InsaneJournal

Moving Day
"He'sch moving in."

Grandma follows William, who is loaded down with Pickles's clothing, and demands he explain himself. "What do you mean he'sch moving in? This isch my housche, William! You aschk me before you do that! What'sch wrong with hisch house?"

William sets the clothes on the guest bed and moves over to Pickles's side, lifting his shirt. That hand-shaped bruise is right where he last saw it, an ugly green. Pickles yelps and pulls the shirt back down.

"I gatta pee!" he says quickly, running into the bathroom and hiding. He dropped his posters in his haste, though he's still got a hold on the case of his guitar. He listens to William argue with his grandma some more. Eventually, a brisk, hard knock raps at the door to the bathroom.

"Get out here, Picklesch. We're not making you go back home. But we'll try to reason with your parentsch."

"Good luck wit' dat," he says. "I been tryin' fer sixteen years!"

She knocks on the door again. "Come out here, schon."

Pickles sighs, slowly opening the door and walking out. He looks at Grandma, then he looks at William. His glance at William turns into a glare. "Ya had no right to show her my bruises! That's private!"

"You don't know how musch thisch little raschcal lies. I had to have confirmation. Schit down and get hungry, becausche I made roascht chicken and you're eating it. Put that guitar in the back room for him, William."

"I'm not your schlave," he mutters as he starts to do so.

"I heard that! Yesch you are." When Murderface can't see it, she steps closer to Pickles, looming, sizing him up.

Pickles swallows, wondering what he's getting himself into.

"Stella," Murderface's grandfather says. Stella makes a face and gets Pickles some chicken, green beans, and mashed potatoes.

William sits at the table, but Stella gives him a look. He sighs, getting up, washing his hands, sitting back down, offering them up for inspection. She gets him some food as well.

"Picklesch hasch a brother that beatsch him up. Tell him, William."

William glances at Pickles, who is looking down at his potatoes sullenly. Can't they just move on already?

"Wow, Grandma," he says exaggeratedly, "Thisch isch schure some good eats!"

"I believe you, Stell," Grandpa says. He glops some more potatoes onto Pickles's plate. He's a scrawny little thing.

Pickles looks over at him curiously. He just shrugs and says, "Looked like you could use a little more." He gives him more gravy too.

Pickles feels like a 5-year-old. But it's not all bad. He actually starts to eat, starting with the pile of potatoes. He looks up to see William has made a little volcano. He laughs, and this catches Grandma's eye. She mashes it down with her spoon, causing him to glare at her, and then pout.

"You don't play with your food! Or elsche you can make it next time!"

"Yeah, I'll make fhuck you schtew."

She hits him with one of those handcrafted potholders.

William mutters something about not getting to kill the green bean natives.

"All the green bean nativesch at thisch table are making it through the meal!" she insists.

William blinks. "Sche juscht said I don't have to eat my vegetables. Heard it! You're all witnesches!"

"You're eating them, or I'll feed 'em to you myschelf!" She looks very threatening. Pickles immediately changes course, eating the green beans.



Grandma forces Pickles to play the guitar for them, just a little bit. She claps and cheers and all the attention kind of embarrasses him. He's grateful when Grandpa suggests they find something to watch on the television. They don't get as many channels as Pickles's house did, but they manage to find some old, obscure movie and settle in.

By the time it's over, Pickles is both full of popcorn and totally exhausted. William, on Grandma's orders, helps Pickles finish moving in, then leaves him alone. Pickles feels relief at having some time to himself. This new life is going to take a lot of adjustment, emotionally. The family dynamic is so different!

He settles into the bed, looking around at the room, lit by the pretty lamp on the bedside table. It's kind of sad that their guest room has more personality than his real room ever did. His old posters are hanging up on the wall and his backpack and guitar sit in the corner. He wonders what William's room looks like. He decides he has to find out before he'll get any sleep.

He tiptoes over to a room, peeking inside, waving goodnight to Grandma, who is reading a book. Wrong one. He finds William's bedroom on the next try, and sees that William is just in his briefs, purposefully ruffling up the smooth bedcovers. The bushy haired head glances back over a pale shoulder. "Ckan I help you?"

Pickles shrugs. "I wanted to see whet your room looked like." He looks around as William gets into bed. Everything has so much character! There are a pile of action figures and a couple stuffed animals over in one corner on shelves, there are movie posters, pieces of notebook paper with crude images of violence, a couple pin-ups, a bass guitar, a fish tank with a frog in it, a desk with more of those drawings and a text book almost hidden underneath a plate with a half-eaten sandwich on top, probably attracting some sort of bug. "Wow."

"Wow?"

"It's jest...gat so much personality. You know?"

"Picklesch, compared to your room, a waiting room at the hoschpital has more perschonality."

Pickles grins at him. "Nat anymore. Now I get the guest room. Does your lil' frog have a name?"

"Yeah, that'sch Guillotine." He smiles fondly over at the frog. Pickles glances at the bedside table, seeing a book of Civil War poetry, a big bottle of lotion he can only assume is used for masturbation, and an empty can of beer.

"You can borrow that, if you need to."

Pickles glances at William guiltily. "Excuse me?"

"That book. It'sch schome good schit! You like the Civil War?"

"Ah, af course!" he says, more to himself than anything.

"Oh, you do? Well, that'sch poetry about it. Schounds a little weird, but, jescht truscht me."

"Naw, I thought you were referrin' to...well...." He laughs it off. "Never mind. You have a good night, Will."

