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For the fifth time in the last hour, Lyric starts an email to Dr. Callenreese.
Ash. He told them to call him Ash.
This is going to take some getting used to. All of it. Trusting people, or anything close to it.
But Lyric does trust Professor ... Ash. They do trust Ash, on some level, they think. If only because he's expressed to them just how similar the two of them are.
Or, well. How similar Ash used be to to how Lyric is now. But Ash, somehow, moved past this shit. And Lyric knows that they never will.
For the fifth time in the last hour, Lyric deletes every last letter in the email, then deletes the draft.
For the sixth time in the last hour, Lyric starts an email to Professor Ash.
Dear Dr. Callenreese,
They stare at the screen, unseeing.
help help help help help
This is pathetic. Why are they reaching out to their fucking teacher, anyway? It's not like he cares, really. He's just a good person, and feels like he's obligated to step in when someone like Lyric is about to ... do the type of shit Lyric is prone to doing without supervision.
Or with the wrong supervision ...
After all, some adults—most, Lyric might even argue—don't share Dr. Callenreese's morals.
Most adults don't care.
Most adults, actually, would be more than happy to watch Lyric do ... everything they're used to doing. Everything they learned to do. Everything they were fucking taught to do. Most adults would love to be involved with what they were taught to—
So why does it feel like Dr. Callenreese might actually care? Because he turned Lyric down when they offered themselves up? Isn't that, like—grooming 101? He makes the kid feel like they're safe and like he's different, he would never hurt them. Make them feel like it's their decision.
Lyric's fallen for that shit before, too. Maybe everyone is right and they really do like the shit that they grew up doing. (The shit that they grew up having done to them. That people did to them. That adults did to them.) There's really no other explanation for how the hell Lyric ends up in these situations time and again.
It's not just their parents. The—the whatever it was. They're still wondering if they can call it trafficking, when they rarely left their own place. They're not exactly what's advertised on TV. They were never kidnapped, never taken away from the people who loved them. The people who loved them were the ones who hurt them.
But it wasn't just their parents, either. There were also the high school upperclassmen that they dated (fucked) in middle school, and the older brother of a classmate who they flirted with (fucked, again), and the teachers and step-fathers and foster siblings and random people whose names they never learned who they—fucked. Or, rather, who fucked them.
But Lyric isn't your 'as seen on TV' victim. They asked for it. Even with Dr. Callenreese, they literally fucking asked for it. Tried to seduce him, too—why wouldn't they? What else would they do?
And when they stare at themselves in the mirror, Lyric can't help but acknowledge that they're not even pretty. They look young, sure, and they take pride in that. Classmates have been making jokes about thinking they were a Girl Scout or a lost little girl wandering the campus. And Lyric hasn't protested, laughing alongside them as they secretly glow with the pride of knowing that their parents might still want them, if they went back now. As long as they still look underage.
They're not pretty. They're just fuckable. They're not made to be attractive—they're made to be used. It's a difference that's simultaneously narrow, but infinite. The amount of real numbers between zero and one—infinite, uncountable, but all summing to a very defined limit.
Lyric's roommate tumbles into the dorm with a boy on her arm, laughing loudly and then glancing up at Lyric on their lofted bed.
"Oh," she says, not bothering to hide her disappointment. "You're still here?"
Lyric swallows. "I can leave." I don't know where I'll go, but I survived months out there over summer before the dorms opened. One night, or however long you need me gone, it can't be that bad.
Roommate—Lyric's trying to remember her name, maybe Isabelle?—kind of makes a sound halfway between a huff and a scoff. "We were just going to study anyway," she says, with an amount of vocal fry that definitely does not hint at studying.
Annabelle or whatever (and shit, Lyric's really going to have to admit that their memory has been getting even worse than usual since they left their parents) leads the boy by the hand over onto her bed, giggling. Lyric rolls their eyes, looking back to their laptop.
Dear Dr. Callenreese,
help help help
Fucking pathetic. They can't keep doing this shit. What 'help' are they expecting, anyway? The best help for them is to find their way back to where they came from.
Belle-ish-name (probably, though Lyric's really gotta find a way to casually figure out what the fuck their roommate's name is) is making really shitty doe eyes at this boy Lyric's never seen before. Lyric could do better ... She needs to duck her head down more and look up through her lashes, not just widen her eyes. And if she leaned in, she'd look more interested.
