#*sideglances at finishyourfuckingwipsfebruary*

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it is the binge anon again teehee just sent in the last ask about yk jay opening up about all the shit zayne did to him to dennis i read through this one drabble about how he reveals off everything to his family post getting out of the hospital, if it's not too much trouble, can we have a follow up to that? like how his parents reacted during the info drop, how jay handled it, so on ughhh i just love how you humanize him so well. you're a lovely writer

I actually cut this part from that chapter. Luckily I hoard cut out stuff, and I freshened it up a little for you <3

Follow up to Everything.

-

Relive

“I’ll tell you what happened.”

And so he did.

That rotten news article stirring up chaos and snitching on his flaying only started at the last pages of his story. He settled back against the cushions, bracing himself for a long and difficult tale to tell. Not really how he imagined his day would go… But perhaps it was better to get it out. Get it over with.

He took a deep breath. “This started two years ago. That time I was hospitalised.” That time where he only told them about the interrupted preparations for a robbery and about a pissed Zayne beating the shit out of him for meddling. At the time, he could barely make sense of what had happened. Now that he had all the pieces, it was easier to tell. Not to mention that he’d processes it a bit more.

“Zayne was tasked with making sure I wouldn't run off to the police. Well, he... he didn’t do just that," he said with a wry smile. And that was the explosive start to it all, with Zayne in the middle of the blast.

He avoided going into too much detail at first and the lengthy introduction helped, to get his story straight, to get his emotions ready for… for the later gritty details.

Another thing he desperately avoided was eye contact. As he spoke, his gaze lingered just over his father’s shoulder, on his mother’s earring, and he tilted his head towards Laura sitting next to him to include her in the group, but his gaze merely brushed over her cheekbone to make it feel like he was looking at her, and immediately shot towards the window every time he did.

It was hard. It was so damn hard telling all this. But now that he’d gotten started, there was no stopping. Everything had to get out, everything that was bottled up, all the tears, his shame, everything.

They all listened without interrupting him, letting him stutter, hiccup, and hesitate as much as he needed.

And his hesitation and stuttering only increased when he had to tell how Zayne invaded his life again two years later. How he’d ambushed him, threatened him, and was waiting for him several times a week. That first beating where every bit of cropped up anger was punched out, without any measure of control or holding back.

“He pretended otherwise, putting responsible on me to hide everything, but he quickly realised he had to tone down if this was to be a regular thing. And so... that’s... that’s when he went for a more... controlled way of... of inflicting pain. Instead of off the rails beatings… So every couple of days, he’d drop by and... erm, well, it was basically just—“ His breathing grew ever more shallow with each word. He heaved softly, swallowed hard past the growing lump in his throat. “Just torture,” he whispered, “It was just—”

He couldn't get the word out again. It stuck in his throat, firmly nestled behind that lump of tears. His breathing grew more forced, heaving in soft gasps, shallow at first, going deeper and deeper to hide the sobs, until hyperventilation kicked in and—

A shuddering breath and his father suddenly stood up.

Jay flinched, the sudden movement snapping his attention back. Back from a dark place, deep in the recesses of his mind, to the present, to his living room, to his family. To a safe place. His exhale finally released.

“I’ll put the kettle on,” his father grunted softly.

Jay gave a single nod and swallowed hard. They were all in need of a little break.

His eyes followed his dad, gaze on his back as he retreated to the kitchen. His lips started to tremble as he looked his mum in the eyes, seeing the tears pool. And he lost control over the muscles in his face as he felt Laura lean into him.

His face scrunched up. He brought up a fist, hiding his lips. His jaw clenched so hard as he tried to contain his sobs he could hear his teeth gnash over each other. Fingers tightened into the fabric of his pajama pants. But everything exploded in a single sob. He rested his wrist against his forehead, hiding his face.

“Sorry,” he managed, voice fragile, brushing away tears.

“Don’t.”

He took his glasses off, letting his emotions spill over his cheeks.

His breathing calmed but his thoughts were still racing. How was he going to breach this subject. How was he going to tell… that he was pinned down and— He meant to go for ‘carved up’, but that was a bit too strong of a word. It was true, it was the exact word that described what happened but, as a writer and now storyteller, he had to consider his audience here. He didn’t want to downplay, he was past that now, but god, he had to thread carefully, not wanting to make things any worse either.

His father silently handed out cups of tea. Jay mouthed a thanks.

Then he started again, voice now clear and calm.

“Zayne's favourite was his knife.” And he told them about the cuts and scars covering his body. He didn’t tell about Zayne’s experiments or creative tortures; mostly just hovered in-between beatings and knifeplay. Just the bare minimum to explain his wounds.

“So these…” Laura started, touching over his wrist to draw attention to the scars on his forearm.

Jay fought the urge to cover them up. “Yes,” he merely said, avoiding how some of those were self-inflicted. The details didn’t matter; as far as he was concerned, Zayne was the cause of those, regardless of who brandished the knife at the time.

He felt uncomfortable, all eyes now focused on his scars. With all his hiding the last couple of months, sitting in just a t-shirt made him feel almost naked, especially with the scars on display. He quickly moved on.

By the time he reached the shock of Emery being involved, his head started to pound, the tension in his body, the strain behind his eyes reaching its toll with the pain heavily settling on his brow.

Mercifully, he could leave the hardest bit behind now that he explained the cause of his injuries. But Emery proved to be an even worse enemy than Zayne could ever be. And Zayne grew more and more tense and unpredictable. Teetering from more cruelty to actually saving his life.

How after that, everything spiralled out of control. To the point where he couldn’t handle things alone anymore and called in Dennis. How they’d worked together, pressured Zayne, and how that ended in abduction.

He recounted that night, the night in the warehouse, how he and Zayne had tried to help each other out, having to hold on and depend on each other to delay Emery’s plans until help would arrive.

“And… and this is…” his mother stuttered, fiddling with the newspaper in her lap, voice barely more than a whisper.

“Yes. That’s… that’s what happened...” He paused, shifting a little against his pile of pillows, careful not to put pressure on his back. He repeated what he’d just told Laura, about Emery trying to force him to tell where Dennis was. Taking extreme measures. With this, he didn’t spare much detail; better that they hear it from him, better that he prepared them for what they were going to hear in court.

Not to mention, to prepare himself. Get it out, because he was going to have to tell this again. Repeat the story in front of an audience. No… not repeat. Relive. As soon as he stuttered out the first words, the fresh memories gripped his body, seeped into the healing wounds, reminding him of the pain.

“It was… it was worse than anything Zayne’d ever done… I thought I was going to die, I was sure I was going to die…” Maybe he even wanted to in a brief moment when the pain was too much, but he swallowed the despair he felt at that time. “I couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t even raise the gun Emery forced into my hand… It hurt. It hurt like hell. It was hell. I—”

He stopped for a second, the sound of the whip echoing in his mind, the stabbing in his throat as each scream tore through his windpipe like that goddamn whip tore through his back, flaying his throat from the inside, each scream just hurting and— He swallowed hard. There was no stab of pain anymore, no sting, no bite.

It was healing. He was healing.

He looked up, a soft smile on his lips, finally looking them all in the eyes, reassuring them.

“But it’s healing,” he finally said, echoing his thoughts. “I got through. I got out. And I’m still here with you.”

-

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