9 to You

Eighteen steps from the threshold down to the ground level. About nine seconds. Of course, there is the very real likelihood of that estimation being elevated to something closer to twenty steps and two full minutes, should a certain someone find himself reluctant to lose the comfort of Alexander’s doting company. On those mornings, he may need to take the steps two at a time, and happily so.

[-09:11]

Is the radio playing that song you always sing along to?

What I wouldn’t give to bathe my senses in that sweet voice.

Another fifty-one seconds from the door of their complex to his car, the seconds clicking by in Alex’s head and across his tongue, keeping time with the clacking of the heel of the steel-toed boot on his left foot.

[-09:10]

What colors have you already strewn across the canvas in that clever mind of yours?

Your silently kept thoughts are purer and more precious than any filth that has ever dripped so carelessly from the tongue of another.

The drive is, of course, dependent upon the early morning bustle of the city, but, on average, he can complete the trip in anywhere from twenty-four to thirty minutes. Either way, he is guaranteed a small cushion of time, five to eleven minutes, to clear from his mind the soft drapery of domesticity, leaving bare the cold, sharp edges that have always made him such a lethal force, even to - or especially to - himself.

What advantage had been afforded to him in his past life from his renowned cutthroat carriage on the professional playing field, now served him in a remarkably literal, grotesque sense. Interestingly, he found himself to be more sympathetic to the plight of the animals he now killed and maimed on a daily basis than he had ever been toward the beasts that had once stood beside him in a court of law, clad in bland, untailored suits; as though their unremarkable appearance would somehow distract from the fact that they were forever lying through their teeth.

Rarely does he lose track of time - Why, Alexander, do you allow time to hold such power over you? - but, once in a while, his mind might wander, and it is the rapid and unapologetic knocking upon his window by one of his younger, more rowdy coworkers that draws him back to the moment, the boy's juvenile laughter more jarring than the initial intrusion upon the safe silence of his car.

[-08:35]

How is your mood holding? Have you opened all of the curtains? Have you welcomed in the Sun to kiss your sweet face in my stead?

There are so many wretched souls who deserve the darkness. Not you. You deserve to bask in light and warmth and love. You deserve to be seen.

He takes one last, measured breath, grabbing his lunch box from the backseat - a standard black and white Playmate cooler that would be utterly unremarkable were it not for the array of mismatched stickers that had been placed carefully upon the smooth surface by the same gentle, graceful fingers that he routinely holds within his own, larger, rougher hands. He then exits the moderate warmth of his parked vehicle, locking the thing behind him. It takes about thirty-eight seconds to get from the parking lot to the ugly, sprawling building ahead. Alex appreciates every single one of them between one and twenty-three. But once he gets to twenty-four? That’s when the smell really starts to assault his senses.

He’s been at this for months now. He had assumed that he’d grow accustomed to the sickly cold odor of blood and guts and death and every other vile thing that came along as part of the package. He doesn’t feel the urge to wretch nearly as often as he once had, but his stomach still churns just a little, and he thinks he should have skipped breakfast, and he might have, were it not for the bright eyes that always watch him eat with such appreciative adoration. He holds his breath as he enters the cool building, and he heads straight for the locker room, taking another four minutes and twenty seconds to put away his cooler and slip into his uniform.

[ -08:30]

I forgot to raise the thermostat before I left you today. You must, by now, be slipping into that ridiculously oversized sweatshirt you’ve come to love so much.

How lucky it is to rest upon your soft skin. Sacred. Not to be touched by dirty, hateful hands. Never again. I can’t allow that. After all, who could praise your body as I can? Who else deserves to try?

By now, the first trucks are already pulled into place. Alex enters the receiving area, waiting just over three minutes for the employee assigned to be his partner to accompany him on this task on this particular morning. Cohen is unbothered but apologizes, all the same. The older man’s gait never deviates from the usual, steady pace he always employs. Alex nods in acknowledgment of the insincere gesture, turning around and setting to work without a word. Cohen has been here for fifteen years, he hardly needs to be offered direction.

[ -08:26]

You must be making up the bed about now. So meticulous. Like you were then. Always undoing the nurses’ work in favor of your own particular methods.

Morons. None of them knew what they were doing. They all tried to fix you. How can something so perfect ever need to be fixed? Goddamn idiots. They should suffer thrice the pain that they made you endure.

They manage to guide the load of swine down the ramp and through the gently winding corrals, Alexander tapping out the seconds on the floor with the whip he is meant to use as necessary, until they have managed to contain the entire group to the pens that will serve as their final home, for however brief a time. The environment is meant to calm them... to allow them some rest so that the meat won’t taste off. But that’s a joke. The beasts smell the death around them. It’s in their blood. They will fight... and they will lose... but always, every single time, they will fight.

