misfits fic: 'no rock at dawn'
A03 link
'You're back.'
Curtis thought about it before he got here. Went through situations, phrases, trying persuasion, like they're mates and he wants to help by letting Nathan vent. Telling him the truth. Or just flat out asking.
But remembering his failure to get Nathan's assistance in the car park, he's realised the simplest way is the best. A prick don't change his spots.
'Tell me about them again.'
'Look, man, you're starting to freak me out. Where's your little girlfriend? I saw her in the paper, she's cute. Better hurry back before she finds a marathon runner, speed’s not always a benefit, or so the ladies tell me.'
Nathan pulls a leer, but having seen the real thing, Curtis isn’t fooled by a wobbly imitation. He isn't going to let Nathan try his usual distraction techniques, and he has the advantage for once, having spent three weeks with this guy, who knows almost nothing about him.
'I finished with her. Answer me.'
'Fuck off!'
'Look, you're broke, right? I'll give you money, cash. You can buy skunk or porn or whatever the fuck it is you want. I just want you to tell me about them.'
'You said you didn't know them.'
'Maybe I can read minds.'
At that, Nathan looks up sharply, before back at Kelly's photo almost instinctively.
Curtis raises his eyebrows, letting him know he saw that reaction.
'Or maybe I knew them better than I let on. Maybe I was in the storm that day, too.'
'You're gonna be in the Olympics, why the fuck are you obsessed with a shitty murder on a shitty estate? It was in the papers, I can't tell you any more, we’d only just started. And if the storm was so fucking special, how come they all died? You can't do shit. And neither could they.'
Curtis can't do shit anymore, and Nathan never could. So that's one thing they have in common.
*
Today it's Kelly.
These days are about the details. It feels like if he can recall every scrap, he can get close to how she felt, information from thoughts blasted at her like radio waves.
He quizzes Nathan endlessly, forcing him to describe everything he can recall: 'What was she wearing in the morning the first day? What did she say when you asked her what she'd done to get there? What were you thinking when she read your mind?'
'I was thinking that after a few Bacardi Breezers I'd actually consider giving her a pity shag, even if she was a chav. You happy?' Nathan says, still defiant. For now.
'Nah. Tell me what you really thought. Did you have a little crush on her? How'd you want to fuck her? You’re the classy type, behind the bins?'
As he speaks, he's massaging Nathan's cock rhythmically in time with his words, too hard to not hurt, just enough to keep him frustrated, on the edge.
'Or would you have pushed the boat out and bought her a pizza before you tried to get in her knickers? You think she would have been your girlfriend? How was that gonna work? You picked the one girl you couldn't con into thinking you were halfway decent.'
Nathan hisses suddenly. Curtis doesn’t know if it’s a reaction to his words, or at how hard he’s thrusting. It doesn’t really matter. He pulls out, finishes on Nathan's back, panting.
Sometimes he stays. It's never cuddles and the afterglow, it wouldn't have been with Alisha if he had been able to fix it. But sometimes they'll play a table football match before, share a shower after.
Today's a day when he feels the urge to run, where it's all so close to the surface that he's afraid he'll lose his temper, or worse, cry.
Looking back at Nathan; still hard, looking confused: doped, dumb and full of come, he can't resist one more question, though.
'She came back for the rest of you. She was a good person, yeah?'
He has all the power here, the fame, the cash. Nathan's got a criminal record, a mother at the end of her rope, and a still healing scar right on his face; lying there, a slut getting paid for it, untouched cock against his thigh.
But it's Curtis who feels pathetic, like he's begging, waiting during Nathan's long pause before a surprisingly soft: 'Yeah. Yeah, man. She was.'
'Not like you', he throws off spitefully, almost as an afterthought, but he doesn't think Nathan's fooled, watching him leave.
He breaks into a sprint before the doors have even shut.
*
Simon days... Those are probably Nathan's favourite, Curtis guesses, judging from how hard he comes.
If Curtis wants to wrap it up early, he goes through what Simon said to Alisha, under her power. Just hearing the phrase has Nathan grabbing at himself desperately, eyes fluttering shut, like he’s on automatic, can’t help himself anymore.
Sometimes he says it outside, just to see if he can make Nathan embarrass himself, but that was never a challenge, even before this.
But mostly, he wants it to last. There's very little that doesn't work on Nathan if you do it long enough, he's not physically brave, but pain doesn’t seem to affect the pleasure, for him. Masochist, Curtis supposes.
He never got that, he's fairly vanilla, although he's been reconsidering recently.
