The Inescapable Us - Chapter 5
#6 of The Inescapable Us
Tom hated group projects.
His notes spanned fourteen pages, bullet point after bullet point on the Atlantis-Ma'ia conflict that had lasted two centuries a millennium ago; the Anglian Inquisition that had ended the feud between Atlantis and Ma'ia through the culling of the Itzan Shamasal, which in turn had led to the invasion of Britannia; and the formation of the Ma'ia-Ivernia Alliance, which had secured the defeat of Britannia and the summary execution of its noble houses.
Wally, on the other hand, had barely written a full page. The white bear stared blankly at the books Tom had found, his pen limp between his fingers.
"Could you, y'know, do something?" Tom grunted, putting down his books. "We only have until Tuesday to finish this."
"Oh." Wally looked up with a flat expression, averting his eyes from Tom's glare. "Sorry, I don't know what to do."
"For fuck's sake," Tom swore, a bit too loudly, only remembering they were in the library when a sharp shush and annoyed grumbling came across from the table two rows down. "I told you to read up on the cultural implications of the alliance between Ma'ia and Ivernia. Page 223. Here." Tom impatiently tapped the open book in front of Wally, who looked down at the text.
"Right." The bear leaned forward with disinterest. His eyes danced across two or three sentences before what little enthusiasm vanished completely. Tom sighed.
"If you can't fucking do that, you can check my notes instead," he muttered, annoyed. He tossed his notebook down in front of Wally, who glanced at it. He'd scarcely gotten past the first page when he looked elsewhere.
"I can't read this. Your handwriting's shit."
"Well, fuck me for making an effort, at least I'm doing something." Tom snatched his notes back and started scribbling. "Of all the useless people to get paired up with..."
After a quarter, Tom's hand started cramping. He threw a glare at Wally, who idly typed something, his disinterest not wavering. "At least tell me you're looking up shit relevant to this?"
"No," Wally replied flatly. "Brian's asking how we're doing."
"Tell him to go fuck himself. Smug prick." Tom grumbled and swore under his breath. "Just... just do whatever. I need air."
Tom got up, chair scraping loudly. He walked around the closest shelf to the nearest window, opening it to let the cool air in, and took a deep whiff of fresh air, trying to calm down. As he gazed out to the parking lot below, he noticed how dirty his spectacles were. Grumbling some more, the otter gave them a quick clean with his shirt; when he put them on, he glanced around the library again. By the computers, he saw the usual array of students who wasted their study time surfing the internet for memes or reading forums, only his eyes fell on a newcomer: an overweight white bear, whose fur was trimmed down almost to the flesh. The bear had a frown, mumbling under his breath, and with a heavy sigh, the bear slumped in his chair.
"Dew?"
"Oh. Hey," Dew replied, looking Tom's way. "What's up?"
"You've short fur."
"Yes," Dew looked at his arms. "That's a thing."
Tom frowned. "You're not fluffy anymore."
The bear sighed and switched subjects immediately. "What're you up to?"
"History project," Tom grimaced, and he narrowed his eyes. "You're in the same class, aren't you? Shouldn't you be working on that?"
"Oh, I finished that already," Dew shrugged. Tom raised his eyebrows as Dew looked to the computer, talking more to himself, "Ugh, this is a waste of time...
"How the fuck did you finish it so soon? It's a two-week project."
"I already did a paper on it back in Atlanta," Dew replied. The computer whirred for a moment, and then shut down. "This is a waste of time...Showed it to the teacher after class. She was impressed. Already passed me."
"You did a paper?" Tom asked, befuddled, as the bear struggled to get on his feet. "What, like uni?"
"Yes," Dew sighed. "Evening classes."
"Why the fuck are you in high school if you've already done uni classes?"
"I don't have my diploma?" Dew replied, exasperated. "My da forced me to take those evening classes. Said it built character. What subject did you choose for the project?"
"The four-hundred year period between 700 and 1100," Tom grumbled. "Atlantis, Ma'ia, Ivernia and Britannia. My group mate's fucking useless though."
"I've nothing to do, want some help?"
Tom looked at Dew, whose eyes had lit up, and he felt grateful. "Yes, please."
They returned to the table. Wally stared into nothingness, stirring when Dew sat down with them at the table. "Dew, this is Wally, my partner. Here's my notes, by the way," Tom tossed Dew his notebook.
"What're your sources?" Dew asked as he read over the first page.
"These." Tom tapped the books on the table, sighing.
