"The possession of knowledge does not kill the sense of wonder and mystery. There is always more mystery." -- Anais Nin

++ C H A P T E R | T H I R T E E N ++

Wes lifted a stack of hay over his shoulder. "What's next?"

Wes's father Mark shrugged. Mark wasn't that old for having a son, and not having a wife to share his life with was getting him down. Mark wasn't all that emotional, but even he needed a break.

"Anna. I've seen her around and I like her." Wes gave his father a knowing look. "You've seen her around, eh?"

Mark laughed and sent his son a wicked look. It was the type of look that needed no words, and Wes understood immediately. The two had an entire language just in looks. Wes was raised on it - Mark didn't like to talk all that much. Especially about serious things where anyone could be listening in.

"Elliott might not take that well." Wes offered, throwing the hay bale down. He wiped his brow, wishing he was anywhere but on a farm. The work was hard, and the gym hadn't prepared him for this.

"I don't really care how that wanker feels about it, to be honest. He's a jolly old chap but I don't want him getting in the way of a possible relationship. If you know what I mean."

Wes shook his head. "Dad, Elliott's cool. Really. Though, I'm not sure he'll like this. Then again, Elliott doesn't really seem all that close to Anna. He might not even care."

Wes felt his mood lifting as Elliott became the topic. Something about the boy made Wes feel like a child on christmas morning. It probably had to do with having no friends and being lonely, but still. Wes would take friendship no matter what package it came in.

"I hope not. I want to get to know Anna. I've been single for too long."

Wes laughed at his father. "She must be special if she's making you go all soft."

Mark grinned at his son. "Oh, you know she is." But, then he frowned. "You're very close to Elliott. Too close."

Wes could tell where this conversation was going, and didn't like it. Not one bit. "I'm not that close."

"Yeah, you are. Elliott has you wrapped around his finger practically."

Wes shot his dad a scathing look. "You don't know what you're talking about. You're the one that suggested Elliott work for us. I'm just being friendly. And hey, maybe I want to be his friend."

Mark glared down at his son. "You know better. That kid is dangerous. You've heard the stories. The last thing I need is your dead body ending up somewhere."

Wes laughed, but it wasn't full of humor. It was dry and cold, and left Mark fuming with anger. "Drop it, dad. You're the one pushing me to become closer. And sure, for good reason, but you're just plain crazy now. Leave it."

Mark grabbed Wes's arm tightly. "Wes, don't you screw this up. I've trained you well enough. Elliott is dangerous. And you need to pull yourself back before you get sucked in too deep, you understand me?"

* * *

"Elliott, come on. Focus." Brent patted Elliott on the shoulder, noting he was having a bad day. Elliott never seemed particularly happy, but his eyes looked dead today. Brent had wanted to hate Elliott, but the more the he hung around Brent, the pretty boy was growing on him. He wasn't talkative, so what he did say was never pointless and ignorant, and Brent liked that. More often than not, most of his friends voiced their thoughts, and it drove Brent mad.

Elliott didn't talk. It made Brent feel at ease.

After the other day, Brent wasn't sure what was going on with Elliott. He was almost afraid to approach him, after Elliott had exploded at them. During lunch, Natasha looked high and low for the pretty boy, but he was nowhere to be found. Brent knew he didn't want to sit with them, he never did from the beginning, but Natasha was determined.

Elliott looked over his shoulder at Brent and just looked at him. Brent shouldn't be worried about Elliott - he should be worried about his own game. He wasn't doing poorly, but he wasn't doing perfect either. He was slacking, clearly thinking about something.

Probably Natasha. The Homecoming Dance was approaching and it was all Natasha would talk about. It was why Elliott couldn't handle sitting with them at lunch - they already knew too much. They were growing concerned and a little too interested.

"I'm fine." Was all Elliott muttered to Brent as he kicked the ball clear into the net. He hated that Brent was concerned. Even more, he hated that he liked Brent caring about him. It was stupid and couldn't possibly matter, but Elliott liked that Brent noticed he was off.

What is wrong with me? Was all Elliott could think. Brent is supposed to be my enemy. We're supposed to be fighting.

But even then Elliott knew that wasn't true. He and Brent weren't supposed to fight - they were teammates. And even worse, they were both extremely good soccer players. The kind of players that ended up being best friends. Elliott shook the thought from his head, knowing he could never have friends. Especially not best friends.

But, Brent was really friendly now, and so was Natasha. And they seemed to actually care for Elliott. This is all wrong. It's breaking the rules!

Elliott was afraid. He was putting Brent in danger, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. Mother would find out, this Elliott was sure of. And if she knew that Elliott was making friends, she would do everything in her power to squash the friendship. Mother knew everything, always.

Mother had found them, and Elliott knew one wrong move would land him right back where he started, in mother's arms as she dug a knife into his skin. The image only made Elliott cringe and remember the moments when she had done this to him. It threw him off, made him stumble and trip over his own two feet when the ball was passed his way.

Elliott needed a break. Coach knew this, and quickly put him on the sidelines. Coach had been keeping an eye on Elliott ever since last year, when the small boy tried out for the team. At first, Coach had laughed - Elliott was in no way about to get on any soccer team. But, then he saw the boy play, and things changed. But Elliott, he hadn't. He was still the same closed off boy who refused to look others in the eye. He cowered away from others and prefered staying out of the light.

Elliott was a strange person, and even Coach wasn't so dull that he didn't realize something was wrong with the boy. No one dressed in all of those layers for no reason.

"Elliott, are you alright, dude?" Brent asked after practice ended. Elliott had half a mind to ignore him, but instead faced Brent with a straight face.

"I'm fine. Just tired, is all."

