Alex Faulkner (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
videokilledme) wrote2018-12-01 09:15 pm
videokilledme) wrote2018-12-01 09:15 pm
“And The Rest Is (World) History.” Alex, Bianca. (Persona Dreamscape) - Chapter Nineteen
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"And The Rest Is (World) History." Alex, Bianca. (Persona Dreamscape) - Chapter Nineteen
[music]
Alex knew from the moment they cornered him that this was going to go badly.
It was early May now, and Alex’s show had been on the air for almost three months, and it was easily in the top three of CCR’s most-listened-to programs. Dr. de Forest was thrilled once again--“It’s impressive that the numbers still haven’t dropped off at all‒in fact, it’s quite the opposite, they’re growing!”--and Alex found that, in addition to being good at it, he really enjoyed being a radio persona. It was a little strange, but again, surprisingly not unpleasant to semi-suddenly be a minor celebrity on campus. Fame (or infamy, depending on whom you asked) seemed to agree with him fairly well, and as he adjusted and got more accustomed to it all, he was getting better and better about always being polite and friendly to the fans who approached him. Most of the time they didn’t approach him, though; most of the time it was pointing and whispering followed by quickly averted eyes, or else staring and giggling (which was usually done by girls, and did still make him a little uncomfortable, though he did his best to hide it).
On occasion, a caller had tracked him down to yell at him, which he took stoically, arms crossed and pierced eyebrow raised, unimpressed and unmoved. “Now that you’re done screaming like a crazy person, do you feel any better?” was his go-to response whenever the caller wore themselves out and he finally got a chance to give a real response. “Because while it can be pretty cathartic to vent like that, you’re still making a scene. So: do you wanna sit down and calmly talk about your shitty life choices up to and including this one, when you decided to come find me, or are you gonna turn around and walk away now before I call campus security?”
So far it was a pretty even split, the ones who stayed to chat and the ones who left in a huff, and a few stupid, overly-macho dude-bros had shoved him around a little, but he hadn’t actually needed to call campus security on anyone.
Until tonight, anyway.
It happened as he was leaving his Biology Lab, a late-evening class that he’d stayed at even later tonight, helping the TA clean slides and other lab equipment for some just-in-case extra credit. It was dark by the time he left the Norbu-Bostrum Science Building, though he still had several hours until it was time for his radio show to start, so Alex had decided to head to the library cafe, to get some coffee and maybe a sandwich to eat while he studied and waited for midnight to roll around.
His headphones were on and his eyes and mind were elsewhere, looking through the new messages on his phone and already going over a few of the points he still needed to cover on the World Lit paper he was in the middle of writing, so he didn’t notice that someone was following him until it was too late. He’d unthinkingly taken a shortcut around the back of the science lab, only to stop short when he found two very large, very muscular-looking guys blocking his way. Frowning slightly, Alex moved to go around them, only to have them shift, blocking his way again. By then, Alex had figured out what was going on, and quickly turned to go back the way he’d come--only to find another, equally big and beefy guy looming up right behind him, with a fourth standing a little farther back.
The one who’d been right behind him reached out and pulled Alex’s headphones off--a nice, fairly expensive over-the-ears pair--then gave them a hard enough jerk that they came free of his phone.
“You’re Alex Ace, aren’t you,” the too-close jock drawled, and it was plain to Alex that it wasn’t really a question, so denying it wouldn’t do any good. As Alex paused, considering his very limited options, the jock started toying with the headphones, carelessly spinning them around on his finger, and suddenly it clicked for Alex, which caller this must be, whose voice this was.
“And you must be Chaz. Looks like you didn’t really listen to anything I said, did you.”
Chaz’s expression darkened immediately, and he flicked the headphones up into the air before snatching them back again, as close to Alex’s face as he could manage; Alex stood his ground, and didn’t so much as reflexively blink, much less flinch.
“Oh, I listened, all right,” the big, blond jock growled, stepping in closer. “I listened to your smug, scrawny little ass make a fool out of me on the radio.”
Alex gave a little shrug. “Eh, Law of Conservation of Mass. What can you do.”
Chaz scowled, obviously thrown by that comeback, though one of his buddies gave a little snickering snort, which he immediately tried to hide when Chaz shot a murderous look his way.
“Your friend over there clearly got the joke. What’s wrong, Chaz, not quite as quick on the uptake? Guess my ‘this is your brain on football’ comment the other night wasn’t so far off, huh.”
This time it was Alex who wasn’t really asking a question, and he was slowly drifting backwards toward the guy who’d laughed, hoping that maybe he was the weak link here--or, rather, the one with the most brains, who knew that assaulting another student like this was a stupid idea, bound to get them all benched and suspended at best, and kicked off the team entirely at worst.
“What the hell are you trying to s-”
“Can’t make something out of nothing,” Alex cut in, tone casual and matter-of-fact but firmly unwavering. Knowing what he knew of this caller both from the other night and from reading his body language now, there was no avoiding the fact that this was going to go poorly for Alex, regardless of what he did or didn’t say. And so the blue-haired sophomore decided that he might as well say whatever he wanted, and maybe give this guy something to think about...supposing he ever decided to start thinking in the first place. “And you know what, Chaz, you’re really only going to be proving my point if you go through with this. I told you the other night that you needed to stop trying to solve all your problems with your fists, and here you are, trying to do that exact thing again. Except this won’t even begin to solve your problem with me. It might make you feel better right now, but it’s really only going to make things worse for you.”
“Things are ALREADY WORSE!” Chaz suddenly bellowed, and Alex couldn’t help his knee-jerk reaction of turning his face to the side, away from the older and larger student’s abrupt invasion of his personal space. He didn’t wince, however, when Chaz gave a wordless snarl and threw Alex’s headphones on the ground, crushing them far beyond repair with a few forceful stomps--but that didn’t seem to satisfy his rage at all, only stoke it. Lightning quick, his hand shot out, grabbing Alex by the front of his jacket and pulling him in closer. “I lost my starting position on the team thanks to you, and my girlfriend broke up with me over all that stupid shit you said, and all the other girls I was talking to in class all avoid me now, when they’re not laughing at me behind my back!”