The pace on the killing floor is always just shy of frenzied, and though no two days follow the same hourglass, Alex continues to count. He attempts to lower the number with every consecutive shipment, humming quietly when he succeeds and sighing softly when he fails. They get a fifteen-minute break, and he follows Cohen outside, standing a few yards away while the older man smokes. He pulls off his gloves and clenches his jaw a little, glancing down at the rough, dry, and cracking skin of his too-pale hands.

[-06:14]

Have you painted a new masterpiece yet? No doubt you’ve managed to get specks of red and blue on your cheek and, somehow, behind your ear. I’ll need to check when I get home.

You spin chaos into a breathtaking melody. You, with your perfectly frayed edges and splendidly spiderwebbed soul, you create a song that even this heart cannot help but beat in time to. Everyone else is noise. Everyone else should just be silenced.

They go back inside and set about cleaning out the pens that have already been emptied out. He isn’t working the killing floor today, but the smell and the sounds are as clear as ever. He can hear the screaming animals, and he focuses down at the shovel in his hands, his almost frantic speed drawing Cohen’s interest for just a moment, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as he watches Alex’s lips move silently, mouthing numbers that mean nothing to the older man. But the younger man has always been a little off. Cohen simply shakes his head, focus returning to the matted-down mess at their feet.

[ -04:36]

Have you slipped into the shower to wash away the paint and oil? Did you use my shampoo, or are you feeling strong without me today? You have no idea how strong you are.

But still, I will be your champion. Still, I will not allow an utterance of disrespect to poison the air that you breathe. I will ruin those who would ruin you.

Alex pulls his arms free of his uniform, pushes it down, and ties it around his waist. His black undershirt is thin and short-sleeved, but he convinces himself that it still smells like the detergent that Elias uses, and not like the horror that permeates the air all around him. He washes his hands... he washes all the way up to his elbows. He scrubs his fingernails against his palms, the chapped skin looking all the worse for his efforts. Twenty seconds. Rinse. Twenty seconds. Rinse. Twenty seconds. Rinse. He reaches for a fresh towel from the old, rusted dispenser, drying himself and tossing the paper towel before going to get his cooler.

He enters the lunch room, not needing to search to find Joey. He sits in the same place every day. Alex heads over and takes a seat across from him, his expression softening into the closest thing to a smile he ever offers in this place, Joey returning it with a toothy grin of his own. Joey has a mental handicap - or so they label it - but he’s anything but stupid. In fact, he’s one of the most observant people Alexander has ever met. He’s also one of the kindest, and the only one of his coworkers whom Alex could even come close to actually trusting.

“What’s for lunch, Joey?” Alex opens his own pail, smirking a little when he hears Joey scoff.

“Well, it in’t lasagna, counselor.” He’s shaking his head even as he takes another bite of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, looking equal parts disgusted and amused by Alexander’s games. Alex doesn’t comment on the title. He’s never told anyone here about his past, and he isn’t sure where Joey came up with the nickname, but the kid is clever. Maybe he’s seen something that Alexander missed, or maybe it’s just an oddly coincidental jest of his own.

“No. It certainly isn’t.” Alex’s voice is soft and low, and he glances into the lunchbox, still a little anxious, though no one has dared to provoke him since his first week. He’d come very close to losing his mediocre job after Corey Gates lost a tooth as a consequence of sneaking a severed pig tongue into Alex’s cooler. He was reprimanded and given a verbal warning, surprised that the thought of getting the law involved seemed to be light years away from even Gates’ mind.

Alex has yet to even fish his food out of his cooler before the buzzing of his phone alerts him to a text from Elias. He pulls the device from his pocket, unlocks the screen, and pulls up the message. A small, beautiful dish of fish and vegetables and starch. It makes Alex’s heart swell with pride - an odd sensation he has long since stopped questioning.

“Looks amazing. I miss you, Gorgeous.” He hits the send button and tucks the phone away, pulling out his bottle of juice and unscrewing the lid, taking a long sip before setting it down on the table. He begins to reach in for his sandwich, hesitating when he notices an approaching body. Steven Thames is coming up behind Joey, and, before he can react, the man reaches over and drops a cow tail onto Joey’s lap, laughing when the kid jumps up with a gasp.

“Fuck off, Thames!” Joey has dropped his sandwich and is kicking the fallen tail to the side, Thames is laughing, and Alex is watching, his temper rising.

