javigcr

[javigcr]

santiago.

“I’m sorry, was that a.. a ketchup reference? You’re… I’m struggling to keep up with how your mind works.” His eyebrows drew together at the attacker’s real name. Pittman. If there was one thing he remembered tonight, it had to be that. The same adrenaline rush of anger he felt earlier in the day came rushing back, his hand clenching tightly. 

His muscles relaxed at Javi’s touch, looking at him fully for the first time since they walked through the front door. “He did deserve it.” He had no clue why this kid decided to beat up on Javier every day, but he was firm in what he said. He deserved to have a beating. Santiago couldn’t imagine the man in front of him, looking at him with those kind eyes, could ever be at fault in a fight. “Really, just.. you don’t. It’s not about being indebted or shit like that, it doesn’t.. I couldn’t do nothin’. Not tonight. Now will you let me clean this?” 

     He’s already forgotten the last thing he’s said, and he’s sure its a mix of alcohol and concussion and just pure confusion that he just feels. He’s not thinking anything but feeling his way through the situation, and when he hears for the first time from someone that Pittman was the actual monster he’d always thought he was, his breath catches. It up and unearthed the terrified teenager from the back of his mind that he didn’t know was still there, and he suddenly looks decades younger.       That line has him enamored, and he quickly releases the stranger’s wrist, ready to obey his every command. He was just shocked. “ no one has told me that before. ” he’s not sure what he’s referring to, but again - feeling not thinking. he recoils slightly at the feeling of antiseptic on the cut on his temple, but rewinds. It hurt, and that pain only seemed to register now. He looks down at his bloodied knuckles with awe, as if he’d never seen the back of his hands before. He then realises he wasn’t supposed to move his head, despite all his nervous fidgeting, and retreats to his previous position again. “ Sorry, uh... what’s your name? ”

[javigcr]

santiago.

He collected the rubbing alcohol and the bandages from his rudimentary first aid kit, chuckling softly at the male’s comment. “You’re not a deviant, but you’re fighting with random drunks in a shitty bar, yeah?” He left his cigarette perched precariously on an empty beer can, dabbing a bit of the rubbing alcohol onto a cotton swab. A glance back at the covered mirror caused his shoulders to cave in, the casual reminder of how fucked up his life was turning the tips of his ears pink. His voice was softer when he spoke again, feigning interest in the soaked cotton swab to avoid looking at Javi.

“Stop saying you owe me. Not like I did much. I was on my back two seconds in. This’ll sting, by the way.” As gently as he could, he pressed the cotton to the cut on Javi’s temple, eyebrows furrowed together like he was performing a surgery. “ ‘N stay still, don’t want it going in your eyes.”

     Javi's eyes blow up at the chuckle, holding his palms out as a means of surrender. " Devian-- Deviancy comes in several varieties. Much like the Heinz franchise. " He wasn't too sure what he was talking about now. Tomorrow morning was going to be brutal. " And it wasn't some rando, man. That was Mark... Mark Pittman, quarterback extraordinaire of Illin Valley High School. Used to beat me up all the time, fucker deserves it. " He huffed. " Bar was shitty, though, " He grunted, crossing his arms.      His immediate reaction to the cotton swab is to lean away, a confused look on his face. " Shit, what a Mother Teressa you are, " He chuckled, grabbing a hold of Santi's arm to stop him from touching his wound. " No one told you to do this man, " He mumbled, humbled by his help. He just didn't know how to tell him he didn't have to do this. " You don't... I absolutely owe you, man. You... you have a good heart. " He murmured, biting his cheek.

[javigcr]

santiago.

He staggered over to his window, pulling the frame up so the smoke from his lit cigarette would drift out into the night. “’It’ to be good?” He questioned, arching an eyebrow. “I should have a first aid kit around here. Gimme a sec-” Holding the cigarette between his teeth, he went to his bathroom, motioning for the man to follow him. His first aid kit - consisting of only rubbing alcohol, bandages, and ibuprofen - was beneath the sink, one he used a little too often in regards to his recent anger issues.

