break me again . elegant

k y .

"And it's not fair
I keep on writing a sequel to stories
I know that are not there
I don't wanna die but I don't wanna live like this"

Some of the pebbles fell out of his pocket when he landed on his back on the cobble brickwork of the alleyway. If it was any other time maybe he would have found it quaint. It wasn't though, there were bruises forming on his back. His lungs felt empty, truly empty, for the first time.

For a split second, he heard nothing and there was just the sky above him framed by the walls of the buildings on either side of the alley. Light from neon signs up and down Style Street polluted even the concept of stars but the mouth of the alley seemed like it was a thousand miles away. Even if there were Victors out at that hour, the chances of them finding him were slim. Teddy saving him last year had been a sliver of luck, that was all.

He was alone there and he knew it, even as the boot introduced itself to his side with a splintering crack.

Ky gasped and curled up around the boot. He tried to get purchase on his attacker's ankle to take them down, but it was moving away from him even as another boot landed heavily on his thigh.

He cried out, his lips formed the words that he needed, but he couldn't catch his breath. Hands were wrapping around his upper arms, under his shoulders and dragging him up to shove him against a wall. He coughed, there was blood on his lips, he could taste it. Hands held him up against the wall by the arms and he kicked a leg out weakly, breathing ragged as he tried to catch up.

Of course he'd been jumped before, plenty of times back in One actually, but they'd never gone at him four against one like that. He was used to getting attacked by teenagers, feral little careers that hated him just for existing. He'd never been attacked by adults, he hadn't been expecting it, he'd let his mind wander as he walked, whatever.

He'd fucked up and he knew it, even as the first punch hit his stomach.

Ky groaned, bile rising in his throat as the hit radiated through his body. His head felt light, brain scrambled, tears still streaking his cheeks from his visit to the museum. There were new tears forming, rolling down his cheeks in big, fat, cowardly drops.

Maybe he should have fought back harder but he didn't. Everything hurt already anyway, there wasn't much more that they could do to him. There was a piece of Ky that revelled in it, in the almost rhythmic falling of his attacker's fists on his muscle, bone, skin, crack crack crack. With the beating, he had a reason to cry, a reason to be in pain and it was retribution maybe. Would Emmett have died so early if it weren't for Ky distracting him the night before the Bloodbath?

Maybe he would have gotten better rest, he would've paid more attention to that goddamn bird and he'd never have met Kenji in the catacombs.

They dropped him and it was sharp, breathing was sharp. He fell cluttered, limbs tangled but it burned so he straightened himself slowly onto his back. His nose was hard to breathe through, so was his mouth. There was blood in his mouth, his sides burned, his hands lay listless over him, fingers twitching. His breaths came out broken, wet, so did the little laugh that came out next. Fuck, it hurt. The edges of his vision seemed almost broken, disconnected and flooded with white light.

"Something funny, kid?" came a gruff sounding voice from somewhere near his legs.

"Hmm, Opal's not here please record your message after the beep, asshole," he slurred and another giggle erupted from him, hysterical and jagged and stabbing with each breathy laugh, "BEEP."

And the woman pulled his right hand down onto the cobbles, palm up and she took her foot and ground the heel of her boot into his fingers. Ky felt his skin break, he watched quietly as she destroyed his hand but he wasn't really there for it, so that was alright. It was someone else's hand, not even his.

He wondered if Emmett knew he was going to die before Kenji had killed him.

Was he supposed to tell them he was left-handed?

They left him not long after that and Ky lay there, eyes on his hand, fingers still. He tried to wiggle them but it hurt so much that he gave up. His nose had stopped bleeding, blood had clogged it all up though. He wondered if he should call out for help.

And he lay there and wondered where his mom was, it was seven, maybe eight he thought. Maybe she was eating dinner with Katelyn, hand holding hers and resting on the table. Ky was glad that they had each other.

When had he closed his eyes? He didn't remember doing that.

"What's your name, sir?"

Bright light, movement. A rattling, bu-bump bu-bump bu-bump. His eyes were open again but he'd lost something. Cobblestones? Fluorescents flashed by above his head and he was laying down but he was moving. Ky squinted against the light and raised a hand above his head. Bandages, his hand was wrapped up tight, blood had leaked through the white.