“Eat up, retard.” Thames doesn’t spare a glance in Alex’s direction as he moves to walk past them, and that’s his mistake. Alex kicks his foot out, catching Thames’ own and sending him toppling down hard. He hardly hits the floor before Alex has risen, snatching up his drink before pushing down onto the middle of Thames’ back with his dirty boot.

“If I could choose between you and those fucking animals, Thames, I’d rather butcher you. And I wouldn’t even feed your sorry ass to the pigs.” He pours the remains of his juice out onto the back of the man’s head, dropping the empty bottle onto him before stepping away.

Thames is up faster than Alex had anticipated, already swinging wildly before he’s even regained his footing properly. Alex steps back, hoping to avoid another serious confrontation, but he sees those chances dwindle as Thames’ face reddens.

“You think I’m afraid of you, you fucking pussy?”

Thames swings again, and Alex hits the edge of the table, leaning back to avoid a direct blow, the fist barely grazing over his cheek. He puts his weight into his palms and pushes them flat against the table, bringing one leg up and landing a solid kick to Thames’ gut, the man exhaling sharply and stumbling back.

“I can teach you fear.” He pushes himself up, intent upon the man struggling for breath in front of him.

“Hamble! Thames! Knock it off!” The hand on his shoulder stops him cold, the rage in his chest churning to a slow halt as clarity hits him, the sound of the old clock on the lunchroom wall suddenly drowning out the pulsing of his heart as it beats loudly in his ears.

“Get your asses into my office. Now.”

Shit. Goddammit. He’s messed up again. How can he go home and tell Elias he’s been fired for his temper, of all things? He’s meant to be the young man’s haven. He’s meant to be his safety net.

He checks the shrieking clock.

[ -04:29]

Eat up everything on your plate, Love. Tomorrow, I will do the same.

Men like this try to break kind souls like yours. Men like this don’t deserve mercy. Not mine. Not yours. Not Joey’s. Men like this aren’t men, at all.

The lecture is as hot-winded as he had expected, but Mr. Blaine does not fire them. Of course not. They’ve been short-staffed for months, and he can’t risk losing any more people if he wants to keep production at an acceptable level. He sends Thames to clean the fat and oil and flesh out of one of the large processors, and he tells Alex to spend the second half of his day on the line.

That’s fine. It isn’t the kill floor, and Alexander is afraid of what might come out of him if he ends up there today. He returns to the locker room, nodding when Joey greets him with his cooler, taking it from the kid and tossing out the food inside. He places the box into his locker before pulling his uniform back on and heading back out to the floor.

[- 03:56]

You’re likely going out to the store today. What was it we needed? Cinnamon? You don’t need to make excuses to leave the flat, darling. You’ve always loved the world in that relentless way of yours, and the world is privileged to be graced by your glory.

Let the world be kind to you. The world means nothing to me if you are not in it.

He falls into the steady routine of his afternoon task, making his required cuts of the animals hanging before him, wiping away the specks of blood that splatter onto his exposed skin, but never losing count.

Pull. One. Raise. Two. Strike. Three. Forward. Four. Back. Five. Forward. Six. Back. Seven. Forward. Eight. Back. Nine. Sever. Ten.

He doesn’t lose count. He focuses on the blade tearing at the flesh. He focuses on the sound of the moving belts. But he still hears the screaming of the doomed creatures he is ripping apart. He cannot ignore them. They drive his movements. Hurried and desperate. They drive him on, and they only stop when he slips and watches his own flesh split.

[-02:20]

How can you touch these hands? Kiss these lips? How can you love a mind that once defended men who relished the sound of screams like these?

If you breathe clean air today, and you meet a tender smile, your feet might beg you to follow them to a place far from here. You can go. You can be a deity anywhere and to anyone. But no prayers will be so earnest as my own. No praise will elevate you as I can. You can go, but, please... stay.

He takes his final break of the day. The cut isn’t the worst he’s seen, and he manages to avoid an incident report. He cleans it and bandages it and steps outside, closing his eyes and finding a moment of solace against the cold, brick wall.

[- 02:00]

How many strangers have seen your smile today? I wish they hadn’t. They don’t know what it means. They don’t know how it has saved me. Keep it close. Keep it for me.

I remember death, and she held me while I had breath yet in my lungs. I remember birth, and she delivered me when I was breathless... left gasping and alive by the mere sight of you.

Back on the line, he finds a steady rhythm. He keeps a slower pace, and he matches his breathing to the carefully measured seconds passing by in his head. His coworkers gossip and joke around him, but Alex keeps his mouth tightly shut, locking away the scathing words he wishes to rain down upon them. But these imbeciles... their conversation makes it jarringly clear that his insults would go largely misunderstood. Better not to waste his breath.