“Sorry about the mess,” he muttered through his cigarette; there were empty beer cans on most surfaces, with most of those having been used as an ashtray at some point. The strangest part of his bathroom wasn’t the mess, but was the black trash bag covering the mirror on the wall. Ever since the accident that took his brother’s life, he’s been unable to even look at himself, the spitting image of Mateo.

     javi sprawled out on the toilet seat as if it were his own half-stuffed coach, leaning back on its tank, staring at the blood from his lip now smeared on the back of his hand. every time the conversation started up again it seemed to catch him off guard, as if he was losing grasp of what was happening in front of him by the second. it didn’t seem to bother him though - he just kept up the same dazed, tired look on his face as he lifted his arm up every so often to blow cigarette smoke up in the air, tilting his head back to try and cool the throbbing on the white porcelain.       “ whatever you’re into, man. i’m no fuckin’... deviant, but i’ll make it work. owe you that much for saving my life, yeah ? just maybe wait till the whole - ” javi waved around the bottom half of his face, cigarette clipped in between his figures as smoke lazily wisped away just centimetres away from his face. he sighed, stubbing out his long gone cigarette on a beer can lying on the floor. “ s’alright. if anything i’m glad i don’t have to look myself in the eye, ” he chuckled, gesturing at the obscured mirror.

[javigcr]

santiago.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he thought to himself, I wonder why he goes. After the first couple of meetings, he started tuning out everyone’s stories; mostly he sat there, wrapped up in his own thoughts. Grief groups were strange. They were advertised like it would be a great way to cope, but instead, all he felt was the added burden of these stranger’s tragedies. Rather than coping with the fact that his brother died, he sat there and wallowed in other’s misery before going to wallow in his own. Stories blurred together into a bunch of weeping or stone-faced people, just mumbling words about sadness and loss. It was better to just not focus. 

He glanced at the hand on his shoulder, briefly stumbling over his own feet. His cheeks heated up, pulling the cigarette to his mouth. “Every Thursday,” he repeated in confirmation, turning around the corner. Another pat of his pockets led him to his keys, which he held tight in his hand. “Ha, repay? How are you planning on doing that? Neither of us are gonna get served anymore alcohol tonight.”

     “ yeah, yeah, i remember you, ” javi seemed to talk to himself, staring at the ground as he vocalised his thoughts, so maybe his drunken, concussed mind would remember the next morning. what he would remember, however, was eying the guy sitting in front of him in the circle of chairs during group, subtle as he fiddled with his thumbs of his lap. he just wasn’t sure if he would put two and two together, and realise that this was the same guy. that that same guy was letting him into his own home.       he smirked to himself as he tentatively stepped into the foreign apartment, keeping a hand on his split lip, trying not to stain the carpet. oh, all the things he could thank him with. maybe dinner. if he was still ten, with good table manners and a forced heterosexuality. he wasn’t going to buy anyone dinner now. he could barely pay to eat for one. “ it don’t have to be right away. you want it to be good, right ? ” javi smirked, stumbling around trying to find a bathroom. whatever ‘it’ he was talking about he had no idea, but it was best to keep it vague for now, considering with all this concussed, bloody talk he felt like he’d pass out in a few minutes. buys him more time to work this guy out. 

[javigcr]

santiago.

As his new friend caught up to him, he tapped his pockets, looking for the one that contained his half crushed pack of cigarettes. He tucked it between his lips and lit the end, taking a long drag before offering one to Javi. It was a relatively new vice of his, one he found he enjoyed most when he was drunk - so, essentially, all the time. 