“You’re the one who called in to ask for advice about how to ask your girlfriend about having a threesome with another ‘super hot’ girl from your Comp 101 class--to which I said, if you’ll recall, don’t. You told me your name and talked about it on live radio. I don’t know how you expected to just get away with it, or why you thought they wouldn’t figure out that it was you. You’re the only Chaz playing football this year, aren’t you?”
“Listen you little-”
“And then, when you didn’t like my advice or the fact that I said it was kind of a douchebag question to ask anyway, you started making threats. You told me, and everyone else who was listening, about how you beat up an assistant coach to get yourself put into the starting lineup. To which I said-”
“SHUT UP!” Chaz snarled, giving Alex a shake hard enough to make his teeth rattle. “SHUT UP!”
“I’m not the one you should really be angry at, Chaz.” Alex’s voice had gone softer now, almost soothing, though no less steely at its core. “All I did was give you some good advice, along with exactly what you were asking for by calling in at all. Considering how infamous I’ve gotten around campus lately, you should know what you’re in for from the moment you decide to contact me.”
It was clear from the way his knuckles had gone white, the way his fist had tightened and twisted in the fabric of Alex’s jacket that Chaz was not cooling down.
“Oh yeah?”
With a suddenness and an amount of force that literally left Alex breathless, Chaz threw the younger student backwards at the wall of the science building; luckily, his shoulder was what hit the wall, and the blue-haired sophomore managed to catch himself, to keep his head from cracking against the bricks as well. Clenching his jaw and subtly tucking his phone away in the hopes of keeping it from being smashed just like his headphones, Alex turned a hard, unrepentant stare up at the blond jock, who was cracking his knuckles as he stalked closer.
“I think you need to learn some manners, or maybe just how to shut the hell up. Just because you have a shitty radio show that happens to be a little popular right now doesn’t mean you can say whatever the hell you want to people.”
Alex pushed himself upright, away from the wall, calm defiance in every line of his body...and since there was really no avoiding this, he let his mouth twist in a mocking smirk. “The name of my show is ‘Alex Tells It Like It Is’, not ‘Alex Makes You Feel Better About Your Dumbass Mistakes’. And I said it before, but I’ll say it again: punching that assistant coach was clearly a mistake that you really should’ve learned from already-”
Should have, yes. Did, no, unfortunately for Alex--and unfortunately for Chaz and his buddies as well. But their suffering would come later and last a lot longer, in the form of restraining orders, suspensions, and, in Chaz’s case, expulsion when he tried to take a swing at the head coach for kicking him off the football team.
Alex’s suffering was a lot more physical, and a lot more immediate: he didn’t even have time to flinch or throw up a hand before Chaz was right there, slamming a fist into his face with all the tenderness of a freight train barreling down the tracks at full steam.
Getting home took longer than usual.
It hurt to breathe (probably a cracked rib or two), he was covered in bruises, and it was hard to put weight on his right ankle, so he’d stopped by the student health center to get checked out. By the time he’d made it there, his left eye had nearly swollen shut, but at least his split lip had mostly stopped bleeding.
At least they didn’t manage to break my nose or knock out any teeth, he thought grimly as the doctor on call, an exceedingly handsome blond man who looked oddly familiar for some reason, poked and prodded Alex’s face with his thumbs to make sure there wasn’t a facial fracture or any damage to the nerves or the eye itself. Then again, I guess I have Bill and all those self-defense and martial arts classes he made me take over the years to thank for that. It really was due to years of on-and-off training that Alex had known how to turn his head enough to avoid taking most of the punches aimed at his face at full-force. He’d also known how to curl inwards and protect himself, how to avoid the worst of the blows, and to keep getting back on his feet, to keep moving, trying to relocate the confrontation to a more brightly-lit, public area. That was why, despite how much of a mess his face was, aside from the ribs and that eye, the worst bruises were really on his arms and legs, and those would heal easily enough.
“...All right, it looks like you can move your eye just fine, but let’s put some ice on it right away, to help with the swelling. You said that you didn’t black out and your vision isn’t blurry, right?”
Alex nodded, still preoccupied by that vaguely irritating feeling of unplaceable recognition as he stared hard at the blond man through his one good eye.
Satisfied that the eye wouldn’t be a problem, the doctor had listened to his lungs, then decided to take x-rays and do a CT scan as well. “Definitely cracked,” he pronounced half an hour later, just a little too cheerfully for Alex’s taste, though his smile was sincere, caring enough that it touched his bright blue eyes as he looked over at his patient.
At which point it finally clicked, where Alex had seen him before: at Bianca’s volleyball games, sitting with Dr. Pace and the semi-scary not-quite-goth guy. W. Solace, his badge read, and Alex realized that he knew that name. Dr. Solace was one of the best pre-med teachers at Carrington, and he was quite popular with the students as well. Alex had actually gotten a caller just the week before who had confessed to having a huge crush on the older and--clearly verifiable by the ring on his finger--married man. (That had been a fun one: the student had been horrendously embarrassed, and wanted to know what to do about his obviously eternally-doomed-to-be-unrequited crush on his faculty advisor, but he’d also taken Alex’s ribbing very good-naturedly, bantering back a little but being super self-deprecating about the whole thing. Alex had told him that he did need to give it up, because even if the professor in question wasn’t happily married, the fact that he was married at all should put him completely off-limits to anyone who wanted a serious long-term romantic relationship. After all, if he would cheat on his spouse, why wouldn’t he cheat on any other significant other later on? Plus, being a homewrecker was never a good look for anyone, so it was best not to go down that path at all. It was a big college, there was bound to be at least one other, unmarried person out there who the caller would find interesting and attractive.)
“Let’s trade out the ice pack on that eye, and putting one on those ribs, that cheek, and that ankle too couldn’t hurt. I could prescribe some pain meds, but really, Tylenol and Ibuprofen are gonna be just as good as anything we can give you here. The rest is pretty common sense: take a break from doing anything physically strenuous, don’t wrap anything around your ribs to try to hold them in place, especially avoid twisting, and use lots of ice to relieve the pain. Also, even though it’s gonna suck and hurt, you need to keep taking regular breaths, not little shallow ones, or you might end up with pneumonia. Ten deep breaths every hour is a good thing to try for. By the way, pretty sure that right ankle is only bruised, not sprained, but stay off it for a day or two, just to be sure. Wrapping it for a few days like I have it wrapped now wouldn’t be a bad idea either.”
