The Lost Angel [BxB]

maximiliano

The radiance which was once so bright be now forever taken from my sight.

'Intimations of Immortality'
[William Wordsworth]

♡ ♡ ♡

21: MAXIMILIANO

They were each wearing a pair of bright yellow rubber gloves as they knelt down beside the body, too afraid to do anything. The saw was still in Lalo's hands, his grip tightening around the wooden handle. He gulped, and raised his eyes to meet Rory's, "D-Did you wanna...?"

Rory quickly shook his head, "I-I can't." He chocked on his own words.

"Well, neither can I." Lalo protested, "I don't even know where to start."

Rory took a deep breath, "Start here." He gestured to Julien's elbow, "Th-The pieces need to be small enough to fit in our bags."

"Fuck." Lalo muttered, pressing the jagged edge of the blade up to Julien's cold flesh, just above his left elbow. It took everything in his willpower to do it, and with blurry eyes and heavy breaths, he started pulling the blade back and forth until it tore into the skin.

It took almost two hours, and they swapped the saw after each body part. They were covered from head to toe in thick sticky crimson blood. It had sprayed onto their faces, tangled into their hair, soaked through their clothing, and dried onto their skin. All they saw was red.

"Are you okay?" Rory asked quietly, once they had finished bagging up the last of Julien's body. They were sitting in a puddle of blood on the floor, next to ten tightly wrapped bins bags.

Lalo wasn't okay. He had just cut up half of a human body, and watched as Rory cut up the other half. He would never forget the feeling of the saw cutting into flesh, the colour of the blood rushing from Julien's body, or the look on Rory's pale face as he secured the bags shut. "I'm okay." He whispered back. "W-We should start cleaning."

It took far longer than they were expecting. With buckets of soapy water, and cloths stained red, they scrubbed the floor on their hands and knees. Sweat clung to their foreheads, and the blood on their skin had dried and cracked. "Do you think my parents will smell the bleach?" Rory asked as he wiped his face with the back of his sleeve and accidentally smeared even more blood onto his cheek, "Shit." He muttered when he noticed what he'd done.

"I don't know." Lalo answered. The strong aroma of bleach and chemicals lingered stubbornly in the air, though at least it was better than the repulsive smell of a dead body that was ever so slowly rotting away. "I think we'll be fine. The smell will hopefully go in a few days."

Rory nodded in acknowledgement as he scraped at a fleck of congealed blood which had hardened between the cracks in the tiles. "I-I never thought I'd be in this position...covering up a murder..." He sighed, readjusting his rubber gloves.

Lalo glanced up at him. Rory was wearing a tight shirt, and with all the blood, sweat, and soapy water, the wet fabric was sculpting his abs. Lalo knew that this wasn't the time to fantasise about Rory's biceps, or tanned arms, or the way the muscles clenched as he rubbed the floor with his sponge. But he couldn't help it. "Of course you've never thought about doing this." He finally replied, after a moment's hesitation.

Rory rose his brows, "Have you?"

Lalo shrugged and averted his eyes back to the floor, "I grew up in a shitty neighbourhood, joined a gang when I was fifteen, and later killed a guy." He said simply. "Of course I've thought about it. And of course, you haven't. Not in that ivory tower of yours."

"You think I grew up in an ivory tower?"

"Didn't you?" Lalo challenged lightly. "You went to a private boarding school, spent your summers on the French coast, and have a Mother who calls you 'darling' and 'sweetheart'." He scoffed, "You wouldn't last five minutes at my old group home, let alone out on the streets. You're rich, you're white, you're privileged. And the worst part is, you don't even know it."

Rory stared back at him incredulously, "Fucking hell, Lalo, you make me out to be a snobby, pretentious wanker." He replied, "I know I'm privileged, okay?"

"So, what are you gonna do about it?"

"Go to protests, and donate what I can to charity. I already do that. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Lalo shook his head, "You can judge me if you want, Rory. I've made mistakes, I've fucked up, and I can't seem to stop fucking up. I've said I'm sorry, and maybe that's not enough for you, but until you've lived the life I have, you will never fully understand." He sighed, "I didn't want to lie to you."

Rory kneeled back and sat cross legged, dropping his sponge, "Why Chicago?"

"What?"

Rory, though splattered in the leftovers of a dead man, appeared relaxed; as though enquiring into Lalo's past was more important than clearing up the mess he had created. "Why did you choose Chicago?"

Lalo looked down at his arms, resisting the urge to scratch the blood off, knowing that it would do no good so long as he was wearing the dirty rubber gloves. "I always wanted to go." He shrugged. But there was more to it than that. "And...uh, I had this girlfriend, believe it or not..."

Rory almost laughed. "For real?"

"I know. Unbelievable." He hummed in response. "But I was thirteen. We lasted all of two months and never did more than kiss. Anyway..." He cleared his throat. "She gave me this CD." He continued, smiling at the bittersweet memory.

"A CD?" Rory asked sceptically.

Lalo nodded, "I played the fuck out of that thing — annoyed all the other kids, who couldn't stand hearing the same twenty six songs on repeat." He wasn't a sentimental person. He had lost everything at such a young age and his thirteen year old brain wasn't capable of caring about anything material. But that one CD had meant a lot to him. It was the only thing keeping him anchored to reality. "The album was called 'Illinois'..."

"No shit." Rory almost laughed again. Almost. If it wasn't for the pile of body parts, and the mess of blood, he probably would have done. "I listened to that album all the time when I was a teenager."

"Really?" Lalo replied. For a second, it felt as though they were having a normal conversation. No trauma, no betrayals, no mess. Just two boys falling in love all over again. But then he remembered. "I'm pretty sure everyone who listened to Sufjan Stevens as a kid is gay now, so thanks for confirming my theory."

Rory rolled his eyes, then leant down to continue smothering the tiled surfaces in bleach, "So, your fake backstory revolved around an album?"

"Kinda." Lalo admitted, "But that was only a location. The name...well, I didn't want to scrap it completely, so I changed it to my middle name. Eladio."

Rory bit his lip in contemplation, "What was your real name again?"

"Maximiliano. I hate it." He said. "Everyone just called me Maxi."

"Should I...?" Rory was dangling on the edge of uncertainty, "Should I start calling you Maxi?"

Lalo shook his head, "No. I fucking hated Maxi. And until everything became super messed up, I really liked Lalo." He explained simply, "And anyway, I left Maxi back in New Mexico. He doesn't exist anymore."

They continued cleaning in silence. After hours of aching limbs and sore backs, they were finally finished. The tiles were practically sparkling clean, and not a single drop of blood could be seen anywhere, aside from the two boys who were still stained red from head to toe. Every cloth they used, each sponge that was soaked through, and the two pairs of yellow gloves, were all thrown into another plastic bag, to be burnt with their clothes.

After pouring the buckets of soapy water, now twirling with cloudy red liquid, down the sink, Lalo glanced up at Rory, "Let's shower. Then we'll start up the bonfire."

Rory nodded gratefully, "Finally."