a long, lazy drag from the cancer stick before letting it out in a puff of smoke. It tasted terrible— he was used to Gauloises Brunes, which were important from France. However, he was out ( again ) so terrible or not, he smoked it down to the filter, then snubbed it out. He glanced over when Elliott responded and shrugged, “Surprising.” As the thermos was offered back, he shook his head. “Keep it.” That was his second cup of coffee, and he decided that Elliott needed it more than he did.
The next question caused him to cringe. “Yeah right,” He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Fuck that. I wouldn’t have come at all today, but…” Dylan let his statement trail off— he didn’t think it needed to be explain. Elliott knew. His mother was a heavy alcoholic who could barely taken care of herself, let alone Dylan. He hated being home— he hated having to watch her go further down the hole. Despite that he resented everything she had done over the years, a very small part of him still loved her. She was his mother, after all, and once upon a time she had been a very good mother; the best, even.
Pause. Dylan bit his lip, itching for another cigarette already. “Got a smoke? ‘m out again,” he mumbled, tone carefully bland. It wasn’t always easy to keep his emotions in check— unlike Elliott, who never seemed phased by anything, Dylan was very emotional. He had problems with his temper and when he was alone he often fell into fits of tears for no reason. Usually the Valium prevented that, but not always. His emotions were difficult to control— he had to work hard to fit in with the Goths at times. The music, the clothes, the bitching about conformity— that was the easy part. The bland monotones and careful neutrality? Not quite so.
A shiver worked its way up Dylan’s spine— it was cold, and he wasn’t wearing a jacket, just a long-sleeved black shirt and jeans with those same ugly purpose shoes he’d owned for years.
[ I AM DONE FUCKING AROUND WITH THIS BLOG THEME. DONE. SO IRRITATED WITH IT. UGH. ]
Sweetness, sweetness, I was only joking when I said I’d like to smash every tooth inside your head. Sweetness, sweetness, I was only joking when I said by rights you should be bludgeoned in your bed.
Early September and Elliott was far from pleased to be dragging his ass out of bed at such an ungodly hour to go to high school, of all places. The summer had been uneventful, as he liked it, mainly filled with long days aimlessly wandering around town, long nights sometimes in the city or sometimes holed up in Henrietta’s room smoking copious amounts of weed and pondering the meaning of life (conclusion: there wasn’t one).
It felt like ever since they’d gotten to high school, Henrietta was the only one he really saw anymore. Dylan and Georgie were so young, it made things hard, and he’d never gotten on all that well with Georgie, anyways. Once upon a time Dylan had been the closest thing to a best friend he had, but he wasn’t really sure if that was the case anymore, despite the fact that they’d more or less grown up together and Dylan knew things about him no one else did. It still felt strange to think about, and he felt a brief pang of remorse over having not put much effort into their relationship the past two years or so.
Dylan was starting high school today, he realized. Shit, when had they gotten so old?
Elliott had gotten his license over the summer and inherited the old station wagon his mother used to drive, so that she could have the benefits of both getting herself a new (used) car and conning him into doing errands for her. As it was he’d been roped into driving his younger sister Jenny to school too, which was annoying as hell even though the elementary school was only a parking lot away from the high school. Not to mention that he had to walk her over. She clung to his hand from the second he was out of the car, and he supposed maybe she was nervous about her first day of third grade, which was really stupid in his opinion but for once he didn’t shake her off.
“Ellie, I thought you stopped that,” Jenny said with a pout upon seeing him retrieve a pack of cigarettes from his messenger bag.
“Don’t tell mom,” he replied simply. He’d promised his mother he’d quit multiple times throughout his life, never once putting in the effort to actually do it. He knew there’d be another big lecture next time she caught him. He didn’t care enough to stop.
Once Jenny had been safely deposited into the bowels of the elementary school, he cut his way behind the middle school to the bleachers by the football field, taking up residence in his and Henrietta’s usual spot. He wondered if she’d even bother showing — to the spot, to school. The bell was gonna ring pretty soon but that didn’t concern him in the slightest, and he took his time lounging on the bleachers, finishing up his cigarette. He wished he’d had time to make coffee, and his head was pounding from the lack of caffeine, but he’d overslept. And so he just continued to sit, the cold metal of the bleachers seeping through the black denim of his skinny jeans, raising goosebumps on his skin.
Nothing ever changed here.
“I know I’m unlovable,
You don’t have to tell me.
For message received,
Loud and clear—
Loud and clear.
I don’t have much in my life,
But take it— it’s yours.”
The music played through a pair of taped green and black Skull Candy headphones that he’d owned for at least four years now— Dylan was in desperate need of a new pair, but he lacked the funding to pay for them. And damned he would be before he bought a pair of cheap earbuds for $9.99 at fucking Walmart. Those things barely lasted a week before the sound quality got shitty. For now, his old pair worked just fine, more or less. As it was, September was one of the more overcast months and on this particular morning, despite that he was exhausted, Dylan didn’t mind the walk to school. The dampness made his hair stick to his face and the fog seeped right through his hoodie and chilled him to the bone. Luckily, the thermos of coffee kept his hands from freezing.
What a shitty day to begin high school— then again, would he have preferred bright sunshine and cloudless skies? Fuck no. There really was no good to start high school— let alone in South Park, Colorado.
One step at a time, Dylan made it to the school with about ten minutes to spare; not that he planned on being on-time regardless. This school ( although it looked very much the same as the other two ) was much larger than the Elementary and the Middle school combined. It took another three minutes to walk around back where he spotted a dark figure perched upon the bleachers— Elliott, no doubt. For the briefest moment his lips curved up into an almost-smile, but it fell as soon as he became conscious of it. It had been a summable amount of time since he’d had the chance to be around Elliott— they were separated by two years— two grades, and that made all the difference.
Without a word, Dylan curved his path and made his way up the stairs towards Elliott. He took a seat an arm’s length away and passed the thermos over. “You look like shit,” he commented, instead of saying something normal like “hello,” or “what’s up?” Then again, the Goths had never been what anyone would call normal. In fact, they purposefully made themselves the furthest thing from it; who the fuck wanted to be just another Justin and Brittany wannabe roaming the halls? High school was the best it would ever get for them; they would be trapped in an endless cycle of break-ups and first dates, reliving their “glory days” over and over again, wishing they could go back. Dylan didn’t want to live that way— who cared about the outcome of sporting events anyways? What difference did it make in the long run? None. Fucking none.
“Sleep much?” The question was dripping with sarcasm because Dylan knew perfectly well that Elliott didn’t sleep much at all due to long nights filled with insomnia and cups of coffee. Probably a Bauhaus record or two; maybe a little The Smiths if he was feeling nostalgic. “What a shitty fucking day.”