[The voice, after so long, catches him off guard. He feels a twist in his guts and a flare in his chest, fear, anger, sickness all in a row. He's almost too frozen by the voice to answer.
[Although he hears that fear in Hector's voice, and while some part of him is still deeply hurt, confused, guilty, his resolve is too strong to let it show.]
We can pick neutral territory if you want. But you have to come alone.
[He isn't going to press at the assertion that they aren't meeting in person anymore. Either Nekane put him up to that or Hector is finally starting to learn from his mistakes and he doesn't want to poke either of those hornet's nests.
He'll be down in a while, carrying his guitar case in his hand because his back still hurts far too much to put weight on it. He's wearing a loose shirt without his hoodie over it, just to try and cover up the fresh scars without suffocating them. There's still a trace of the black eye Hector gave him, but his other eye has a much fresher bruise that might only be a few days old. The rest of his face and body are bruised and sore, covered in cuts and scrapes, enough that it affects the way he walks and moves. Hell, his knuckles alone look like he might have broken the bones and then just kept going.
He takes a seat on the bench nearby and sets his guitar case down, motioning for Hector to sit across it from him.]
[Dodger looks like hell. It's the first thing he registers after the guitar and doesn't that bring a whole new wash of bitter feeling. He can't pretend he didn't worry, a little, when Dodger went silent that whole time, when he went unseen in the hotel. Seeing him like this, it doesn't make him feel better.
His own sweater is gone too, bathed in Nekane's blood and burned away. He's found something to suit him again-- a button-up, a vest-- though he's got an ill-fit coat thrown over. He wears a different kind of hell on his own face. No sign of a smile, and some anger in his eyes that runs deeper than anything he's got for Dodger. He's fracturing. He doesn't care.
He sits down across from Dodger, right where he's suggested to. He stares, silent, when he's called amigo. He searches the jacket for a cigarette and lighter.]
Is that what I am? Or are you just making fun?
[He doesn't expect and answer. He gets the thing lit, sticks it between his teeth, and tucks the lighter away.]
You get Squalo to do that to you? Or was that some other bastard's generous gift?
[Dodger gives him a moody look at those questions, but just shakes his head as he pulls out his own pack and lights one with a snap of his fingers. His hands shake from the strain of doing just that much, but it isn't as if he can resist going long without a smoke.]
Special gift from the Devil himself. I hear I was out for two weeks.
[He remembers bits and pieces, but most of it is a blur. Mostly he remembers hitting a point where his mind felt his body, and he could truly meditate on the last few months.
He reaches down to pop the case open. His guitar is, notably, not accounted for. Instead he pulls out a pack of cards, two shot glasses, and a vial of green liquid.]
If I'm going to make myself into a better man, I want a vote of confidence from you. I want you to prove you can see me as different from your old friend.
[He sets the items up on top of the case, and gestures to them.]
It's truth serum. We're going to drink, we're going to play a game. And then we'll see where we stand. If you can't handle that, then I'm fighting a pointless battle.
[There's a brief shift in his expression, some bit of regret and horror on Dodger's behalf. Two weeks. Two whole weeks of torment. And Lucifer finally showing the side he'd been told about again and again and again. He feels more than a little sick.
But whatever he was going to say to that dies on his tongue when the guitar case is opened. He looks at Dodger with confusion, and at the sight of the shot glasses and vial, a renewed jolt of fear.
And then, just like that, he's back to anger.]
...You're unbelievable. You want me to prove myself to you? You had my faith! You tore it up!
[His head shakes.]
I don't owe you anything, Dodger. I have given and let go, and you still...
[In a fit, he reaches in the pocket of his jacket and pulls out the knife. He slams it down on the case with everything else. Just to clear the air.]
[His voice is forceful, tinged with- not a threat, but a warning. And he quirks a brow at the knife - seriously, does Hector want to get himself killed again? - but doesn't call attention to it, just reaching to pour the drinks and pick up the deck of cards.]
You don't owe me, sure. But you have to open your hand to get payment, yeah?
[He splits the deck in half, and sets one half aside. Then splits it again, and puts one stack in front of each of them, face-up. Hector's has the King of Hearts on top, and Dodger's has the King of Spades.]
The game is a gauntlet of truth. The cards are to keep track of it. After we drink, we'll take turns asking each other questions, and we'll answer honestly. No half-truths, no silence. We each get thirteen questions, and then I leave. Deal?
[He hears the warning. He scoffs at it. It's not that he doesn't believe Dodger will back it up. It's that he already came here thinking he could very well die and he's not about to back down.]
And what exactly do I get out of this? You let me live? You make another promise?
[Maybe he's being an ass, but heck if it's not deserved.]
I haven't lied to you. But I'm playing your game.
[He reaches with a shaking hand for one single shot glass, lifting it up as the fires of hell catch the light of green drink that screams poisonous.]
Don't be dense. What you get out of it is knowing that I'm not lying to you, that I mean whatever I say to you, and that I come clean about anything you want to know.
[He raises his glass with a 'cheers' gesture before downing it, wincing slightly but less at the taste and more at the knowledge of what he's doing. There's a lot of trust in Hector, drinking this near him, and he can only hope Hector understands that.]
Here. I'll start, we can check if the serum is working.
[He picks up his first card, and places it face-down beside his stack.]
I didn't expect it to be, but I considered the possibility. That's not something you or I can help. I'm going to wonder with everyone, no matter what the drink is or who's giving it. I know this is partly in my head. But, if you had poisoned it, dying now would've been... illustrating for current feelings.
[His tone is even, almost impassive. He's had truth serum before. He knows how it goes. But frankly, he doesn't feel the need to fight it. It's more or less the answer he would have given anyway.
He takes a drag from his smoke and turns over his own card: the suicide king.]
I don't particularly know what to ask you. You were pretty forthcoming when we first met. You told me terrible things and I felt sorry.
[There's a little of disdain there but more for himself.]
What did you think was going to happen, when you went after Nekane?
[He's not surprised that that's the first question. And as much as he doesn't want to get into it, he doesn't have a choice now.]
I thought I could feel her up and she'd take it so we wouldn't make a scene. Or she'd punch me and leave it at that. I thought neither of us would want to make things weird for you, but I needed to let off steam and figured she might too.
[He pauses to take a drag from his cigarette.]
I know she's the one you were trying to protect, when you were stocking up on candies that night. So I kept her safe when the bombs went off, I bet she never told you that. Anyway, all I wanted was to show her I wasn't afraid to hurt her. Make sure she knew I was holding back because of you. Because she scares me, and she makes me feel weak and jealous.
[He hadn't meant to say that last part, but... he can't take it back now. No half-truths, no silence. The truth serum won't let him talk his way around it.]
I didn't plan to hurt her when we went into the bathroom. I was just screwing around. But she made me nervous and then she blinded me and I had to make her as scared as I was.
