STrawberry #29, Peanut Butter #8, Garlic #4 My Treat, with Whipped Cream - Lose It
Author: askingxalice
Title: Lose It
Summary: Oz after Jakob’s death.
Story: Phase
Timeline: March 2003 - Oz is 17.
Challenge: Garlic #4 ( My Treat - bruised knuckles), Strawberry #29 (rope), Peanut Butter #8 (dark)
Topping: Whipped Cream
Word Count: 833
Rating: PG-13
Will I come up for air, come up for air
After awhile the current is calling me
Lulling me, waving goodbye
I'm out here alone, oh God can you save me now?
Sinking, my heart turns to stone
--Lead Sail (And A Paper Anchor), Atryeu
Oz was surprised that he was able to get the door open for how bad his hands were shaking. There hadn’t been many people at the funeral, but he wished there had been more. When he wasn’t staring down into that hole, where the casket was, where Jakob.... He couldn’t help but stare at Jakob’s parents. He didn’t want to. Oz wished he could be invisible, because he must have been worse than the insurance companies that denied them coverage, or the doctor’s that refused to help. He could have helped. He could have argued with his parents more. He could have tried harder.
Jakob died because of him. Why his parents had even allowed Oz to be there, he’d never know. Stumbling through the main rooms of the house, he barely registered what was around him. Surely, this is what it was like to truly be at the end of your rope. He thought he saw his mother in the sitting room, and he didn’t have to look twice to know she was drinking from a glass of whiskey. For a moment, there was a surge of anger - if she just had a fucking spine, and argued against his father, Jakob might be alive right now - before it subsided and left him blank again.
“Ozmand.”
The word had him stopping short, and Oz wished he could just continue on. But there was no arguing with that tone of voice, no matter how much he hated his father right now, no matter how much he’d rather find a good length of rope and hang himself than talk to the bastard that he had to call dad. Silently, he turned and walked into his father’s office and made sure to look at anything other than the man behind the desk, or his bodyguard nearby. Of course, that didn’t stop him from hearing the disapproving and overall smug tone that his father next spoke with. “Where have you been?”
“...Funeral.”
“I thought I told you that I had forbid you from making an appearance at that... gathering.”
“Don’t care.” Oz grunted, staring so hard at the floor that he was surprised there wasn’t a hole in it already.
They fall into a tense and uncomfortable silence, before his father spoke again. “Your mother and I will... tolerate your tawdry little ‘relationships’, especially since your grades seemed to improve while that... boy was healthy. But just because his health declined and he became a charity case, it does not mean that you can-“
Oz snarled, a noise that sounded closer to demon than human, and lashed out before he thought about it. His knuckles stung as they connected with his father’s jaw, but he leaped over the desk followed the body down to land as many hits and kicks as he could before that damnable bodyguard dragged him away. He heard someone screaming profanity and threats, and he realized it was himself. Swallowing the next scream, it rested as a hard lump in his throat before it dissolved, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth and nausea in his stomach.
“You listen to me, goddamnit. You fucking listen to me. You will give me that fucking trust fund, and then I’m moving the fuck out. I don’t care where I go, as long as it’s nowhere close to you. If you don’t, I will go to whatever media will listen to me. I’ll tell them all about how you were high as a fucking kite when you crashed that fucking car, and then paid your way out of involuntary manslaughter charges. Whether it’s a lie or not, I’m sure it’ll look so wonderful for you to have your remaining son spreading stories... Especially about how you let...”
Oz had to pause, his harsh words drying up as another wave of misery passed over him. “How you let Jakob die because you couldn’t stand the fact that he was poor. And there’s no saying that’s a lie, is it?” He finished, his voice completely blank and unfeeling. For a moment, Oz silently stood her before he shook off the bodyguard’s hands and started for his room. He ignored the shouts and protests of his father behind him, completely focused on making it up to his room before falling apart. It seemed to take forever. It was like he was walking through molasses.
He didn’t know how long he slept. He couldn’t even remember changing out of his clothes, though he must have. The next day, or whenever it was he finally came up for air, Oz wished he could feel any sort of triumph at finding the papers slid under his door. Really, he wished he could feel anything.