Nathan likes to be slapped, but Curtis only allows that on the Kelly days, he's strict about keeping to boundaries, and Simon never seemed the physical type.
For Nathan, being watched without someone engaging with his endless babbling is more painful anyway; and he’ll often get on his knees, hands shaking in his hurry to unzip Curtis, just to get a little feedback, some attention; good or bad, he doesn’t seem to care.
Curtis, never good at saying no to people, usually caves pretty quickly, but comforts himself - Simon was even worse at ignoring Nathan.
On these days, Nathan's hard before they begin. Probably before he got here.
Sometimes Curtis fucks him in the jumpsuit, other times it's more about the vibe of the person - the favourite top in the photo, the same phone Alisha or Simon were always clutching. One Kelly day, Nathan lets him pierce his ear, shove a hoop through it, using ice from the freezer; but the next day it's healed over again, so they drop that.
On Simon days, Curtis likes to film. He tries not to schedule them after a run, pulls up his hood in case he gets recognised. He wants to feel anonymous, ignored. Lonely, like Simon was.
He holds the camera up, silently, filming everything; whether Nathan's sucking his cock or hitting him, eyes watering, fists curled the wrong way, peppering Curtis’ shoulders with weak blows.
For someone tall, with a mouth spewing as much shit as Nathan's does, he's a crap fighter, but Curtis would let him continue even if it hurt; fascinated by the reaction. He just watches coldly, like Simon used to, takes it all in for later, keeps it inside.
*
With Gary, it's violent.
Curtis can't kid himself he got attached to the guy before he died. After all, his power never kicked in, reflecting his real feelings even as he denies them.
'I would have done something if I could', he thinks, looking at the photo, the handwritten notes and flowers from Gary's family; but he knows it's not true, and he thinks Nathan does too, which only spurs him on.
He hasn't fucked Nathan dry since the first time, which scared him more than Nathan, who kept on fisting his own cock, gasping, despite the tears and blood; until Curtis pulled out, hurriedly.
But he'd be lying if he said Gary days are ever gentle.
He keeps Nathan on a short leash, financially, knowing how his weasel mind works - he's surprised he hasn't already blackmailed him, brought up the papers, and he figures it's only a matter of time; but after a Gary day, he often shoves an extra fifty quid guiltily in Nathan's waiting hand, as he watches him leave, limping.
*
It’s weirdest when it's Alisha. He tries to save her for special occasions, beating his time or improving his ranking. He wants it all the time, has to ration it out before it becomes an obsession.
Nathan's not bad at impressions, his breathy, feminine wail when he’s pretending to come leaves something to be desired, but his blowjobs, both miming and in practice are now almost flawless.
Curtis is even willing to forget accuracy, that he and this Alisha never did this, and fucks him in the bathroom; Nathan on top like Alisha told him she was, the time he can't recall.
He's bought a blue bra, the La Senza one she wore. It wasn’t cheap; but Nathan tells him they'll need to get out of it before he puts that on; and if this whole thing's taught him nothing else, it's to not fuck with drugs.
He's still working on getting Nathan to fuck that guy, Ben. He's tracked him down on the internet, and he checks in at the local club on the estate most weekends. But for all the stuff he's asked Nathan to do, he seems most reluctant with this one.
He doesn’t think Nathan’s the choosy type, considering the things he’s let Curtis do, with him and to him; and judging by how eagerly he participates, it probably ain’t the guy thing either.
He promises he’ll just watch, it doesn’t have to be them doubling up on him, they can use a condom, he won’t put it on the internet; but Nathan just shakes his head.
Curtis doesn’t want to push it, afraid that he’ll stop altogether. Afraid that he won’t, sometimes.
He presses Nathan on her power in particular, but Nathan doesn't remember touching Alisha, what he said, any more than Curtis remembers fucking her. For some reason, that digs under his skin a little, he prods it like a blister.
What did Nathan say? Was he spewing filth, like Simon? Or telling her how hot she was? Was it darkly funny, Nathan, the loudmouthed cunt, pledging his devotion, promising to go down on her ‘til he grows gills, let her fuck him with a strap-on, love her forever? Or did he scare her?
He doesn't know what he'd rather hear, to be honest, and the only person who knows is dead.
Alisha was messed up, but she wasn’t alone in that. They all were. Curtis thought he didn’t fit with them the first time they met, but he’s beginning to wonder if he was more screwed up than any of them; as he tightens his grip on Nathan’s neck, not enough to panic, just enough to let him feel the pressure.
‘You don't deserve this, you know? When they're gone, she's gone, and a prick like you survives.’
