Freaks (Ticci Toby) ((Sequel to Outcasts))

Chapter Twenty-Two:

Kerigan

His hands were still wrapped around my cheeks, and my fists were balled into his shirt, pulling him closer. With my eyes closed, I could smell him, feel him, taste him. It wasn't something that made sparks. It didnt set a fire within me. It was soft, and sweet and perfect, the kind of kiss that comes once in a life time. That movie-perfect moment when the audience screams in joy because the lead guy and main girl that were so obviously made for eachother finally realize it and kiss and fall in love. His lips were gentle and slightly chapped, and he still tasted like pizza from breakfast. And it just felt right.

With Toby, every kiss had to lead to something more. With every kiss, he expected something else. This kiss, however, was all on its own-- the end-all-be-all kind of kiss that was satisfying and still hunger inducing.

And then it ended.

"I'm so sorry!" He gasped out, his cheeks burning red and his eyes filled with panic. My eyes were half open and my lips ached for more of his perfect kiss, but the moment his hands left my face, I sat straight up.

"N-No! No I'm sorry, I'm the one who kissed you, I-- ... it was perfect..." I whispered, looking down at my hands again. "Kisses with... Him.. were always a chore. But that kiss was... freeing. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldnt have done that." I ramble, and hes quiet for a moment before taking in a deep shuttering breath. 

"I-Its okay. Its alright... I'm sorry. For everything he did to you. Do... do you want to talk about it more?"

I was going to say no. I really was, but... then his hand gently took mine, and for once, I didnt just have myself convinced I trusted someone, I actually trusted him, and I realized it in that moment. He was real, he was here, I knew all his secrets. No fake personalities, no facades of normality. Just his orange eyes, his golden hair, his freckled-beak-like-nose, his soft careful hands. I wanted to tell him everything. I wanted to let it all out.

"Not here." I whisper. He looked taken aback for a moment, then he nodded.

"Where?" His voice was quiet and apprehensive.

"The school. The swings." I whisper again, and he nods once more, standing up to help me to my feet.

"Okay, then let's go swing."

~(×)~

Mom wasnt thrilled about us going out at night, but Isaac swore he would protect me, and even added a little "She wanted to go by herself but I wouldnt let her," to make her trust him even more. Plus, when I told her the stake attic smelled like the room I was kept in and it was driving me insane, she got all misty eyed and told me to take a pocket knife.

As if I hadnt already thought of that.

Walking down these streets again was weird. I wore a black hoody, and carried a backpack, and Isaac was wearing another one of my shirts. Occasionally, we'd pass an old sun-faded missing persons poster with my face on it. I tried not to let them get to me.

The swings were cold and much creakier than the last time I was here. Regardless, Isaac and I sat and swayed idly next to eachother. It took me a while to gather my thoughts.

When I did, it all came spilling out.

"I think I knew from the beginning he was evil. The first time I saw him, when he launched himself in front of me, interrupted me, didnt give me space.. he was very controlling. I'd have nightmares all the time about him hurting me, but he just... brushed them off. When I'd wear a tank top or shorts around other guys, hed try to guilt trip me into changing into something less revealing.. all the damn time. I was never allowed to be my own person, I was always HIS." I began. Isaac, for his part, stayed quiet and listened to me intently. "I think... I think I had myself convinced that because he didnt hit me, that the way he controlled and manipulated and gaslit and emotionally abused me was okay. Because he loved me, and he had a hard life too. It wasnt until he actually grabbed me, when he hurt you... I could see the devil in his eyes and I would no longer allow myself to play his advocate." My hand reached under my hood to play with my shaven head, the long parts of my bangs swishing carelessly in the wind. I looked up at him, at Isaac, my savior, and his pumpkin eyes stared back, warm and deep and inviting.