Title: Lose It
Summary: Oz after Jakob’s death.
Story: Phase
Timeline: March 2003 - Oz is 17.
Challenge: Garlic #4 ( My Treat - bruised knuckles), Strawberry #29 (rope), Peanut Butter #8 (dark)
Topping: Whipped Cream
Word Count: 833
Rating: PG-13
Will I come up for air, come up for air
After awhile the current is calling me
Lulling me, waving goodbye
I'm out here alone, oh God can you save me now?
Sinking, my heart turns to stone
--Lead Sail (And A Paper Anchor), Atryeu
Oz was surprised that he was able to get the door open for how bad his hands were shaking. There hadn’t been many people at the funeral, but he wished there had been more. When he wasn’t staring down into that hole, where the casket was, where Jakob.... He couldn’t help but stare at Jakob’s parents. He didn’t want to. Oz wished he could be invisible, because he must have been worse than the insurance companies that denied them coverage, or the doctor’s that refused to help. He could have helped. He could have argued with his parents more. He could have tried harder.
Jakob died because of him. Why his parents had even allowed Oz to be there, he’d never know. Stumbling through the main rooms of the house, he barely registered what was around him. Surely, this is what it was like to truly be at the end of your rope. He thought he saw his mother in the sitting room, and he didn’t have to look twice to know she was drinking from a glass of whiskey. For a moment, there was a surge of anger - if she just had a fucking spine, and argued against his father, Jakob might be alive right now - before it subsided and left him blank again.
“Ozmand.”
The word had him stopping short, and Oz wished he could just continue on. But there was no arguing with that tone of voice, no matter how much he hated his father right now, no matter how much he’d rather find a good length of rope and hang himself than talk to the bastard that he had to call dad. Silently, he turned and walked into his father’s office and made sure to look at anything other than the man behind the desk, or his bodyguard nearby. Of course, that didn’t stop him from hearing the disapproving and overall smug tone that his father next spoke with. “Where have you been?”
“...Funeral.”
“I thought I told you that I had forbid you from making an appearance at that... gathering.”
“Don’t care.” Oz grunted, staring so hard at the floor that he was surprised there wasn’t a hole in it already.
They fall into a tense and uncomfortable silence, before his father spoke again. “Your mother and I will... tolerate your tawdry little ‘relationships’, especially since your grades seemed to improve while that... boy was healthy. But just because his health declined and he became a charity case, it does not mean that you can-“
Oz snarled, a noise that sounded closer to demon than human, and lashed out before he thought about it. His knuckles stung as they connected with his father’s jaw, but he leaped over the desk followed the body down to land as many hits and kicks as he could before that damnable bodyguard dragged him away. He heard someone screaming profanity and threats, and he realized it was himself. Swallowing the next scream, it rested as a hard lump in his throat before it dissolved, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth and nausea in his stomach.
“You listen to me, goddamnit. You fucking listen to me. You will give me that fucking trust fund, and then I’m moving the fuck out. I don’t care where I go, as long as it’s nowhere close to you. If you don’t, I will go to whatever media will listen to me. I’ll tell them all about how you were high as a fucking kite when you crashed that fucking car, and then paid your way out of involuntary manslaughter charges. Whether it’s a lie or not, I’m sure it’ll look so wonderful for you to have your remaining son spreading stories... Especially about how you let...”
Oz had to pause, his harsh words drying up as another wave of misery passed over him. “How you let Jakob die because you couldn’t stand the fact that he was poor. And there’s no saying that’s a lie, is it?” He finished, his voice completely blank and unfeeling. For a moment, Oz silently stood her before he shook off the bodyguard’s hands and started for his room. He ignored the shouts and protests of his father behind him, completely focused on making it up to his room before falling apart. It seemed to take forever. It was like he was walking through molasses.
He didn’t know how long he slept. He couldn’t even remember changing out of his clothes, though he must have. The next day, or whenever it was he finally came up for air, Oz wished he could feel any sort of triumph at finding the papers slid under his door. Really, he wished he could feel anything.