[His fingers twitch, tightening slightly before he flips the Queen of Spades over.]
[The hardened look gives way just a little as his expression twists. He'd almost forgotten how handsy Dodger could be. The man didn't ask, he just took and waited to see if he'd be told no. It hadn't gone so bad with himself. But with Nekane, and their history...
None of the rest makes it any better. The anger burns in him.]
Nekane doesn't tell me anything. Not if they can help it. They didn't tell me about killing you either. I'd bet if it hadn't gone the way it did, they wouldn't have told me about what you did.
[Dodger really doesn't know Nekane at all.]
I was going to cut you off for that. Nekane suggested not to. That I should even hear you out. We talked and I had them tell me what happened. They told me you wanted more from them and they refused. You pinned them. You told them they should be grateful because the only reason they were alive was because of me. That otherwise, you'd cut them up. You smashed the mirror, they blinded you.
[He stares Dodger in the eyes, unwavering in his anger.]
They told me they provoked you, but I frankly don't give a damn. You knew what I'd do for them. You knew what I went through-- What you've gone through! It's practically written on their damn body that they've still gone through worse! And you actually thought you could scare them? Hell could rip them apart and it would be another day in the week they wouldn't even talk about unless I begged or coerced them to!
You should feel weak. Because neither I or you will ever be as strong as they are. In fact, if you wanted to let off some steam that damn bad, you should've just used me. It might've been less like spitting in my face.
[He turns over the queen of hearts.]
What the hell are you jealous of?
Edited (last edit i swear to god im so sorry) 2020-02-10 06:04 (UTC)
[Hector's words flare up a bit of anger in Dodger, but it's nothing compared to the rage he's constantly holding back. Oddly, even being called weak doesn't really hurt that much. Maybe it's just the passion with which Hector defends his friend, that Dodger really can't argue with.
That question gets a low sigh out of him, though. Here they go.]
You love her. You know her like your own mind. It isn't just because it's you, I want anyone to look at me the way you look at her. I want someone to be loyal to me, the way you are to her. But it's a bit worse, knowing you'll pick her over me no matter what she does to me. She's always thrown the first punch, but you side with her because she matters more.
[The discomfort is starting to show on his face. It's much more truth than he wants to give, goes too deep into the way he thinks. And he hates being forced to say anything, prefers to hide behind mild answers, half-truths, skewed accounts of everything he's done. He scratches his wrist before stopping himself, and putting his cigarette back to his lips with shaking hands.]
If I didn't know she was your friend, I would have killed her sooner. I would have cut her open to see how that fucked up body works. She doesn't mean anything to me, never has, but she's a threat. Things would have gone better if you didn't bring her, I think you know that.
[He swallows uncomfortably, but puts on a strong face and flips over the Jack of Spades.]
[He hates being angry. He hates the way it feels, he hates the way he'll just react even if it's nothing compared to the anger of others here.
And yet, at the same time, he hates how flimsy it feels sometimes, how easy it is to tear down even when he actually wants to be angry. But the words hit him like a cold splash. You love her.
Everything that follows hurts. It brings the walls down just in time for Dodger to show his claws again. He closes his eyes and turns his head away until Dodger's done, like it pains him.]
... Yes. I am scared. I told them I was going to see you because I was afraid things could go wrong and that they'd worry for however long it takes to come back. They said they were coming along and I didn't say no because... I don't know, I guess I felt more protected. You killed me, Dodger, I... I didn't think it was unfair to have a little sense of security that didn't bank on me learning how to murder. I know you wanted me to be over it but it takes more time than that. Did it not mean anything that I wanted to give you chances anyway? Was it not enough to show up? To give a damn?
[He puts a hand up.]
Don't. Don't answer that. Those aren't my questions.
[He scrubs at his face.]
You're wrong, by the way. I was angry when I found out they killed you. I told them not to and they didn't listen. I didn't want Squalo to kill you either and he brought me your head like I was supposed to be grateful. Because what none of you got or cared about was that you still meant something to me. And I goaded you into killing me. I made that happen and then you... I didn't want that. Even though from the very beginning you've made it clear you're all kinds of a bastard who will kill and-- and eat-- and get your hands all over whoever you want or take them apart. Exactly the reasons that I don't know if things would have gone better. Of course, you scare me. But I liked you anyway. You think you're the only one has to fight for this, who has to push and change just to be around? You think I wouldn't have put myself on the line for you too if you really needed it?
[His voice is cracking. So, so stupid.]
Nekane and I... you don't see it, you never see us screwing up even though we do all the time. They'll lie to my face, do things I don't want, hide things, and I'm the stupid idiot who gets involved in this crap and can't stand to be alone, to the point I'll either try and manipulate or turn into a yes-man and dios they can't stand that. We're two broken, screwed up people but we try and we look out for each other. We made a little deal of our own just so we don't tear each other apart without trying, a pact to cut each other and run at first chance. That's the glorious thing you're seeing, but it's what we needed.
I needed you to count on, I told you that, but I also said, more than anything that happens to me, I need the people I care about safe. I can't stand people in pain. You or them or anyone. I can't! But you have made this suffering so a part of who you are, I don't even know if I can ask you. I left the decision up to you and you still came out [a broken laugh settles on his breath.] with this. With a game to prove I wouldn't lie to you. I gave you... I told you the one way to really hurt me... and you went for it. So did the other two but at least they didn't know I'd still give a damn about you, because who in their right mind...?
[At last, he turns a card over.]
Did you really want to be better and make it up to me? Or did you just want to see if you could hide it all from me, have your destruction and me too, not care in the world for what that would do to me?
Squalo was there to keep the peace. If I hadn't killed you, I'd want it to just be us. So we could get drunk and do something stupid, I guess. [He sighs softly.] You just put her in danger. You were the one keeping her safe, not the other way around.
[But this all hurts, because he... really hadn't realized how much he mattered to Hector. He'd always figured Hector was just too polite to say no, or that he kept going along with this bullshit because he expected to be killed if he didn't. It hadn't occurred to him how much weight was on Hector's shoulders, trying to make this friendship work, because it's always been a burden that people bear for him without a word.
So he just nods slowly, his gaze drifting down to Hector's hands and failing to meet his eyes. And when he finally speaks again, it's slowly, weighing each word carefully.]
I've always had screws loose. Even when I was a little kid, stealing never bothered me. I did what I had to, to survive. I set people on fire so I could steal from them while they were distracted. The man that took me in - Benny - he tried to teach me to control myself. He was good at control. He'd go out and he'd kill people, torture them, extort them. Then he'd come home and treat his girlfriend like a goddess, joke around with his friends. None of them got hurt, except me. Because I needed to learn what happened when I got greedy and overstepped - he only hurt me when I pissed him off.