'Oh, really? And here I assumed fate was saving me for the Nobel prize when I cure cancer,’ Nathan pants, as Curtis’ fingers twist inside him.
‘They were worth more than you, all of them. I don’t give a shit what you let me do.’ Curtis grits out, finding a rhythm. ‘I couldn’t even touch her, and she still made me come. She was beautiful, and she was trying to be better. We all were. And now they’re gone, and all that’s left is you.’
Nathan’s eyes are shut, but Curtis knows he’s listening. He doesn’t know if the insults are hitting home, but when Nathan gets up, he’s wincing a little, under his breath, as he grabs his jacket from next to the mattress, pulls up his jeans.
‘So, this has been…great, and all. You’re the battering ram of my dreams, really, if I go back to cock anytime soon I definitely won’t be going back, if you know what I mean,’ he winks, although the jab is weakened by his breaking off to wipe his streaming eyes with the back of his hand briefly.
‘But I think I’ll be taking my shags a little less frequently, and a lot less…psycho-sexual.’ He waves his hand. ‘Emphasis on the psycho. No offense. Besides, I dunno if it’s steroids or what, but I’m just not feeling it so much anymore? Your energy’s just…all over the place. I’m hoping you run fast than you fuck, or 2012’s gonna be embarrassing, there were times back there when I felt like I was fucking the handicapped.’
Curtis scowls. ‘Where the fuck are you gonna go? Your mum don’t want you, she ki-…was gonna kick you out.’
‘Well, Gypsy Rose Lee, since you know so much about everyone, you should already know. I’m staying at my dad’s. Apparently nearly getting my head caved in with an axe made him want to do the parental thing. At least for a few weeks. That’s usually his limit.’
‘Look, wait.’ Curtis holds up a hand.
He may not have been blessed with much in the way of patience, but he certainly got more of it than most of the people who meet Nathan, including his family.
He doesn’t put up with shit, and he takes the piss on occasion, but he likes to think that of all the group, he was probably the one stopping them going nuts and on the warpath most of the time.
Kelly looked out for them, but was the first to attack, in the other’s defense or her own or sometimes just from apparent habit.
Alisha and Nathan’s number one priority was usually their own self-interest.
Simon had the ideas, but they seemed to involve death a worrying amount of the time.
Curtis’ temper has been tested since the ban, since meeting these shitheads in the first place; but at his core, he doesn’t want to hurt anyone.
'…I'm sorry. Don't go.' He presses his lips together. Curtis hates being vulnerable.
Sometimes talking to Nathan is like talking to Alisha, frustrating, trying to reach out through the layers of screwed-up attitude and fucking as a distraction to the person underneath; but the frustration is good, it feels real, familiar, not like the cold numbness of her photo pinned up outside.
'Stay. I got more cash if you need it, you don't have to…whatever. '
‘Sure, I can stick around. I just wanna know something.’
‘What?’ Curtis asks, warily. It’s not like Nathan to ask about someone else, and he can’t imagine good motives for something he wants to know badly enough to back down from an argument.
‘What was your power?’
‘…What?’ Curtis asks again, helplessly. The most obvious question, and it’s somehow the last thing he expected.
‘You were there, right? When it happened? 'That's how you know all this shit, right? You were there. What were you, invisible?'
He does a little starey expression in illustration of Simon, not even taking the piss, or pained by the reminder, just like its instinct by now.
'Can you fly? Is it off the a-list? It's gotta be good, can't have our local celebrity letting down the side. Oh, let me guess. Superspeed? Help you win the Olympics, fuck twice the skanks in half the time?'
He wags his finger, putting on a kid's voice: 'That's cheating, Mr. Donovan!'
'I don't have a power', Curtis says, honestly. 'I don't think I ever did. I thought I could go back, change things. Give them a happy ending.'
Nathan looks awkward at the sight of real emotion; at actually getting the answer he asked for, not the back and forth insults and fucking. He swallows, pauses before the inevitable inappropriate comment. '…You've given me a few?' he offers.
Curtis is too tired to even roll his eyes. He used to call Nathan out when he was a shithead, didn't laugh along with his nasty jokes like Alisha sometimes did, or indulged him like Kelly and Simon. But the others are gone, there's no example to be set, no comparison to be made. It's him or nothing.
'All these powers ever did was fuck things up for everyone. You're fucking lucky you didn't get one.'
Nathan sighs. 'I'm not due at my dad's til tomorrow. Let's go get off our faces and find this fucking Ben guy.'