Lyric forces themselves to look away, realizing that they were definitely staring.
"I just don't understand all this science stuff," Roommate whines to Boy. Lyric's about to offer to help, ask what class they're studying for, but they realize with a grimace that this is probably also a seduction attempt.
No, they remind themselves. Not ... seduction. Just flirting.
Closing their eyes, Lyric quietly shuts their laptop and hops off their lofted bed.
"Have fun," they say, forcing a smile to try to make their voice sound more genuine too. "I'm gonna head out for a bit."
"When you gonna be back?" the boy asks, and Lyric turns to offer him as real a smile as they can manage.
"Not until morning, at least," they assure. This kid seems nice, honestly. At the very least, he's been waiting until Lyric's out of the room to get down to it with their roommate. He didn't even hint at them joining, unless Lyric is even more oblivious than they thought.
Lyric slips out of the room and out into the dorm hall. They leave their laptop, not bothering to take the time to pack it up. They've got their phone in their pocket, at least, and they're wearing jeans and a button front. Trying that thing where, even if they don't have anything to do, they still get dressed and try to have a defined start and end to the day.
They guess the day won't really have a defined end now, though, since they won't have a place to sleep. They could find somewhere to crash on campus, or just skip sleep tonight and wander around for a while ...
It's almost a comfort, knowing that petty much anything they do here won't be the worst they've done.
They walk down the hall with a forced, fake confidence, like they have any fucking clue where they're even going. Some of the girls have their doors open, and Lyric goes to great efforts not to so much as glance into anyone's room.
Don't catch anyone's attention. Don't lead anyone on. Don't give anyone any reason to think ... anything. To think of you at all.
We've got this, Lyric.
They've only had a couple sessions with their therapist in the university Counseling Center, after Dr. Callenreese gave them that referral. And ... they haven't been particularly honest. They've been trying not to lie, but telling the truth is a lot harder than just not lying.
Like when the intake therapist asked about their history of drug use. They didn't lie, exactly. Yes, they used to have some substance abuse issues. They were honest about how they were addicted to benzodiazepines. Honest about how they've been clean since they were fifteen.
When did this addiction start?
... I'm not sure, Lyric said. Kind of true. They know how, but not when. They were so easy to get, you know? And so addictive.
The therapist nodded sympathetically, and Lyric breathed a sigh of relief.
It didn't feel like the right time to say that they got addicted to benzos because they got roofied too much as a kid. It never really feels like the right time to say something like that, even to a therapist.
Lyric makes it out into the night, startled by how cold it still is out here. They pull their arms in close to their chest, grateful for the added layer of their chest binder, and subconsciously bite at their wrists, even with nothing tied around them now. They still can't wear bracelets or shirts with tight cuffs. No chokers (collars collars collars), no ankle socks. No ...
It's been months.
How long until they're better?
How long has it been for Dr. Callenreese? Those articles that mentioned Ash Lynx were when he was eighteen or so ...
Ah. The same age Lyric is now.
They lean their head back, looking up at the night sky. Does that mean they'll have to wait until his age to be as good as him?
Or are only people who actually deserve to get out allowed to heal from it?
It's dark out, and Lyric briefly thinks about whether they should bother trying to make some money during this one night escapade of returning to homelessness. Find some guy to pay for a hotel and let him keep them for the night, or just make some quick cash in the backseat of a car. Whatever'll do.
Back in Denver, they'd know where to go. Historic tours show Market Street as Denver's infamous Red Light District, but these days? Colfax was literally well known enough that Lyric's high school classmates would joke about it—while Lyric sat silently, probably thought of as too much of a loner to even know what they were talking about. At least, Lyric hopes their classmates didn't know they knew.
They wander a bit, over toward the heart of campus. The ground is damp, so the grass won't work to sleep on, though on a dry night it'd hold more warmth and be softer than the concrete. They could find a bench to sit on—they couldn't lay down with all the anti-homeless designs on public architecture, but they're still small enough that they could curl up in a single seat and rest.
