I can never escape him. Sure, I can kid myself into thinking that it's fine, but the inevitable always catches up to me.

Rodrick leers down at me, hand holding me down to the pavement. "Freak," he growls low in his throat, dark hair and face blocking out the sun.

His hand draws back and I squeeze my eyes shut, preparing for impact. A sharp stab goes through my cheek, my mouth falling open which only sends more tendrils of lightning up the side of my face. He punched my jaw.

Another crunching sound, this time to my chest. My lungs collapse as the far too familiar taste of blood washes over my tongue. I hold up my hands to defend myself, a tiny effort in fighting back. Rodrick only snorts, grabbing my already wounded (cuts inflicted by yours truly, I'm just that pathetic) hands and jerks them backwards, nails digging into my flesh. I cry out which only ends in spluttering blood shooting up through my nose. I cough, lungs struggling against the weight of his elbow against my torso.

There are many drawbacks to being a living and breathing punching bag.

One is the punching part.

The other part is the living and breathing.

Rodrick's face hovers over mine and I try to inhale without coughing up blood. "Why do you hate me?" I groan, trying to sit up.

"Because you're a little pest," he stands, grabbing me by the neck and hauling me off the ground. He likes to think he's some evil warlord sometimes; I'm the pesky underling that messed up. "You're like a cockroach that just won't die."

"Don't try and pretend that your dad doesn't do the exact same thing you do to me every day."

I only know bits and pieces about Rodrick, we don't really sit around and braid each other's hair while swapping our life's stories. But I can see little some of it through the mask he always wears. I can see through the cracks in his armor, the tiny bits of darkness seeping out and the light slowly fading away in his eyes. In his expression lies the same one I have whenever I look in the mirror.

He doesn't like how close I hit him to the truth (Griffin told me as much a few weeks ago). He shoves me against the brick wall of the stinking alleyway, just across from the same dumpster he shoved me in months ago. Rodrick tightens his hold on my neck and I struggle for air, hands automatically flying to his fists, trying to pull his fingers away. "You better shut that faggy little mouth of yours."

"Does this seriously help you feel better?" I ask, wheezing at the fight to breathe. Bonus about slowly suffocating at the mercy of your personal tormentor: you can't smell the rancid food from the restaurant next door.

Rodrick slams me into the hard brick wall repeatedly, dust flying into my hair and mouth. His grip relaxes just a tiny bit, giving me enough room to take a gulp of air. His dark eyes search mine, as if he wants to find something. It's the same searching look my mom gets, searching and searching without ever finding satisfaction in what sits right there. Maybe he sees what I see when I look at him.

Myself.

"You've got a lot of nerve," Rodrick hisses, pushing me into the wall one last time before letting go, spitting at me, "if you ask about my family again, I will kill you."

His voice doesn't sound joking. Coughing, I dig my nails into the brick wall, holding myself upright. "Why?"

He gives me a sick smile. Rodrick shakes his head, "Why are you even talking to me? Your job is to sit still and let the punches roll in. We're not friends," he says the word like it stings him to utter aloud, "just because you're dating Griffin doesn't mean I gotta deal with your shit. So shut up."

"Admit it," I say, not really knowing why I'm still talking. This may be the last time Rodrick will ever let me utter a word. He only shows any sort of mercy because of Griffin. So I take my chances, "you're scared of me. You're scared because I'm just like you."

"I am nothing like you. I'm not a faggot," he doesn't laugh like I expect him to. In fact, he almost looks like a deer in headlights. Almost as if he's lying...

Before I can process that thought, Rodrick grabs me by the neck again, eyes searching mine. He doesn't like what he finds and lets out a growl, carrying me towards the same dumpster he threw me into a while ago. The stink becomes even more putrid as we draw ever closer. "You need to learn to shut the fuck up, freak."

The next thing I see is the sky, a tiny sliver of blue over the tall buildings. Then the squishy garbage bags consume my vision, the disgusting stench trumping every other scent. I lay there for a moment, watching a puffy cloud block out the sun, hearing Rodrick walk away. My lungs collapse in on themselves, heart pounding. A single word pierces through my mind, my entire body urging me on. Run. Every fiber of my being wants to run away. Run from the school and never come back, run from my dad, and from her. I'm about to let my will cave and run when I hear a voice.

Ben's voice.

I struggle against the bags but only succeed in falling deeper into the abyss of stench. Giving up, I close my eyes and simply listen to him as his footsteps draw nearer. He's talking to someone? A girl. My heart instantly plummets at the thought of him going to a private place to talk with a girl. But he doesn't seem to have any intention of doing anything dirty with her, his voice is too dark and somber.

"When?" the girl asks. Fiona?

My heart sinks. Fiona has a huge crush on Ben, it's painfully obvious. And Ben is in a dark alley, alone with her. The thought of him alone with Fiona, or anyone really, makes my stomach crawl. I draw my focus back to the voices.

"Last November," Ben doesn't sound pleased to have this conversation.

"How?" Fiona again.

"I don't know."

"Why?"

Ben doesn't respond right away, finally saying, "I guess the light behind her eyes went out."

A pause.

"That's oddly poetic of you."