It never stuck, and everyone I've ever cared about has gotten hurt. I've killed most of them myself. But that's the sort of person I should be. I can't pretend that killing doesn't make me happy, it's fucking... wonderful. It feels better than sex. But I can't keep lashing out every time someone says 'no' to me. I'm going to learn how to be someone who can hurt when he needs to and not without meaning to. I'm only going to hurt people that deserve it. And that doesn't include you.
[He pauses, and lets out another sigh.]
I should have done that sooner. I've tried it before, and I failed, and I lost the woman I wanted to spend my life with. But I've got all of eternity to figure it out, might as well start now.
[He flips a card.]
So can you stick around me, knowing that I'm carving a trail of blood when I'm out of your sight?
[He didn't know Squalo would be there. Honestly, he doesn't think it's fair, that he'd have been invited alone otherwise. If it weren't for the serum he wouldn't think it's true. Why would Dodger pick him?
As is typical, Dodger tosses him back and forth from pain to anger again. He bristles, wanting to snap but...
But he's right. He put Nekane in danger. Squalo told him before, to think about who else would pay for his mistakes. That person was Nekane this time. Before that was his family. He should've just left a note for them. He should've just went and if he died, he died.
His head shakes. More and more he finds himself shaking it until his face is in his hands.]
I don't know. I don't know that, Dodger, I don't know if I can stomach this. I don't know what that's going to mean, I don't know who you're going to think deserves it... I can't... I can't tell you that. I can't...
[He looks up.]
That man... no. No, no, Dodger, you are so messed up if you think someone like that has it together. Don't you get it? It was you. You're the one he took it out on. You're the one he twisted it up! So he could go off and make himself look nice and tidy for his friends and girlfriend. You're comparing having to do what you had to on the street to- to that?!
You... and Nekane you both... [They think they deserved it. Maybe Dodger deserved Hell now but... He shakes his head again.]
That man... is not the key to who you want to be. Even if you want to be someone in control. And dios, that's the least I want for you.
I know Squalo is a murderer, and I know Nekane's hands aren't clean either. I know the terrible things you do. And I'm still here. But I can't promise you that. I can't promise you'll never cross a line when you keep crossing them. I need proof. I need to see it. Maybe I'll have an answer then, maybe I won't. I can only say that I'm not expecting a saint out of you. I can only remind you that Nekane isn't the one I'd do anything for; my family is. And I will get out of here, for them. Whatever I've got to do to get in God's graces, that's what I'm doing.
I'm not one of those who revels in pain, I'm not sticking around in Hell, I can't love you like you want, or be your guide, I'm not... I'm not ready to forgive you for the first thing and now you want to know if I can stick by you after what happened to Nekane, Dodger, I'm not ready for this. I'm not. You keep asking so much of me and you've given nothing. You keep pulling me back because you want me and I don't know why. I'm not the one hanging on anymore. I'm not the one who's going to change. You've already broken my heart, I don't need any more reason to let you go. Unless you give me one to stay. Do you understand? Stop putting me on the spot, stop doing this to me, stop giving me your pain and your guilt just so you can fuck me over and pin it on me! You don't want to be like Ernesto, STOP BEING LIKE HIM!
[His head bows. His shoulders quake with hitching breath but he fights to pull himself under control. He reaches out for another card.]
[Hector is melting down, and it hurts to see him like this. To know that it's his fault. Dodger's brow twitches, but he steels himself because a crack in the wall is only going to hurt him more. It doesn't matter how much this is hurting him, Hector is the focus here. So he watches impassively, even if his nails are digging hard into his palm.
He wants to throw something. He wants to cry out that he's trying, that he's been trying, and every attempt to please Hector has just put more weight on him. But it doesn't matter that he tried, because he failed. And he made everything worse, every time.]
Because I love you. [He says it matter-of-factly, as if it doesn't tear at every fiber of him to speak so honestly.] And that doesn't mean I want you to stay with me, or love me back, or care about me. I want to make you happy, and that means getting you home. It means getting blood on my hands so you can keep yours clean, getting you things you can't get on your own, letting you torture me if that's what it takes to get your penance. It's all I can offer, because pain is all I have.
[His knuckles would be white if they weren't already black and blue and stained with red.]
I don't know why else anyone would stick around me. You're the first person that's put that kind of faith in me when I keep fucking up like this. I don't know what you want because I just- I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know how to treat someone like you.
[He doesn't reach for another card. He isn't sure what to ask now, and he just sits there watching Hector with a flighty look slowly seeping into his features.]
[He is melting down. It felt like, for so much of his life, anything that went wrong, he could just smile through it and keep playing and it didn't matter how much it hurt, it would be fine. He could always tell himself it would be fine. But not here. It's embarrassing and frightening how easy it is to fall apart.
He keeps his head in his hands right until the end and of course his face is a mess when he lifts it.]
That's just the thing! You don't know what I want! Do you even know what makes me happy? I don't want to bloody your hands! I don't want to hurt you! God, even in that stupid virtual thing, you couldn't figure it out! You kept... you kept trying for work and jobs and I didn't care, Dodger, I didn't care, I put up with it for you! I wanted so much more and I put up with shows and ten minutes in a backroom while I censor every word so I don't scare you! I know it's fake but it's exactly the problem!
[He tries to catch his breath. His voice goes dull.]
...You don't know. You don't know me. You just think you love me because I care. And you want to be cared about and I get that. God, I get it. If there was any crappy thing we have in common it's that. But you don't care about me.
I want normal, Dodger. I want... to hang out with my friends and not worry someone's going to die or get hurt. I want stupid jokes and getting into trouble, but in the good way. I want to play music and sing and for just a little bit to try and forget everything else. I want to talk about good things. Things I was proud to know you for. Or some stupid look you had on your face at something someone said. You could ask me about... my life or dumb things. Or my family. You never ask about my family, you know? The thing that matters most to me in the world, you've never asked a thing. You still can't get that Nekane's not my girlfriend. You didn't even know I played guitar. You don't even know what I sound like. You found out I was taken apart like you were and you felt sorry for me and you comforted me but you never... you never asked who I was past that. You've almost never seen me happy. The real me. Did you realize that? I didn't. Not at first.
I thought you didn't know what happiness was for yourself. But I don't think you know what it is at all. I wish... I wish you weren't hurt like this. I wish that you could get what you need. I wish so bad I could undo everything that's happened to you and with this. But here we are. Playing a game of truth and questions and you still don't know.
Me, Nekane, your wife... have you ever just thought to ask?
[There's already pain etched on his face as Hector speaks, but slowly his body begins to shake, starting with his fingers and then spreading until he's struggling to keep his breath even through the shuddering of his shoulders.
He remembers it, that part of him with all the memories from virtual reality. Constantly looking for bigger shows, throwing himself into merchandising and spreading Hector's fame, bringing each new gig home like a dog with a dead bird. Hoping it would make him happy, but always seeing that edge of sadness on his face. It was never good enough, and he knew it, so he kept going bigger.
