Chapter Text
The whirr of Meemaw's car hummed in his ears as he braced against the backseat headrest. Barkovitch just wanted his junior year to be over. It was almost weird seeing the school parking lot so late, he usually beelined off school grounds as soon as the bell rang. The sun coated everything with a swirl of oranges and pinks, making the tips of the grass glow gold. Maybe if he just stared at it for a while, he could fall asleep before—
"Yknow im not mad at you, right son?" she peeked at her watch."I was supposed to be at my book club right now, but I'll always show up to stick up for you."
Gary licked at the drying blood under his nose, tasting the copper flat on his tongue. His nose had started bleeding again on their way out of the principal's office, and he hadn't bothered to wipe it off.
"I know."
"I know, who?"
"I know, Meemaw."
"Somebody oughta do somethin' about them boys, awful set of kids." Gary just hummed in response.
Meemaw angrily honked at the car overtaking her. "Spreading such downright awful lies, they ain't had no right to do what they did, Gary,"
That cocksucking group of assholes from his class decided it would be funny to say he was staring (which he fucking wasn't) at one of the guys during gym. Like he was some perverted faggot.
"Fucking sissy, he's crying cuz he wants yer dick in his mouth, Jerry!"
Gary dug deep into his scraped palms at the memory. Fucking Jerry wasn't even worth fucking perving on.
"I'm proud of you for standing your ground."
Standing his ground. Ha. He got his fucking ass handed to him. Could hardly call it a fight, only evidence of Gary's pushback being a red angry scratch on Jerry's arm, and he already heard those dicks whispering about him 'leaving his mark'. He was so fucked on Monday.
"People don't know what them terrible lies can do to people, just attacking someone's character like that. Thats how rumours start!" she said to him, like he didn't already know that.
He was called a fag for the first time when he was seven. He hadn't known that word then, but he recognised the laughter and disgust that came after. He had come to his mother after and saw the fear that flashed behind her eyes. She had hushed it off, told him it was nothing to worry about, but as he grew, he quickly learned otherwise. Before he understood what being gay meant, he understood that it was wrong. A horrible, perverse thing to be. That's what everyone drilled into him, especially it seemed. His father, the church elders, the boys at school, Meemaw, the ladies at the corner store, they never let him forget.
It always felt like he was being told off whenever his Sunday school talked of the dangers of homosexuality. Felt charged when Meemaw's hairdresser always tried to sit him in her chair and 'cut that darn hair off'. He knew why the other boys stopped talking to him once they hit middle school. Was generous to act like this was what it was going to take to start fucking rumours.
Gary had been tuning out Meemaw's rambling, her voice grating into his wounds like the loose gravel in the school parking lot.
"—You ain't no damn queer, they had no excuse to pick a fight! They just—"
"So if I was, it would be fine then? What they did?"
Gary doesn't know what overcame him, what could've possibly provoked him to say such a thing, but he cringed into himself as the words left his mouth. He knew it was the wrong thing to say the moment he said it.
Meemaw had fallen silent, mouth slightly ajar, her berry coloured lips quivering as she stared at him through the mirror. The ringing in his ears had come back.
"Well, you're not. So I don't gotta go about entertaining such goddamned nonsense," she was angry now, ringed fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly. "I-I-I raised you better than that, spent all your damn life raising you in that church—"
Gary felt his chest caving in, trying to smash into himself, trying to hide. "—Despite the faults your father had, I know he did too. Till the day he died, he made sure to try and raise you with morals and discipline—"
His eyes began to burn, the fresh bruise on his face crying out as he wrenched his eyes shut. She just kept going, the squeak of her squeezing the leather steering wheel screaming in his ears. Barkovitch doesn't remember how long she went for, but eventually she grew quiet, nothing but the sound of the wind blowing through the passenger window.
"Look at me, sonny." Stars began dancing behind his eyelids from how tightly they were held closed.
"Gary Barkovitch." When he peeled his eyes open, she was blurry past his welling tears.
Her face softened, left arm reaching back to hold his hand. "Don't let that crowd get to you, okay? I know it's hard hearing something from people for so long, but that doesn't mean it's true."
"You're not queer, Gary. Right?"
The boy nodded, staring down at his bruised knuckles.
This answer wasn't good enough. "Right?"
She was squeezing his hand so hard his knuckles creaked painfully. "Course, Meemaw."
