ON THE COLD SURFACE OF ST DARTON'S FRONT STAIRWELL sits Hector Vincent facing the school's field, thoroughly indulged on picking on the cuticles around his nail till it draws blood, unaware of brisk teens playing lacrosse before his very eyes.
The cracks on the concrete mirror the cracks within his fragile poise, the anxiety and pent up rage threatening to break out any second now.
Troye has a kink for being an asshole most of the fucking time. And every time he fails to resent his kink and act as said asshole, Hector loses his mind.
Few summer's back Hector had his first and only girlfriend. Her name was Elizabeth but Hector only ever called her Ellie. He liked the girl so much that all he did every second of each day was to mouth her name, for he couldn't not love how beautiful it sounded. And every time he whispered the name under his breath he'd only get more attached to it, to her. Her pale face, blonde curls and flush rosy cheeks never once left his mind. He'd met her under the shade of a palm tree sitting with a paperback book of poetry on her lap when she looked up at him and smiled. A smile so pure, so innocent, it made him melt.
Then onwards they'd meet up there every day and while she'd talk on about for hours he'd simply sit there listening about how much her books, her plants, her collection of decades old concert tickets, her cat which she adores more than anything. Up until then it had almost been like a perfect fairy tale written in smooth cursive, woven in the most innocent, young love-overly sweet to the ears of the readers, melodious to the heart of the listeners. Almost.
Before the story could find it's end, the news of it had wavered to the wrong man's doorstep, or wrong boy if you will. Young Troye didn't like what he leant in the slightest. His morbid mind set in motion had already decided upon the action to be taken, and so he followed Hector to the sacred palm tree beneath which his soon-to-end love bloomed, and listened.
"You know Evie is turning one next week," she said, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.
"Evie?" Hector asked.
"My cat silly." She giggled. "I'm throwing a party, would you like to come?"
"You want me to come?"
"Of course I do!"
Hector paused for a second. "I'd love to. And I know just the right present for Evie."
"Oh really?"
"Yes, Ellie, really."
Little did poor Ellie know the next day she'd wake up to find her dear Evie with his neck turned in a way that doesn't seem right with a note which read the words, 'Do you like my present, Ellie?'
Hector never saw her after that. But he never forgave Troye either, not that Troye cared at the slightest.
Hector runs his finger through his hair, wanting to rip out the roots to soothe the insufferable ache in his head, knowing Troye's wretched mind, glutted with the most grotesque ideas to get his way has surely gotten worse among the years to nearly alarming for the oblivious folks around him.
He perches his elbows on his knees, resting his head-which feels heavier than usual-on his cold palms, and shuts his raw bloodshot eyes, craving the two nights of sleep it lacks.
"Is everyone in this town so miserable?"
Hector looks up behind him at the sound of the unfamiliar voice disrupting his silence of dread and paranoia. It takes him a second to recall the the dark tan skin gleaming under the crude rays of the scorching sun, the hard structured face looking down at him with a familiar lopsided smile.