Hey, guess there's something to thank their parents for, after all! The malnutrition really paid off—they're small enough to have thin privilege when dealing with anti-homelessness architecture.
They breathe out a bitter laugh, bringing their hands to their mouth to catch the warmth. It's really fucking cold for March, and the temperature is dropping still as the sun travels further out of reach.
Sex is one way to warm up, right? The activity and the fact that it'd get them out of the goddamn cold. They were really so fucking lucky that their actual homelessness only lasted over a summer.
Colorado gets into the 100s in Fahrenheit, and sure, it was miserable, but ...
Ah. They still have their phone on them. They don't have a wallet to book a hotel or any shit like that, and they don't really have any friends here that they're comfortable asking to stay with, but ...
It shouldn't be hard to find a client when they have an internet connection.
Breathing warmth into their fingers and stretching out their hands, they fumble with numbing fingers to get their phone out of their pocket. They open their email first, looking to grab the logins for some of the sites they haven't been on since they were underage, but—
There's a big ass red Draft at the top of their email. Oh. It saved their stupid cry for help and synced it over from their laptop.
Lyric shifts their phone in their hands, uncomfortable from more than just the chill now.
What would Dr. Callenreese want them to do right now?
After they spent Christmas with him and his husband, after he asked Lyric to apply to be his TA, after he got them a referral to the counseling center, after he told Lyric his whole ass tragic motherfucking backstory, how would he feel about what they're turning to right now?
... I'm eighteen, Lyric thinks defiantly. I can do what I want now. I can make my own decisions.
Not that want is exactly the right word for this, but ...
They were thinking only minutes ago about how they wanted to get better, how it's already been months and they feel like they're still in the same place they used to be.
Maybe they owe it to themselves—or, at the very least, to Dr. Callenreese—Ash, rather, and the effort that he's put into them—to try to give a shit about what happens to them now.
They close out of their email and open their contacts, then open Google Maps with the address they saved to Dr. Callenreese's contact. There's no phone number saved, though Lyric is sure he would share that with them if they asked. For now, though, they only have his email and his home address.
... It's about a forty minute walk.
— — —
By the time they're nearing Dr. Callenreese's apartment, Lyric's half regretting even leaving their dorm to begin with. Only half regretting, because they still wonder if Boy and Roommate would have somehow gotten Lyric involved in their 'studying' if they had stayed.
And hey, if Dr. Callenreese chooses to fuck them instead, at least it'll be on brand for them! A threesome is nothing new, of course, but people their own age? Psh. Lyric wouldn't know what to do with a lover who has a birth year less than a decade before theirs.
... The humor isn't helping the way they wanted it to. If anything, they feel guilty for thinking of Dr. Callenreese that way.
Ash genuinely seemed almost uncomfortable that first time he called them into his office hours, where Lyric kept hinting for Ash to be straightforward about fucking them to get their grade up. Thinking about it now, he probably was uncomfortable.
Adults aren't good. Adults aren't to be trusted. Lyric knows that. But they also know that they're old enough for their childhood self to see them as an adult now, and if any kid looked at them the way they had looked at Ash in that office—
Their stomach lurches.
They make it to the apartment. It's on the first floor, thank god—it's so cold, and they feel stiff. They wouldn't want to deal with stairs right now.
But, then again ... They really shouldn't be here at all. Sure, Dr. Callenreese had offered them some level of kindness and hospitality before, but—literally in the rules of consent are that it's specific (Ash invited them over once, never with a mention of them returning), and reversible (meaning that it's probably already implied that Lyric's access was revoked after the end of the day on Christmas).
So, honestly, they're just perpetuating cycles of abuse by being here at all.
It was Christmas back then. People often donate to charities more around the holidays. And Lyric sure is a fucking charity case.
They're in front of Dr. Callenreese's door, but they still haven't rung the doorbell, or even knocked like they did last time. And ... they shouldn't. They shouldn't do either. They should go back to their original plan, or—or something. Who the fuck knows.
They shuffle from foot to foot on the stoop, shivering. Their nose is running. They're ... disgusting. Even less pretty than they are normally.
It's not just the cold, either. They're crying.
They try to check their phone, but remember a little too late that it died on the way here. Got them close enough to make it the rest of the way, but now what? They don't even know what time it is anymore. Late—they know that much.
