Fettered

LCS

Lucas brought back blankets and extra pillows, then set them aside to wait until the news ended at 9 o'clock. Jack and his mom got up to head to bed and Jack took him aside into the hallway.

"Now look, son," he said, their eyes stern on one another's. "You better be on your best behavior tonight with this young lady. Be a gentleman, an'... Just don't do somethin' you'll regret later. Understand?"
He got the gist of it — nothing more needed to be said and he really didn't want to hear Jack elaborate. He replied dryly, "Yes, Dad."

Jack placed a hand on his shoulder. When his mom walked in, she and Jack headed off to bed, leaving Lucas and Persephone alone. He went back into the living room, peering over the couch to see her sitting on the floor in front of it, phone in hand. Staying casual, he sat beside her, peering out of the corner of his eye to see who she was texting. As long as it wasn't Oliver, he would be happy.

She seemed to notice him looking. "Texting my dad. Says he worked late today. I doubt that, but whatever."

He waited for her to finish, which she did soon after, and from there he didn't know what to do. Part of him wanted to leave her to her own devices but another part of him smelled her perfume, or body wash, or shampoo — just her in general, and that part of him begged to stay. Her stomach then rumbled very loud.

"Fuckin' starving," she said. "Got any snacks?"

Soon, chips were spread before them — one just plain potato, the other tortilla chips paired with some leftover salsa. It had been all he could scrounge up from the pantries, but she didn't seem to mind and dug right in before her phone went off. She groaned when she checked it.

He asked, "What?"
"It's fucking Oliver. Again."
He tensed but tried to sound casual. "What's he want?"
She read the text out loud in a deep, dopey voice. "'ey girl w-y-d'." Then back to normal. "He always texts me that whenever he's trying to get me to talk to him. Then he'll wind up inviting me over or some shit."
"Have you...?"
Persephone looked at him with deeply furrowed brows, but then laughed. "You're joking, right?"
"Y-yeah, jokin'." He felt his face heat up. What a stupid question. If he could punch himself in the face, he would.

She didn't respond to Oliver (which filled Lucas with an odd kind of pride) and instead put her phone away.

Then she looked him over, particularly his hoodie, and abruptly asked, "You comfy in that wet jacket?"
He'd only become aware that his hoodie hung cold and wet on his skin right then. It definitely wasn't comfy. "Guess I should at least hang it up t' dry."

He pulled it off and tossed it over the back of the couch. He did wear a grey sleeveless shirt underneath it, yet once the hoodie came off, a chill rolled across his skin, making him vulnerable and naked. He took notice of her gaze upon him, eyes he thought judged him, eyes that made him want to recoil. His first thought was that she feared him — after all, most people seemed to instinctively be fearful, instinctively knowing he's fucked up — but as he looked deeper at her, he saw something different in her eyes. Something else.

She glanced to his discarded hoodie, a thoughtfulness in her gaze, then back to him. "So what's the 'LCS' stand for?"
"Uh..." Here comes the rejection. Though he pleaded for his brain to come up with a lie, he knew nothing would work. Every scenario in those brief few moments had him tripping on details. The complicated, intertwined story couldn't be spun into anything but the truth. His heart jumped at his own words, "Louisiana Correctional Services. Long story."
"We got nothing but time," she said, going for the chips and salsa next. "If you wanna tell."

Did he? Her questioning took him off-guard. God, was she something — smart, inquisitive, and way too damn pretty for Dulvey. Before his rational brain warned him to stop, the story came spilling out.

"Got involved in a big brawl 'bout two years ago — wasn't the first time but it was the time our principal didn' take so kindly to it, prolly 'cuz I wound up pullin' a knife. Hit one of the guys over the head with the hilt, put 'im in the hospital, n' got charged with assault with a deadly weapon n' some other bullshit. They didn' care who started the fight — pretty sure I was the only one that went to juvie fer it. Was there fer a year, got held back to do some stupid special education classes, n' I been on parole ever since. Once I graduate, I'll fin'lly be free. Of parole and high school, thank God."