Alex nodded and gingerly slid off the examination table, trying to ignore the shrewd look on Dr. Solace’s face as he juggled putting on his jacket and gathering his things with keeping the fresh ice pack on his eye.
“Do you want to submit an incident report?” the blond man asked, all the cheer gone from his tone, concern taking its place entirely. “I think you should probably-”
“I’m heading over to campus security right now,” Alex muttered, avoiding eye contact as he struggled to find a way to carry his bag that didn’t make his chest burn with agony. “Thanks.”
That look of steady concern didn’t waver. “Do you need to call someone to come pick you up? You shouldn’t drive in that condition.”
“Took the subway, I’ll be fine. Besides, I’ve still got a show tonight.”
Alex could tell that Dr. Solace definitely didn’t like it, but he also apparently knew better than to argue the point, because he didn’t try.
“All right, then,” the blond doctor said, straightening his files in a businesslike manner before tucking them all away in a manila folder, “If you wanna work that bruised ankle into a sprain, and strain yourself by talking for a few hours, that’s none of my business. I’m not your primary care physician, so go ahead and do whatever you want, kid.”
...Well. He didn’t try in the way that Alex was used to people trying, at least. Getting snarked at like that was something of a new experience.
“...My dad works late tonight, at the Air Force base. Calling him isn’t a good idea,” Alex grudgingly admitted, feeling more than a little defensive somehow.
“Fair enough,” Dr. Solace shrugged, and Alex just barely heard him add under his breath, “Dads can’t always be there when you need them.” Those bright blue eyes had fastened on him with laser-focus as the doctor went on, “How about a friend? Anyone you can call?”
“...None that I want to bother with this mess,” Alex said, gesturing to himself with a small, wry smile that set his split lip oozing again. He was glad that Dr. Solace obviously didn’t know who he was; the blue-haired student would sooner have died than let Bianca see him like this, and he didn’t trust Connor enough to give him a call. Dr. de Forest was busy at the station, and Alex doubted Chisomo would even answer. “I’ll be fine. My ankle doesn’t really hurt that much anyway, so can I go now?”
Dr. Solace was quiet for a moment, then shook his head and heaved a quiet sigh. “Yeah, you’re cleared. Just check out at the desk as you leave.”
Alex had felt a rush of bittersweet triumph at that, but by the time he’d limped over to campus security to start the process of filing assault charges, he was regretting it; when, hours later, he hobbled off the subway and up the stairs at his stop, he definitely felt like he’d lost after all.
Next time, I guess I’ll at least try to call Bill...and if he doesn’t answer, I’m sure Dr. de Forest would. Then again, what Alex hoped for most was that there wouldn’t be a ‘next time’...but even if there was, it wouldn’t change anything. This didn’t change anything. He’d been on-air tonight, despite the horrified look that Chisomo had given him when he’d shuffled into the radio station, and he’d gone the whole two hours, throwing himself into his roasts with just as much snark and wit as usual, despite the building fire in his side. He’d also made certain to mention the fact that he’d been jumped earlier that night, and that he’d started the process of filing assault charges on those four assholes, just to keep anyone else from getting the same idea. He’d be on-air again tomorrow night, he assured his listeners, and the night after, and the one after that too, promising that he’d be there nearly every weeknight until he graduated, or the show got cancelled.
...Unless Bill kills me, I guess, he had to add silently to himself as he stopped in front of his house and noted the truck in the driveway. There was also a light on in the living room that was blazing through the ugly old curtains that had come with the place, and had probably been there for a good thirty years at the very least, judging by the amount of dust moving them even slightly kicked up. Alex had told Bill about how late his radio station job could run some nights, and while his father hadn’t been pleased, he hadn’t tried to forbid it either. Most of the time, Bill was either already asleep or hadn’t come home at all, staying on-base that night for whatever reason, whether by choice or assignment; the few times that Alex had come home to find the living room light on like this had been...unpleasant, to say the least. Bill had clearly had a bad day at work, or something had reminded him of Gemma, or maybe it was something else entirely, but whatever the reason, he’d had a few too many--not enough to be truly belligerent, much less dangerous, but enough to make him lose track of time.
Enough to loosen his tongue even more than usual when it came to Alex and all of his ‘unacceptable’ behavior.
Alex hesitated on the sidewalk in front of the house, and for just a few moments, he allowed himself the temporary escape of imagining what could happen if he swallowed his pride and called Bianca, if she said she’d come get him. They could go back to her dorm and she would probably fuss over his injuries, and he’d let himself eat up the comfort. He’d borrow some clothes and stay the night on her futon and maybe, if he felt like it, he’d go to class the next day. Or he’d skip for a day or two, just hide out in Bianca’s room until his face was healed enough to cover it up with make-up, though he could always wear dark glasses inside like an asshole to at least hide that eye until it was dark enough outside to put up his hood and conceal what was arguably the worst of his bruises that way.
But that was just a wild, hopeless fantasy. Bianca likely wouldn’t have her godfather’s car, so she’d have no way to pick him up, plus it was nearly 4:00 in the morning and she still had classes the next day and volleyball practice at 6:00, plus he didn’t want to bother her with his bullshit any more now than he had hours ago at the student medical center. It was embarrassing, having been beaten up so obviously and miserably, and while he normally didn’t care what people thought, didn’t care about looking manly or cool...when it came to Bianca, he did care about those things. He didn’t want to look pathetic in front of her, so he didn’t want her to see just how bad it was...especially when he knew that, had she been in his place, surrounded by four huge goons, she likely would’ve been able to trash them all on her own, or at least given back as good as she’d gotten.
Alex thought he might’ve landed one good kick to one guy’s knee, and he was pretty sure that thanks to the rings on his hands, he’d torn open another guy’s cheek pretty well, but otherwise, he hadn’t left much of a mark on any of them.
So much for all those self-defense courses and on-base martial arts classes Bill had halfway-forced him to sporadically attend over the years, he thought gloomily as he heaved a sigh (which the burning in his side immediately made him regret doing), pulled his hood down even farther, then trudged the final fifteen yards up the front walk, up the stairs, and into the house.
The instant he opened the door, before he had even stepped inside, Alex realized that it was even worse than he’d expected, actually, because the noticeable lack of multiple visible beer cans scattered around the room indicated that Bill hadn’t really been drinking tonight.