"Kid come on, who're your parents, we need an account," said a man running along beside his bed. Why was his bed moving so fast?

"Where'm.... where're we going?" he asked, mind moving slow. It didn't hurt so much anymore, he sort of just felt foggy.

"Surgery," came the reply, so fast, hardly there, "Give me a name kid, come on, one'll do it."

"Opal," he said, "Opal, she's got... hair and no leg."

"Great kid, good job," said the man and then he pushed something into Ky's neck and the flourscents faded out of sight.

It was dark and still, the room swayed and Ky lay there, flat and empty. Gravity pushed down on his chest, he was shirtless but for a bandage wrapped tightly around his torso. Bruises, angry black and yellow things, mottled his skin all the way up to his neck, to his face.

It hurt to breathe, to move, even a gentle sigh was bad. It was all muted beneath a heavy blanket of painkillers. He lay there feeling barely anything for the first time in days. Thoughts rolled slowly through him and out the other side, barely even touching him.

It was kind of nice, at least for a moment or two. He wasn't burning inside.

Then there was light, the sound of a door opening, cutting a triangle of yellow across the room. The overheads came on automatically with movement in the room and Ky wondered if it was another nurse. They'd been going in and out since he'd woken up again.

"Ky."

It was his mom, she was crying.

"Mom," he said softly as if to comfort her, "I told 'em you don't... how you don't have a leg." Ky's brow furrowed slowly in concern. God, he hated it so much when she cried. It was the worst watching her hurt, he'd always felt so helpless, like there was nothing he could do or say to make her stop being so sad.

"Aw mom," he said and patted the bed slowly over and over, "'S fine, looks real bad but I'm fine, everything got reattached, okay?" And saying it like that, he could believe it too. Ky could pretend that his world hadn't been crumbling all week and that everything really was fine. He was good at pretending, he always had been.

"Sorry, did they wake you up?" he asked.

A tear slipped down his cheek, too hot and quick for him to stop it.

k y .

"And it's not fair
I keep on writing a sequel to stories
I know that are not there
I don't wanna die but I don't wanna live like this"

Time was moving oddly like a flat rock skipping along water. One moment his mom's head was bowed, the next she was taking his hand, the good one. She was saying words and Ky was watching her mouth move but he couldn't make them out. Sometimes that happened, he didn't know why.

He did know that he liked his mom holding his hand so he held hers back. Her hand was warm, comforting as it had always been. His was bigger than her hand now though, he'd grown so much in the last two years. "You sad? I'm getting bigger," he mumbled, "Gonna be twenty in like...ten... tomorrow?"

"Do you miss me when I was small?" he asked. Sometimes he missed it, things didn't hurt as much then or maybe he just didn't understand how he was feeling. Maybe it was easier then, less things to worry about and more things to just feel for the first time.

Emmett had been so worried about taking his firsts from him, the only one he didn't want was the first of losing his first love. He could have that one back.

"No, no no, no, mom, no," he said, "Not your fault, I wasn't paying attention and I shoulda been? What kinda shit career am I, huh? Please don't... don't cry mom." She was though and that hopeless feeling washed over him slowly, that same worry that the door was going to shut in his face again and the house was going to be quiet for hours. That hadn't happened in years but it still featured in his nightmares. He knew Opal felt bad about it still.

"You were like... a kid still when you had me, huh?" he asked, "Maybe that was too young, I dunno." He couldn't imagine having a kid now, he didn't know what he'd do with a baby. He wanted to think that he'd be a good parent but the likelihood that he'd be shit at it was high.

His mom could have had an abortion, maybe she should have, but she didn't. She'd had him and he was grateful. Despite his body hurting more than words could describe and the pain of losing Emmett being almost more than he could bear, he was alive. There were moments he was happy about that, like smelling of the grass after a long rain in the summer or sitting in the backyard on a blanket at night, watching the stars.

"But I'm glad you had me," he said, "I'm glad that you're my mom, I'm glad I'm alive."

He squeezed his mom's hand as much as he could muster. Another tear rolled down his cheek but he didn't really notice it. They were just doing that, for once his eyes had a mind of their own and he couldn't hold them back. It was weird, confusing not having full control of his functions but not necessarily bad.

"I love you mom, don't be sorry ok?"