Weds Briefs #24 Diventando: Becoming

Copyright JC Wallace 2014

Welcome to another installment of Diventando: Becoming. Each week a group of authors participate weekly in Wednesday Briefs Flash Fiction. Each installment is 500-1000 words long and is posted to our blogs each week. After you read the latest in my story, click on the link at the end to visit other flashers. 

If you are new to Diventando: Becoming and haven’t read the previous chapters, click on Wednesday Briefs in the left hand column and start with #1. Enjoy and leave a comment to let me know what you think.

 

“Hey,” Turk said on an exhale, his eyes, lust-filled only seconds ago, softening. He raised his hand, intent on touching Owen's face, but Owen knew that touch would be too gentle, too intimate, too much like that of a lover. No matter how desperately Owen desired that touch, craved affection after weeks of captivity where touches had been clinical and rough, he couldn’t allow Turk get close again. Not when that closeness would result in misplaced mercy. Not when this man should plunge a sword into his chest.

With one last gaze, Owen braced his hands on Turk's chest and pushed back, reeling and stumbling then recovering his balance. He snatched the IV bag and backed up, dropping onto a chair in the corner. Turk was off the bed, heading his way when Owen barked, “No!” I can’t. “Please don’t touch me.” The last words escaped as a choked whisper, barely surviving to see the light of day.

To have those hands hold him, to have the possibility of love was no longer an option for Owen. No sense in pretending.

"Owen, please, I..."

Owen shook his head violently. He drew his knees to his chest, hugging his legs. "The demon...the I-Incubs, does he have a name?"

The blank stare returned by Turk might have been amusing at any other time. Definitely not now.

"Turk! What’s his name?" Owen insisted.

The force in Owens voice registered somewhere in Turk’s mind because he muttered through gritted teeth, "Loquis."

"Then call me that. Don’t...just don't call me by my name again." Remind Turk who Owen really was—a demon who’d killed his father and who wanted him dead.

The roar from Turk was deafening and a flare of rage glinted in his eyes. Owen tried not to cringe and set his face to a stony exterior. Inside that roar vibrated across his nerves like a tuning fork.

“What the fuck? I will never call you by that demon’s name! Not as long as I have breath in my lungs and the ability to something about this, I will never, never call you buy that name, Owen!”

“But I am Loquis! A drug cocktail away from him! He’s in here”—Owen stabbed at his temple with his finger—“waiting, prowling. Sometimes I swear I can feel him pacing like a caged animal, rubbing against the bars, testing the latch. He wants out and eventually he’ll tear me apart do it!” Owen yelled, his voice drying up in his throat. He gasped, struggling to remain intact, struggling to remain whole instead of fracturing and splitting. “He’ll be in control and there will be nothing either you or I can do about it. You have to end this now because I will kill you and I can't do that...I can't.” He raised his chin, eyes riveted on Turk, his resolve hardening. “You can't put me through that. You have to end this now, Daniel.”

Turk winced at the name. “You’re not the demon. He may be in there but he's not you. I knew that the moment you looked at me in that hallway and begged me to kill you. God, Owen, I was ready to blow your brains out. Thank god you said that when you did.” Turk yanked at his curls, the distress clear on his face, the anguish immeasurable. “I can’t believe I almost killed you.”

Owen should have cared, should have told Turk how his admission practically stopped his heart from beating but that would be selfish. Instead, he jumped up from his chair, clutching the IV bag in his arms, legs shaking, threatening to tumble him onto the floor. “Why didn't you? This would all be over and I wouldn't be putting everyone I care for in danger. You're the Hunter. You're supposed to kill demons!” Owen screamed. “So kill me!”

Shit, what was he doing? Begging Turk to kill him, that’s what. Practically pushing a person he cared for immensely to end his life. Owen’s stomach twisted and coiled into knots never to come undone.

Before Turk could fathom a response, the door busted open and Wayne flew into the room followed by Malcolm. Owen’s chest heaved as he fought to show some semblance of control. The raging scowl Wayne aimed at Turk brought out a protective streak in Owen and he had to force himself not to act on it.

“What the hell is going on? Owen, did he hurt you?” Wayne growled.

Turk sank down into the bed and let out a low morose chuckle. Damn, he looked defeated three times over. “No, I didn't hurt him but apparently that's the problem.” His rounded shoulders and forlorn expression, kicked Owen square in the chest. Bile rose into the back of his throat, a bitter, acidic taste he was certain would never leave.

“Shit,” Wayne muttered, resting his hands on his hips and lowering his head.

Turk shook his head slowly. “I can't kill you, Owen. I won’t.”

“I can,” Malcolm volunteered.

Turk jumped up from the bed, fists in the air, brow furrowed, ready to pummel Malcolm. Wayne wrapped his arms around Turk, stopping his advance as Malcolm skittered back against the door.

“No one here is touching a hair on his head!”  Turk pushed against Wayne who pushed right back.

An icy chill danced over Owen’s spine. “I shouldn't be alive. All of this,” Owen waved his arm around the room, “and the effort to rescue me are acts of futility. Having a demon in me that will eventually use me as a meat puppet is worse than any threat my supposed cancer had over me. At least the cancer wasn’t going to push me out of my mind and force me to as it did vile things to other people.” No, just eat away at his insides but even that was more palatable than his current reality.

Owen turned his attention to Wayne with an expectant expression, a silent request for his cousin to answer the question currently on the table.

Wayne’s eyes widened, and his head drew back, and Owen could see his decision without having to hear the words. Wayne wouldn’t be killing Owen either.

“Well, fuck me.” Owen barked a laugh. “Malcolm, I guess you win by default.” Probably be glad to get even with the demon for fucking his boyfriend.

“No!” Turk bellowed as Wayne turned and told Malcolm in a mighty convincing tone to stay where he was. Yeah, that offer didn’t go over well.

“You really want me to suffer?” Owen asked both Turk and Wayne. The exhaustion of trying to stand tall and proud and brave had worn him down quick. His legs visibly shook, his mind wandered allowing the fears to settle in, the need for someone to help him dug deep. He couldn’t allow...

“Owen?”

Turk’s melodic tone pierced the grey clouding his mind. Owen chanced meeting Turk’s eyes. He didn’t advance, just enveloped Owen with his warm gaze, warming his skin slightly.

“Owen, I can’t kill you...” The wispy softness of Turk’s voice filled Owen’s ears and lulled him further. Please, never stop talking to me. “We won’t kill you because there may be a way to stop this. We may have found a way to exorcise the demon.”

Owen swayed as white spots sparkled at the edges of his vision. Weeks, no years, of fighting and losing and winning only to lose again, weighed heavily on his soul. How much was he supposed to take? How much hope was he supposed to spend only to see nothing in return? When would it all be too much?

“Please, Owen. You’ve fought so hard. Let me take up the fight for you, even if for a little while?”

Owen closed his eyes and when he opened them, Turk stood before him, a wall of strength and fortitude and, yes, hope. Owen sighed and nodded. Turk tentatively wrapped his arms around Owen, drawing him in, guiding Owen’s head to his chest. Only then did Owen allow himself to relax and share the fight.

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