She smiled at him, caressing the raw skin of his fingers. "Lets have a redo on today, yeah son? Only 16 once, right? I still owe you that birthday milkshake! How's Derry's sound?"
He didn't think he could stomach much of anything right now, but a no might start her up again. A chat with Mr Derry would keep her occupied.
"Real good, Meemaw."
—
It was six days till his birthday. Two days till Sunday. Two days till Meemaw comes home.
Ever since opening that letter, Gary had been trying to forget it, ignoring the gnawing at the back of his brain every time he saw the letter on his desk. Ignoring the nausea that came whenever he noticed fewer and fewer squares left for Harkness to cross off his calendar.
The week leading up to doomsday had been fucking terrible. He's woken up sweaty and frantic the last couple of days, awful dreams his brain wouldn't let him remember, only leaving the guilt permeating his bones.
Gary hasn't fucked Collie since last Thursday. It's not that he hasn't wanted to, at least on a base level, if the amount of times he's fucked his fist through tears said anything. Just something keeps whispering at him, fogging his brain whenever the man dared to dip below his jaw. It warned him, reminded him, no matter how careful the man was, no matter how well bruises faded, she could tell. You could tell. That thought would've had him glassy-eyed and breathless mere days ago, but now it sat heavy on his chest, cracking his ribs violently against the muscle of his organs, stealing his air through the punctures in his lungs.
Collie had been good about it, always coming off without a fight, but Gary could tell he was…confused. He couldn't blame him. He hadn't spoken a word about the visit beyond the date, and that was weeks ago. Despite how much space it took up in his mind, he couldn't make himself talk about it without feeling his stomach churn.
So the days continued, and Gary didn't fuck him. Avoided his dorm—the air there held too much of what they did before. Avoided his own bedroom—he didn't want to taint it further with what he knew he couldn't stop himself from wanting. Then it was avoiding him, every wrong, immoral, moreish thing he wanted to let him do. Every perverse thing that he wanted to do.
Gary hadn't kissed Collie in four days. He so badly wanted to. He couldn't let himself.
Every time he had the urge to lick at his teeth, he grit his own till his jaw hurt. He'd thought of him down his throat so many times this week, his tongue had ugly red lacerations from the points of his canines. He tried gripping at himself, palms pressed harshly against his arms, trying to replace the firm weight that Collie could always give him—but nothing, night after night through tears and silent wheezing into his pillow, nothing helped. Shit wouldnt even fucking bruise, just made his hands sore.
Now he stood in the doorway of his empty dorm, staring at long black hair and furrowed brows. Collie blinked away his visible worry, replacing it with a small smile. "Night."
Gary swallowed the lump in his throat. "Night."
They awkwardly stood there for a moment before Collie looked over his head, into the darkness of the room. "Can…I come in?"
"Oh—yeah. Course."
Gary turned to make room for the bigger man, dragging his feet against the carpet, when he felt solid hands wrap around his waist. He flinched, a small gasp leaving his mouth. Shit. He tried playing it off, leaning his head back into Collie's warm chest, hoping he didn't notice. The hands stilled for a moment. Gary knew he had.
"Baby," the pet name felt undeserved. What kinda of… fucking christ what had he been letting Collie call him? Collie didn't deserve this, god Gary couldn't even say it back—
"Are you okay?" He began peppering kisses on his nape, rubbing at his hips in soothing circles that had him leaning into the affection. It was the most he'd gotten, no, let himself have , in days, and each press of his lips mellowed prettily under his skin. He tried to keep his mind blank, let himself enjoy it. It wasn't too much—it was innocent, he could tell the difference by now. He squeezed his eye shut, trying so hard to chase away the gnawing thoughts shaking in his skull, but when those lips met the junction of his neck, it burned, was bubbling up under his skin, threatening to burn through. He drew his neck away, cringing into himself.
"M'fine."
That little concerned sigh rang in his ears, and Collie moved to look over his shoulder. facing him. "You know you can tell me anything, right? You've been acting off for the last bit, and I figured you wanted space or something. Have I been coming on too hard? Am I reading this wrong—"
"Fuck, no Parker—I just—the old lady's comin' soon, I've just been getting ready for that, alright?"
That did nothing to satiate him. "Is that what's all this about? Her visiting? If you need help with anything, I can help—did she say something? Do something—"
Gary stumbled forward, tearing himself out of Collie's hold. "It's nothing. Can you just fucking drop it?"