And it's the same here. It's the same with everyone, it always has been. He doesn't know what he's doing wrong, so it must not be enough. But now, he has finally realized that he was just making things harder, every single time.
He doesn't even notice the tears rolling down his cheeks. His voice is meek when it comes out, quiet and cracked.]
I was- curious. I wanted to ask, but I didn't- the people I hang around, you don't ask about their lives. You don't ask about their loved ones, because that's how you get killed. I don't want to talk about the people I care about. I don't want anyone to know and hurt them or- use them to hurt me.
I want- I want normal too, I want to just... hang out and play games and share music and stupid jokes but I've never done that before, Hector. My birthday, that's the most normal thing I've ever done. I've never had friends that didn't run in my gang, or- were- people I had deals with. But I- we were happy. You and me and Squalo and Nekane, we had fun. And I like being around you and just talking like that.
[He hiccups, shifts slowly to draw his legs up, make himself small while his gaze is stuck pointed at the cards.]
I just didn't- I got focused on important shit like that and I figured you didn't want to focus on the simple shit because I didn't want to. But that's what I was asking from you before, I don't want you to teach me morality and shit, I just need someone to show me how to fucking talk to people like they're human beings and not fucking chess pieces.
[He feels so fucking stupid. It's all excuses, even when there's truth serum running through his veins, he just needs to explain himself and he won't be happy until Hector understands. But try as he might, he just doesn't understand what Hector thinks, or what he wants. Even now, it's too foreign for him to wrap his head around. The pieces of the puzzle are all there but he can't figure out how they connect.]
[He watches the tears spill over, Dodger looking shocked and confused like he picked up that knife and stuck it in him. It's the second time he's made Dodger cry but this time is worse.
And yet, he just watches, letting it happen. Under it all, all the bravado Dodger tried to show when they first met, under all the pain caused, here it is exactly where he thought it would be. Dodger shrinks in on himself.
He reaches out. His hands go to the cards but he doesn't turn one over. Instead, he gathers them up, reforming them back into a pile, his own and then Dodger's and the rest. He takes the cards and the glasses and the empty vial of truth serum and bit by bit he puts it all back in the case, hidden away. Game over.
He sets the case down on the ground and he moves to fill the space. He sits by Dodger's side.]
You have to hurt. That's the trick. You have to let yourself hurt. And you have to let yourself be scared. It's dangerous. Risky. You'll get hurt more. And people will try to use you. But you have to give yourself. And you have to realize those people are giving and hurting too.
[He draws up his own legs. He hugs them to his chest.]
Ask me something. Not as a game, not so you can try and assure yourself about me. Ask something you want to know, just to get to know me. Ask yourself if you want to know me. And if the answer's no, then don't.
Just... just talk. And listen. Not proving how strong you are when we both know it's a front anyway. Not seeing what you can get.
[He stares down at his knees.]
... I want space. I want to talk on the little phone things. It'll help me feel safer. And I think it'll help you. If I tell you no, if you don't like something, then you have to think about what you want to do first, instead of just doing it. I know you don't like it. But if you want to treat me like a person, then you should think about what these things mean to me. We can do that so no one gets hurt. We can talk. You can learn how to. But first...
What do you want to know? Do you actually want to know me?
[He tenses a bit when Hector moves closer, but he lets him. There they are, too sad idiots curled up on a bench together. And while he doesn't like a single thing Hector is saying, he knows he's right. It's the puzzle piece he's missing, and he can't deny that it makes sense.
We both know it's a front anyway. That gets another bristle out of him, but he doesn't deny it.
He just nods numbly, scrubs at his face until he feels like he looks decent, and thinks for a while before speaking.]
I want to know... about your wife. And your kid. And what it was like, being a musician. Y'know, the sh... the stuff that makes it worth going back.
[In the time that Dodger minds his face, he finds himself minding his own. There's only so much mess he can hide, with all of this, but it's fine. He just needs to put himself back together enough to get by.
He manages a small and very fragile smile at last. He turns it Dodger's way before looking ahead and then closing his eyes entirely.]
You wouldn't get along at all. She's made of steel and fire and she wouldn't have your nonsense for a moment. She'd have some words for me, hanging around you. But she's wonderful.
When she sings, she sings with all her heart. She's beautiful and her voice is more so. We grew up together in that same little town. She's the only one I ever had eyes for. I'd see her with her family, her brothers, and you could... you could see it, Dodger, the love in her eyes.
I... [There's a breath of a laugh at the irony of his words.] I thought I'd give anything for her to look at me even a fraction like that. And one day she did. Me, a street urchin with a guitar I may or may not have stolen. She sang and she took my heart and she came to life with a dance. Strong, passionate, and she'd do anything for her family.
[He knows she's still doing so now. Without him.]
Music was our life. Both of ours. She got me that guitar of mine, you know? It was a gift for our wedding. Dios, and all the busking I did to buy her a ring and a home for us, she still outshone me.
All my life, I played and played. Whenever things got to me, I'd go to the plaza and I sit there and I'd play all night. And when I was happy, I wrote and I sang and I danced and nothing else mattered. But it made others happy too. I thought that was wonderful. With just some sound and all your heart, you can reach out to people who'd never hear you otherwise. And they reach out to each other and for a moment everyone is family.
I dreamed of making a family of the whole world...! I wrote a song about it. Kind of embarrassing now but it wins the crowds. I played for quinceñeras, for weddings, in bars and in proper shows. But my favorite was throwing little concerts at him. We'd gather boxes and props and put on a private show for ourselves, the three of us.
But it took me from them, that music. I went out looking for family and I left it. Playing on the road... you know how much work it is, for a good or a bad show, it's the same. And I wouldn't know anyone out there. I could write letters but they couldn't write back. I couldn't see them. I grew up thinking I wanted fame, but I didn't. I knew I could still make enough money at home to support us, I didn't have to do this. I just wanted to... I just wanted a family. And it took all that to realize I had it.
[And lost it.]
... Her name is Coco. Short for Socorro. She's four years old and she loves to dance. She never learned to walk, she just went right to dancing. She loves the flowers and the ugly things in the dirt just as much. She has the passion of her Mamá and my terrible humor.
I'd be out playing and when I came home she'd race to the door. To me. Her littles braids flying behind her. I'd pick her up and spin her around and kiss her a hundred times. We'd make her Mamá smile and laugh. And I made myself better for them, for a brief time. I tried to make them proud. I tried to make them as happy as they made me.
We sing a song every night. Every single night, near or far. For nobody else, we sing. And just with that, I tell her again and again how much I love her. I love her more than anything in the world. If I close my eyes, like this, I can see her on her bed, kicking her little feet, reaching out to me...
[He lets out a quiet breath, listening to all of that and not being sure what to think. It's so... far beyond what he's lived through himself, it sounds like paradise. He can't imagine having a life so wonderful.]
That sounds like heaven.