The loud, horn-like noise that sounds throughout the building alerts him to the closing of his shift, and he finishes what he’s doing before setting aside his tools and joining the others as they clean up for the day. This may be his least favorite duty, but it is all there is to be done before he can finally leave this godforsaken place.

[-00:36]

Are you safely home by now? Have you been patient? Are you preparing dinner or setting the table? Just a little longer, now.

Whatever you’ve given the world today, I hope you’ve brought it back home with you. I hope you’ve kept some for me. For us.

He goes to the locker room, pulls off his work uniform, and tosses it in with the other soiled frocks, washing his hands and forearms. Twenty seconds. Rinse. Twenty seconds. Rinse. Twenty seconds. Rinse.

He dries off, grabs his lunchbox from his locker, along with his keys, takes a quick glance at his cell phone, and heads out to his vehicle. He offers a few nods to those coworkers polite enough to wish him a pleasant evening, patting Joey on the shoulder as he passes by where the kid is hunched over, pulling off his boots.

[-00:31]

You must be getting restless. Do you still worry that I won’t come home to you? Do you still question my devotion? I can’t have that. I’ll prove it to you. Every day for the rest of our lives, if I must.

You, alone, are worthy of my affection. Only you could ever fit so perfectly into the barren spaces left behind in my heart.

He drives home listening to music, wondering all along if Elias is enjoying the same station. He resists the urge to speed because he promised the young man to always drive carefully, and he hums along quietly to the songs he knows.

Traffic is light today, which is good. Today has been long enough. He pulls into his parking space and takes a moment to remove the bandage from his hand. The wound isn’t bleeding now, and, if he doesn’t mention it, he’s sure that Elias won’t either. He tosses the gauze down onto the floor of the passenger side, reaching back and grabbing his cooler before killing the engine and exiting the car.

Forty-eight seconds from his parking spot to the complex, his feet carrying him a little faster than they did in the morning. He enters the code into the door’s keypad, entering their building and climbing the stairs two at a time, and happily so. He can hear the music drifting out from behind the closed door of their flat, and he can smell the sweet fragrance of the candles Elias loves so much. He is already at the door by the time he realizes his key is in the bottom of his cooler somewhere, so he rings the bell, unable to wait for a second longer.

[00:00]

“Hello, Beautiful.” Elias is smiling at him, eyes soft and warm and welcoming, and, for the first time since he stepped out this morning, Alex has stopped counting. He gives the younger man a short kiss, sets his lunchbox on the floor, and makes his way quickly into the bathroom, stripping off his clothing and washing the day away.

He steps out and pulls on the comfortable clothing Elias has left out for him, marveling at how it smells of fabric softener and, somehow, something so uniquely Elias. Alex’s long hair is still dripping wet, but drying it would simply take too long, especially when he’s been waiting all day for what stands on the other side of the door.

When he reenters the kitchen, Elias' eyes meet his own, and he is stupefied. He is utterly dazed by what he sees. This young man looks at him as though he has waited to see him all of his life. He looks at him as though he is seeing his oldest friend. He looks at him as though this is love at first sight. He looks at him in the same manner Alex has looked at Elias every single day from the second they met.

And then he tells Alex that he loves him. And, Alex, flexing his fingers and feeling the dry, tight skin pulling against the cracks and cuts, only parts his lips in response, feeling the words have been drawn straight from his heavy tongue. He closes the distance and pulls Elias close, kissing him deeply, communicating in that voiceless language he has learned so well through loving the man in his arms.

“Tell me about your day.” He smiles - the first genuine, open-hearted smile he’s managed since this morning, and he reaches up to run his thumb over the curve of Elias' ear, eyes lighting up fondly as he manages to wipe away the remnants of the yellow paint that must also adorn the drying canvas nestled carefully away somewhere in the flat.

They’ll eat dinner, they’ll talk, Elias will wordlessly trace his fingers across the light bruise on Alex’s cheek, he’ll rebandage his hand without comment, he will show Alex his newest painting, which Alex will love without question, Alex will comment on how beautiful and healthy the plants are looking...

They’ll do all of these mundane, extraordinary, wonderful, routine things. All of these, and more. And Alex won’t count a single second of any of it. Because they are living... at long last... and time doesn’t hold power over him anymore. Every goal he’s ever raced to reach, every accomplishment he’s ever hoped to achieve, it’s all here, in every single smile he kisses and every last tear he dries. The sun rises in those deep, rich eyes, and the sun sets with the touch of those gentle lips. And, so, after being broken and fixed and broken again, finally, Alex is no longer running from time. Now, and for the rest of his life, he’s running straight toward Elias.