Bill was sober. And very awake. And very angry.
“Do you have ANY idea what time it is?” the Air Force colonel growled out from his seat in the battered old recliner, one of the few pieces of furniture that Bill had made sure to bring with them through every move, regardless of how worn and creaky it was now. He’d turned the chair around to face the doorway, the better to challenge his delinquent son the moment he set foot inside the house. He had also pulled the room’s single lamp closer as well, leaving him sitting in a puddle of light in the middle of an otherwise mostly-dark room, like an old-fashioned noir detective.
Alex answered too quickly for Bill to say anything else, making a show of glancing at his watch and then saying, “Wow, you know, it looks like it’s 3:57, but I could’ve sworn that it was ‘mind your own business’ o’clock.” He kept up the theatrics, tapping at his watch’s face with concern and then holding it up to his ear to listen to it (despite the fact that it was digital, not analog), then gave a shrug that made him suck in a sharp breath through gritted teeth. “Guh...guess this thing’s busted. I’d better get a new one--or better yet, maybe you should.”
“Alex. We agreed that if you were going to be out later than 3:30, you’d call or at least send a text-”
“Noooo, we didn’t agree to anything. That was something that you tried to insist on, one of the few times you were actually home and awake enough to decide that you cared, and that you should at least try to pretend that you’re a good father.”
Turning his back on Bill, Alex eased his jacket off and hung it on one of the hooks by the door, dropping his bag there, too, though he quickly regretted the former. Having that hood had been nice, some added shadow, but if just he kept his head down and stayed out of the light, then he could probably get to his room without Bill noticing anything was out of the ordinary. Conversely, if he’d worn his coat through the house and into his room, Bill would’ve been instantly suspicious, since (thanks to Bill) Alex was very much a proponent of the old ‘a place for everything and everything in its place’ adage, and his jacket’s place was on a specific hook by the door.
But for once, instead of getting immediately angry in response to the snark and the clear disrespect, Bill’s shoulders slumped, and he let out a long, tired sigh. With a sinking feeling of dread, Alex froze in place as his father suddenly stood up, rubbing at his eyes wearily before moving towards his son.
“...Alex, why can’t you just--what the FUCK?!”
“Oooh, language,” Alex deadpan sing-songed, smirking a little as his father stared at him open-mouthed, eyes wide and face red with a mixture of poorly suppressed horror and anger.
For nearly half a minute, Bill seemed to have completely frozen up, simply gaping at his son’s disheveled, battered appearance. Alex made the most of that blessed space of silence, which he knew would surely end all too soon, and took the opportunity to limp into the kitchen and fill a glass with water. He was about halfway through drinking it (which also hurt his ribs, though most things did) when Bill finally found his verbal footing again--on the moral high ground, as per usual.
“What the hell did you do this time?”
Alex’s eyebrows went up, his expression a mockery of surprise, far too deadpan to be in earnest. “Why do you assume that it’s my fault?”
Bill gave a low huff of humorless laughter at that. “Because I know you. You must’ve mouthed off to someone, said something on that stupid radio show of yours-”
“Yeah, so what if I did? That still doesn’t give them the right to assault me. But I’ve taken care of it already, don’t worry about that--not that you sound worried at all, really.”
Bill’s eyes flashed at that, his mouth going thin as he pressed his lips together hard, the muscles in his jaw clenching visibly, which Alex took as a victory. Point for me, old man. Your turn now, go on, hit me with one of your usual shots. Something about how I’m immature, or how I’m wasting my life and all my potential, or how I should’ve joined Air Force ROTC and followed in your footsteps and it’s still not too late to join now, I just need to have a come-to-Jesus moment and stop being my own person and then maybe you can love me again instead of being ashamed of me all the time.
“...I thought I taught you better than this,” Bill said at last, his voice low and tightly controlled, and even with one eye swollen shut, Alex could see that his father wasn’t looking at him. “What were you doing in those on-base taekwondo classes, anyway? Just screwing around like always, and not actually trying to apply yourself to anything?”
Alex dumped out the rest of his water, then moved to lean against the counter instead, trying to take some weight off his feet, though by that point he was so tired that simply existing at all hurt. “...So, let me get this straight. You’re saying that it would’ve been okay to pick a fight--which isn’t what I did, by the way, not that you’re listening to anything I say any more than usual--but it would’ve been okay to start a fight if I was strong enough to kick the asses of four older, bigger guys all by myself, instead of getting beaten up when they cornered me after class?”
“Alex-”
“Might makes right, huh? Is that what the celebrated Lieutenant Colonel William B. Faulkner believes, and teaches his squadron at the base?”
“Alex-”
There was a warning note in Bill’s voice now, but Alex pushed onwards regardless; he was too tired and every breath he took made his ribs burn, so he wasn’t in the mood to cater to his father’s old-fashioned sensibilities, not that he ever was.
“Too bad I’m not more like Trey or Duke, huh, some stupid, hulking muscle-head who breaks younger kids’ arms in three places just for the hell of it, just to shut them up-”
“ALEXIS OISÍN FAULKNER, GO TO YOUR ROOM.”
“Not that you have the authority to send a 20-year-old to his room... But even if you did, sending me somewhere that I was planning on going already, and that makes it so I don’t have to talk to you anymore...heh. Some punishment that is.” As he opened the door to his room and hobbled inside, he called back over his shoulder, “It’s really more like a reward.”
He could hear Bill shouting something at the closed door, but he’d already stopped listening by that point, locking the door behind him and snatching up a pair of earbuds to block out the noise. The earbuds made changing into some clean clothes even more of a challenge than his ribs had already promised to make it, but by the time he’d managed it, Alex cautiously took out one earbud to see if the usual quiet had descended on the house again. Even more cautiously, he peered out the partially-open door, but to his relief, the rest of the lights in the house were off, including the one in Bill’s room, though the lack of snoring made it doubtful that his father was asleep just yet.
Alex hurriedly got ready for bed, moving as quickly and quietly as possible (not very in either case, considering his injuries and how loud the faucet in the bathroom was), then retreated back to the sanctuary of his room to finally ease his battered, aching body into bed.
...Yeah, definitely not going to class tomorrow, he decided after taking his ten deep breaths and wishing that maybe he could just stop existing for a little while, just until the pain had lessened.