Getting high and fucking a stranger is the most genuine attempt at kindness Nathan's probably ever made. Curtis doesn’t know if that says more about him or Curtis; but the less thinking he does tonight, the better.
*
The one time Curtis bought coke, he had that copper practically trying to beat his own record chasing him, and here’s Nathan, practically begging to be arrested, popping E before they've even left the bar area, and sure enough? The prick gets away with it. Curtis does roll his eyes this time.
Nathan leans in, mouth close to his ear, and for a second Curtis leans back, default no homo, and it feels like none of it ever happened. He can believe they're all there, waiting, Simon making awkward conversation, Kelly dancing, popping her gum. Alisha waiting for her vodka and lime, promise in her eyes. The closest he's ever been to Nathan a fist in his face.
Instead, Nathan pulls Curtis’ face towards him, in his unsurprisingly loud attempt at a whisper. 'Your eyes are looking weird, man.'
Nathan looks pretty strung out too, pupils blown already.
The rush starts over Curtis, a wave of warmth, a softer high than coke, and he begins to relax, finally. This club could be the night with Sam, the places Alisha asked him to when they were still shyly stepping around each other, before she used her power and fixed it, or ruined it. Both.
The track's far away, there's nothing, no one left to lose, and he gives himself over to the music pounding in his ears, the smoky darkness.
'So, where's this guy?' asks Nathan.
'Forget it', Curtis offers. 'Let's just find the loos.'
Nathan shrugs, surprised, but enthusiastic, pulls at his sleeve: 'Over here, man.'
But blocking the disabled is a familiar face. For a second Curtis can’t place him, before he remembers. The dealer, Danny.
Curtis shakes his head a little, delayed, like he's got water in his ears. 'The fuck are you doing here?' he mutters under his breath.
For a second he wonders if it worked, if the power's back, he's there again, with one more chance. But a look at Nathan, clinging to his hoodie, beginning to roll; reminds him.
'Curtis, mate. Been a while. Seen you in the papers, you've been doing well for yourself. Feel like celebrating?'
'Nah, you're alright,' Curtis replies. This isn't the Danny that hurt Sam, but he's never met a version that doesn't ripple with suppressed violence, unpredictability. 'Just leaving.'
‘Stick around. I got GHB. Not that you’d need it, you ain’t got a problem getting laid from what I hear. Where’s that bird you were hanging out with? She was cute.’
He clenches his jaw, teeth audibly grinding as his eyes scan to Nathan, clutching Curtis’ arm, a stupid blissed out grin spread across his face.
‘Or are you playing for the other team now? He looks like he wouldn’t need much, to be honest. Fucking cocksucker.’
Nathan sneers, although he’s half-laughing, not taking the situation seriously, as usual.
'Who's the cunt?', he asks Curtis, nodding his head towards Danny, who reaches into his jacket.
Curtis can’t tell if he just means to warn them off with the knife, whether the sudden movement forward is purposeful, or accidental.
It doesn’t matter, at the end of the day.
Danny’s eyes widen, and he legs it.
Curtis was always good under pressure, but he feels oddly calm, gesturing to the nearest person with a phone to call an ambulance, pressing his jacket against the wound.
Nathan's choking, gurgling, loud as ever. Probably making it worse, losing more air.
'Don't try and talk, prick', Curtis instructs him shortly.
Secretly he's worried, that he's going to call for his mother, for their dead friends, to be saved; that it'll be real in a way the short sharp deaths, heads caved in, axes and fire extinguishers and knives, and swiftly erased never quite were.
But a few seconds and Nathan's gone, as quickly as Sam, Alisha and the others, not even a last quip, a stupid comment. Just another pointless, dirty death on the floor.
He feels the power kicking in, finally, like arriving home after a long trip away.
But instead of going backwards, starting the night again; he's in a quarry.
Holding a gun to his own chin.
He knows, like he knows his own name, that they're all gone. Kelly, Nathan, Simon. Alisha. Dead or vanished.
He gave up everything, the running, the way out, the purpose, the endorphin kick at the end of a meet that the coke never touched, after all that; and in the end the power to go back and save them didn’t give them anything.
No futures, long lives, travel, getting away from this shithole, from community service. No introducing Alisha to his mum, marriage, kids. Not even a medal.
He doesn't look any older. Maybe a year at most, but even that’s pushing it.
He steps back instinctively from the quarry edge, but the power’s already working, and when he opens his eyes, stomach churning, his back’s against a door in the old community centre.
Simon’s asking: ‘Can’t you see me?’, Kelly’s begging Nathan not to go outside.
‘All this. It’s already happened.’ Curtis says tiredly, and waits for it to begin again.
