part b of Summer Story part 18
1/16/05 12:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyI'm having a giggle attack for some reason-I feel like an idiot posting this thing-- don't ask me why!
Anyway, here's the first part to this-- Part 18-a
and here's part b
Summer Story
“Jesus,” Charlie muttered and pulled slowly over to the side of the road and got out of the car. Whit turned and slid his legs out when Charlie opened his door and reached for his belt, but Charlie yanked him out instead. Whit found himself slammed against the car, blinking in the bright sun and…frightened.
What--what was happening?. Charlie stepped in closer and grabbed his collar and Whit closed his eyes and felt his muscles give. His head dropped forward and he felt his chest constrict, he fought for air, knew the guy’s hand was close to his face, he felt it—he waited for the starburst of pain, he expected it—he knew it well. He wasn’t prepared for a stroke over his cheek, a hand cupping his chin.
“Open your eyes, Whitney,I'm not going to hurt you, okay? Please?”
He opened his eyes slowly and saw Charlie staring at him, agahast. “What the hell happened to you? What have you been through?” he asked and pity and horror colored his tone and then Whit felt the slow burn of anger.
“Get the fuck off me,” he rasped. Don’t touch me!”
“Whitney—Whit!” He looked stricken and he asked Whit, “What did you think I was going to do to you?”
Whit laughed a little. “Nothing, nothing bad,I--I just over-reacted Charlie. Just--nothing. It’s okay” He brushed the older boy’s hand off of him. “God—you act like something awful happened. It’s no big deal…. Can we get back in the car?”
Charlie nodded. “Buckle, okay? I don’t drive unless everyone’s buckled."
Whit agreed and Charlie put the car in drive, u-turned and headed back to Smallville.
“What,” Whit asked and jumped upright in his seat, “You’re throwing me back?” He tried to laugh, he felt panicky, his eyes were gritty and his throat was dry and his chest and gut were killing him—burning so bad and it was Charlie’s fault—superior son-of-a-bitch--- snob, bastard… “Hey—you don’t know what you’re missing, motherfucker--I can make you come so hard you’ll see stars! You’ll think you died and came back to life,” he was nearly shouting.
Charlie reached over and turned the radio down, “How about we just get burgers first, okay?” he said mildly.
Whit smacked his head gainst the seat back, closed his eyes and just...shut up. He felt his face burning--he felt like an idiot. He wished he were dead so he wouldn’t ever have to think about his life again. He wouldn’t think about sometimes missing Wade, even after all that shit—he wouldn’t have to think about the Sam shaped hole burning in the middle of him—or just what a fucking whore he was.
“Hey, hey,” he heard. “Let’s just start over, okay? I know I can be overpowering what with my enormous sex appeal; I’ve learned to live with it. It’s such a burden,” he sighed theatrically. And Whit laughed, more from shock than actual amusement, but laughing felt good.
Charlie smiled and said, “Good, that’s a step. Food first, movies next—and we’re going to have an everyday average Smallville night, what do you say?”
Whit said, “Great- fine, better than. An average night sounds good.” The closest I’ve ever had to an average night, I was fucking my friend, he thought. What an asshole I am….
Charlie’s voice was kind, and soft. “You really need to stop doing that—that disappearing act.”
Whit nodded, “yeah, I know, I know…”
Over burgers and greasy fires and too thick shakes at a retro styled diner outside of Smallville, Whit explained as much as he could to Charlie about his life, and what happened. He got angry, because no matter how he tried to downplay it, it ended up sounding overly dramatic and he hated that—he didn’t want Charlie to think he was whining, playing for sympathy-- but it’d be nice to get some –
He’d told him Clark and Lex, about Wade--and an extremely altered version of his death. Charlie got quieter as he talked about Wade and Whit trailed off because Charlie looked so—horrified. Shit, he’s freaked by this, damn. I sound like a freak--. He stopped and sighed. “That’s why I didn’t want to say anything—you know, before.”