The room fell silent, and Gary didnt dare look back. He knew whatever sorry look was on the man's face would shatter him.
Steps creaked from behind him, till Parker loomed over his hunched figure again. "Okay," Collie leaned in, holding his face and placing a small kiss on top of his forehead. "Goodnight."
Gary waited for him to let him go, walk past him, before whispering back, "Night."
The light of the hallway spilt into the room as Collie left, pausing for a moment before closing, shrouding the room in darkness again.
His eyes stung from the salt running down his cheeks, stomach scorching him from within. He deeply inhaled, trying to chase the lingering scent of faint musk, grasping at anything before the evidence of Collie's presence left.
His diaphragm jerked wildly as tears running down his throat choked him, leaving him grabbing onto his desk. He hastly sat down, trying to level his breathing, but everything seemed to make shit worse. The two uncrossed boxes on the calendar across the wall, the kitty figurine he had left on his desk shelf, the envelope that held the dreaded letter that he just couldn't fucking throw away—
He grit his teeth as he groaned into his fists, grinding his forehead into the wooden desk below him. Shaky hands covered his ears, a weak attempt at shutting everything up; he just needed to focus on his fucking breathing.
He sat there crying till he had nothing else to cry, limply lying in his arms, staring off into the dark gap between his elbow and the polished wood. His mouth tasted like spit and salt, and his face was uncomfortably sticky, but he was too tired to move. So he lay there, listening to the slight thump of his upstairs neighbours, the occasional chatter from behind the door and the monotonous click of Richie's bedside alarm clock. It was the rhythmic tick, tick, tick that finally lulled him to sleep.
—
Saturday is spent cleaning, impulsively rearranging and hiding anything remotely incriminating. Photos shoved in boxes under his bed, jewellery tangled together in his desk drawer, clothes compacted into his laundry hamper. He was going to take the figurine down, but couldn't bring himself to. He changed his sheets, using the ones from home, the itchy ones, but he knew she'd like them. He hastily took out his earrings, hiding them away in the little plastic bag they came in and shoving them into the bathroom cupboard.
As the hours dwindled into the night, he'd scanned the room twenty times, moved his shoes twenty more and adjusted the books on his desk whenever his hands itched for something to fix.
When he lay in bed that night, he quietly clasped his hands, the first real time since getting to Maine. Gary had only spoken sparingly to Him, brief flashes in his mind when he needed a quick mental reprieve. Meemaw would be unbelievably disappointed.
Heavenly Father, please hand me your blessings as I sleep and carry me in your grace throughout the night. Keep me in good spirits and good dreams, to let me do your will and worship you when morning breaks. You are good, you are great, and you are faithful.
He said the rehearsed prayer she had taught him when he was young, that they'd recite together every night before he got too old for his grandma to put him to bed. From then on, he was expected to keep it up on his own. He thinks he stopped around the time of his 16th birthday.
And, um…
It felt so awkward now, but he had to.
Please God, protect Meemaw as she travels tonight, and protect—protect me. Please don't let her hate me—and—and let her—let me have your mercy and let this week pass—
He paused, fingers trembling from between his grasp.
And please God don't let him hate me—tell him that it isn't his fault and—and—
He wheezed unbearably loud from his place on his back, holding his breath, and listening for any sign of Richie stirring. When he heard nothing, he let himself quickly say the ending of the rehearsed prayer.
I love you, gentle Jesus, in your precious name I pray, Amen.
The amen shook him as he turned to the wall, holding still clasped hands to his chest. Gary doesn't believe in the goodness of God, not really. Even when he was young, most of his rituals were driven by the fear of hate and punishment everyone drove into his mind. When he wasn't petrified of a fiery hell, he was scared of His punishment through the living. And he was oh so scared now. God had only ever disappointed him, but this was his last try, his shot in the dark. Maybe He'll finally be out there listening to his pleas rather than his sins.
—
He awoke nauseated and uneasy on Sunday. He couldn't stomach breakfast, so he spent the couple of hours before Meemaw was supposed to see him picking an unassuming outfit to wear, scanning his room again, and staring at the X crossed over the last day of March.
He lay in his bed, dressed and ready, waiting for the alarm he set to blare. Once that loud fucking bell (and Jesus, it was loud) rang, he lurched himself up, sharply exhaling before forcing himself out the door.