[He leans back against the bench, taking out his pack of cigarettes and snapping his fingers a few times before they manage to catch flame.]
I never wanted kids, but they're... sweet. I like them. I just don't think they deserve me for a father. You, though, you really love your daughter. I... wish I knew what that was like.
[His shoulders slump a bit. This is exactly why he didn't want to ask, he doesn't want Hector dwelling on things that hurt.]
That guitar of yours is really beautiful, Hector. And your family, they're... I'm jealous of you, sometimes. It seems like you really had it made.
[And he's just... stuck there, thinking on it for a while, before he can think of something else to say.]
You were living on the street before that, yeah? What happened to your parents?
It was heaven. If I'd gone to Heaven itself instead of here you'd still have found me trying to get back.
[Just a few years of heaven. Not enough, but he had it.]
I know the feeling. I love my girl but it's hard to stop thinking how much I've cursed her to me. She deserves better.
[He told Nekane as much, before. He shakes his head then.]
I never knew my parents. I'd guess they're long dead. I couldn't even tell you where they're buried. My name, Héctor Rivera? That's my wife's last name. Before her, I didn't have anything. Just Héctor. A nobody.
I didn't have it as bad as some. [Not as bad as Dodger.] The nuns of the orphanage did their part to raise me. A priest taught me how to read and write and again for music. Terribly lucky. You don't find a lot of orphans who get an education. I was just a bit too wild to keep inside a lot of the time. And, you know, there's always more orphans to take care of. Especially during the revolution. I knew how to busk and I knew people in town. I suffered very little but loneliness back then. [There's a flicker of amusement in his face.] It was more the town that suffered me.
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But he swallows and takes a breath.]
I'm listening.
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[Although he hears that fear in Hector's voice, and while some part of him is still deeply hurt, confused, guilty, his resolve is too strong to let it show.]
We can pick neutral territory if you want. But you have to come alone.
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[He stops. His teeth grind a little.]
I don't want to. From now on, this is how I want to talk to you.
I'll come to see you. But it might be the last time so I guess you better make use of it. For better or worse.
[He starts walking, just a stop by the kitchen. Knowing it's unlikely to get him far, he grabs a knife.]
The same place as before. Outside. I'll be a moment.
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[He isn't going to press at the assertion that they aren't meeting in person anymore. Either Nekane put him up to that or Hector is finally starting to learn from his mistakes and he doesn't want to poke either of those hornet's nests.
He'll be down in a while, carrying his guitar case in his hand because his back still hurts far too much to put weight on it. He's wearing a loose shirt without his hoodie over it, just to try and cover up the fresh scars without suffocating them. There's still a trace of the black eye Hector gave him, but his other eye has a much fresher bruise that might only be a few days old. The rest of his face and body are bruised and sore, covered in cuts and scrapes, enough that it affects the way he walks and moves. Hell, his knuckles alone look like he might have broken the bones and then just kept going.
He takes a seat on the bench nearby and sets his guitar case down, motioning for Hector to sit across it from him.]
Long time no see, amigo.
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His own sweater is gone too, bathed in Nekane's blood and burned away. He's found something to suit him again-- a button-up, a vest-- though he's got an ill-fit coat thrown over. He wears a different kind of hell on his own face. No sign of a smile, and some anger in his eyes that runs deeper than anything he's got for Dodger. He's fracturing. He doesn't care.
He sits down across from Dodger, right where he's suggested to. He stares, silent, when he's called amigo. He searches the jacket for a cigarette and lighter.]
Is that what I am? Or are you just making fun?
[He doesn't expect and answer. He gets the thing lit, sticks it between his teeth, and tucks the lighter away.]
You get Squalo to do that to you? Or was that some other bastard's generous gift?
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Special gift from the Devil himself. I hear I was out for two weeks.
[He remembers bits and pieces, but most of it is a blur. Mostly he remembers hitting a point where his mind felt his body, and he could truly meditate on the last few months.
He reaches down to pop the case open. His guitar is, notably, not accounted for. Instead he pulls out a pack of cards, two shot glasses, and a vial of green liquid.]
If I'm going to make myself into a better man, I want a vote of confidence from you. I want you to prove you can see me as different from your old friend.
[He sets the items up on top of the case, and gestures to them.]
It's truth serum. We're going to drink, we're going to play a game. And then we'll see where we stand. If you can't handle that, then I'm fighting a pointless battle.
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But whatever he was going to say to that dies on his tongue when the guitar case is opened. He looks at Dodger with confusion, and at the sight of the shot glasses and vial, a renewed jolt of fear.
And then, just like that, he's back to anger.]
...You're unbelievable. You want me to prove myself to you? You had my faith! You tore it up!
[His head shakes.]
I don't owe you anything, Dodger. I have given and let go, and you still...
[In a fit, he reaches in the pocket of his jacket and pulls out the knife. He slams it down on the case with everything else. Just to clear the air.]
Screw you. Pour the drinks and deal the cards.
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[His voice is forceful, tinged with- not a threat, but a warning. And he quirks a brow at the knife - seriously, does Hector want to get himself killed again? - but doesn't call attention to it, just reaching to pour the drinks and pick up the deck of cards.]
You don't owe me, sure. But you have to open your hand to get payment, yeah?
[He splits the deck in half, and sets one half aside. Then splits it again, and puts one stack in front of each of them, face-up. Hector's has the King of Hearts on top, and Dodger's has the King of Spades.]
The game is a gauntlet of truth. The cards are to keep track of it. After we drink, we'll take turns asking each other questions, and we'll answer honestly. No half-truths, no silence. We each get thirteen questions, and then I leave. Deal?
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And what exactly do I get out of this? You let me live? You make another promise?
[Maybe he's being an ass, but heck if it's not deserved.]
I haven't lied to you. But I'm playing your game.
[He reaches with a shaking hand for one single shot glass, lifting it up as the fires of hell catch the light of green drink that screams poisonous.]
Salud.
[He swigs the thing back.]
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[He raises his glass with a 'cheers' gesture before downing it, wincing slightly but less at the taste and more at the knowledge of what he's doing. There's a lot of trust in Hector, drinking this near him, and he can only hope Hector understands that.]
Here. I'll start, we can check if the serum is working.
[He picks up his first card, and places it face-down beside his stack.]
Did you expect the drinks to be poisoned?
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[His tone is even, almost impassive. He's had truth serum before. He knows how it goes. But frankly, he doesn't feel the need to fight it. It's more or less the answer he would have given anyway.
He takes a drag from his smoke and turns over his own card: the suicide king.]
I don't particularly know what to ask you. You were pretty forthcoming when we first met. You told me terrible things and I felt sorry.
[There's a little of disdain there but more for himself.]
What did you think was going to happen, when you went after Nekane?
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I thought I could feel her up and she'd take it so we wouldn't make a scene. Or she'd punch me and leave it at that. I thought neither of us would want to make things weird for you, but I needed to let off steam and figured she might too.