“Javi,” He repeated, pulling another drag from his cigarette. The muscles in his arms tightened when he mentioned the recognition, still unsure of if he wanted to breach that territory. Lucky for him, his drunk brain had no filter, and the words spilled out before he could fully process them. “You go to my grief support group, don’tcha?” 

     javi’s eyes widened at the sight of a cigarette, it’s white wrapping almost glowing in the night dark. a little nighttime treat. the grin that matched it almost looked a little mischievous, as if javier was still a teenage boy, sneaking cigarettes into his bedroom while his mother wasn’t looking. but he held his cigarette with poise, a practiced balance on his lips as he carefully leaned over, waiting silently for a light. “ thanks, man,” he murmured, staring at the glowing end of his cigarette as he breathed in, pulling away the cigarette pinched between his fingers, tapping ash on the pavement.       a chuckle escaped javi before he could contain it, his thumb reaching up to scratch his brow, middle and pointer finger clipping his cigarette. “ every thursday, six pm? shit,” he reached out to pat his new friend on the shoulder. “now i have to repay you,” he joked, a slight slur to his words as the cigarette relaxed him, a loosened pace to his walk.

[javigcr]

santiago.

He smirked, looking at the blood-ridden man in front of him. He hadn’t been in a lot of fights, but he lost every single one and always looked like how Javi looked at that moment. He surely got ‘em good.

Santi glanced over his shoulder at the zombie-like shuffle behind him, something strange blooming in his chest. Relief? Yeah, he would’ve felt awful about leaving someone who just got their ass kicked on the streets. “Come on.” He said simply, resuming his slow pace towards his apartment.

“What’s your name?” He wondered if the man recognized him as well, or if he was just the friendly stranger who tried to rescue him and failed miserably. And he wasn’t about to bring the topic up directly - hey, do you go to my grief counseling group? Fucking sucks, doesn’t it?

     he smiled at the response, but it quickly faded as it started tugging at his split lip, his brain already screaming at him to stop doing anything and just follow the other man to safety. he was never too good at following instructions. he does a weak shuffle, half run to catch up with his new acquaintance, so he could walk alongside him. nothing worse than feeling inferior, having to stumble painfully behind someone else. was it a masculinity thing, he didn’t know. he just did what he thought would make him feel better.      “ javi. ” his voice was rough, hoarse from the lack of sleep and the amount of effort it took for him to not moan at the constant pain picking and playing with his head. he looked over at the stranger, eyeing him up and down. “ think i know you from somewhere. ” he murmured, rather unsure of how to bring up the topic.

[javigcr]

santiago.

His brow furrowed, hand slowly slipping into his jean pocket when Javi stood on his own. The struggle he faced almost brought a smile to Santi’s lips, but he refrained from outright grinning; he assumed the almost stranger wouldn’t appreciate laughter at his expense, not after the beating he’d just received. And yet the man began to laugh all on his own, seemingly at nothing, and a confused smile graced Santiago’s lips - slight, almost a ghost of a smile, but it brought youth to his face.

“There’s a bus stop a block down,” He pointed, and glanced at the wristwatch he wore, “but it stopped running two hours ago.” He gave a little shrug; he’d offered all he was capable of giving, and his eyes were starting to sting from a lack of sleep. The alcohol weighed heavy in his system, and now that the adrenaline of the fight had worn off, he was ready to stumble into the warmth of his own bed.

“I’m not standing out here ‘till those guys decide to come finish that fight, so I’m going home.” He pulled the hood of his jacket over his hair, a shadow falling over his face. His gaze lingered on the man in front of him as he took a slow step back. “Offer still stands.” 

