Dig Your Fingernails Into My Chest and Pull Out My Heart

Can You Feel My Arteries?

September 5th, 1981

Steven comes back into the backyard about twenty minutes after Johnny. He's tidied himself up, his sleeves rolled down from where the originally rested on his elbows. His shirt was fully buttoned, and his hair was brushed neatly backward, some restless curls finding their way back above his brow. Johnny is ashamed to find that, if he didn't know anything about him, he'd say he looks nice. But he doesn't. Because he's aware of what hides behind those striking blue eyes and that pronounced Cupid's bow.

There's a shift in the way he carries his weight. Usually a false confidence, a shell of what he acts like, now shattered. He's practically slumped over himself, walking with a stagger as if his leg was bent the wrong way and up. There was an uncomfortableness about his look overall. Sort of like a kicked dog; something cute, in a way, turned over and desecrated. Though, Steven wasn't "cute" to Johnny in the slightest. He's what he imagined Satan to look like. God's prettiest Angel, a harbinger of evil, cast down from Heaven because he wanted too much. Isn't that what he is?

Johnny watches as he moves. Stiff, stumbling. He looks like he's about to pass out. Good. Let his head hit the concrete and crack if he does. Then, that way, he can get what he wants without having to feel the inevitable guilt of being the cause of suicide.

It's not because he would regret not having Steven around. No, he wants him gone. Telling him to kill himself was no slip of the tongue; Johnny craves to be released from this never-ending nightmare, even if that's the only way. He'd be happier living a normal life here, in Manchester with his girlfriend and his friends, with no creeps stalking him. It's because he'd have to rest with the fact that he caused a death. Whether he wants it or not, he'd have to live with the fact that he inadvertently took a life. And that's not something he'd be able to forget.

He acutely wonders if Steven remembers the life he took. Does he think of that boy, in the hospital with his crimson blood running down the sides of his neck, red and clear and bright. Does he remember his name if he knew it at all? Does he ever regret it? He'd think not. Johnny has the assumption that maybe he doesn't regret anything he does.

There's the shifting of grass behind him as Steven glances past where he's resting. He glances up to the older man, who has looked back over his shoulder, in a way that doesn't conceal his adoration at all. They lock eyes and Johnny can see the blue in them turn glassy as tears well up. Behind that sadness, whether mock, fake, or not, is want. Pure, desirable, toxic want. You don't have to be a detective to see it. It's so clearly there, behind the thick rims of his glasses and the wetness of his sad façade. It's an unhealthy want. Something bordering the lines of lust and the dangerousness of sickening possessiveness. Or, perhaps, it's gone past the barrier.

They stare at each other for a good chunk of time. Johnny's almost sure they could be mistaken for star-crossed lovers at first glance. They aren't. He wants that to be clear. He isn't attracted to Steven in any way. It's something he knows, it's something he knows that Steven is aware of. Andy, Mike, and Angie know. Though, to anyone else, it could look different. Only if they weren't aware of their fight last week.

Eventually, Steven looks away. Johnny can hear him sniffle as he stumbles back towards a younger girl, who is laughing with a young boy, who has to be around fourteen. He watches as Steven wraps his arms around the girl, and she laughs up at him, swatting him away. She says something that makes him turn red and for a moment, Johnny can almost see him as a normal guy, with normal relationships, and normal behavior.

Up until the girl glances towards Johnny. A sickening grin, full of ill intent, spreads across the length of her face, and she looks back up at Steven. She says something, causing another flush of red to stain his face, before she's shifting her weight to her left foot, turning towards Johnny. She begins shuffling to him, to the rhythm of the music he was now suddenly aware of. She doesn't make it far. Steven grabs her hair, tugging her back, wrapping his large, slender hand around her throat. Johnny can hear her gasp out from where he sat.