[He pauses to take a drag from his cigarette.]
I know she's the one you were trying to protect, when you were stocking up on candies that night. So I kept her safe when the bombs went off, I bet she never told you that. Anyway, all I wanted was to show her I wasn't afraid to hurt her. Make sure she knew I was holding back because of you. Because she scares me, and she makes me feel weak and jealous.
[He hadn't meant to say that last part, but... he can't take it back now. No half-truths, no silence. The truth serum won't let him talk his way around it.]
I didn't plan to hurt her when we went into the bathroom. I was just screwing around. But she made me nervous and then she blinded me and I had to make her as scared as I was.
[His fingers twitch, tightening slightly before he flips the Queen of Spades over.]
What did Nekane tell you about what happened?
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None of the rest makes it any better. The anger burns in him.]
Nekane doesn't tell me anything. Not if they can help it. They didn't tell me about killing you either. I'd bet if it hadn't gone the way it did, they wouldn't have told me about what you did.
[Dodger really doesn't know Nekane at all.]
I was going to cut you off for that. Nekane suggested not to. That I should even hear you out. We talked and I had them tell me what happened. They told me you wanted more from them and they refused. You pinned them. You told them they should be grateful because the only reason they were alive was because of me. That otherwise, you'd cut them up. You smashed the mirror, they blinded you.
[He stares Dodger in the eyes, unwavering in his anger.]
They told me they provoked you, but I frankly don't give a damn. You knew what I'd do for them. You knew what I went through-- What you've gone through! It's practically written on their damn body that they've still gone through worse! And you actually thought you could scare them? Hell could rip them apart and it would be another day in the week they wouldn't even talk about unless I begged or coerced them to!
You should feel weak. Because neither I or you will ever be as strong as they are. In fact, if you wanted to let off some steam that damn bad, you should've just used me. It might've been less like spitting in my face.
[He turns over the queen of hearts.]
What the hell are you jealous of?
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That question gets a low sigh out of him, though. Here they go.]
You love her. You know her like your own mind. It isn't just because it's you, I want anyone to look at me the way you look at her. I want someone to be loyal to me, the way you are to her. But it's a bit worse, knowing you'll pick her over me no matter what she does to me. She's always thrown the first punch, but you side with her because she matters more.
[The discomfort is starting to show on his face. It's much more truth than he wants to give, goes too deep into the way he thinks. And he hates being forced to say anything, prefers to hide behind mild answers, half-truths, skewed accounts of everything he's done. He scratches his wrist before stopping himself, and putting his cigarette back to his lips with shaking hands.]
If I didn't know she was your friend, I would have killed her sooner. I would have cut her open to see how that fucked up body works. She doesn't mean anything to me, never has, but she's a threat. Things would have gone better if you didn't bring her, I think you know that.
[He swallows uncomfortably, but puts on a strong face and flips over the Jack of Spades.]
Are you scared of me?
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And yet, at the same time, he hates how flimsy it feels sometimes, how easy it is to tear down even when he actually wants to be angry. But the words hit him like a cold splash. You love her.
Everything that follows hurts. It brings the walls down just in time for Dodger to show his claws again. He closes his eyes and turns his head away until Dodger's done, like it pains him.]
... Yes. I am scared. I told them I was going to see you because I was afraid things could go wrong and that they'd worry for however long it takes to come back. They said they were coming along and I didn't say no because... I don't know, I guess I felt more protected. You killed me, Dodger, I... I didn't think it was unfair to have a little sense of security that didn't bank on me learning how to murder. I know you wanted me to be over it but it takes more time than that. Did it not mean anything that I wanted to give you chances anyway? Was it not enough to show up? To give a damn?
[He puts a hand up.]
Don't. Don't answer that. Those aren't my questions.
[He scrubs at his face.]
You're wrong, by the way. I was angry when I found out they killed you. I told them not to and they didn't listen. I didn't want Squalo to kill you either and he brought me your head like I was supposed to be grateful. Because what none of you got or cared about was that you still meant something to me. And I goaded you into killing me. I made that happen and then you... I didn't want that. Even though from the very beginning you've made it clear you're all kinds of a bastard who will kill and-- and eat-- and get your hands all over whoever you want or take them apart. Exactly the reasons that I don't know if things would have gone better. Of course, you scare me. But I liked you anyway. You think you're the only one has to fight for this, who has to push and change just to be around? You think I wouldn't have put myself on the line for you too if you really needed it?
[His voice is cracking. So, so stupid.]
Nekane and I... you don't see it, you never see us screwing up even though we do all the time. They'll lie to my face, do things I don't want, hide things, and I'm the stupid idiot who gets involved in this crap and can't stand to be alone, to the point I'll either try and manipulate or turn into a yes-man and dios they can't stand that. We're two broken, screwed up people but we try and we look out for each other. We made a little deal of our own just so we don't tear each other apart without trying, a pact to cut each other and run at first chance. That's the glorious thing you're seeing, but it's what we needed.
I needed you to count on, I told you that, but I also said, more than anything that happens to me, I need the people I care about safe. I can't stand people in pain. You or them or anyone. I can't! But you have made this suffering so a part of who you are, I don't even know if I can ask you. I left the decision up to you and you still came out [a broken laugh settles on his breath.] with this. With a game to prove I wouldn't lie to you. I gave you... I told you the one way to really hurt me... and you went for it. So did the other two but at least they didn't know I'd still give a damn about you, because who in their right mind...?
[At last, he turns a card over.]
Did you really want to be better and make it up to me? Or did you just want to see if you could hide it all from me, have your destruction and me too, not care in the world for what that would do to me?
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[But this all hurts, because he... really hadn't realized how much he mattered to Hector. He'd always figured Hector was just too polite to say no, or that he kept going along with this bullshit because he expected to be killed if he didn't. It hadn't occurred to him how much weight was on Hector's shoulders, trying to make this friendship work, because it's always been a burden that people bear for him without a word.
So he just nods slowly, his gaze drifting down to Hector's hands and failing to meet his eyes. And when he finally speaks again, it's slowly, weighing each word carefully.]
I've always had screws loose. Even when I was a little kid, stealing never bothered me. I did what I had to, to survive. I set people on fire so I could steal from them while they were distracted. The man that took me in - Benny - he tried to teach me to control myself. He was good at control. He'd go out and he'd kill people, torture them, extort them. Then he'd come home and treat his girlfriend like a goddess, joke around with his friends. None of them got hurt, except me. Because I needed to learn what happened when I got greedy and overstepped - he only hurt me when I pissed him off.
It never stuck, and everyone I've ever cared about has gotten hurt. I've killed most of them myself. But that's the sort of person I should be. I can't pretend that killing doesn't make me happy, it's fucking... wonderful. It feels better than sex. But I can't keep lashing out every time someone says 'no' to me. I'm going to learn how to be someone who can hurt when he needs to and not without meaning to. I'm only going to hurt people that deserve it. And that doesn't include you.