Class, no. But even if he had to call Dr. de Forest and ask for a ride to the radio station, he would be on the air tomorrow night, no matter what.
Just like he’d promised.
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"And The Rest Is (World) History." Alex, Bianca. (Persona Dreamscape) - Chapter Nineteen
[music]
Alex knew from the moment they cornered him that this was going to go badly.
It was early May now, and Alex’s show had been on the air for almost three months, and it was easily in the top three of CCR’s most-listened-to programs. Dr. de Forest was thrilled once again--“It’s impressive that the numbers still haven’t dropped off at all‒in fact, it’s quite the opposite, they’re growing!”--and Alex found that, in addition to being good at it, he really enjoyed being a radio persona. It was a little strange, but again, surprisingly not unpleasant to semi-suddenly be a minor celebrity on campus. Fame (or infamy, depending on whom you asked) seemed to agree with him fairly well, and as he adjusted and got more accustomed to it all, he was getting better and better about always being polite and friendly to the fans who approached him. Most of the time they didn’t approach him, though; most of the time it was pointing and whispering followed by quickly averted eyes, or else staring and giggling (which was usually done by girls, and did still make him a little uncomfortable, though he did his best to hide it).
On occasion, a caller had tracked him down to yell at him, which he took stoically, arms crossed and pierced eyebrow raised, unimpressed and unmoved. “Now that you’re done screaming like a crazy person, do you feel any better?” was his go-to response whenever the caller wore themselves out and he finally got a chance to give a real response. “Because while it can be pretty cathartic to vent like that, you’re still making a scene. So: do you wanna sit down and calmly talk about your shitty life choices up to and including this one, when you decided to come find me, or are you gonna turn around and walk away now before I call campus security?”
So far it was a pretty even split, the ones who stayed to chat and the ones who left in a huff, and a few stupid, overly-macho dude-bros had shoved him around a little, but he hadn’t actually needed to call campus security on anyone.
Until tonight, anyway.
It happened as he was leaving his Biology Lab, a late-evening class that he’d stayed at even later tonight, helping the TA clean slides and other lab equipment for some just-in-case extra credit. It was dark by the time he left the Norbu-Bostrum Science Building, though he still had several hours until it was time for his radio show to start, so Alex had decided to head to the library cafe, to get some coffee and maybe a sandwich to eat while he studied and waited for midnight to roll around.
His headphones were on and his eyes and mind were elsewhere, looking through the new messages on his phone and already going over a few of the points he still needed to cover on the World Lit paper he was in the middle of writing, so he didn’t notice that someone was following him until it was too late. He’d unthinkingly taken a shortcut around the back of the science lab, only to stop short when he found two very large, very muscular-looking guys blocking his way. Frowning slightly, Alex moved to go around them, only to have them shift, blocking his way again. By then, Alex had figured out what was going on, and quickly turned to go back the way he’d come--only to find another, equally big and beefy guy looming up right behind him, with a fourth standing a little farther back.
The one who’d been right behind him reached out and pulled Alex’s headphones off--a nice, fairly expensive over-the-ears pair--then gave them a hard enough jerk that they came free of his phone.
“You’re Alex Ace, aren’t you,” the too-close jock drawled, and it was plain to Alex that it wasn’t really a question, so denying it wouldn’t do any good. As Alex paused, considering his very limited options, the jock started toying with the headphones, carelessly spinning them around on his finger, and suddenly it clicked for Alex, which caller this must be, whose voice this was.
“And you must be Chaz. Looks like you didn’t really listen to anything I said, did you.”
Chaz’s expression darkened immediately, and he flicked the headphones up into the air before snatching them back again, as close to Alex’s face as he could manage; Alex stood his ground, and didn’t so much as reflexively blink, much less flinch.
“Oh, I listened, all right,” the big, blond jock growled, stepping in closer. “I listened to your smug, scrawny little ass make a fool out of me on the radio.”
Alex gave a little shrug. “Eh, Law of Conservation of Mass. What can you do.”
Chaz scowled, obviously thrown by that comeback, though one of his buddies gave a little snickering snort, which he immediately tried to hide when Chaz shot a murderous look his way.
“Your friend over there clearly got the joke. What’s wrong, Chaz, not quite as quick on the uptake? Guess my ‘this is your brain on football’ comment the other night wasn’t so far off, huh.”
This time it was Alex who wasn’t really asking a question, and he was slowly drifting backwards toward the guy who’d laughed, hoping that maybe he was the weak link here--or, rather, the one with the most brains, who knew that assaulting another student like this was a stupid idea, bound to get them all benched and suspended at best, and kicked off the team entirely at worst.
“What the hell are you trying to s-”
“Can’t make something out of nothing,” Alex cut in, tone casual and matter-of-fact but firmly unwavering. Knowing what he knew of this caller both from the other night and from reading his body language now, there was no avoiding the fact that this was going to go poorly for Alex, regardless of what he did or didn’t say. And so the blue-haired sophomore decided that he might as well say whatever he wanted, and maybe give this guy something to think about...supposing he ever decided to start thinking in the first place. “And you know what, Chaz, you’re really only going to be proving my point if you go through with this. I told you the other night that you needed to stop trying to solve all your problems with your fists, and here you are, trying to do that exact thing again. Except this won’t even begin to solve your problem with me. It might make you feel better right now, but it’s really only going to make things worse for you.”
“Things are ALREADY WORSE!” Chaz suddenly bellowed, and Alex couldn’t help his knee-jerk reaction of turning his face to the side, away from the older and larger student’s abrupt invasion of his personal space. He didn’t wince, however, when Chaz gave a wordless snarl and threw Alex’s headphones on the ground, crushing them far beyond repair with a few forceful stomps--but that didn’t seem to satisfy his rage at all, only stoke it. Lightning quick, his hand shot out, grabbing Alex by the front of his jacket and pulling him in closer. “I lost my starting position on the team thanks to you, and my girlfriend broke up with me over all that stupid shit you said, and all the other girls I was talking to in class all avoid me now, when they’re not laughing at me behind my back!”
“You’re the one who called in to ask for advice about how to ask your girlfriend about having a threesome with another ‘super hot’ girl from your Comp 101 class--to which I said, if you’ll recall, don’t. You told me your name and talked about it on live radio. I don’t know how you expected to just get away with it, or why you thought they wouldn’t figure out that it was you. You’re the only Chaz playing football this year, aren’t you?”