The look Charlie gave him was sympathetic and serious, thoughtful. “Whitney. Do you… like men? Do you like sex, because--”
Whit opened his mouth, but Charlie pressed on. “Because it seems like Wade kind of made your choice for you, and anyone that shows you any kind of kindness, you screw. Is that what sex is to you, kid? Reward-- punishment? Because I hear you beating yourself up with it too.”
Whit got angry, “You don’t know what it’s like to be me. That’s all I have.” He dropped back against the seat back, feeling oddly drained and tired. The momentary flash of rage was gone, leaving him hollow. “What, burgers and psychoanalysis? Lucky, lucky me.”
Charlie glanced around the diner quickly, and reached over the table and grabbed Whit’s hand, squeezed and said, "I’m so fucking sorry- I really am.”
He didn’t say more. Whit shrugged and colored, “Yeah, what the fuck.” He didn’t move his hand, and Charlie squeezed again before letting go.
“You’re a pretty strong guy, Whitney. Hell—you’re hard-core--that’s a lot of stuff to go through and survive. You’ve done the best you could, I think. You can be proud--”
Whit laughed Proud? Strong? "Yeah, look at me all strong and whining like a little bitch.”
Charlie smiled. “Hell, yes, you’re brave. You’re here aren’t you? Still standing, still breathing. That’s a hell of a lot. Give yourself credit for getting out of bed in the morning.” He leaned closer and spoke softly. “And I think there’s a Whitney in there who still believes in love.” He leaned back and was silent, his blue eyes sparkling as if he’d told Whit a wonderful secret.
Whit looked at him, looked at his face, searched his eyes for any sign he wasn’t what he appeared to be...a decent guy, a nice guy. He looked open and honest, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. Okay—not a saint thank god—but a decent guy. Whit nodded. Okay. Good.
TBC in part c
Anyway, here's the first part to this-- Part 18-a
and here's part b
Summer Story
“Jesus,” Charlie muttered and pulled slowly over to the side of the road and got out of the car. Whit turned and slid his legs out when Charlie opened his door and reached for his belt, but Charlie yanked him out instead. Whit found himself slammed against the car, blinking in the bright sun and…frightened.
What--what was happening?. Charlie stepped in closer and grabbed his collar and Whit closed his eyes and felt his muscles give. His head dropped forward and he felt his chest constrict, he fought for air, knew the guy’s hand was close to his face, he felt it—he waited for the starburst of pain, he expected it—he knew it well. He wasn’t prepared for a stroke over his cheek, a hand cupping his chin.
“Open your eyes, Whitney,I'm not going to hurt you, okay? Please?”
He opened his eyes slowly and saw Charlie staring at him, agahast. “What the hell happened to you? What have you been through?” he asked and pity and horror colored his tone and then Whit felt the slow burn of anger.
“Get the fuck off me,” he rasped. Don’t touch me!”
“Whitney—Whit!” He looked stricken and he asked Whit, “What did you think I was going to do to you?”
Whit laughed a little. “Nothing, nothing bad,I--I just over-reacted Charlie. Just--nothing. It’s okay” He brushed the older boy’s hand off of him. “God—you act like something awful happened. It’s no big deal…. Can we get back in the car?”
Charlie nodded. “Buckle, okay? I don’t drive unless everyone’s buckled."
Whit agreed and Charlie put the car in drive, u-turned and headed back to Smallville.
“What,” Whit asked and jumped upright in his seat, “You’re throwing me back?” He tried to laugh, he felt panicky, his eyes were gritty and his throat was dry and his chest and gut were killing him—burning so bad and it was Charlie’s fault—superior son-of-a-bitch--- snob, bastard… “Hey—you don’t know what you’re missing, motherfucker--I can make you come so hard you’ll see stars! You’ll think you died and came back to life,” he was nearly shouting.
Charlie reached over and turned the radio down, “How about we just get burgers first, okay?” he said mildly.