"Ah." Dew smiled weakly as he read some of the titles and their authors. "My professor wasn't too keen on Wilson's works. Said she was too biased against Britannia, and glossed over Arashi's cultural involvement in the earlier stages of the Atlantis-Ma'ia conflict."
"Well, aren't you a fucking encyclopaedia article," Tom grunted, rolling his eyes. Dew was unperturbed as he reached for Tom's notes.
"Well, only been half a year since I did the paper," Dew shrugged as he continued to the second page. "Was a lot of work. Your notes are good."
"You can read that?" Wally asked flatly, looking displaced.
"I've seen worse." Dew tilted his head, studying Wally carefully. "You okay?"
"Mind your own business," Wally muttered. Dew looked taken aback, more than Tom anticipated, and he dipped back into Tom's notes, looking worse for wear. There was something about Dew today that Tom couldn't put his digits on. He glared at Wally - a gesture that went unnoticed - before he returned to the books once again, joining the brooding silence that permeated their table.
"I didn't know you were a history buff," Tom said. He and Dew said their goodbyes to Wally - the white bear barely gave a nod of recognition - watching as he entered a car driven by a bulky Rottweiler, who was one of the PT teachers.
"Who's that?" Dew asked quietly, gesturing to the old dog.
"Wally's dad," Tom shrugged. Dew made a curious sound.
"You didn't answer my question," Tom insisted. Dew sighed, scratching an itch behind his ears.
"I'm not," Dew replied. "I just had an engaging professor. She made me want to learn."
"Well, you just saved my arse. Wally's fucking useless."
"He's cute, though," Dew shrugged with a smile. Tom's face contorted in disbelief, trying to read Dew's face, studying those blue eyes, trying to figure out what Dew meant - and he paused for a moment. Something was definitely wrong today. He leaned in towards Dew - as far as he could, considering Dew was almost twice his height - eyes narrowed. Dew blinked down at him confused.
"What?" Dew asked, looking down at his arms and chest. "Have I got something in my fur?"
"Just... Your eyes look different," Tom said, frustrated. "They different a week ago, weren't they?"
"Were they?" Dew replied, amused, and he gave the otter a pat on the head.
"Condescending prick," Tom snarled as he pushed Dew's hand away. Dew splayed his ears.
"Sorry."
"Could've sworn they were red or something," Tom grumbled. "Never mind, what now?"
"I've boxes," Dew said with a heavy sigh, rolling his eyes. "Going to be so much fun. Probably an earful from me da too. You?"
"That," Tom said miserably as he pointed to the end of the courtyard. James and his pals stood there waiting.
"Those fuckers again?" Dew's voice had a hint of a growl in it. "Don't they have anything better to do?"
"Of course they don't," Tom replied glumly, and all his pent-up anger dissipated into familiar dread.
"Fucking hells, you deserve better than this." Dew straightened his back. "Let me take care of it."
"Won't help," Tom shook his head, lowering his head. "You'll only make it worse."
Dew tried to ignore him to stride towards the pack, but Tom grabbed his hand in a feeble attempt to hold the bear back. "Please, Dew, don't. They'll just start spreading rumours."
"I don't mind rumours," Dew shrugged, frowning.
"Well, I do!" Tom snapped back, brows set in a heavy frown, gritting his teeth. "If you keep standing up for me, they'll just turn it around and say that you're gay for me or something, and if my parents find out, they'll..." He trailed off for a moment, splaying his ears, hanging his head in defeat.
"Why would your parents care about shit like that?"
"They hate gays," Tom grimaced, ashamed. "If there's a whiff of them on the telly, or on the radio, or just... even fucking _rumours_about it, they get angry. Really angry."
"How would they find out?" Dew asked as he squatted in front of the otter.
"James is dating my sister," Tom whispered, staring at the ground.
"I'm sorry." Dew sighed as he struggled to get up on his feet.
"Just... just go." Tom looked away, the shame making him burn. "I'll cope. Always do."
Dew surveyed him for a while, his expression a mixture of emotions, none of which Tom felt he could pin down. "I'll see you around then," Dew replied solemnly, and Tom thought he saw disappointment somewhere in those blue eyes. Tom watched as the white bear took off, steering away from the pack. Tom grit his teeth and turned his gaze to his tormentors.
"Oy, fatso! Did you and Tom break up?"
Tom stopped. It was James's brother who had called out to Dew, who had frozen in his tracks. A surge of hatred welled up in Tom as he clenched his fists, but before he could run to the pack and yell at them, something was ... off. Dew never turned around, yet something around the bear gave Tom's indignation pause.