A pause, and he turned away, his feet dragging along the rough pavement. 

      he’s already struggling to stand still, but he makes a good case by pretending to shuffle his feet from the cold, sniffling and wiping at his nose again. the cold on his lip seemed to sink into his skin, and he was always itching to scrub it off. his could feel that his face was battered enough to see without the red streaks everywhere. “ they won’t come back out. i got ‘em good. ” he grinned through the banging in his head. felt like a concussion, nothing new to him. his father would freak out if he knew.       the beer still seems to cloud his vision, but he can see through it far enough to know that this cute, scrawny guy was actually going to leave him there. which is totally rational and smart, but javi didn’t consider himself those things when drunk, and the thought of this random stranger walking away left a heavy pit in his stomach. he forced himself to lurch forward, to push aside the feeling, and stumbled after the guy. “ hey, ” he called out, less jovial and drunken this time. “ could i just... stay with you, for a while? ” he doesn’t feel too good.

[javigcr]

santiago.

Santiago had never been much of a fighter; he was always scrawny, a lover not a fighter, the one his brother had to protect. When that first punch put him down, he stayed down, even as the man he had tried to defend rose to his feet in a flurry of fists and blood. He managed to struggle to his feet as the bar owner appeared, hoping maybe he could slink back to the bar and pretend that never happened, but he took one step and the man grabbed his arm.

“You, too.” The man seemed kind of apologetic about it - Santiago had been a regular for a few months, and after far too many drinks, had shared his story with the owner. “Rules are rules. You need me to call Sofia?”

Santi’s lips curled at the mention of his sister-in-law. No, he couldn’t face her tonight, not with that look of pity mixed with fury. She had the kind of gaze that could make him feel like a child receiving a scolding; small, and fragile, and completely unaware of the world. “I’ll be fine.” He muttered as he moved past the owner, Carter, bumping into his shoulder a little harder than his drunken self could excuse. One of the bartenders led Santiago out the door, shoving him to the pavement and closing the door with a loud bang, sealing off the one place he found solace in.

“No big loss,” He said, an ache settling into his jaw, “They started watering down my drinks twenty minutes ago.” Santiago struggled to his feet, offering a hand out to the bloody man. “I live three blocks from here. Come get cleaned up, doubt you’re going to be able to drive for a while.” 

     he’d assess the situation if he could, but all the new deformities in his face, sunken with bruises or swollen with hits all blare the same agonising tune, and the pain melts into one cry of hurt. hurt hurt hurt. nothing is local, and the physical blends with the mental, but javier still couldn’t find it in himself to accept the other man’s hand, and laid his own out on the pavement to try and push himself up. he teetered on his toes, like a baby trying to stand after learning to walk, and almost crashes into his mourning buddy. he does find his footing though, after a wobble and a wrong lean on his left foot, he manages to stand still for a moment.      the whole notion of chuckling or being just being happy seemed to go against the philosophy of the situation ( and his life in general ), but the weird tumor of humour in his brain prompted him to start chuckling at the thought of a gross, watery drink. “ i saved you from that. ” he said once the hoarse, tired laughter of his started to settle down. once his body stopped reacting to things the way his mind didn’t want to. it wasn’t even funny, but his mind stopped controlling his body a long time ago.      “ it’s okay. i can’t drive. ” he dismissed with the wave of his hand, sniffling before wiping at his bloody nose. in the dark of something between the times of eleven am to three, it was hard to see the striking red. but he could feel the blood cooling on his finger from the night breeze. he wipes it on his trousers, eager to brush the feeling away. “ hey. ” he said out the blue, looking up at the man who got kicked out with him. “ you know any bus stops here ? i have work tomorrow. ” he asked, as if the buses hadn’t stopped running hours ago.

[javigcr]

santiago.

“My twin brother, Mateo, died last year. He was murdered. Mugging gone wrong, they said. I, uh, was at the trial, and they, you know, played some security footage. You could see the guy approaching him, gun out, and Mateo.. he just went for the gun. Never could go down without a fight, even though he’d be alive if he handed over his wallet. If he just… Yeah, so that’s why I’m here. My sister-in-law thought it’d be good for me. I miss him. A lot.”

He sat down abruptly, and the woman who ran the meetings thanked him for opening up, but her words fell on deaf ears. Santiago tucked his chin to his chest, eyes closed as the sound in the room turned to a loud buzzing in his ears. Bullshit. Talking would help - bullshit. It only made the knot in his chest get tighter. Nothing was going to make this ache go away.