"I'm sorry!" they yell, turning around and facing the street. "I'm so fucking sorry, okay? Whatever it is I did wrong, everything, I regret it. I take it back, and I'm sorry, and I'm sick of repenting so just please—"
The door behind them opens, and Lyric freezes.
They turn, slowly, awkwardly. If they could pick a single moment of their life to turn invisible, just one instance where they could be saved from being seen by, judged by, and punished by those who look at them—they'd choose right now.
It's Eiji, not Dr. Callenreese, which is somehow almost worse. Lyric trusts (do they? do they? they want to, but does something like trust exist for something like Lyric when all they can really trust in is karma to do its job to them?) Lyric trusts Ash, and Ash trusts Eiji.
However, there's no transitive law of mathematics at work here. If A is equal to B, and B is equal to C, then A is still somehow absolutely fucking terrified of C despite themselves.
"Sorry," Lyric squeaks. They want to die in a completely different way than usual. Wonderful. New and exciting ways to hate themselves are developing every moment.
Eiji rubs at his eyes, and Lyric's not sure if it's with fatigue or disbelief. "Lyric?" he says after a moment.
"The one and only," Lyric says, and it doesn't exactly sound like a good thing.
"Well, come on inside, then," Eiji says, stepping back and holding the door open for them.
Lyric blinks up at him. Dr. Callenreese—Ash, rather—would always talk about how short Eiji is, but he still towers over Lyric's five foot nothing.
"Lyric," Eiji says, and his voice is painfully gentle. "You're letting the cold in."
Better than letting me in, though, right? Lyric wants to ask. Instead, they just shuffle into the living room. "Haven't you two spent, like, a ton of time in New York City? You can't seriously tell me that a little yelling outside your window caught your attention enough for you to open up the door to it."
Eiji's smile softens even further as he closes the door behind Lyric, blocking off the exit—
No, no no no. That's not what he's doing. That's—fuck. Lyric's shivering gets worse, and they curl in on themselves. It's not a panic attack, they don't think, but it's something. It sure is fucking something.
Lyric's hunched over, staring at the floor, making themselves even smaller and even more of a target and—
"Ash recognized your voice," Eiji whispers gently.
... He did?
That's why Eiji went to let them in? Because Ash ... Dr. Callenreese knew it was them? And that was more of a reason to open the door, not less?
"Sorry," Lyric mumbles again.
Ash's voice, familiar now from so many class sessions, rings out—deeper than Eiji's inflections, but just as kind.
"That centralized heating is going to be worth it, huh?" Ash says, speaking to Eiji. "Especially if you keep taking in strays."
He crouches down in front of Lyric, not touching them, but putting himself in their line of vision.
"Hey, kid."
"Hey," Lyric manages. "I almost emailed you," they say, like that makes showing up at their professor's house any better.
Dr—no, Ash. Ash just smiles. "I'm just glad you're here."
"... Why?" Lyric asks, finally starting to unfurl their own body language. "Why are you glad I'm here?" What time is it, even?
"Because I have a feeling that, if you're here, the alternative was somewhere I wouldn't exactly approve of."
"You're not my father," Lyric hisses.
"No," Ash says, looking at them with that same stupidly kind expression. "No, I'm not. But I'd like to think that I can be a mentor to many of my students, to varying degrees."
And how fucked up is it that, despite how beautiful Ash's words are, all Lyric can think in response is, So I'm not special to you after all?
"What's going on, kid?" Ash continues. "Why are you here?"
"Hard day," Lyric says, ending it there. But—shit. They owe these two more than that. More of an explanation, and more of everything else, too. They can't just show up here and act like a fucking bitch with nothing to offer.
What do they offer, then? An explanation? Or themselves?
Averting their eyes, Lyric tries again: "Roommate brought a boy over," they say. Their voice is hoarse.
"Triggering?" Ash asks.
Lyric shrugs. "I don't think so? I don't know. I just didn't want to be there. And ... before that, too, it was a hard day."
Lyric swallows. They've been trying not to think about it since this morning, focusing instead on writing and deleting drafts of emails to Ash, but ...