'You're back.'
Curtis thought about it before he got here. Went through situations, phrases, trying persuasion, like they're mates and he wants to help by letting Nathan vent. Telling him the truth. Or just flat out asking.
But remembering his failure to get Nathan's assistance in the car park, he's realised the simplest way is the best. A prick don't change his spots.
'Tell me about them again.'
'Look, man, you're starting to freak me out. Where's your little girlfriend? I saw her in the paper, she's cute. Better hurry back before she finds a marathon runner, speed’s not always a benefit, or so the ladies tell me.'
Nathan pulls a leer, but having seen the real thing, Curtis isn’t fooled by a wobbly imitation. He isn't going to let Nathan try his usual distraction techniques, and he has the advantage for once, having spent three weeks with this guy, who knows almost nothing about him.
'I finished with her. Answer me.'
'Fuck off!'
'Look, you're broke, right? I'll give you money, cash. You can buy skunk or porn or whatever the fuck it is you want. I just want you to tell me about them.'
'You said you didn't know them.'
'Maybe I can read minds.'
At that, Nathan looks up sharply, before back at Kelly's photo almost instinctively.
Curtis raises his eyebrows, letting him know he saw that reaction.
'Or maybe I knew them better than I let on. Maybe I was in the storm that day, too.'
'You're gonna be in the Olympics, why the fuck are you obsessed with a shitty murder on a shitty estate? It was in the papers, I can't tell you any more, we’d only just started. And if the storm was so fucking special, how come they all died? You can't do shit. And neither could they.'
Curtis can't do shit anymore, and Nathan never could. So that's one thing they have in common.
*
Today it's Kelly.
These days are about the details. It feels like if he can recall every scrap, he can get close to how she felt, information from thoughts blasted at her like radio waves.
He quizzes Nathan endlessly, forcing him to describe everything he can recall: 'What was she wearing in the morning the first day? What did she say when you asked her what she'd done to get there? What were you thinking when she read your mind?'
'I was thinking that after a few Bacardi Breezers I'd actually consider giving her a pity shag, even if she was a chav. You happy?' Nathan says, still defiant. For now.
'Nah. Tell me what you really thought. Did you have a little crush on her? How'd you want to fuck her? You’re the classy type, behind the bins?'
As he speaks, he's massaging Nathan's cock rhythmically in time with his words, too hard to not hurt, just enough to keep him frustrated, on the edge.
'Or would you have pushed the boat out and bought her a pizza before you tried to get in her knickers? You think she would have been your girlfriend? How was that gonna work? You picked the one girl you couldn't con into thinking you were halfway decent.'
Nathan hisses suddenly. Curtis doesn’t know if it’s a reaction to his words, or at how hard he’s thrusting. It doesn’t really matter. He pulls out, finishes on Nathan's back, panting.
Sometimes he stays. It's never cuddles and the afterglow, it wouldn't have been with Alisha if he had been able to fix it. But sometimes they'll play a table football match before, share a shower after.
Today's a day when he feels the urge to run, where it's all so close to the surface that he's afraid he'll lose his temper, or worse, cry.
Looking back at Nathan; still hard, looking confused: doped, dumb and full of come, he can't resist one more question, though.
'She came back for the rest of you. She was a good person, yeah?'
He has all the power here, the fame, the cash. Nathan's got a criminal record, a mother at the end of her rope, and a still healing scar right on his face; lying there, a slut getting paid for it, untouched cock against his thigh.
But it's Curtis who feels pathetic, like he's begging, waiting during Nathan's long pause before a surprisingly soft: 'Yeah. Yeah, man. She was.'
'Not like you', he throws off spitefully, almost as an afterthought, but he doesn't think Nathan's fooled, watching him leave.
He breaks into a sprint before the doors have even shut.
*
Simon days... Those are probably Nathan's favourite, Curtis guesses, judging from how hard he comes.
If Curtis wants to wrap it up early, he goes through what Simon said to Alisha, under her power. Just hearing the phrase has Nathan grabbing at himself desperately, eyes fluttering shut, like he’s on automatic, can’t help himself anymore.
Sometimes he says it outside, just to see if he can make Nathan embarrass himself, but that was never a challenge, even before this.
But mostly, he wants it to last. There's very little that doesn't work on Nathan if you do it long enough, he's not physically brave, but pain doesn’t seem to affect the pleasure, for him. Masochist, Curtis supposes.
He never got that, he's fairly vanilla, although he's been reconsidering recently.