The walk to the front office was the quickest one he thinks he's had on campus, him dragging his feet doing little to stall the inevitable. Soon enough, he's only a few feet away from the front of the building, and there stood a short lady with agonisingly permed, meticulously teased hair, red satin-finish lipstick over thin, smiling lips. The woman began waving frantically at him, beckoning him to come closer. He sped up, not wanting her to think he was ignoring him.
"Oh, baby!" Meemaw said as she waddled towards him, gripping him in a tight hug, squeezing his arms to his side.
"Hey, Meemaw,"
She tugged him down to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Hay is for horses, sonny."
It took everything out of him not to roll his eyes, "Good morning, Meemaw. Drive was okay?"
That got her going. "Oh yes! Your uncle made it a fine old time, ignoring all that prattling about how much damn money I'm spending. I always tell that man to get out my damn wallet—" she paused abruptly, eyes lasered in on something just past Gary's face.
"Did you pierce your ears?"
Gary's face went pale. "Uhh—"
Then she was grabbing at his face, pulling his head closer to see the offending holes up close.
"Christ Almighty, Gary." She clutched her handbag as she looked away, as if looking at him pained her.
"I-It was a—I lost a bet, Meemaw, I'm—" Wow, Gary, was that the best you could do?
"I don't give a rat's tail how you got it, Gary, I leave you alone for 9 months, barely! and look—"
Gary started to tune her out, brushing through his hair to try and cover his ears, his everything if he could.
"Gary!" He startled at the call, his eyes returning to his grandmother's face.
"Are you even listening to me? I hate it when you get all spacey on me," Meemaw chastised him as she prompted him to walk with her, clutching on his shirt sleeve.
"Sorry, Meemaw, where are we going—?"
"You're gonna show me your little room! I have to see if you're living right, you know I've been so worried about you on your lonesome—well, I guess it's not all alone right? Got another kid up there with you,"
She continued as they walked, her arms loosely wrapped around his. He hadn't expected her to want to see the dorm so early. He was prepared, overly so, but it was far earlier than he expected, and he was praying he could avoid an interaction with the other boys sooner than it needed to be.
He all but drags her into the residence hall, trying to speed past the common room—
"Aye, Barkovitch!" Prayers were failing him real early today.
Meemaw freezes, interest immediately piqued. "Who was that, Gary?" she peeps into the common room, spotting Ray, Pete, Hank, and Art sitting together on the couch.
"Are those your friends?" She's darting off before he can stop her, leaving Gary to do nothing but follow. "Sonny, you must introduce me, you never write to me about your friends, I was starting to get worried!"
And then he was in front of his friends, uncomfortably standing next to his excited grandmother.
"Wow, Gary, you didn't tell me you had a sister!" Hank said, winking at the woman next to him.
Meemaw giggled as Gary shot a glare at him, the other boys smiling at Hank's antics.
Barkovitch awkwardly exchanged greetings, making sure his grandmother didn't move to sit down. He doesn't think he'd recover from his friends being tortured by her ramblings.
"Awful good to meet you, ma'am," said Art, reaching out to shake her hand. She happily took it, clearly charmed. "Aren't you sweet?"
She began a little conversation with Baker then, the others occasionally pitching in, clearly amused at the whole situation. He'd have more than half a mind to be embarrassed, but Gary's eyes kept lasering on that fair hand on Pete's thigh, and at the third dart of his eyes, he began dragging her away, despite her complaints.
When he knocks on the door, he gets back a small "Come in!" from Harkness behind the door, and when he peeped, the smaller boy was grabbing his things, about to head out.
His eyes widened at the woman behind him before giving Gary a sympathetic look.
"Is this your roommate, Gary?" Gary nodded.
"Awful nice to meet you, name's Richard." Harkness gave one of his beaming smiles, trying to be pleasant.
"So lovely to meet you," responded Meemaw, not looking at the boy much as he stepped into the shared space.
"Wish I could stay and chat, but I'm 5 minutes away from being late, nice meeting you, Miss!"
The boy dashed to the door, not before stopping briefly to whisper to Gary. "Good luck." Barkovitch gave an appreciative nod, or he hopes it came off like that, he wasnt on top of his social cue game at the moment.
The moment the door shut, the inspection officially began.
