Laith's Friday
I act like I don't fucking care
'Cause I'm so fucking scared
-- blackbear, idfc
Emily’s voice still echoed in the back of his mind, a piercing reminder of his depravity. Blocking her had been a bad idea, but undoing it had been a much worse one. She was his haven, after all, his rock; he didn’t know what to do without her. He was lost. Hence the call, heart pulverizing his ribs, cold sweat on his forehead.
He should’ve known she’d bring up him blocking her and how upset that had made her, or actually, how angry it’d made her, but the segue into his friendship with Theo wasn’t something he would’ve ever predicted.
Can’t you see you’re hurting him? I don’t understand why you’d do that.
His throat ached, shoulders hacking a path through the crowd. He’d never meant to hurt him. Jesus Christ, he loved him, but he hadn’t told her that. That word was still stuck in his throat, a hatchet in his neck.
You know how innocent he is. Why would you use him like that?
The world trembled, unstable—he’d been too drunk to stop himself, that was what he’d told her. Too drunk. The sarcasm in her laugh had cut through him like a knife. You’re always too drunk to take responsibility for the stupid shit you do. No, no. Truth was, he didn’t regret it at all, and that was what killed him the most. If he could, he’d rip his own heart out.
This wasn’t the first time he’d wanted to do it.
His feet swayed, body falling against the strangers in his vicinity, hands pushing them out of the way. His wrist stung with every movement, burning like fire—a sensation he hadn’t felt in three years. Three years! He was pathetic.
Breaking from the crowd, he turned into the empty hallway that led to Burman’s office. The guards that sat by the door jeered and laughed, but he didn’t listen to a single word they said. Not so much out of indifference, as much as his brain just couldn’t focus on more than one thing at a time; their voices were background noise in his mind. He very carefully punched in the code, pressed his finger against the reader and walked in.
The stairway leading up was dark and empty, so he followed the hallway on the right instead, past the bathroom door, into the curve. It led to another door, this time with a peephole in the center and a number pad that probably didn’t open with the same password he’d just used. He approached it awkwardly, unable to see straight, peephole trembling before him. His fist knocked twice.
In the silence that followed, he thought of what to say. The truth was too depressing, that he had absolutely no one left and was terrified of what he’d do to himself if he were alone for another minute, so he’d have to come up with something else. That he missed her? No, too weird; inappropriate, even. That they needed to talk? Okay, about what? Work? What was so important that he’d need to show up at her place after hours?
The lie promptly fell flat. He sucked at this.
Burman pulled the door open with a surprised look on her face. A long, pink robe with feathers all over the collar swallowed her neck, like three boas attached to a piece of see-through fabric. Feathers also spilled from her wrists and pooled at her feet. In one hand, she carried a half-eaten fruit bowl, while the other was hidden behind the door.
They stared at each other. It was clear he’d caught her in the comfort of her own home, busy with herself—he shouldn’t be here. He wanted to apologize and leave, but she was his only chance of staying alive right now. Swallowing hard, he parted his lips to speak, unable to form a single sentence. I’m sorry? Good evening? Can you talk? Nothing felt right.
Thankfully, she took a step back and let him come in, no explanations necessary. It must be all the tears that kept falling down his face. Feeling extremely unbecoming, he took two steps into her home, shoulders raised, hands closed into fists.
“I was just about to watch the Bachelorette.” Her voice was welcoming as she closed the door. “If you come into the kitchen, I’ll get you a bowl and you can watch it with me.”
Without waiting for an answer, Burman turned and walked off, slippers slapping the tiles.
He already knew that whatever happened between them here would be strange; he just didn’t know what that would look like coming from her. She still hadn’t confronted him about anything or kicked him out—was this invitation a net positive? He couldn’t even tell, unsure how to feel about it. The only thing he could feel was fucking awkward.
Obviously, if they were anything closer than two people who shared a contract, this wouldn’t be so weird, but they weren’t; she was under no obligation to be kind to him and he had absolutely no business being in her home. She’d never seemed very interested in changing this dynamic either; sometimes, they’d run into each other at the Unicorn Rave and chat for a bit, or she’d chat with his friends, but it’d always felt like more of a checkup than an attempt at friendship. They were very distant, the boss and the employee, bound by letters on a page and nothing more, so this already felt like a breach of contract.
Still, he followed her across the foyer.
While he’d never been in her home before, this was not what he’d expected; the floors were very shiny and fancy-looking, there were pictures on the walls and decorations on accent tables, and very beautiful light fixtures that he had no idea what to call hung from the ceiling. Some looked like spotlights, shining down on specific areas or objects, while others came down on a wire to hang low over a surface, like one of the lights in his apartment, his favorite. Surprisingly, the foyer was not red; Burman’s home had white lights installed.