[He pauses, and lets out another sigh.]
I should have done that sooner. I've tried it before, and I failed, and I lost the woman I wanted to spend my life with. But I've got all of eternity to figure it out, might as well start now.
[He flips a card.]
So can you stick around me, knowing that I'm carving a trail of blood when I'm out of your sight?
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As is typical, Dodger tosses him back and forth from pain to anger again. He bristles, wanting to snap but...
But he's right. He put Nekane in danger. Squalo told him before, to think about who else would pay for his mistakes. That person was Nekane this time. Before that was his family. He should've just left a note for them. He should've just went and if he died, he died.
His head shakes. More and more he finds himself shaking it until his face is in his hands.]
I don't know. I don't know that, Dodger, I don't know if I can stomach this. I don't know what that's going to mean, I don't know who you're going to think deserves it... I can't... I can't tell you that. I can't...
[He looks up.]
That man... no. No, no, Dodger, you are so messed up if you think someone like that has it together. Don't you get it? It was you. You're the one he took it out on. You're the one he twisted it up! So he could go off and make himself look nice and tidy for his friends and girlfriend. You're comparing having to do what you had to on the street to- to that?!
You... and Nekane you both... [They think they deserved it. Maybe Dodger deserved Hell now but... He shakes his head again.]
That man... is not the key to who you want to be. Even if you want to be someone in control. And dios, that's the least I want for you.
I know Squalo is a murderer, and I know Nekane's hands aren't clean either. I know the terrible things you do. And I'm still here. But I can't promise you that. I can't promise you'll never cross a line when you keep crossing them. I need proof. I need to see it. Maybe I'll have an answer then, maybe I won't. I can only say that I'm not expecting a saint out of you. I can only remind you that Nekane isn't the one I'd do anything for; my family is. And I will get out of here, for them. Whatever I've got to do to get in God's graces, that's what I'm doing.
I'm not one of those who revels in pain, I'm not sticking around in Hell, I can't love you like you want, or be your guide, I'm not... I'm not ready to forgive you for the first thing and now you want to know if I can stick by you after what happened to Nekane, Dodger, I'm not ready for this. I'm not. You keep asking so much of me and you've given nothing. You keep pulling me back because you want me and I don't know why. I'm not the one hanging on anymore. I'm not the one who's going to change. You've already broken my heart, I don't need any more reason to let you go. Unless you give me one to stay. Do you understand? Stop putting me on the spot, stop doing this to me, stop giving me your pain and your guilt just so you can fuck me over and pin it on me! You don't want to be like Ernesto, STOP BEING LIKE HIM!
[His head bows. His shoulders quake with hitching breath but he fights to pull himself under control. He reaches out for another card.]
Why do you really want me? Why should I stay?
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He wants to throw something. He wants to cry out that he's trying, that he's been trying, and every attempt to please Hector has just put more weight on him. But it doesn't matter that he tried, because he failed. And he made everything worse, every time.]
Because I love you. [He says it matter-of-factly, as if it doesn't tear at every fiber of him to speak so honestly.] And that doesn't mean I want you to stay with me, or love me back, or care about me. I want to make you happy, and that means getting you home. It means getting blood on my hands so you can keep yours clean, getting you things you can't get on your own, letting you torture me if that's what it takes to get your penance. It's all I can offer, because pain is all I have.
[His knuckles would be white if they weren't already black and blue and stained with red.]
I don't know why else anyone would stick around me. You're the first person that's put that kind of faith in me when I keep fucking up like this. I don't know what you want because I just- I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know how to treat someone like you.
[He doesn't reach for another card. He isn't sure what to ask now, and he just sits there watching Hector with a flighty look slowly seeping into his features.]
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He keeps his head in his hands right until the end and of course his face is a mess when he lifts it.]
That's just the thing! You don't know what I want! Do you even know what makes me happy? I don't want to bloody your hands! I don't want to hurt you! God, even in that stupid virtual thing, you couldn't figure it out! You kept... you kept trying for work and jobs and I didn't care, Dodger, I didn't care, I put up with it for you! I wanted so much more and I put up with shows and ten minutes in a backroom while I censor every word so I don't scare you! I know it's fake but it's exactly the problem!
[He tries to catch his breath. His voice goes dull.]
...You don't know. You don't know me. You just think you love me because I care. And you want to be cared about and I get that. God, I get it. If there was any crappy thing we have in common it's that. But you don't care about me.
I want normal, Dodger. I want... to hang out with my friends and not worry someone's going to die or get hurt. I want stupid jokes and getting into trouble, but in the good way. I want to play music and sing and for just a little bit to try and forget everything else. I want to talk about good things. Things I was proud to know you for. Or some stupid look you had on your face at something someone said. You could ask me about... my life or dumb things. Or my family. You never ask about my family, you know? The thing that matters most to me in the world, you've never asked a thing. You still can't get that Nekane's not my girlfriend. You didn't even know I played guitar. You don't even know what I sound like. You found out I was taken apart like you were and you felt sorry for me and you comforted me but you never... you never asked who I was past that. You've almost never seen me happy. The real me. Did you realize that? I didn't. Not at first.
I thought you didn't know what happiness was for yourself. But I don't think you know what it is at all. I wish... I wish you weren't hurt like this. I wish that you could get what you need. I wish so bad I could undo everything that's happened to you and with this. But here we are. Playing a game of truth and questions and you still don't know.
Me, Nekane, your wife... have you ever just thought to ask?
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He remembers it, that part of him with all the memories from virtual reality. Constantly looking for bigger shows, throwing himself into merchandising and spreading Hector's fame, bringing each new gig home like a dog with a dead bird. Hoping it would make him happy, but always seeing that edge of sadness on his face. It was never good enough, and he knew it, so he kept going bigger.
And it's the same here. It's the same with everyone, it always has been. He doesn't know what he's doing wrong, so it must not be enough. But now, he has finally realized that he was just making things harder, every single time.
He doesn't even notice the tears rolling down his cheeks. His voice is meek when it comes out, quiet and cracked.]
I was- curious. I wanted to ask, but I didn't- the people I hang around, you don't ask about their lives. You don't ask about their loved ones, because that's how you get killed. I don't want to talk about the people I care about. I don't want anyone to know and hurt them or- use them to hurt me.
I want- I want normal too, I want to just... hang out and play games and share music and stupid jokes but I've never done that before, Hector. My birthday, that's the most normal thing I've ever done. I've never had friends that didn't run in my gang, or- were- people I had deals with. But I- we were happy. You and me and Squalo and Nekane, we had fun. And I like being around you and just talking like that.
[He hiccups, shifts slowly to draw his legs up, make himself small while his gaze is stuck pointed at the cards.]