"You really oughta iron these sheets,"
"Do you boys need so many snacks? You're just looking for critters in here!"
"Jesus, Gary, when was the last time you cleaned this mirror?"
"You should really encourage that boy you live with to clean up that desk, it's unsightly, all them papers."
Gary wasn't really focused on what she was saying, more focused on ensuring she didn't find anything she wasnt supposed to. After the fifteenth "Yes, Meemaw, I'll fix it," she finally relented and was ready to leave.
As he guided them out, his sight locked in on an eyeliner pencil rolling under his desk. If his anxiety wasn't spiking already, it definitely was now. She hadnt seen it, had she? Surely not. He would've heard from her about it by now.
He squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the thought. She hadn't seen it. There was no way. He had more important things to be stressing about today.
—
The restaurant they sat down at was quaint, the noon sun filtering in, illuminating the walls. Gary chose here after Meemaw insisted he pick somewhere for the two of them. Truth be told, it wasn't his first choice; he had never been, but it had been the first place he saw on their little walk that he hadn't been with the guys and Collie. He knew realistically it would've been fine, but that stupid voice kept telling him all it would take is one server to recognise him before his whole life is ruined. So here he sat, in a quiet spot downtown, with an apple-and-blueberry-themed tiled accent wall and a waitress who looked like she was one voice raise away from crying.
Gary ordered for both of them, Meemaw insisting on getting the touristy lobster stuffed sandwich with a charmingly gimmicky name that she had a good laugh at. He got something significantly smaller, keeping in mind he was paying for this off his couple of photography gigs. Damn, he really gotta keep hunting for those, shit was getting rough.
Gary took a big sip of the iced lemonade, stirring the straw as he finished. He always liked it when he could tell there was a bit of honey in the drink.
He decided to take up the conversation first. "How have you been holding up? Yknow," Alone.
"Oh, trying to make the most of these here retirement years. Been going to bingo more, Martha started up her book club again, feel like I got so much time on my hands."
"Thats good."
"Its real quiet sometimes, though." Ah. Gary grimaced in something that looked like guilt.
"Miss having my little boy in the house. Sometimes at night, I still think I can hear you trying to smuggle all those glasses out of your bedroom. All that clink clink clanking."
Gary's face softened, hand reaching to hold her painted fingernails.
"Gotta ask Larry's boy to help me with the yard now. Much better at clearing the yard than you, but I got so used to those weird little heaps you leave in the fall, all them shapes. Still don't know why you bother making them so…square?"
It was because it made it look neater, at least to 12 year old him when he first started.
"Didn't have my little helper to bake with me last Christmas, I mean, sure, there were Marge's girls, who are darn adorable, very eager, but not much of a help, and they steal far more batter than you!" Gary laughed at that, a genuine, incredibly fond laugh, thinking about him when he was their age. "I'm sure I took just as much when I was tiny, Meemaw, theyre ten."
"No, no, no, you were real pleasant when u were small, nothing like those rascals, I'm telling you—a handful those two! Marge really oughta start raising them better. I pulled her aside an afternoon before she went back up north and told her that,"
She kept on about Marge and her apparently poor parenting habits, periodically taking sips of her own drink, red lipstick leaving splotches on the styled water glass. It felt all so terribly homey, like they were back home on a Sunday, still in their church clothes, sitting out on the back porch chatting (gossiping) about the ladies in the choir. It was an almost perfect replica, lemonade and everything. All that was missing was a gospel record and the sweltering sun of the South.
It was in that moment that he realised he missed her. Missed her voice and her sun-spotted hands, and the sound of her chunky 'going out' necklaces. Missed her little stories that dragged on too long, the way she cooed at him like he was still that sad little boy she took in. It was also in that dreadful moment that he realised he didn't want to lose her.
The silence that fell when the food came (talking while stuffing your face was impolite) was appreciated. He didn't trust anything but tears to come out of him right now.
He was grateful for the breeze of the outdoors when they finished up, giving him an excuse to wipe at his eyes and hope to rid the signs of his sentimentalism. When he dropped Meemaw at her hotel, she planted a wet kiss right on his cheek, some 'Scarlet Rouge' for sure imprinting on him based on her little giggle. She handed him a tissue before he left, and he hastily wiped off the colour as he walked back to the bus stop. He stared at the lipstick smudged onto the tissue the entire ride home.