"I saw on Facebook that my freshman year math teacher died. Freshman year of high school, I mean. He, uh—I tried to, one time, to"—they cut off with a strangled sound, and focus for a moment on rubbing warmth back into their arms—"I mean, he pretended not to notice my advances, and then I was called into a meeting with a social worker later. It didn't go anywhere, the meeting didn't." I protected the people who hurt me, like I always had. "But it would have been so easy for him to ..." to take what I was offering.
Ash and Eiji exchange a glance. Lyric watches them carefully. Eiji looks concerned, but Ash's expression is something more reassuring. Still, Ash nods slightly to Eiji's questioning gaze, almost imperceptibly.
A whole conversation just happened, and Lyric wasn't supposed to know any of what was said during it. But ... they think they might know anyway.
Eiji asked if Lyric seduced Ash. And ... they did. They tried to, anyway.
"I don't think he was—like us," Lyric says to Ash. "But he just completely ignored what I was saying, like he was the most oblivious fucking—" They cut off with a laugh, and even they hear the tinge of hysteria in their own voice. They shrug. "But now he's gone. Cancer. He was young. The moral of the story is right there, isn't it?"
Lyric's not actually sure how to put the moral succinctly, but they know that these two, of all people, know what they're getting at.
They think about the time when they were in first grade and switched to a different school. How the school sent the authorities to their parents' apartment because Lyric was emaciated, so ridiculously malnourished that they couldn't even think straight. They think about how they watched as uniformed men opened their cabinets, saw food inside, and just ... left.
They think about the lesson they learned after that. The price they paid for almost ruining everything, and the moral of that story: if someone learns, make it worth their while to keep it to themselves.
But, more than that. No one cares. No one cares. No one's ever cared.
They think about how they weren't allowed to get braces despite overcrowded teeth, and thinking it was odd—isn't their appearance everything? Everything? And then reading online later about how dentist and orthodontists often notice signs of CSA that go missed by pediatricians (they'd sure as fuck given enough oral by then—) and how many reports are made by—
They remember laughing, when they realized, because if a dentist had noticed, Lyric simply would have made it worth their while to not tell anyone.
It wouldn't have made a difference. Nothing would have made a difference, because no one cares. You save yourself, or you die trying.
Lyric thinks they might still be in the 'die trying' stage, and they just haven't realized it yet.
Lyric's vision is blurry, their eyes unfocused. When Ash's voice comes through to them, it seems to be from everywhere at once.
"Step one is to breathe, kid. Okay?"
Lyric hums softly. They know how to breathe. And they know what to do when they can't breathe, when an obstruction is fucking its way down their throat, or a hand is wrapped around their neck. They don't need advice on how to breathe.
"Lyric?" Eiji. "Stay with us, okay?"
Maybe the moral is that the good die young, and maybe that's the only reason Lyric's still alive. There's something evil about death, then, if it chooses to leave people like Lyric behind in this world. If death came for them all, equally, Lyric doesn't think they could really resent it. But to keep killing the good in the world, and leave them behind?
"I'm going to grab your hand, okay?" Ash asks.
He does, then, and the feeling of the touch shocks Lyric into action. They gasp, flinching and pulling away from Ash with the hand he has in his grip, while blindly lashing out toward him with their other hand.
Eiji carefully steps forward, using a single hand to block Lyric from actually hitting Ash. Ash, meanwhile, released Lyric's hand, and now has both of his hands up in surrender.
"Sorry!" Lyric says, eyes widening. They drop their hands. They—they nearly fucking hit Ash. "I'll leave. I'll—" Fuck. Fuck! They ruin everything, don't they? They're really not meant to have good things. Not when this is what they do to good people.
"You're okay," Ash says evenly. Even Eiji doesn't seem angry. "It makes sense."
Lyric laughs hollowly. "You two are quite a team. Had me incapacitated in all of a quarter second."
The two of them exchange a knowing glance, and some part of Lyric feels a little honored to know even a bit of what these two have been through together.
"To be fair, you're not much of a threat," Ash teases.
Lyric's jaw drops open, and Eiji laughs.
"What? It's true!" Ash protests. "Come on, we took down an armed mafia, like, several times. Sorry to say, kiddo, but you're not exactly scary."
Eiji's giggling still. "They do kind of remind me of Sing, back then," he mumbles. "... Or Michael."