Whit smacked his head gainst the seat back, closed his eyes and just...shut up. He felt his face burning--he felt like an idiot. He wished he were dead so he wouldn’t ever have to think about his life again. He wouldn’t think about sometimes missing Wade, even after all that shit—he wouldn’t have to think about the Sam shaped hole burning in the middle of him—or just what a fucking whore he was.
“Hey, hey,” he heard. “Let’s just start over, okay? I know I can be overpowering what with my enormous sex appeal; I’ve learned to live with it. It’s such a burden,” he sighed theatrically. And Whit laughed, more from shock than actual amusement, but laughing felt good.
Charlie smiled and said, “Good, that’s a step. Food first, movies next—and we’re going to have an everyday average Smallville night, what do you say?”
Whit said, “Great- fine, better than. An average night sounds good.” The closest I’ve ever had to an average night, I was fucking my friend, he thought. What an asshole I am….
Charlie’s voice was kind, and soft. “You really need to stop doing that—that disappearing act.”
Whit nodded, “yeah, I know, I know…”
Over burgers and greasy fires and too thick shakes at a retro styled diner outside of Smallville, Whit explained as much as he could to Charlie about his life, and what happened. He got angry, because no matter how he tried to downplay it, it ended up sounding overly dramatic and he hated that—he didn’t want Charlie to think he was whining, playing for sympathy-- but it’d be nice to get some –
He’d told him Clark and Lex, about Wade--and an extremely altered version of his death. Charlie got quieter as he talked about Wade and Whit trailed off because Charlie looked so—horrified. Shit, he’s freaked by this, damn. I sound like a freak--. He stopped and sighed. “That’s why I didn’t want to say anything—you know, before.”
The look Charlie gave him was sympathetic and serious, thoughtful. “Whitney. Do you… like men? Do you like sex, because--”
Whit opened his mouth, but Charlie pressed on. “Because it seems like Wade kind of made your choice for you, and anyone that shows you any kind of kindness, you screw. Is that what sex is to you, kid? Reward-- punishment? Because I hear you beating yourself up with it too.”
Whit got angry, “You don’t know what it’s like to be me. That’s all I have.” He dropped back against the seat back, feeling oddly drained and tired. The momentary flash of rage was gone, leaving him hollow. “What, burgers and psychoanalysis? Lucky, lucky me.”
Charlie glanced around the diner quickly, and reached over the table and grabbed Whit’s hand, squeezed and said, "I’m so fucking sorry- I really am.”
He didn’t say more. Whit shrugged and colored, “Yeah, what the fuck.” He didn’t move his hand, and Charlie squeezed again before letting go.
“You’re a pretty strong guy, Whitney. Hell—you’re hard-core--that’s a lot of stuff to go through and survive. You’ve done the best you could, I think. You can be proud--”
Whit laughed Proud? Strong? "Yeah, look at me all strong and whining like a little bitch.”
Charlie smiled. “Hell, yes, you’re brave. You’re here aren’t you? Still standing, still breathing. That’s a hell of a lot. Give yourself credit for getting out of bed in the morning.” He leaned closer and spoke softly. “And I think there’s a Whitney in there who still believes in love.” He leaned back and was silent, his blue eyes sparkling as if he’d told Whit a wonderful secret.
Whit looked at him, looked at his face, searched his eyes for any sign he wasn’t what he appeared to be...a decent guy, a nice guy. He looked open and honest, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. Okay—not a saint thank god—but a decent guy. Whit nodded. Okay. Good.
TBC in part c
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
1/16/05 07:19 am (UTC)I don't see a future for him and Whit; Charlie is just way too clean. But it will be good for Whit to be around someone nice and normal for a change.
I don't know, though, roxy. You may surprise me and create a future for them. :)
Whitney? THERAPY!!!!!! NOW!!!!!! *hugs Whit and drives him to the therapist's office*
(no subject)
1/16/05 07:50 am (UTC)Whitney? THERAPY!!!!!! NOW!!!!!!
Oh, yeah...