While Tank rinsed away the remnants of blond stubble from the razor blade, its owner was helping Ripp back to the house, his arm hooked loosely yet fondly around his waist. Peter was first to reach the door, and cocked his head in mild surprise as his black eyes caught sight of Ophelia, who was waiting patiently on the couch and finishing her now tepid coffee.
“Hello!” he greeted as he entered, not hiding his puzzlement.
“Hey,” she replied, “Don’t mind me, I’m waitin' for Tank.”
“Ah, okay,” he acknowledged, his curiosity satisfied. “How’re you doing?”
“Well as can be expected, given what he’s been tellin’ me,” came her blunt response, before she rose expectantly as Johnny granted Ripp first entry. She approached out of concern, wondering if it was a such a bad thing his head was bowed.
“Hey Ripp!” she exclaimed, “You okay? I heard what…”
She trailed off as he lifted his head, not hiding the sorrow and bitterness etched in his battered features.
“You heard, huh?” he mused sourly, before shrugging. “Saves me a job at least.”
“Which is just as well,” Johnny hastily added, “You sit yourself down, I’ll fix us a drink, huh?”
“Sit with him,” Peter instructed, breaking into the language native to his kind as he did so, “I’ll fix the drinks – he needs you with him.”
Johnny briefly lowered his head in sad acknowledgement, before taking a seat and inviting Ripp to sit on his lap. Ophelia sat by them as the oldest made for the kitchen.
“So what did he tell you?” Johnny asked.
“Just that there was this fight,” she shrugged, “That an’ how he got a shiner. The moment ‘e said their dad caught you both I got worried, if I’m honest.”
Ripp snorted bitterly in reply, but otherwise remained quiet as he chose to nestle into Johnny’s chest, much like a little boy would his mother. In return, Johnny caressed his head and combed his hair with his fingers, occasionally pecking his crown as he held him close. Ophelia couldn’t help but notice how child-like Ripp had become since the incident, even from when he got inside the door.
“He also said how he got you all outta there,” she explained, addressing Ripp, “You’re better off out of it.”
Tears stung Ripp’s eyes as early memories flooded his mind.
“I knew that years ago,” he murmured, “I asked Mom to take me with her when she left.”
Ophelia wore a sad expression as she eyed him.
“Maybe some things happen for a reason,” she suggested, “Tank would be no better off if you’d left. Look how you’ve helped him…”
Ripp shrugged in reply, a tear seeping from his eye as he spoke.
“Wouldn’t have given Dad any reason to get pissed off,” he pointed out.
“Hey, come on,” Johnny admonished gently, “Don’t start that again.”
“It’s true!” Ripp protested, pulling away from Johnny’s grip, “He’s always hated me!”
Tank had seen enough. Leaving the foot of the stairs, he strode over to squat by Ripp’s side.
“Hey Junior,” he began in a firm tone, “Dad’s the one with the problem, okay? His fault he can’t accept how much you take after Mom, his fault he couldn’t go to his punch bag instead o’ usin’ you as one…”
“My fault he got so mad in the first place…”
“He has a short fuse!” Tank exclaimed, “He’s also fucked in the head, that ain’t down to you or any of us.”
“I called him an asshole,” Ripp reminded him, his voice raising, “I told him to finger himself so he’d stop poppin’ off about gay guys, dropped massive hints about my sex life… How the fuck can you say I’m not to blame for this??” he finished, jabbing a finger at his bruised face.
Tank’s head lowered as he nursed his brow, his teeth embedded deeply into his tongue. Ripp’s last point was something he wanted to talk with him about, but now was certainly the worst time to do so. He was showing signs already that he may be regretting his actions, Tank pondered, and he was laying far too much guilt at his own door as it was.
“Look,” he replied carefully, “We come out with all kinds of crap when we’re mad. You had plenty of reason to be pissed at him; the way he’s already been with you, an’ then blows a gasket over somethin’ as stupid as a goodbye kiss. He wouldn’t even ask where you’d be goin’ when you went out…!”
Tank hadn’t meant to pick up on anything, but his voice trailed off as it occurred to him that was probably what he was up to on his “outings”. It was a good job their father never asked; if he’d caught Ripp out on a lie and demanded the truth, it was very likely this recent incident could have happened a lot sooner.
“Yeah?!” Ripp addressed, seemingly oblivious to his brother’s inner misgivings, “There you go, he hates me.”
“He doesn’t…” Tank started, but before he had the chance to wonder how he could explain such a statement, Ripp had interrupted with his voice raised in anger and bitterness.
“Bullshit!!” he yelled back, “Everythin’ I ever did was wrong; I was too soft, lazy, messy, he’d fuckin’ tidy my room, the bastard…”
“He’s a disciplinarian ain’t he,” Tank stated, “Probably makes a great general, but he confuses work with home… You pointed that out yourself!”
Ripp cradled his head in his hand as he struggled to process the bombardment of negative thinking he was experiencing. Eventually he gave up and collapsed back into Johnny’s arms in a hysterical weeping fit.
Tank momentarily stroked his brother’s brown mane, thankful that he hadn’t brought up his own treatment of him, as the eldest of the two was already feeling the guilt gnaw away at his heart. Despite his reformed behaviour, the standing up for him in times of need and offering to look out for him, he was finding it increasingly hard to live with himself. Watching his younger brother as he wept, he knew only some of those tears were directly down to their father. True, it was his teaching to blame for Tank’s old way of thinking, but he had still inflicted some of the pain now affecting Ripp so badly.