"Damn, sounds crazy."
His heart skipped a beat. Please, please mean the situation and not him.
She added, "That's fucked they didn't care about the other people involved. Singling you out like that. Who were the other guys?"
"Jackasses. You know the kind, ya met one of 'em."
"Oliver." She rolled her eyes.
"Yep. He's always the one who starts it. I just try n' stay away from 'im. If I could, I'd kick his ass, but now that I'm eighteen, a parole violation can land me straight in prison. Glad he's an idiot, 'cuz I know we'll be goin' to differ'nt colleges n' I fin'lly won' hafta look at his stupid fuckin' face any more."
"Was he the one you put in the hospital?"
"Nah, I wish."
"What's the deal with you and him anyway?"
"He's an asshole. Been houndin' me since we were kids. Didn' help none that Momma took me t' therapy n' shit — that kind a' thing gets around, ya know."
"Therapy?"
"Yeah, stupid bullshit. Guess she was hopin' I could go on meds n' have it be done n' over, but they told me medicine couldn't 'fix' my brain." He sneered, roughly grabbing a handful of chips and breaking them in his fist over the bowl in an attempt to release some of his aggression. "'Pparently I've got—" air quotes, "—'antisocial personality disorder'. Guess it explained a lot but damn did that spread. People were callin' me a psychopath but Oliver's the one who coined Crazy Lucas. That's what pretty much the whole school calls me now. Been like that ever since I was a kid. They like it when I can hear 'em talkin' 'bout me, tryin' t' get me t' snap n' get sent away again — sometimes they make me so angry I'd like to—"

He stopped. He'd almost said something apt for Crazy Lucas, almost gave Pers a reason to believe everything people said about him. He turned slightly away from her, gaze dropping. Why the fuck did he care anyway? What she thought about him didn't matter, or shouldn't matter, but he couldn't meet her eye. Not after he almost spoke of one of his crazy fantasies. He glared at the floor between his legs, and sat in silence. Her lack of response frightened him and a pit clumped in his stomach. She hated him. No way she didn't — he couldn't blame her.

His heart jumped when her hand touched his shoulder, more skin-to-skin contact that electrified and surprised him. All of his attention held on her words.

"I went to therapy, too. After my aunt died. She was the one who took care of me whenever my dumbass mom was too drunk. Sometimes, I would call her Mom instead. But when I found out she'd been stabbed out in the city, I... Didn't feel anything. I knew I should have, and it worried me, so I told my dad and he suggested therapy. I think he just wanted to 'fix' me, too. My therapists said I was a misanthrope, nihilistic, and a whole bunch of other unofficial terms — that my lack of compassion is a defense mechanism so I don't get close to people, or care about them. Ever since my aunt, I haven't felt anything for people, outside of frustration and contempt. But I'd get angry and upset hearing about a dog that's been abused or how animals are killed in a slaughterhouse. It would make me feel something that humans couldn't anymore. But, you know, for all the things I don't give a fuck about and for all the times my therapists said I might never care... I do. I care about you."
Lucas looked in her direction, still avoiding her gaze.
"My point is, you're more than what people say you are."

Something built up in his chest. What the feeling was, he didn't know, but it made him want to be close to her. He fought hard against it, but how long could he? When he finally looked into her dark brown eyes, she made it so difficult to fight. He tried to remember the rumors, the possibility of rejection, but her understanding and beautiful smile took control of him, of his arms, making him reach out and pull her into a hug. Her words went through his mind over and over as he held her. She held him, too, somehow. Though he didn't understand — probably could never understand — why she'd want to, her arms held him tight, filling him with warmth. He wanted to stay like that; all night, maybe all weekend, with her hair tickling his face and her soft body against him.

He nuzzled into her hair and kissed her head, then kissed her cheek. It escalated until he pressed into her and laid her across the floor, their lips locked. In that moment, all his worry and hesitation disappeared. It almost didn't feel real but she was definitely kissing him back. Her hands explored his chest and back, her touches urging him to continue. She clearly didn't care about their classmates or the rumors or any of the bullshit, and he started not to, either. None of it mattered. Only Pers mattered, her and her soft lips.

He wasn't sure how long they'd been kissing as all time stopped for him for a while. She wound up the first to break their kiss, leaving his mind and body begging for more.

"Lucas, I think we should slow down," she said, gently pushing him off by his chest.
He backed away, a bit breathless. "Yeah. Yeah, yer right."
She sat up and kissed his cheek. "We can pick this up some other time, though."

For the rest of the night, they cuddled on the sofa, as if things couldn't have ended more perfectly. They wrapped themselves up in a warm blanket, random animal channel on the television in the background. She held him. Her head rested across his chest as he reclined against the couch cushions. His arm wrapped around her waist. He felt her falling asleep — her hand had been caressing his chest through his shirt, but her movements slowed and her breathing deepened. To have her fall asleep in his arms... What an amazing feeling.

Everything that had happened that night played through his mind (he had to hold back laughing when he recalled her vomit story and the look on his mother's face from it). The memories lingered as an endless loop that he could've replayed forever. But he did stop his memory reel to consider their future. She believed in him as no one else had. "You're more than what people say you are." He would make good by her words.


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