Nathan likes to be slapped, but Curtis only allows that on the Kelly days, he's strict about keeping to boundaries, and Simon never seemed the physical type.
For Nathan, being watched without someone engaging with his endless babbling is more painful anyway; and he’ll often get on his knees, hands shaking in his hurry to unzip Curtis, just to get a little feedback, some attention; good or bad, he doesn’t seem to care.
Curtis, never good at saying no to people, usually caves pretty quickly, but comforts himself - Simon was even worse at ignoring Nathan.
On these days, Nathan's hard before they begin. Probably before he got here.
Sometimes Curtis fucks him in the jumpsuit, other times it's more about the vibe of the person - the favourite top in the photo, the same phone Alisha or Simon were always clutching. One Kelly day, Nathan lets him pierce his ear, shove a hoop through it, using ice from the freezer; but the next day it's healed over again, so they drop that.
On Simon days, Curtis likes to film. He tries not to schedule them after a run, pulls up his hood in case he gets recognised. He wants to feel anonymous, ignored. Lonely, like Simon was.
He holds the camera up, silently, filming everything; whether Nathan's sucking his cock or hitting him, eyes watering, fists curled the wrong way, peppering Curtis’ shoulders with weak blows.
For someone tall, with a mouth spewing as much shit as Nathan's does, he's a crap fighter, but Curtis would let him continue even if it hurt; fascinated by the reaction. He just watches coldly, like Simon used to, takes it all in for later, keeps it inside.
*
With Gary, it's violent.
Curtis can't kid himself he got attached to the guy before he died. After all, his power never kicked in, reflecting his real feelings even as he denies them.
'I would have done something if I could', he thinks, looking at the photo, the handwritten notes and flowers from Gary's family; but he knows it's not true, and he thinks Nathan does too, which only spurs him on.
He hasn't fucked Nathan dry since the first time, which scared him more than Nathan, who kept on fisting his own cock, gasping, despite the tears and blood; until Curtis pulled out, hurriedly.
But he'd be lying if he said Gary days are ever gentle.
He keeps Nathan on a short leash, financially, knowing how his weasel mind works - he's surprised he hasn't already blackmailed him, brought up the papers, and he figures it's only a matter of time; but after a Gary day, he often shoves an extra fifty quid guiltily in Nathan's waiting hand, as he watches him leave, limping.
*
It’s weirdest when it's Alisha. He tries to save her for special occasions, beating his time or improving his ranking. He wants it all the time, has to ration it out before it becomes an obsession.
Nathan's not bad at impressions, his breathy, feminine wail when he’s pretending to come leaves something to be desired, but his blowjobs, both miming and in practice are now almost flawless.
Curtis is even willing to forget accuracy, that he and this Alisha never did this, and fucks him in the bathroom; Nathan on top like Alisha told him she was, the time he can't recall.
He's bought a blue bra, the La Senza one she wore. It wasn’t cheap; but Nathan tells him they'll need to get out of it before he puts that on; and if this whole thing's taught him nothing else, it's to not fuck with drugs.
He's still working on getting Nathan to fuck that guy, Ben. He's tracked him down on the internet, and he checks in at the local club on the estate most weekends. But for all the stuff he's asked Nathan to do, he seems most reluctant with this one.
He doesn’t think Nathan’s the choosy type, considering the things he’s let Curtis do, with him and to him; and judging by how eagerly he participates, it probably ain’t the guy thing either.
He promises he’ll just watch, it doesn’t have to be them doubling up on him, they can use a condom, he won’t put it on the internet; but Nathan just shakes his head.
Curtis doesn’t want to push it, afraid that he’ll stop altogether. Afraid that he won’t, sometimes.
He presses Nathan on her power in particular, but Nathan doesn't remember touching Alisha, what he said, any more than Curtis remembers fucking her. For some reason, that digs under his skin a little, he prods it like a blister.
What did Nathan say? Was he spewing filth, like Simon? Or telling her how hot she was? Was it darkly funny, Nathan, the loudmouthed cunt, pledging his devotion, promising to go down on her ‘til he grows gills, let her fuck him with a strap-on, love her forever? Or did he scare her?
He doesn't know what he'd rather hear, to be honest, and the only person who knows is dead.
Alisha was messed up, but she wasn’t alone in that. They all were. Curtis thought he didn’t fit with them the first time they met, but he’s beginning to wonder if he was more screwed up than any of them; as he tightens his grip on Nathan’s neck, not enough to panic, just enough to let him feel the pressure.
‘You don't deserve this, you know? When they're gone, she's gone, and a prick like you survives.’