It wasn't just Tom. The Rottweiler had stiffened too, and he voiced something to the others, who laughed it off. The moment passed, and Dew walked away, his small ears splayed. Tom swore internally as he glared at James's twin - Theo - though his eyes met with the pack wolf instead. There was a flash of a grin and then all attention headed Tom's way instead. Malice hung in the air as Tom inhaled deeply, trying to stifle a gulp. As bravely as he could, he strode forward, intending to break through them, steeling himself from their abuse.
He hated all of them.
"GG!"
Wally had failed to take off his headset in time. Robert's victory screech was always a nightmare to listen to, and the headache in the back of Wally's head was growing. He regretted taking off his headset immediately once he heard the cacophony upstairs, and his chest sunk with shame at the sound of his mother yelling.
She'd come home late again.
They fought all the time these days. His mother brought the volume, his father the bumbling excuses. They had always been frigid with one another, but the fighting had escalated two years ago - when Wally began high school. He grit his teeth as he got up, deliberately making his chair screech against the tiles of his floor, and he stomped angrily on the short two metre walk from his computer to the toilet - his need to piss at the forefront of his headache - which ceased the fighting above immediately
They never fought when they knew Wally could hear them.
When he stood before the toilet he held his hard cock tightly to make sure he didn't piss everywhere. Relief washed over him as he emptied his bladder, though as he shook off the last few drops, his member remained stiff in his hand.
Unceremoniously, Wally shoved his cock back into his briefs, flushed the toilet, and washed his paws. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do - the throbbing in the front of his head and the ache of his dick blanked his mind; he was neither hungry nor thirsty; neither tired nor rested. He could hear his friends calling his name from the headphones, and he sat down in front of his monitor, fingering the cords. His disinterest reached its peak as he quit the game and his VoIP without a word; afterwards, he muted his phone - within two minutes the screen flashed with an unread message from Roy, and then from Robert.
Wally put the phone facedown on his desk and stood up. It was scarcely six in the evening, yet when he moved it was with the body of somebody deprived of sleep. His chair screeched against the floor again, his paws marking his heavy ascent up the stairs, heaving for air.
The kitchen was uninhabited, each surface cleaned meticulously, its decorative pieces arranged compulsively, the curtains fresh, the sink polished to a sheen. Right beyond the kitchen was the living room - on the wall-mounted television a football match was about to start, Dad leaned back into the comfort of the couch, feet on the coffee table, his hand on the remote. Even though Dad wasn't his biological father, they had a similar build and the same eyes.
"Where's mum?" Wally voiced solemnly as he entered the living room.
"She went to the shop," Dad shrugged, glancing his way. "You doing okay?"
"Fine," Wally muttered and, averting his eyes, he went through the living room to the stairwell in the entry hall. As he walked past Dad, he saw the old dog shift as though to get up, yet he never left the couch.
Wally stood before the stairs, and sighed. He didn't like stairways: the way they creaked under his weight made his insides ache. Up he went, not looking at the photos hung on the wall to accompany whoever walked up to the second floor: there were wedding photos in the hallway of a time when his parents smiled; the portraits of his nephews, his sister and her husband celebrating the birth of their daughter; his late grandparents some odd forty years ago in restored, artistic sepia.
When he stood on the landing, the bathroom was to his right - through it was his mother's office - while his bedroom was to the left, adjacent to his parents' nest. The door to their room was open - the light on the nightstand shone brightly next to a carefully made bed. He hadn't seen them asleep together in that bed for years.
All because of him.
He clenched his fists as he entered his own room.
Most of his belongings were in his basement den - his room had only a simplistic dresser and a bunk bed - useful for the sleepovers that were commonplace some odd four years ago - a ceiling lamp all that illumined the small space, its switch by the door. He didn't bother to turn the light on; instead, he closed the door behind him, then flopped over in his bed to stare at the ceiling of his bed.
There was a knock on the door. Wally didn't respond, yet the door opened all the same.
"It's a bit early to go to sleep, isn't it?"
"Go away, dad," Wally mumbled. Dad defied him, entering the room as he closed the door halfway behind him. The bed shuddered as the old dog sat down at the end of it.
"I..." the dog started, but little followed except stammers. After a minute - though it felt like more - silence fell but for his heavy breaths. The old dog fiddled a bit with his thumbs - another habit they shared - shaking his head and sighing heavily. "I guess you've noticed me and your mother not... not getting along lately."