"G'night, Picklesch. If you're schure...."

"If I need to barrow somethin', I'll ask." He heads back to his room, a little embarrassed. Since his first night getting groped by Seth, just now is really the first time he's even thought about masturbation. But seeing that big bottle, and hearing an offer that isn't there can do that for a guy, especially when he finally feels safe.

He decides he'll offer to help Grandma with breakfast in the morning.



Grandma Murderface doesn't take kindly to another person's presence in her kitchen. She shoos him out if the room and sat him on the couch with a mug of coffee. "Don't move."

Pickles stares at the mug until she disappears back into the kitchen. "Well, at least lemme take Will's to 'im," he calls.

More quickly than he expected, she hands him a second mug, blue with a small chip and a very ugly cartoon bulldog on the side.

He knocks on William's door, joking, "Room service."

The reply is a tired moan, so he enters the room and sits the mug on the bedside table. He can't help but notice that there are a few small drops of lotion that definitely weren't there the night before, or at least not when he had that little tour. That could only mean one thing....

Pickles has a mini internal freakout and runs back to the couch and the morning news, on low. He's just way too observant sometimes! It doesn't really help when William comes out of the room in briefs, scratching his balls, then sniffing the hand he scratched with.

Murderface takes a momentary pause upon spotting Pickles, eyes a little wide, and then steps toward him, taking the remote from its place in front of him on the coffee table. "Hey," he says, voice rough from sleep. He turns up the volume and sits on the chair until his grandpa comes out of the bathroom, freshly shaved.

The door is cracked, so as Pickles sips his coffee, he can hear Murderface peeing. And peeing. And, well, peeing. "Whoa. Is he okie?"

"Bladder like a 5 gallon tank." Grandpa lights a cigarette and takes a seat next to Pickles.

It feels so surreal, this new life. It's just going to feel wrong to get on the same old bus and go to the same old school.

As he's sitting deep in thought, Grandma hands him an omelet, stopping on her way back to the kitchen to poke William in the side with a spatula and order him to put some clothes on.

William goes back to the room to get dressed, and when he emerges he has his bulldog mug in hand and is sipping at it. The coffee seems to do wonders, and by the time he has the headphones attached to his walkman firmly set over his ears, he's acting that weird kid from the bus stop all over again.



In fact, William is so into his music that he doesn't even think to stop Seth from sitting next to Pickles. He figures, you know, how much damage can he do in one bus ride?

Seth rubs Pickles's crotch, causing him to turn away toward the window and try to hide, hot face resting against the cool window. He tries to catch Murderface's eye a few times, but Murderface is a couple rows in front and can't see him. Somehow, he feels more alone than before he had an ally from the neighborhood.

"You're bad. I forgive ya, though."

"I'm living with the Murderfaces now," Pickles hisses back. "Please, Seth...."

"Please more?" Fingers unbutton the jeans. Seth's hands slip inside. Pickles bites his lip and tries to ignore the sensations, the way his flesh hardens against his will. He stares at the passing scenery.

When the bus stops, Seth leaves him there to button his jeans up despite his stupid erection. When he manages, he walks a little weirdly off the bus, trying to ignore the friction against him.

William seems to be waiting for him, pulling the headphones out of his ears. "Yo, what's...up?" He frowns. Pickles is glaring at him. "You okay?"

"Don't tack to me, okie? Some friend!" He leaves Murderface outside, scratching his head.



William sits next to him at lunch. Pickles turns away. William gives a deep, long, loud sigh. "Can you at leascht tell me what I did?"

"Ya wouldn' get it!"

"You haven't even given me a chanshce!"

"Well, ya just wouldn'! Yer life is so normal!"

Murderface frowns. "My dad killed my mom, than he killed himschelf, when I wasch a baby. That'sch not normal. My grandma'sch a creativity-killing freak. That'sch not normal."

"Well does your grandpa break inta your room at night and molest you?" Pickles whispers heatedly.

Murderface's eyes widen. He leans in a little closer. He smells a little ripe, again. It's oddly comforting. He replies, in a whisper, "Your grandpa moleschts you?"

"No!" Pickles exclaims. "Look, ferget it! You wan' my tater tots? I'mma nat hungry!"

Cautiously, William takes a few, as if expecting Pickles to suddenly lash out at him for it.

Instead, Pickles sits there with his arms crossed, trying not to cry.



When Murderface goes to get on the bus, Pickles grabs onto his arm. He tries to shake him off, but he won't let go, so William shrugs and lets Pickles find them a seat. Pickles darts into one near the front, in view of everyone, and tugs Murderface in after him.

Seth gets on the bus, having seen that action. He points a finger at Pickles, as if to say, "I'll get you." Pickles slumps down in the seat a bit.

Murderface holds the headphones out in offering. "Wanna lischen?"

Pickles puts them on.



Pickles thinks this place may be too good to be true when he sees a plate of chocolate chip cookies on the coffee table and Grandma mending the front of a pair of William's jeans. He reaches for a cookie, moaning when he realizes it's still warm! He eats it quickly, getting chocolate above his lip and on his small chin. His sticky fingertips grab for another one.

William goes to the bathroom again. Pickles has a tiny girl bladder. He couldn't even imagine going through the entire day of school without a single potty break.

When William returns, he stacks three gooey cookies on top of each other like a dessert sandwich. Then he licks his fingertips with a surprisingly dark, broad tongue and leans back against the back of the couch, falling asleep within minutes.