“Listen you little-”
“And then, when you didn’t like my advice or the fact that I said it was kind of a douchebag question to ask anyway, you started making threats. You told me, and everyone else who was listening, about how you beat up an assistant coach to get yourself put into the starting lineup. To which I said-”
“SHUT UP!” Chaz snarled, giving Alex a shake hard enough to make his teeth rattle. “SHUT UP!”
“I’m not the one you should really be angry at, Chaz.” Alex’s voice had gone softer now, almost soothing, though no less steely at its core. “All I did was give you some good advice, along with exactly what you were asking for by calling in at all. Considering how infamous I’ve gotten around campus lately, you should know what you’re in for from the moment you decide to contact me.”
It was clear from the way his knuckles had gone white, the way his fist had tightened and twisted in the fabric of Alex’s jacket that Chaz was not cooling down.
“Oh yeah?”
With a suddenness and an amount of force that literally left Alex breathless, Chaz threw the younger student backwards at the wall of the science building; luckily, his shoulder was what hit the wall, and the blue-haired sophomore managed to catch himself, to keep his head from cracking against the bricks as well. Clenching his jaw and subtly tucking his phone away in the hopes of keeping it from being smashed just like his headphones, Alex turned a hard, unrepentant stare up at the blond jock, who was cracking his knuckles as he stalked closer.
“I think you need to learn some manners, or maybe just how to shut the hell up. Just because you have a shitty radio show that happens to be a little popular right now doesn’t mean you can say whatever the hell you want to people.”
Alex pushed himself upright, away from the wall, calm defiance in every line of his body...and since there was really no avoiding this, he let his mouth twist in a mocking smirk. “The name of my show is ‘Alex Tells It Like It Is’, not ‘Alex Makes You Feel Better About Your Dumbass Mistakes’. And I said it before, but I’ll say it again: punching that assistant coach was clearly a mistake that you really should’ve learned from already-”
Should have, yes. Did, no, unfortunately for Alex--and unfortunately for Chaz and his buddies as well. But their suffering would come later and last a lot longer, in the form of restraining orders, suspensions, and, in Chaz’s case, expulsion when he tried to take a swing at the head coach for kicking him off the football team.
Alex’s suffering was a lot more physical, and a lot more immediate: he didn’t even have time to flinch or throw up a hand before Chaz was right there, slamming a fist into his face with all the tenderness of a freight train barreling down the tracks at full steam.
Getting home took longer than usual.
It hurt to breathe (probably a cracked rib or two), he was covered in bruises, and it was hard to put weight on his right ankle, so he’d stopped by the student health center to get checked out. By the time he’d made it there, his left eye had nearly swollen shut, but at least his split lip had mostly stopped bleeding.
At least they didn’t manage to break my nose or knock out any teeth, he thought grimly as the doctor on call, an exceedingly handsome blond man who looked oddly familiar for some reason, poked and prodded Alex’s face with his thumbs to make sure there wasn’t a facial fracture or any damage to the nerves or the eye itself. Then again, I guess I have Bill and all those self-defense and martial arts classes he made me take over the years to thank for that. It really was due to years of on-and-off training that Alex had known how to turn his head enough to avoid taking most of the punches aimed at his face at full-force. He’d also known how to curl inwards and protect himself, how to avoid the worst of the blows, and to keep getting back on his feet, to keep moving, trying to relocate the confrontation to a more brightly-lit, public area. That was why, despite how much of a mess his face was, aside from the ribs and that eye, the worst bruises were really on his arms and legs, and those would heal easily enough.
“...All right, it looks like you can move your eye just fine, but let’s put some ice on it right away, to help with the swelling. You said that you didn’t black out and your vision isn’t blurry, right?”
Alex nodded, still preoccupied by that vaguely irritating feeling of unplaceable recognition as he stared hard at the blond man through his one good eye.
Satisfied that the eye wouldn’t be a problem, the doctor had listened to his lungs, then decided to take x-rays and do a CT scan as well. “Definitely cracked,” he pronounced half an hour later, just a little too cheerfully for Alex’s taste, though his smile was sincere, caring enough that it touched his bright blue eyes as he looked over at his patient.
At which point it finally clicked, where Alex had seen him before: at Bianca’s volleyball games, sitting with Dr. Pace and the semi-scary not-quite-goth guy. W. Solace, his badge read, and Alex realized that he knew that name. Dr. Solace was one of the best pre-med teachers at Carrington, and he was quite popular with the students as well. Alex had actually gotten a caller just the week before who had confessed to having a huge crush on the older and--clearly verifiable by the ring on his finger--married man. (That had been a fun one: the student had been horrendously embarrassed, and wanted to know what to do about his obviously eternally-doomed-to-be-unrequited crush on his faculty advisor, but he’d also taken Alex’s ribbing very good-naturedly, bantering back a little but being super self-deprecating about the whole thing. Alex had told him that he did need to give it up, because even if the professor in question wasn’t happily married, the fact that he was married at all should put him completely off-limits to anyone who wanted a serious long-term romantic relationship. After all, if he would cheat on his spouse, why wouldn’t he cheat on any other significant other later on? Plus, being a homewrecker was never a good look for anyone, so it was best not to go down that path at all. It was a big college, there was bound to be at least one other, unmarried person out there who the caller would find interesting and attractive.)
“Let’s trade out the ice pack on that eye, and putting one on those ribs, that cheek, and that ankle too couldn’t hurt. I could prescribe some pain meds, but really, Tylenol and Ibuprofen are gonna be just as good as anything we can give you here. The rest is pretty common sense: take a break from doing anything physically strenuous, don’t wrap anything around your ribs to try to hold them in place, especially avoid twisting, and use lots of ice to relieve the pain. Also, even though it’s gonna suck and hurt, you need to keep taking regular breaths, not little shallow ones, or you might end up with pneumonia. Ten deep breaths every hour is a good thing to try for. By the way, pretty sure that right ankle is only bruised, not sprained, but stay off it for a day or two, just to be sure. Wrapping it for a few days like I have it wrapped now wouldn’t be a bad idea either.”
Alex nodded and gingerly slid off the examination table, trying to ignore the shrewd look on Dr. Solace’s face as he juggled putting on his jacket and gathering his things with keeping the fresh ice pack on his eye.