Lyric doesn't know these people, but they get the sense that they're being compared to literal children—or people that were literal children during that part of Ash and Eiji's life, at least.
"Feeling any better?" Ash asks.
When Lyric nods, it doesn't feel like they're faking it, or doing it to avoid causing further problems. It feels ... not completely true, but not like a lie, either. It feels like they're getting better.
"I'm glad," Ash breathes.
"I feel like I lost myself there for a second," Lyric says, frowning. They're warming up now, blood flowing through their limbs again, and they stretch a little just to reassure themselves that they're here.
Eiji hums. "Ash used to dissociate a lot, too."
Lyric glances at Ash, wondering if Eiji wasn't supposed to reveal something like that, but Ash doesn't seem fazed in the slightest by Lyric knowing.
Lyric swallows. "I have a question," they mumble.
"Anything," Ash says immediately.
"... When you were safe, like—when you were first safe. Was it ... Did things get harder?" I feel like they were supposed to get easier, not harder. In some ways, certain things have been easier. School, for example, has been a breeze compared to high school. But other aspects of their life are ... "I feel like I don't know how to function without it," Lyric admits. Without being hurt.
"... Yeah," Ash hisses. He doesn't seem angry, though, just ... hesitant. "Yes. The answer is yes. I remember looking at myself in the mirror and wondering how I was supposed to get through years of this."
"Yeah," Lyric mumbles. Their voice breaks.
"But you did," Eiji says gently.
"But we did," Ash agrees, "somehow."
Lyric sniffles a little. They still feel gross from their crying earlier.
"I'm sorry," Ash murmurs. "I didn't want to discourage you before, when we were first talking. But it is really, really hard at first." He stands up fully, but his stature isn't intimidating. Not right now. "But you've got a good start going."
"How?" Lyric demands. How the hell is this a good start?
"Well ..." Eiji this time. "You came here. And like Ash said earlier, I'm guessing the alternative would have been unpleasant for you."
Lyric whines a little, wordless.
"Besides," Ash continues. "You've got us, and speaking from experience? That makes a hell of a difference. Keep finding those people who give a shit, okay, kid? And remember that you're not just in this for yourself anymore. You've got us worrying about you, too."
You've got us.
... I do? Lyric wants to ask. Instead, they just take a slow breath, steadying themselves.
"Hey, I'm actually glad you came over, though. I've been wanting to mention something to you. Something good," Ash says. He sounds almost giddy.
Lyric blinks, surprised that the jolt of fear that shoots through them isn't as strong as they anticipated. "What is it?" they ask.
"Remember how we were in the process of saving up and looking for a house?" Ash asks, talking at a million miles a minute. "We found a nice place. And it's still close to campus—walking distance, even—and I'll still work at the university. And," he drags the word out dramatically, "we'll have guest bedrooms."
"And centralized heating," Eiji adds, glancing Lyric over.
Ash is bouncing on his heels like a kid. Lyric stares up at him, almost more entranced by his behavior than his words. "You'll never have to worry about where to sleep again. No matter how things go in your life from here on, you'll always have a place with us."
Eiji leans in, pretending to hide his next words from Ash: "You were one of the kids he talked about when we were at the showing for the house."
"Does it not break some rule for me to sleep with—?" Lyric asks, trying to find some flaw in their logic. Things don't work out this way. They just don't. But they cut out partway, realizing their phrasing was yet another invitation.
"Bad Lyric. Spray bottle," Ash teases, lighthearted. "You're not here for anything inappropriate, right? You'll stop thinking that way with time. And even if your very presence in front of a professor outside of school hours were somehow forbidden, which it is not, you're not even my student right now." He crouches down in front of Lyric again. "Consider us mentors, okay kid?"
"... Guess I could use some mentoring, huh?" Lyric tries.
"Honestly? I do think I'm more excited for the centralized heating than the extra space," Ash says.
Lyric grins. "I know the feeling. Climate control in the dorms is absolute hell," they say, singing the last word.
"Nah, hell would at least be a few degrees cooler than the dorms in the summer."
All three of them are smiling, and Lyric wonders if Ash and Eiji will need the heating system at all. After all, Lyric's never felt so far from the cold before.