Dark Sheep

He can hear her carrying on furiously beneath him, her curses floating up through the rickety boards upon which he kneels. Her words are muted up here in this dark, stuffy space, but they hit just as hard, sending a shiver up his spine in spite of the sweat dripping down his back.

"Sounds bad this time." That voice that used to horrify him now manages to bring him peace as it speaks to him from the other side of the tiny door. He looks up expectantly as it creaks slowly open, onyx eyes greeting him with the help of a toothy smile.

"Yeah. It is." He wraps his arms more tightly around his legs and rests his cheek against his knee. With a quiet exhalation, he closes his eyes, waiting until that familiar voice chimes in again from its place at his side.

"Would you care to talk about it? It's been so long... I was beginning to think you'd made it out."

"Hope is a dangerous thing. You told me that, right?"

"I did. It is. Would you look at me, please? I spend enough time talking to walls as it is."

"Yeah." He sighs the word, looking up at his companion with tired eyes. He is never not impressed by the sight. If the definition of androgyny took a human form, this would be it. Dark eyes are accentuated by sharp eyebrows, prominent cheekbones, full lips, and the jawline of a silver-screen actor. Tema's appearance was every bit as captivating as was their conversation, no matter how many times they found themselves here.

"She's been staying with her boyfriend for a month or so. Either they got in a fight, or he ran out of booze."

"Ah. So... she's pissed off because she's halfway sober." Tema snorts softly, reaching up to trace a splintering beam of wood with sharp fingernails.

"Must be rough, dealing with reality." Tema's intensely dark eyes turn to study him, and he takes a deep breath, nodding in agreement.

"Yeah, and she thinks I finished off the rest of her vodka." He snorts, shaking his head and looking back down at where his feet rest upon the dusty beams of the attic floor.

"Like she'd ever leave a bottle unfinished."

"Pardon?" Tema raises a brow, delicate fingers bending to cradle their chin as they look at him in utter disbelief.

"She is aware that you've never so much as tasted a drop of alcohol in your short life, yes?"

"Tema..." He chuckles mirthlessly, shaking his head and meeting the other's gaze.

"You know more about me than she does. I'm not kidding."

"Hm." Tema nods, brows knitting together in thought as they continue to study him with what appears to be genuine concern.

"Goddammit, you little shit! Where are you?!" She sounds absolutely manic, her voice now much closer. She's going to find him. She knows all of his hiding places. He can only pray that this time she hasn't picked up any type of weapon along the way; her hands are brutal enough.

"Well, easy was never my style." A look of disgust flashes across Tema's face as her shouting grows louder, but it dissipates quickly, focus turning once more upon the young man with whom they share this small space.

"It's been an awfully long time, kid. Frankly, I don't wanna see you go through this again."

"Bastard!" She must kick or hit something because a thud shakes the walls. He lowers his head, hoping to hide both his fear and his embarrassment.

"God, she's like a raging bull."

"I mean - she is a Taurus, right?"

"You believe in that shit?" He pulls his head up, his smirk fading as he hears the outer door to the closet open.

"I believe in a lot of things. Mostly, that I am here to help you."

"How?" He's staring at the small door to the crawlspace, awaiting the inevitable, when strong, gentle fingers ghost his chin, more requesting his attention than demanding it.

"She has an ashtray. That heavy one she leaves outside on the deck. She'll put you in the hospital this time." Tema's words are soft and sure and urgent, and those dark eyes are filled with something that certainly resembles love.

Then again, what does he know about love?

"Let me save you." Tema draws closer, focus not the slightest bit disturbed by the sound of close hangers being aggressively pushed to the side as she searches frantically for him.

"Tell me what I need to know. Please. Let me in."

Panic is setting in. For as often as he has been through this, the fear never lessens. The thought that this might be the time she goes to far always edges its way into the forefront of his mind. Tema's cool fingers feel like a promise of paradise as they caress his skin. He leans into the touch, and as he hears her drunkenly fumble for the opening to the small door that separates them, he knows what he needs to do.

"Everette. Everette James. Please, help me, Tema."

"Everette James. I will protect you. You are mine."

"Who in the hell are you talking -" The light floods into the tiny space, and she pauses, her eyes catching sight of what she is sure is a person sitting in the tiny crawl space behind her son. Before she can utter a word, however, the silhouette is gone, silence betraying her bemusement.

"Who..." The one word, slurred and hesitant as it is, causes Everette to sit up, eyes focused on the agitated woman.

"Who was that?"

"Who was... what?" He shakes his head, looking around the tiny space, the growl rising from her throat telling him the moment of uncertainty has passed.

"Get out here, you little bastard! I want to talk to you!"

"About what?"

"You know damn well what about! Now!" Her eyes are burning into him, and he stares back for a moment, finally bowing his head and pushing himself carefully to his feet, remaining bent over until he exits the cramped room.

"About the fire?" He brings his emerald eyes up to meet her fierce blue stare, his face completely unreadable.

"The -" A sharp gasp stops her words, and she can't seem to look away from the eyes of her own child, something about them both foreign and all-too-familiar at the same time.

"The fire, Leona. The fire that took your family. So tragic." Everette is looking at her with pure sympathy in his eyes, stepping forward and slowly closing the space between them.

"How did you... I never told you about that." Her whispered words are frantic and confused, and she takes a step back, stopped short when his pale fingers encircle her wrist, the heavy ashtray slipping from her tobacco-stained fingers and crashing to the ground.

"I told you that you had a chance. I wasn't lying. So why, then, did you end up here?" He gestures vaguely toward the storage closet behind him, never breaking eye contact.

"You promised me that I'd never have to save anyone from you." His words fall like soft raindrops, caressing her ears like the sweetest melody, draining the color from her face.

"I didn't... I didn't mean to... everything was so much and it kept coming and -"

"No." He heaves a deep sigh, canting his head to one side and looking down in disappointment.

"You took the easy way out and you fell on hard terrain. But it's okay. I'm here now. I will lead you out." Everette smiles softly, squeezing her wrist and closing his eyes.

When he opens them again, his mother is on the floor. She looks like she's suffering the results of another night of hard drinking, but something is different. She's unnaturally still, her face growing paler by the second.

"Mom? Mom!" He leans down to grip her face between his hands, growing more alarmed by how unresponsive she is. Panicking, he stands up and races into the next room, grabbing the phone from the table and hurriedly dialing 911. The line rings once before a familiar voice fills his ear, the words decorating his skin in goosebumps.

"I don't want to come back for you, Everette James. I like you, kid. Be good... be better."