It doesn't take me long to catch on. I never thought Ben would talk about her. He, like everyone else, likes to pretend she never existed. "I've been thinking about it a lot."

Why? His sister didn't die. Didn't he just move along like everyone else?

"I have too. Ever since you told me about it. Gosh, I'm so stupid!" Fiona makes a strange sound, as if she started crying.

I can practically feel Ben giving her a hug. I clench my jaw at the thought, wishing myself in Fiona's place, warm and safe in Ben's arms. I sigh, sinking deeper into the pit. I've grown slightly used to the odor but the feeling of biodegrading plastic bag still makes me want to jump out of my skin. Only I can't move, frozen to everything except their conversation.

"It sometimes feels like she's still here," Ben says, "I mean, I've been to the very same house a thousand times. A house someone died in. It's... it's eerie."

Fiona doesn't say anything. "I just can't stop thinking about how awful I was to Justin. She would've been my age, right?" a pause, Ben probably nods, "we could've gone to the same school, have classes together, we could've been friends. Now... now I'll never know what I'm missing out on."

I hear Ben sigh and a silence falls over them once more. It's strange listening to the conversation of two people who don't know I, the brother of the person they're talking about, is there. Not that anyone really notices when I'm there or if I'm not.

Fiona finally speaks after a long silence in which I stare at the fluffy clouds passing by, wondering what the world looks like from up there. Probably unpleasant. "I have to head home, I'll uh, see you later and, I'm sorry about being a jerk but I stand by what I said, don't chase after things you can't have."

Ben doesn't respond but I can hear her footsteps. Ben apparently stays in the alley. His loud groan confirms. I struggle against the bags, trying not to sound too loud as I grip the lip of the dumpster and peek over. Ben sits on the ground, head in his hands. I watch as he slowly draws his knees to his chest, shoulders shaking. Is he crying?

I've never seen Ben cry before. He's always the one to smile even in the darkest of situations.

I pull myself up even further, trying to get a better angle.

His breath comes out in ragged and shallow bursts. His hands hide his face, black hair loose. His hair looks nice, I decide after staring at him for far too long, watching his chest rise and fall, listening to his loud, shallow breathing.

After a long time he raises his head, dark eyes not focused in my direction. His hair, which seems much longer than usual without the gel forcing it back, falls into his face and he smooths it, narrow eyes glancing around as he wipes his red cheeks. He finally sees me and does a double take.

I give him a little wave and he stands, mouth hanging open. He looks quite nice. I can't help but stare at his muscular arms, no longer hidden by a jacket. "How long have you been in there?" he asks, walking over.

"Since school let out," I say, unable to take my eyes off of his arms. Oh why did he have to wear a tight shirt today?

"Need help?" he smiles a little too wide. That's what he always does. He puts on a happy face. I never even thought it could all be a lie before.

I nod and he reaches over the lip of the dumpster, grabbing my waist and lifting me out. My stomach scrapes against the edge but it doesn't bother me that much because the next thing I know, Ben has me in his arms. He holds me bridal style and I throw my arms around his neck, looking up in his eyes. He smiles sympathetically at me, but I can tell now, now that I'm looking, it isn't real.

I want to stay in his warm embrace forever but all too soon he sets me down on the ground. He takes a step away from me, but I quickly wrap my arms around him, not knowing what else to do. He holds me close, probably confused.

Tears slip down my face and I squeeze him tighter, never wanting to let go. I don't know exactly why I'm crying, maybe because I've been such an idiot. How could I miss something this plain to see?

He probably hears me struggling to breathe because he pulls me back, peering down at me with a little spark in his eyes. Another smile, soft and concerned. Another lie. He wipes a tear from my cheek, pressing his forehead to mine. I close my eyes, hands resting on his chest as his hands fly to my cheeks, cupping my jaw. His thumb swipes another tear from my face, minty breath blowing across my nose. I can feel his eyes on me but I don't open mine. I start shaking or maybe it's him rocking us back and forth methodically.

It takes all my will to finally pull back. But after I realize I probably smell like rancid fish and curdled ketchup, it suddenly becomes easier.

I back away from him, realizing how close I was to leaning in a little more, leaning too close.

He watches me closely and I try, try harder than anything to smile. If he can do it for me, I can do it for him.

But I still can't do it. Not a real one, anyway.

I'm such a failure.

He tilts his head, "What's wrong?"

My heart pounds in my chest and I shake my head at him, back colliding with the dumpster. I almost want to jump back in now.

His pain is all my fault.

Her death is my fault.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper before turning on my heels and running away.

----

Gotta say this is one of my favorite chapters. I felt like I really kinda started getting a hold on Ben's character when I wrote this. It's kinda hard to write about someone you know well but isn't you. And it's weird changing things. Like, I tried changing the names around (and I did for most of them) but it just felt so weird. 

I felt like I was cheating when I tried to give Ben a different name lmao. 

Anyway, that was a lowkey spoiler. ANYWAY AGAIN, let me know what you think of the chapter! 

I feel hardcore bad for Ben in this chapter. OH! What'd you think about the stuff about Rodrick? 

ANYWAYS, BYE FISHIES!