"I noticed," Wally replied sourly, his eyes still plastered on the ceiling.
"I know I've not been the best dad lately," the old dog carried on, his voice husky. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry."
"Right," Wally mumbled dismissively.
"You spend a lot of time in the basement," Dad said heavily, and the bear felt eyes on him. "Don't you like going out anymore?"
"No."
"What about your friends? Don't you and Brian hang out these days?"
"Dad, leave me alone."
The old dog sighed, but got up without protest. The door to Wally's room opened, light filling the room, mingling with the dog's shadow. "Wally... If I can do anything for you, or you need something, just ask. I'll always be here for you."
Wally didn't respond. Dad closed the door behind him, and Wally shifted onto his side. His ears twitched as he mindlessly gazed at the wall, waiting for the stairwell to creak, but all his ears caught was the sound of another door being closed. As the day came to a close, the house silent, darkness falling, when his eyes went drowsy, it struck him that maybe he wasn't alone in staring into nothingness.
Wally woke to the knocks on his bedroom door. Dawn cast its light through the cracks of his curtains, sharply, harshly, and he took to staring again. He didn't want to wake up, his mind on the dream he'd just had. It was a haze now, about somebody small, and sweet, with bushy ears. His cock ached against his jeans again - he never got out of his clothes - as the knocking continued.
"Wally?" It was Dad.
"Yeah, yeah," Wally grunted, rolling onto his back. The door opened ever so slightly - Wally didn't bother reaching for his blanket. If Dad wanted to enter his room in the morning without asking for permission, he should've expected to be exposed.
"It's almost half seven," Dad murmured tiredly, stifling a yawn.
"Right, whatever, I know what you're going to say, get up, get dressed-"
"If you want, you can stay at home today."
"We're going to be late..." Wally's ears twitched and, befuddled, he looked up. "What?"
Dad entered the room with a pained expression. Wally felt the old dog's eyes wash over him, and despite himself he reached for the blanket to cover his crotch. There was a hint of a chuckle as the dog sat down at his bedside.
"You don't have to go if you don't want to," Dad said solemnly, though the amusement was still somewhere in the furrows of his snout. It was strange, Wally thought, that look in his eye. Apologetic. Nostalgic.
"I have to," Wally sighed, looking away with a frown. "Otherwise mum'll tear me a new one..."
"Your mother's not home," Dad said simply.
"Where is she?" Wally asked, looking over Dad's shoulder stupidly. "She doesn't leave for work that early."
"She never came home. Look, Wally...I thought about it last night. You're miserable at school, aren't you?"
Wally grunted noncommittally, looking away.
"Sleep in if you want to," Dad said softly. "I mean... you can't skip every day, but I..." The old dog went silent for a while. "Just don't get behind on your homework, okay?"
"Are..." Wally said slowly, looking up to his old man's face properly for the first time in what felt like forever. The dog did look old, yes, but at the same time he seemed younger too, more sympathetic, relatable, refreshed, despite the wistful smile. "Are you sure it's okay?"
"Helps when your old man's a teacher. I'll talk to them."
Wally nodded, feeling curious, strange, a little bit ashamed. Dad got up and shook his head, only barely, at nothing in particular.
"Take care of yourself," Dad murmured, and he headed for the door. Wally grunted again. "Should I close the door?"
"No, that's fine. Bye, dad."
"Bye, son."
The stairwell creaked; a rattle of keys; a door opened and closed; a car door slammed shut; an engine revved...and Dad was off. Wally stared up at the grey ceiling into that familiar void, his toes twitching. His boner still remained - the urge to piss was there again, tickling the back of his mind - and with a heavy sigh he pushed out of the bed.
This time, at least, his cock had gone limp when emptied. He kicked off his trousers, keeping only his briefs on; he let the sink run for cold water, his throat parched, as he splashed his paws in the running stream. With soaked digits he rubbed his eyes and cheeks, and water trickled down his face as he looked in the mirror.
The white bear who looked back had never felt like Wally. Dark eyes peered out from under heavy eyelids, and his lips were curled in a dull and dumb half-smile that he couldn't explain. The bear didn't linger in the staring contest however, and he bent down to slurp some cool water from the stream.
His thirst quenched, he waddled back to bed. Face-first into the pillow, Wally let his mind wander again - into that great grey abyss that stared back.
Not only am I slow with uploading these, they're not particularly long either.
Truth be told, as I'm revising my own story, I'm wondering how content I actually am with it. Guess we'll see what happens.
Thank you for your patience.