The kitchen was just as fancy as the room before, setting a precedence for the rest of the place. Marble counters lined two of the walls and also formed an island in the middle, oval, where some stools were located. Burman set her bowl down before going over to the fridge, which looked more like a mirror with a TV screen on one of the doors. She took out a plastic cup full of fruit and placed its contents into a new bowl, twin to the one she’d been using. With the fridge and overhead cabinets neatly closed, she came over to the island and set the bowl in front of him.
“I like granola in mine, but I know that’s an acquired taste.” She took a seat on one of the stools. It creaked under her weight, and for a moment, Laith pictured her toppling over, but nothing happened, of course. She was big, not clumsy. “Now tell me what’s going on with you.”
Well, there it was. He couldn’t just come here and not expect that question to come up. The only surprise was that she hadn’t brought it up before.
His heart jumped. “Well.”
Man, where to even start?
As he thought this over, Burman simply went back to her fruit bowl, playing up disinterest. His anxiety was obvious, and after working with him for so long, she knew that drawing attention to it wouldn’t make things easier.
He breathed in slowly. “I have a lot going on right now.”
That wasn’t the full picture, but it was a start. It got a brief glance from her, and as soon as she looked back at her bowl, he continued.
“What the Crow asked from me—what he made me do—I’m afraid he’ll figure me out, that he’ll learn of my involvement with his family and—and I don’t know. Kill me.”
Burman practically rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. He might hurt you, but he’s not going to kill you.”
“Can you promise me that? ‘Cause it really feels that way sometimes. He really fucking hates me.”
“What you need to understand is that both of you are on the same side. There’s no reason for him to antagonize you, so don’t give him one. Just do what he asks—earn his trust—and you’ll be fine.”
“What if he figures me out?”
“How? You’re his source of information. Twist the facts, change some details; do what you did earlier and keep yourself out of the picture. It was a good move.”
Hearing that lifted a good amount of weight from his shoulders, but not all. It was just enough reassurance for him to pull on the stool next to her, so the distance between them would be greater, and take a seat. “I’m also, uh—I also know his other son, Theo. Theodore. He’s, um, we—we have something going on and well. Uh.” His throat closed, heart racing again. “I’m kind of disgusting—to him, I mean. I’ve been acting like a creep lately.”
A thin eyebrow raised at him. “Are you stalking the man?”
“No, we keep running into each other and he… has… a crush on me. So.” His hands motioned vaguely. “I slept with him. I used him, I think. He’s—he’s really young.”
“How young?”
“Eighteen.”
Burman exhaled, shoulders loosening up. “You son of a bitch, you scared me. Goddammit.” Shaking her head, she turned back to her bowl. That reaction pushed him to keep on talking, to explain his apprehension and everybody else’s distaste over his involvement with Theo.
“He’s really sheltered, you know. He’s one of those rich kids that have no life experience with anything. I feel like—like I shouldn’t have done what I did.”
“Did he want it?”
His face sweltered. “Yeah, but…”
“But what?”
“I don’t know. I was really drunk—I was drunk every time—and I feel like… I just feel like a jackass.”
“You—” Burman scowled. “You’re telling me this happened multiple times, that he wanted it and that you were piss drunk every time. Are you sure he’s not the one taking advantage of you? He’s an adult, you know. These rich and sheltered types know exactly what they’re doing.”
His body leaned back with a huff, elbow resting on the counter. “I have an entire group of people giving me shit for that, so obviously, what I did was wrong.”
“Then tell me what’s wrong with that.”
They held the stare. Suddenly, his mind drew the biggest blank he’d ever experienced.
“I just told you why it was wrong,” he bluffed.
“How old were you when you lost your virginity?”
His throat closed, gaze dropping—no, they weren’t getting into this. He understood her point perfectly well.
“Here, I’ll tell you what’s wrong,” she continued. “This group that’s persecuting you—is one of those people Ryan?”
Nothing left him. Honestly, he was still kind of reeling from her previous question, trying not to let himself get pulled too far into it. The mere possibility he’d continued the cycle of abuse with Theo, that he’d passed those awful memories onto him was too upsetting to even consider.
“What’s wrong is that Ryan doesn’t want you getting with his brother. It’s simple etiquette, Shark—no one likes to see their friend with their sibling. It’s not wrong; it’s just unpalatable.”
That brought Tae-hwan to mind, back when he was with Qasim. The way they’d looked at each other then, the way they’d talked when no one was around… Hanging out with them had quickly become uncomfortable; he’d felt like a third wheel every time, when all he’d wanted was to hang out with his brother and his best friend the way they’d always done. Ryan clearly felt the same, even if a relationship never existed; it was the principle that his friend and his brother shared something without him, that they spent time in private, creating a world that he wasn’t a part of.
Laith got that, but the persecution against him felt much worse, like he’d committed an actual crime. If Ryan just didn’t want him hanging out with Theo because it made things weird, then why was Laith being accused of so much more than that? The stuff they’d been saying about him made him feel absolutely worthless, the scum of the fucking Earth.
“C’mon, the show’s about to start.” Taking her bowl, Burman got up from the stool.