“Do you want to submit an incident report?” the blond man asked, all the cheer gone from his tone, concern taking its place entirely. “I think you should probably-”
“I’m heading over to campus security right now,” Alex muttered, avoiding eye contact as he struggled to find a way to carry his bag that didn’t make his chest burn with agony. “Thanks.”
That look of steady concern didn’t waver. “Do you need to call someone to come pick you up? You shouldn’t drive in that condition.”
“Took the subway, I’ll be fine. Besides, I’ve still got a show tonight.”
Alex could tell that Dr. Solace definitely didn’t like it, but he also apparently knew better than to argue the point, because he didn’t try.
“All right, then,” the blond doctor said, straightening his files in a businesslike manner before tucking them all away in a manila folder, “If you wanna work that bruised ankle into a sprain, and strain yourself by talking for a few hours, that’s none of my business. I’m not your primary care physician, so go ahead and do whatever you want, kid.”
...Well. He didn’t try in the way that Alex was used to people trying, at least. Getting snarked at like that was something of a new experience.
“...My dad works late tonight, at the Air Force base. Calling him isn’t a good idea,” Alex grudgingly admitted, feeling more than a little defensive somehow.
“Fair enough,” Dr. Solace shrugged, and Alex just barely heard him add under his breath, “Dads can’t always be there when you need them.” Those bright blue eyes had fastened on him with laser-focus as the doctor went on, “How about a friend? Anyone you can call?”
“...None that I want to bother with this mess,” Alex said, gesturing to himself with a small, wry smile that set his split lip oozing again. He was glad that Dr. Solace obviously didn’t know who he was; the blue-haired student would sooner have died than let Bianca see him like this, and he didn’t trust Connor enough to give him a call. Dr. de Forest was busy at the station, and Alex doubted Chisomo would even answer. “I’ll be fine. My ankle doesn’t really hurt that much anyway, so can I go now?”
Dr. Solace was quiet for a moment, then shook his head and heaved a quiet sigh. “Yeah, you’re cleared. Just check out at the desk as you leave.”
Alex had felt a rush of bittersweet triumph at that, but by the time he’d limped over to campus security to start the process of filing assault charges, he was regretting it; when, hours later, he hobbled off the subway and up the stairs at his stop, he definitely felt like he’d lost after all.
Next time, I guess I’ll at least try to call Bill...and if he doesn’t answer, I’m sure Dr. de Forest would. Then again, what Alex hoped for most was that there wouldn’t be a ‘next time’...but even if there was, it wouldn’t change anything. This didn’t change anything. He’d been on-air tonight, despite the horrified look that Chisomo had given him when he’d shuffled into the radio station, and he’d gone the whole two hours, throwing himself into his roasts with just as much snark and wit as usual, despite the building fire in his side. He’d also made certain to mention the fact that he’d been jumped earlier that night, and that he’d started the process of filing assault charges on those four assholes, just to keep anyone else from getting the same idea. He’d be on-air again tomorrow night, he assured his listeners, and the night after, and the one after that too, promising that he’d be there nearly every weeknight until he graduated, or the show got cancelled.
...Unless Bill kills me, I guess, he had to add silently to himself as he stopped in front of his house and noted the truck in the driveway. There was also a light on in the living room that was blazing through the ugly old curtains that had come with the place, and had probably been there for a good thirty years at the very least, judging by the amount of dust moving them even slightly kicked up. Alex had told Bill about how late his radio station job could run some nights, and while his father hadn’t been pleased, he hadn’t tried to forbid it either. Most of the time, Bill was either already asleep or hadn’t come home at all, staying on-base that night for whatever reason, whether by choice or assignment; the few times that Alex had come home to find the living room light on like this had been...unpleasant, to say the least. Bill had clearly had a bad day at work, or something had reminded him of Gemma, or maybe it was something else entirely, but whatever the reason, he’d had a few too many--not enough to be truly belligerent, much less dangerous, but enough to make him lose track of time.
Enough to loosen his tongue even more than usual when it came to Alex and all of his ‘unacceptable’ behavior.
Alex hesitated on the sidewalk in front of the house, and for just a few moments, he allowed himself the temporary escape of imagining what could happen if he swallowed his pride and called Bianca, if she said she’d come get him. They could go back to her dorm and she would probably fuss over his injuries, and he’d let himself eat up the comfort. He’d borrow some clothes and stay the night on her futon and maybe, if he felt like it, he’d go to class the next day. Or he’d skip for a day or two, just hide out in Bianca’s room until his face was healed enough to cover it up with make-up, though he could always wear dark glasses inside like an asshole to at least hide that eye until it was dark enough outside to put up his hood and conceal what was arguably the worst of his bruises that way.
But that was just a wild, hopeless fantasy. Bianca likely wouldn’t have her godfather’s car, so she’d have no way to pick him up, plus it was nearly 4:00 in the morning and she still had classes the next day and volleyball practice at 6:00, plus he didn’t want to bother her with his bullshit any more now than he had hours ago at the student medical center. It was embarrassing, having been beaten up so obviously and miserably, and while he normally didn’t care what people thought, didn’t care about looking manly or cool...when it came to Bianca, he did care about those things. He didn’t want to look pathetic in front of her, so he didn’t want her to see just how bad it was...especially when he knew that, had she been in his place, surrounded by four huge goons, she likely would’ve been able to trash them all on her own, or at least given back as good as she’d gotten.
Alex thought he might’ve landed one good kick to one guy’s knee, and he was pretty sure that thanks to the rings on his hands, he’d torn open another guy’s cheek pretty well, but otherwise, he hadn’t left much of a mark on any of them.
So much for all those self-defense courses and on-base martial arts classes Bill had halfway-forced him to sporadically attend over the years, he thought gloomily as he heaved a sigh (which the burning in his side immediately made him regret doing), pulled his hood down even farther, then trudged the final fifteen yards up the front walk, up the stairs, and into the house.
The instant he opened the door, before he had even stepped inside, Alex realized that it was even worse than he’d expected, actually, because the noticeable lack of multiple visible beer cans scattered around the room indicated that Bill hadn’t really been drinking tonight.
Bill was sober. And very awake. And very angry.