I just didn't- I got focused on important shit like that and I figured you didn't want to focus on the simple shit because I didn't want to. But that's what I was asking from you before, I don't want you to teach me morality and shit, I just need someone to show me how to fucking talk to people like they're human beings and not fucking chess pieces.
[He feels so fucking stupid. It's all excuses, even when there's truth serum running through his veins, he just needs to explain himself and he won't be happy until Hector understands. But try as he might, he just doesn't understand what Hector thinks, or what he wants. Even now, it's too foreign for him to wrap his head around. The pieces of the puzzle are all there but he can't figure out how they connect.]
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And yet, he just watches, letting it happen. Under it all, all the bravado Dodger tried to show when they first met, under all the pain caused, here it is exactly where he thought it would be. Dodger shrinks in on himself.
He reaches out. His hands go to the cards but he doesn't turn one over. Instead, he gathers them up, reforming them back into a pile, his own and then Dodger's and the rest. He takes the cards and the glasses and the empty vial of truth serum and bit by bit he puts it all back in the case, hidden away. Game over.
He sets the case down on the ground and he moves to fill the space. He sits by Dodger's side.]
You have to hurt. That's the trick. You have to let yourself hurt. And you have to let yourself be scared. It's dangerous. Risky. You'll get hurt more. And people will try to use you. But you have to give yourself. And you have to realize those people are giving and hurting too.
[He draws up his own legs. He hugs them to his chest.]
Ask me something. Not as a game, not so you can try and assure yourself about me. Ask something you want to know, just to get to know me. Ask yourself if you want to know me. And if the answer's no, then don't.
Just... just talk. And listen. Not proving how strong you are when we both know it's a front anyway. Not seeing what you can get.
[He stares down at his knees.]
... I want space. I want to talk on the little phone things. It'll help me feel safer. And I think it'll help you. If I tell you no, if you don't like something, then you have to think about what you want to do first, instead of just doing it. I know you don't like it. But if you want to treat me like a person, then you should think about what these things mean to me. We can do that so no one gets hurt. We can talk. You can learn how to. But first...
What do you want to know? Do you actually want to know me?
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We both know it's a front anyway. That gets another bristle out of him, but he doesn't deny it.
He just nods numbly, scrubs at his face until he feels like he looks decent, and thinks for a while before speaking.]
I want to know... about your wife. And your kid. And what it was like, being a musician. Y'know, the sh... the stuff that makes it worth going back.
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He manages a small and very fragile smile at last. He turns it Dodger's way before looking ahead and then closing his eyes entirely.]
You wouldn't get along at all. She's made of steel and fire and she wouldn't have your nonsense for a moment. She'd have some words for me, hanging around you. But she's wonderful.
When she sings, she sings with all her heart. She's beautiful and her voice is more so. We grew up together in that same little town. She's the only one I ever had eyes for. I'd see her with her family, her brothers, and you could... you could see it, Dodger, the love in her eyes.
I... [There's a breath of a laugh at the irony of his words.] I thought I'd give anything for her to look at me even a fraction like that. And one day she did. Me, a street urchin with a guitar I may or may not have stolen. She sang and she took my heart and she came to life with a dance. Strong, passionate, and she'd do anything for her family.
[He knows she's still doing so now. Without him.]
Music was our life. Both of ours. She got me that guitar of mine, you know? It was a gift for our wedding. Dios, and all the busking I did to buy her a ring and a home for us, she still outshone me.
All my life, I played and played. Whenever things got to me, I'd go to the plaza and I sit there and I'd play all night. And when I was happy, I wrote and I sang and I danced and nothing else mattered. But it made others happy too. I thought that was wonderful. With just some sound and all your heart, you can reach out to people who'd never hear you otherwise. And they reach out to each other and for a moment everyone is family.
I dreamed of making a family of the whole world...! I wrote a song about it. Kind of embarrassing now but it wins the crowds. I played for quinceñeras, for weddings, in bars and in proper shows. But my favorite was throwing little concerts at him. We'd gather boxes and props and put on a private show for ourselves, the three of us.
But it took me from them, that music. I went out looking for family and I left it. Playing on the road... you know how much work it is, for a good or a bad show, it's the same. And I wouldn't know anyone out there. I could write letters but they couldn't write back. I couldn't see them. I grew up thinking I wanted fame, but I didn't. I knew I could still make enough money at home to support us, I didn't have to do this. I just wanted to... I just wanted a family. And it took all that to realize I had it.
[And lost it.]
... Her name is Coco. Short for Socorro. She's four years old and she loves to dance. She never learned to walk, she just went right to dancing. She loves the flowers and the ugly things in the dirt just as much. She has the passion of her Mamá and my terrible humor.
I'd be out playing and when I came home she'd race to the door. To me. Her littles braids flying behind her. I'd pick her up and spin her around and kiss her a hundred times. We'd make her Mamá smile and laugh. And I made myself better for them, for a brief time. I tried to make them proud. I tried to make them as happy as they made me.
We sing a song every night. Every single night, near or far. For nobody else, we sing. And just with that, I tell her again and again how much I love her. I love her more than anything in the world. If I close my eyes, like this, I can see her on her bed, kicking her little feet, reaching out to me...
[His breath shudders.]
I miss her so much...
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That sounds like heaven.
[He leans back against the bench, taking out his pack of cigarettes and snapping his fingers a few times before they manage to catch flame.]
I never wanted kids, but they're... sweet. I like them. I just don't think they deserve me for a father. You, though, you really love your daughter. I... wish I knew what that was like.
[His shoulders slump a bit. This is exactly why he didn't want to ask, he doesn't want Hector dwelling on things that hurt.]
That guitar of yours is really beautiful, Hector. And your family, they're... I'm jealous of you, sometimes. It seems like you really had it made.
[And he's just... stuck there, thinking on it for a while, before he can think of something else to say.]
You were living on the street before that, yeah? What happened to your parents?
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It was heaven. If I'd gone to Heaven itself instead of here you'd still have found me trying to get back.
[Just a few years of heaven. Not enough, but he had it.]
I know the feeling. I love my girl but it's hard to stop thinking how much I've cursed her to me. She deserves better.
[He told Nekane as much, before. He shakes his head then.]
I never knew my parents. I'd guess they're long dead. I couldn't even tell you where they're buried. My name, Héctor Rivera? That's my wife's last name. Before her, I didn't have anything. Just Héctor. A nobody.
I didn't have it as bad as some. [Not as bad as Dodger.] The nuns of the orphanage did their part to raise me. A priest taught me how to read and write and again for music. Terribly lucky. You don't find a lot of orphans who get an education. I was just a bit too wild to keep inside a lot of the time. And, you know, there's always more orphans to take care of. Especially during the revolution. I knew how to busk and I knew people in town. I suffered very little but loneliness back then. [There's a flicker of amusement in his face.] It was more the town that suffered me.
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