***
Sharing a couch with her seemed strange. Wrong even, as if he were actively pushing the boundaries established by their contract, so he decided against it. He sat on the fuzzy pink rug instead and leaned his back on the couch, two seats away. That helped him feel better about it, because at least they weren’t on the same level. She didn’t bat an eye at it, stretching her legs across the L of the couch—this was for him.
In silence, he picked up the fork and started on the bowl. As soon as the first piece of fruit met his mouth, he realized just how hungry he really was; he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d eaten. Oh god, this was a relapse. Only a couple of hours ago, he’d sworn up and down he wasn’t relapsing, that the blade just helped take some of the edge off, but there was no denying it now.
No, he was okay; this wasn’t an episode, just a particularly bad time in his life. The situation with the Crow didn’t help and calling Emily certainly hadn’t helped either; what had happened earlier was just a culmination of some very specific events. He was fine. He’d be fine.
Shaking, he ate every piece of fruit in the bowl, even the ones he didn’t like. It all tasted delicious.
***
Three episodes into someone’s dream life, surrounded by handsome men eager to please them, Burman got a call. She answered it without taking her eyes off the screen, speaking in a monotone, disinterested. At one point, her voice changed to display bewilderment, but only for a moment. That was when he began listening into the conversation, just long enough to catch her promising to do what she could before hanging up. She glanced at him with an eyebrow raised. “The Crow just asked me for your number.”
His heart stopped. “Why?”
“I don’t know.” She typed on her phone. “I didn’t ask,” she added.
He watched her in silence, terrified—why did the Crow want his fucking number? Had he finally figured it all out? His mind replayed the encounter with the dogs, blood running cold.
A sound coming from his phone pulled a sidelong glance from her.
“Must be him,” she coolly noted.
Reluctantly, he swiped over the unknown number and brought the phone close to his ear. “Yeah?”
“Are you free tomorrow?” There was no discernible emotion in the Crow’s voice, a brick wall. This was definitely him, though.
“I don’t work over the weekend.”
“Now you’re going to. I need to meet up tomorrow night. I’ll text you the address.” With that, the Crow disconnected.
His heart raced, lungs unable to breathe. “Okay, this is it. He’s gonna do it there.”
“Do what?”
“Kill me.”
Burman scoffed.
The address sent to him was suspicious. He knew where it was, but looked it up just in case; the abandoned gas station near the furthest entrance from town, the one where Justin had dropped him off last week. That area was known as N/A, since the entrance didn’t have a name. The address came with instructions.
This gas station is out of order. Be there before 8 p.m. Get high and drunk and dress like a freak before coming. Wear the leather jacket from the other day. Act threatening.
The fact the Crow wanted to meet up above ground at an abandoned place already raised enough red flags for him to distrust it. That’d be his resting place, away from town, a deserted area.
Wait, why wouldn’t the Crow just kill him underground? He had a lot more resources down here. Also, what did drugs and alcohol have to do with it? Unless the Crow was planning to fuck him behind an old pump, he probably shouldn’t numb his senses. If a struggle were to break out, he’d like to be able to defend himself. He was big and could probably take the Crow on, but not the dogs, who would obviously be there. He’d need all kinds of sobriety to fight them all off. What did Qasim’s jacket have to do with it, though? Everything about this was just so strange.
Come alone.
That was the last message the Crow sent before blocking his number. Okay, so he was definitely going to die.
“He just told me to go to N/A by myself.”
“And?”
He turned to look at her. “He’s going to kill me, boss.”
“You’re so dramatic. I’m sure he just wants to talk.”
“He’d come down if that was the case.”
“Apparently not.”
He didn’t trust that. He didn’t trust it at all. No part of it was even remotely safe, but still he knew he’d be there a good half hour before eight. He’d never been early for anything in his life, but he’d be early for his funeral.
In reality, the Crow was probably just testing him again. The man was known for putting people—especially rats—through rigorous background checks and loyalty tests before trusting them, so that must be it. The good outcome, anyway. The bad one would find him getting beat into a pulp by Bert, Cole and Dustin, this time without holding back. The worst part of it was that, if he really did end up bleeding out in that gas station, no one would know he was gone. He’d only have the sky for company, stars that shone down on everyone. That was the reason he always wore the dog tags when doing business on the surface, in case his body ever ended up there.
To say this was unprovoked was factually incorrect and to say he hadn’t expected it would be thoroughly disingenuous. He’d put a hit on himself the moment he took Theo to the MOMA. He knew it’d be only a matter of time until the Crow got to him too.
“I’m gonna text you when I get there tomorrow. If I don’t text you again in an hour, I need you to come get me.”
“You or your corpse?”
“Yes. Just don’t let them throw me in an unmarked grave.”
Burman rolled her eyes.
“Boss.” The sincerity in his voice pulled her attention back on him, on the grave look there. “Thank you for tonight. You’ll never know how much it meant to me.”
Her eyes softened, and for a moment, he almost thought he saw the ghost of a smile on her lips.
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