'Oh, really? And here I assumed fate was saving me for the Nobel prize when I cure cancer,’ Nathan pants, as Curtis’ fingers twist inside him.
‘They were worth more than you, all of them. I don’t give a shit what you let me do.’ Curtis grits out, finding a rhythm. ‘I couldn’t even touch her, and she still made me come. She was beautiful, and she was trying to be better. We all were. And now they’re gone, and all that’s left is you.’
Nathan’s eyes are shut, but Curtis knows he’s listening. He doesn’t know if the insults are hitting home, but when Nathan gets up, he’s wincing a little, under his breath, as he grabs his jacket from next to the mattress, pulls up his jeans.
‘So, this has been…great, and all. You’re the battering ram of my dreams, really, if I go back to cock anytime soon I definitely won’t be going back, if you know what I mean,’ he winks, although the jab is weakened by his breaking off to wipe his streaming eyes with the back of his hand briefly.
‘But I think I’ll be taking my shags a little less frequently, and a lot less…psycho-sexual.’ He waves his hand. ‘Emphasis on the psycho. No offense. Besides, I dunno if it’s steroids or what, but I’m just not feeling it so much anymore? Your energy’s just…all over the place. I’m hoping you run fast than you fuck, or 2012’s gonna be embarrassing, there were times back there when I felt like I was fucking the handicapped.’
Curtis scowls. ‘Where the fuck are you gonna go? Your mum don’t want you, she ki-…was gonna kick you out.’
‘Well, Gypsy Rose Lee, since you know so much about everyone, you should already know. I’m staying at my dad’s. Apparently nearly getting my head caved in with an axe made him want to do the parental thing. At least for a few weeks. That’s usually his limit.’
‘Look, wait.’ Curtis holds up a hand.
He may not have been blessed with much in the way of patience, but he certainly got more of it than most of the people who meet Nathan, including his family.
He doesn’t put up with shit, and he takes the piss on occasion, but he likes to think that of all the group, he was probably the one stopping them going nuts and on the warpath most of the time.
Kelly looked out for them, but was the first to attack, in the other’s defense or her own or sometimes just from apparent habit.
Alisha and Nathan’s number one priority was usually their own self-interest.
Simon had the ideas, but they seemed to involve death a worrying amount of the time.
Curtis’ temper has been tested since the ban, since meeting these shitheads in the first place; but at his core, he doesn’t want to hurt anyone.
'…I'm sorry. Don't go.' He presses his lips together. Curtis hates being vulnerable.
Sometimes talking to Nathan is like talking to Alisha, frustrating, trying to reach out through the layers of screwed-up attitude and fucking as a distraction to the person underneath; but the frustration is good, it feels real, familiar, not like the cold numbness of her photo pinned up outside.
'Stay. I got more cash if you need it, you don't have to…whatever. '
‘Sure, I can stick around. I just wanna know something.’
‘What?’ Curtis asks, warily. It’s not like Nathan to ask about someone else, and he can’t imagine good motives for something he wants to know badly enough to back down from an argument.
‘What was your power?’
‘…What?’ Curtis asks again, helplessly. The most obvious question, and it’s somehow the last thing he expected.
‘You were there, right? When it happened? 'That's how you know all this shit, right? You were there. What were you, invisible?'
He does a little starey expression in illustration of Simon, not even taking the piss, or pained by the reminder, just like its instinct by now.
'Can you fly? Is it off the a-list? It's gotta be good, can't have our local celebrity letting down the side. Oh, let me guess. Superspeed? Help you win the Olympics, fuck twice the skanks in half the time?'
He wags his finger, putting on a kid's voice: 'That's cheating, Mr. Donovan!'
'I don't have a power', Curtis says, honestly. 'I don't think I ever did. I thought I could go back, change things. Give them a happy ending.'
Nathan looks awkward at the sight of real emotion; at actually getting the answer he asked for, not the back and forth insults and fucking. He swallows, pauses before the inevitable inappropriate comment. '…You've given me a few?' he offers.
Curtis is too tired to even roll his eyes. He used to call Nathan out when he was a shithead, didn't laugh along with his nasty jokes like Alisha sometimes did, or indulged him like Kelly and Simon. But the others are gone, there's no example to be set, no comparison to be made. It's him or nothing.
'All these powers ever did was fuck things up for everyone. You're fucking lucky you didn't get one.'
Nathan sighs. 'I'm not due at my dad's til tomorrow. Let's go get off our faces and find this fucking Ben guy.'
Getting high and fucking a stranger is the most genuine attempt at kindness Nathan's probably ever made. Curtis doesn’t know if that says more about him or Curtis; but the less thinking he does tonight, the better.