“Do you have ANY idea what time it is?” the Air Force colonel growled out from his seat in the battered old recliner, one of the few pieces of furniture that Bill had made sure to bring with them through every move, regardless of how worn and creaky it was now. He’d turned the chair around to face the doorway, the better to challenge his delinquent son the moment he set foot inside the house. He had also pulled the room’s single lamp closer as well, leaving him sitting in a puddle of light in the middle of an otherwise mostly-dark room, like an old-fashioned noir detective.
Alex answered too quickly for Bill to say anything else, making a show of glancing at his watch and then saying, “Wow, you know, it looks like it’s 3:57, but I could’ve sworn that it was ‘mind your own business’ o’clock.” He kept up the theatrics, tapping at his watch’s face with concern and then holding it up to his ear to listen to it (despite the fact that it was digital, not analog), then gave a shrug that made him suck in a sharp breath through gritted teeth. “Guh...guess this thing’s busted. I’d better get a new one--or better yet, maybe you should.”
“Alex. We agreed that if you were going to be out later than 3:30, you’d call or at least send a text-”
“Noooo, we didn’t agree to anything. That was something that you tried to insist on, one of the few times you were actually home and awake enough to decide that you cared, and that you should at least try to pretend that you’re a good father.”
Turning his back on Bill, Alex eased his jacket off and hung it on one of the hooks by the door, dropping his bag there, too, though he quickly regretted the former. Having that hood had been nice, some added shadow, but if just he kept his head down and stayed out of the light, then he could probably get to his room without Bill noticing anything was out of the ordinary. Conversely, if he’d worn his coat through the house and into his room, Bill would’ve been instantly suspicious, since (thanks to Bill) Alex was very much a proponent of the old ‘a place for everything and everything in its place’ adage, and his jacket’s place was on a specific hook by the door.
But for once, instead of getting immediately angry in response to the snark and the clear disrespect, Bill’s shoulders slumped, and he let out a long, tired sigh. With a sinking feeling of dread, Alex froze in place as his father suddenly stood up, rubbing at his eyes wearily before moving towards his son.
“...Alex, why can’t you just--what the FUCK?!”
“Oooh, language,” Alex deadpan sing-songed, smirking a little as his father stared at him open-mouthed, eyes wide and face red with a mixture of poorly suppressed horror and anger.
For nearly half a minute, Bill seemed to have completely frozen up, simply gaping at his son’s disheveled, battered appearance. Alex made the most of that blessed space of silence, which he knew would surely end all too soon, and took the opportunity to limp into the kitchen and fill a glass with water. He was about halfway through drinking it (which also hurt his ribs, though most things did) when Bill finally found his verbal footing again--on the moral high ground, as per usual.
“What the hell did you do this time?”
Alex’s eyebrows went up, his expression a mockery of surprise, far too deadpan to be in earnest. “Why do you assume that it’s my fault?”
Bill gave a low huff of humorless laughter at that. “Because I know you. You must’ve mouthed off to someone, said something on that stupid radio show of yours-”
“Yeah, so what if I did? That still doesn’t give them the right to assault me. But I’ve taken care of it already, don’t worry about that--not that you sound worried at all, really.”
Bill’s eyes flashed at that, his mouth going thin as he pressed his lips together hard, the muscles in his jaw clenching visibly, which Alex took as a victory. Point for me, old man. Your turn now, go on, hit me with one of your usual shots. Something about how I’m immature, or how I’m wasting my life and all my potential, or how I should’ve joined Air Force ROTC and followed in your footsteps and it’s still not too late to join now, I just need to have a come-to-Jesus moment and stop being my own person and then maybe you can love me again instead of being ashamed of me all the time.
“...I thought I taught you better than this,” Bill said at last, his voice low and tightly controlled, and even with one eye swollen shut, Alex could see that his father wasn’t looking at him. “What were you doing in those on-base taekwondo classes, anyway? Just screwing around like always, and not actually trying to apply yourself to anything?”
Alex dumped out the rest of his water, then moved to lean against the counter instead, trying to take some weight off his feet, though by that point he was so tired that simply existing at all hurt. “...So, let me get this straight. You’re saying that it would’ve been okay to pick a fight--which isn’t what I did, by the way, not that you’re listening to anything I say any more than usual--but it would’ve been okay to start a fight if I was strong enough to kick the asses of four older, bigger guys all by myself, instead of getting beaten up when they cornered me after class?”
“Alex-”
“Might makes right, huh? Is that what the celebrated Lieutenant Colonel William B. Faulkner believes, and teaches his squadron at the base?”
“Alex-”
There was a warning note in Bill’s voice now, but Alex pushed onwards regardless; he was too tired and every breath he took made his ribs burn, so he wasn’t in the mood to cater to his father’s old-fashioned sensibilities, not that he ever was.
“Too bad I’m not more like Trey or Duke, huh, some stupid, hulking muscle-head who breaks younger kids’ arms in three places just for the hell of it, just to shut them up-”
“ALEXIS OISÍN FAULKNER, GO TO YOUR ROOM.”
“Not that you have the authority to send a 20-year-old to his room... But even if you did, sending me somewhere that I was planning on going already, and that makes it so I don’t have to talk to you anymore...heh. Some punishment that is.” As he opened the door to his room and hobbled inside, he called back over his shoulder, “It’s really more like a reward.”
He could hear Bill shouting something at the closed door, but he’d already stopped listening by that point, locking the door behind him and snatching up a pair of earbuds to block out the noise. The earbuds made changing into some clean clothes even more of a challenge than his ribs had already promised to make it, but by the time he’d managed it, Alex cautiously took out one earbud to see if the usual quiet had descended on the house again. Even more cautiously, he peered out the partially-open door, but to his relief, the rest of the lights in the house were off, including the one in Bill’s room, though the lack of snoring made it doubtful that his father was asleep just yet.
Alex hurriedly got ready for bed, moving as quickly and quietly as possible (not very in either case, considering his injuries and how loud the faucet in the bathroom was), then retreated back to the sanctuary of his room to finally ease his battered, aching body into bed.
...Yeah, definitely not going to class tomorrow, he decided after taking his ten deep breaths and wishing that maybe he could just stop existing for a little while, just until the pain had lessened.
Class, no. But even if he had to call Dr. de Forest and ask for a ride to the radio station, he would be on the air tomorrow night, no matter what.
Just like he’d promised.
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