Brent laughed. "I feel that, man. My mom just gave birth to my new baby sister, and boy does she like to cry at night. It really does do a number on my sleep." Brent followed this up with a real yawn, feeling the effects of not being able to sleep. He loved his new baby sister, but hated the cries that came with her.

"She's kinda old, isn't she?" Elliott said without thought, and then wished he hadn't said a thing.

Brent just laughed. "Well, yeah, but don't tell my mother that." Brent winked. "She had me when she was a teen, like us, so she's pretty young still. But, I wish she'd work on making my younger sister stop crying. That is literally all she does."

Elliott felt normal, for once. This was a normal conversation about Brent, and not himself. It felt good having the attention focused on someone else. And Brent looked happy - genuinely happy. This was new, for Brent. Usually, Elliott only saw him glaring, but this was a complete 180.

Brent had always been intimidating. He was taller than most, and had dark eyes that were permanently in a scowl. Unless you were his friend, Brent didn't exactly scream friendly, but this was a different side that Elliott had never seen. This Brent was carefree and joking around.

Almost like how Brent acted around Natasha. That only proved to Elliott how in love he was with his girlfriend. It made Elliott's heart ache with jealousy - he wanted someone to love. Mother, however, made that very much impossible. And, he knew that no one would ever love him. No one ever could.

The closest he was going to come to love was his mother, and that was frightening. But, maybe that was what love meant. Elliott had no idea what love felt like - he only saw what love had done to mother. She'd loved father so much and yet, she did what she did.

Maybe that was what love was. Pain. Torture. A sickening obsession with seeing others cry. He had never felt that towards his brothers or mother, but maybe he was loving wrong. Maybe that was why no one tried to love him.

He was loving wrong. That had to be it.

Coach blew the whistle, signaling the end of practice. Elliott was confused and conflicted, and had the urge to try out this new love. Mother had loved him all along - he just didn't realize that hurting him meant love. Maybe he wasn't protecting his brothers after all. He was taking away mother's love for them.

Elliott ran to the locker room in record time and grabbed his backpack. He slung it over his shoulder the moment the other boys came in, reminding him that he wasn't alone. Maybe Brent knew more about love than Elliott. Maybe Elliott could ask.

Brent beat him to it. "Elliott, you're in a rush, huh?"

Elliott ignored his question. "How do you make Natasha cry?"

Brent stared at Elliott for a moment, baffled. "Cry? Has Natasha been crying?" Brent felt suddenly worried about his girlfriend. Had something happened over practice?

"No, I meant how do you love her? What do you do?"

Brent was still confused. "What do you mean? Like flowers and shit?"

Elliott shook his head, irritated. Perhaps Brent didn't love correctly, either. Maybe he wasn't really in love with Natasha. Perhaps he was the one who got hurt - maybe Natasha was the dominant one, like Elliott's mother had been.

"Nevermind. I have to go." Elliott didn't even bother with his cleats, he just kept them on as he rushed from the locker room. He had the sudden urge to talk to mother, to ask her why she didn't just tell them it was love.

It had to be love. Elliott didn't want to think mother had never loved him. He didn't want to think that nobody loved him. He couldn't stomach the thought.

"Elliott darling. Come here."

Elliott had no choice as he walked into the kitchen with his tail between his legs. Running away last night was a mistake, and he knew it. He knew better than to sneak to the party down the road, but he had wanted so badly to see what the hype was all about. He had wanted to be surrounded by others.

Once in front of mother, Elliott held his breath.

"Elliott, you ran out last night. You need to be punished for that. I can't have you thinking that people actually love you, other than me. What did your little friends have to say? Hello?" She snickered to herself, as if this was a joke, but Elliott didn't understand the punch line.

"Mother, I wanted to see. That's all." But even Elliott knew that wasn't enough. There was no reason to leave the house, to leave mother.

"They don't love you, Elliott. They will hurt you." Elliott wanted to yell at her that no one was hurting him but her. Elliott wanted to do so much, yet he did nothing. He stood there and watched as mother stood up and turned around in the kitchen, contemplating what she should do to him. How she should punish him for having fun. For being free for a few hours.

"First you're running off to parties. Then you'll be running away from home for good. We can't have that, can we Elliott? My little skeleton boy wants to play with the other skeletons, right? The ones in the cemetery? Mother can do that for you."

Elliott could remember with clarity that conversation that led up to the nickname, and she would never drop it. Even if it meant killing him so he could actually become a skeleton.

"Let mother show you what your own skeleton looks like, my little skeleton boy. Then you can decide if you really want to become one."

Elliott thought she was going to tattoo him more - he still needed the rest of his arms and legs, along with his face. She was determined to finish off the tattoo.

She wasn't that nice.

Mother grabbed a knife from the kitchen and dragged Elliott to the basement and strapped him in the torture chair. She twirled the knife in her hands, smiling as she imagined where she wanted to cut. His hands were still perfect - she could cut into those divine sections of pure skin. The thought made her giddy as she leaned towards her son.

"I'm going to cut the skin off of your hand, now." She didn't offer up warning often, so Elliott took this as something important. There was a reason she was forewarning him, but before he could think about why, she was already cutting into his hand.

Elliott's eyes rolled in the back of his skull for a moment. The pain was unimaginable, and Elliott could barely keep back the screams that were bubbling in his throat. He watched as mother cut deep into his skin and began to peel it back, showing off the white of his bone. He was going to be sick, he knew it. He could feel his lunch in his throat just as mother ripped off the skin. Showing his bones to the world before it began to bleed.

"Let me wrap that up for you, Elliott. It looks painful. Maybe next time you won't run so fast to your grave, hmm?"

That translated into, 'Maybe next time you won't give me a reason to torture you when you run away'. Elliott knew that all too well, and all thoughts of escaping left his brain. There was no way he was ever, ever going to run away again.

* * *

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