*
The one time Curtis bought coke, he had that copper practically trying to beat his own record chasing him, and here’s Nathan, practically begging to be arrested, popping E before they've even left the bar area, and sure enough? The prick gets away with it. Curtis does roll his eyes this time.
Nathan leans in, mouth close to his ear, and for a second Curtis leans back, default no homo, and it feels like none of it ever happened. He can believe they're all there, waiting, Simon making awkward conversation, Kelly dancing, popping her gum. Alisha waiting for her vodka and lime, promise in her eyes. The closest he's ever been to Nathan a fist in his face.
Instead, Nathan pulls Curtis’ face towards him, in his unsurprisingly loud attempt at a whisper. 'Your eyes are looking weird, man.'
Nathan looks pretty strung out too, pupils blown already.
The rush starts over Curtis, a wave of warmth, a softer high than coke, and he begins to relax, finally. This club could be the night with Sam, the places Alisha asked him to when they were still shyly stepping around each other, before she used her power and fixed it, or ruined it. Both.
The track's far away, there's nothing, no one left to lose, and he gives himself over to the music pounding in his ears, the smoky darkness.
'So, where's this guy?' asks Nathan.
'Forget it', Curtis offers. 'Let's just find the loos.'
Nathan shrugs, surprised, but enthusiastic, pulls at his sleeve: 'Over here, man.'
But blocking the disabled is a familiar face. For a second Curtis can’t place him, before he remembers. The dealer, Danny.
Curtis shakes his head a little, delayed, like he's got water in his ears. 'The fuck are you doing here?' he mutters under his breath.
For a second he wonders if it worked, if the power's back, he's there again, with one more chance. But a look at Nathan, clinging to his hoodie, beginning to roll; reminds him.
'Curtis, mate. Been a while. Seen you in the papers, you've been doing well for yourself. Feel like celebrating?'
'Nah, you're alright,' Curtis replies. This isn't the Danny that hurt Sam, but he's never met a version that doesn't ripple with suppressed violence, unpredictability. 'Just leaving.'
‘Stick around. I got GHB. Not that you’d need it, you ain’t got a problem getting laid from what I hear. Where’s that bird you were hanging out with? She was cute.’
He clenches his jaw, teeth audibly grinding as his eyes scan to Nathan, clutching Curtis’ arm, a stupid blissed out grin spread across his face.
‘Or are you playing for the other team now? He looks like he wouldn’t need much, to be honest. Fucking cocksucker.’
Nathan sneers, although he’s half-laughing, not taking the situation seriously, as usual.
'Who's the cunt?', he asks Curtis, nodding his head towards Danny, who reaches into his jacket.
Curtis can’t tell if he just means to warn them off with the knife, whether the sudden movement forward is purposeful, or accidental.
It doesn’t matter, at the end of the day.
Danny’s eyes widen, and he legs it.
Curtis was always good under pressure, but he feels oddly calm, gesturing to the nearest person with a phone to call an ambulance, pressing his jacket against the wound.
Nathan's choking, gurgling, loud as ever. Probably making it worse, losing more air.
'Don't try and talk, prick', Curtis instructs him shortly.
Secretly he's worried, that he's going to call for his mother, for their dead friends, to be saved; that it'll be real in a way the short sharp deaths, heads caved in, axes and fire extinguishers and knives, and swiftly erased never quite were.
But a few seconds and Nathan's gone, as quickly as Sam, Alisha and the others, not even a last quip, a stupid comment. Just another pointless, dirty death on the floor.
He feels the power kicking in, finally, like arriving home after a long trip away.
But instead of going backwards, starting the night again; he's in a quarry.
Holding a gun to his own chin.
He knows, like he knows his own name, that they're all gone. Kelly, Nathan, Simon. Alisha. Dead or vanished.
He gave up everything, the running, the way out, the purpose, the endorphin kick at the end of a meet that the coke never touched, after all that; and in the end the power to go back and save them didn’t give them anything.
No futures, long lives, travel, getting away from this shithole, from community service. No introducing Alisha to his mum, marriage, kids. Not even a medal.
He doesn't look any older. Maybe a year at most, but even that’s pushing it.
He steps back instinctively from the quarry edge, but the power’s already working, and when he opens his eyes, stomach churning, his back’s against a door in the old community centre.
Simon’s asking: ‘Can’t you see me?’, Kelly’s begging Nathan not to go outside.
‘All this. It’s already happened.’ Curtis says tiredly, and waits for it to begin again.