He left the meeting early.

And straight to a bar he went, the same one he usually took a trip to after these meetings. His weekly trip here reduced the number of empty bottles that his sister-in-law, Sofia, always cast a disapproving look at. She didn’t get it; she had his nieces and nephew to pull her life together for. They were counting on her, so she had to move on. Pick herself off the ground for them. He had no one. No one depended on him, so there was no rush in getting his life back together after he hit the bottom.

He lost track of how many drinks he’d had before there was a commotion across the bar. He should have sat there in silence, not gotten involved, but his head swiveled to the source of the noise and there he found a man he recognized, placing him immediately as someone who went to the same group as him.

Turn back, his mind told him, but the same face he recognized was hit and he was on the floor and Santi’s body moved without quite realizing what he was doing. Some protective aspect took control and he soared, grabbing hold of the assailant’s wrist before he could take another swing, yelling, “Get the fuck out of here, man!”

His slurred words evidently didn’t inspire a lot of fear, because the next thing he knew, one of those hits was perfectly aimed at his chin and he went down.

     the sound of ringing deafened javi, unable to hear the commotion happening above ground, but he could feel when another figure knocked into him, falling on their back just like he did. he struggled to focus, vision blurry through his one bloodshot eye, but eventually something clicked in his mind about the face next to his. bearded, scrawny, it was that guy. the twin guy. mugging turned murder. holy shit. what was he doing here? and most importantly, why was he on the floor with him?      it took javi way too long to put two and two together, and when it did it only added to the fury that came rushing back. “ motherfucker !! ” he gets up too fast, and the world swirls, but he still manages to tackle the assailant of this innocent, courageous acquaintance of his to the sticky floor of the pub. the look in his eyes in manic, surrounded by a face streaming with blood and bruises, it’s far from pretty.       he gets a few decent punches in before he’s dragged away, up on his feet that refuse to support his drunken ass, by what seemed to be a very furious bar owner. he stumbles to place his footing, a spill of assorted spanish curses dribbling out of his mouth with the grace of a poet. he gets caught up in the thought of how the hell one dude could pull him away so easily, figuring how heavy he was since he stopped playing football in high school, but soon enough he’s being kicked to the curb, and the thought recedes as he hits the pavement. the twin guy follows him, and javi watches, struggling to get up off the ground as he tries to talk, careful of his split bottom lip. “ should’ve finished your drink first before all that shit. ”

[javigcr]

     it’s not working. well, it’s not supposed to work right away, but he feels nothing at all and he wants an excuse to get out. maybe this time he’ll remember to text his brother about it. but for now, drinks. at this bar only blocks away from that community centre, sandy’s or betty’s or whatever, it was always a woman’s name. javi had his arms folded on the bar, beer in his hand and his head laid in his arms, watching a busy bar turned sideways. it was like he was drunk already. he blinked slowly, tapping at his cold, near empty bottle with a finger. in the position, he could sleep anytime. just had to wait for the booze to kick in, and he wouldn’t have to use the pills tonight.  his head perked up at the mention of his name across the bar, eyebrows scrunching as he met eyes with another man. mark, another local like him, thirty-six, probably richer than he was, probably still homophobic. some things never change. maybe someone would blame it on the alcohol, the counseling, the weather, or just the deep seething feeling of absolute nothing he felt in his heart, but the next thing he knew he was nose to nose with the notorious high school bully, and he wasn’t sure what he was exactly shouting at him ( he’d spent all his years wondering why, to no avail ), but then he feels something. a feeling. a feeling of sparks, bursting bright red all over his nose, the swift slender cut of a ring on his temple. then he’s on the ground, wrestling and squirming, getting his own play with punches, until an odd fist slams him back on the ground, now blind in one eye. “ que te jodan ! ”