After a while it all got too much for him, and he hastily left the comforting to Johnny as he sought a release of his own.
“Why can’t we just be normal??” he cried, “I’d give anything to have parents like Johnny’s instead…”
“Tank?” a female voice called out in concern.
Tank’s head sank as he guessed at the owner of the voice, reluctant in his turning to face her.
“Hey,” she greeted sadly as she approached.
“Hey,” he replied, allowing himself a disheartened sigh. “Sorry, I just…”
“Can’t take any more?” she finished expectantly, “We all get there at some point.”
“I ain’t there just yet,” Tank reassured emptily, “Not far off though.”
“Understandable, given everythin’ that’s happened,” she said, “Nothin’ to be ashamed of, y’know.”
“It’s not shame,” Tank told her, before gesturing with his arms, “Look around you. My fifteen year old brother is in pieces, fuck knows how Buck’s gonna take all this – he’s just a baby! Someone’s gotta hold us together…!”
“You can’t take it all on yourself,” Ophelia told him, “You’ll only crack sooner if you try.”
Tank lowered his head, idly wondering whether that wasn’t already beginning to happen.
The heavy footsteps seemed to echo through the empty house as Buzz walked along the landing. His fingers ran gently along the wooden panelling of the doors as he approached, coming first to Ripp’s room. He stepped inside, a dry smile playing upon his lips as he noted this was probably the tidiest he’d seen it, although he frowned as he spotted old crockery still laying where they’d been left. Instinctively he went about the room to gather them into his hands, before leaving for the kitchen to fill the sink and place the oddments in soak.
After shutting off the taps, Buzz stared absently into the water, his fingers travelling around the edge of the enamel appliance as memories drifted through his mind. The amount of times he’d berated Ripp on this topic, although now he gave a weak, fond smile as he already felt the children were conspicuous by their absence.
You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone…
So true, Buzz mused with a heavy heart. Ripp may be a slob, but he sure gave life to the place.
“This is no good,” Buzz muttered to himself eventually, “I need to get out of here for a while.”
“I am no way wearin’ those!”
Ophelia playfully crossed her arms as she eyed her now reluctant makeover subject.
“Just a pair o’ jeans, babes!” she teased with a smile.
“Tight jeans!?”
“They ain’t that tight,” she pointed out, “You got nothin’ to be scared of…”
“Yeah I do,” he grumbled, his cheeks beginning to redden. “I get too much attention down there as it is…”
Ophelia burst into a fit of giggles, staring at him in mild amazement.
“You think that’s a bad thing?” she challenged, “How many guys would kill for a butt like yours?!”
She had meant to make him feel better about the situation, but as his cheeks deepened in shade it was plain the reverse was true.
“Aw,” she chuckled, slinking up to his side, “We’re gonna have to bring you out a little, aren’t we?”
Tank arched an eyebrow as he pondered how best to get across his true anxieties.
“You think that’s all I’m worried about…?” he began, his cheeks continuing to burn.
“Enlighten me,” she proposed, cocking her head in a mixture of curiosity and amusement.
“Ah man,” he muttered under his breath.
“Um,” he faltered, “Well, there are delicate goods down there, and…”
Ophelia erupted into laughter as the penny dropped.
“They ain’t gonna get crushed if that’s…” she started, but Tank eyed her squarely as he awkwardly rubbed at his neck, his humiliation growing by the second.
“No, that ain’t the… well, okay, it’s another concern, but…” he hedged, tugging uncomfortably at the front of his shorts, “As I was sayin’, checkin’ out my ass is bad enough…”
“Oh, I get it,” she grinned, “You don’t see Ripp or Johnny worryin' about that with their jeans…”
“I don’t mean this in a bad way,” Tank interrupted, resigning himself to having to spell out the nature of his problem, “Far from it, in fact… but Ripp an’ Johnny ain’t got as much to pad ‘em out with!”
Ophelia’s jaw momentarily hit the floor, before she quickly pulled it into check. She was now faced with the dilemma of whether or not to try keeping a straight face, as Tank felt sure enough of himself to continue.
“You get it now?” he checked, “There’s a reason I wear baggy pants…”
“Like that’s somethin’ to be ashamed of?!” she exclaimed, pushing the garments into his hands, “Go on!”
Tank’s lip curled in disapproval, before shrugging and sloping off to the changing room.
“Ow…”
Ophelia allowed herself a snigger as his grumbles filtered through the curtain, trying her best to stifle her giggles. His next complaint told her she hadn’t tried hard enough.
“It’s not funny!”
“Ah come on, quit moanin’!” she laughed, “Bet they look great on.”
“That’s what worries me.”
“Hey, look good, feel good, right?”
“I’d look better in baggy pants.”
“Why don’tcha let me be the judge of that, huh?” she hinted, “Let’s have a look!”
“Ah man…”
“I’ll go in an’ drag you out if I gotta,” she threatened playfully.
“Oh alright,” he reluctantly complied, before venturing outside his shelter and hesitantly checking his reflection in the mirror.
The giggles promptly stopped as she was faced with a new task, that of keeping her tongue inside her mouth as she allowed her eyes to travel.
“They're too tight,” he frowned as he gave the snug denim a pull. “I think I need a bigger size.”
“You just sayin’ that, or are they really not comfy?”
“No, I ain't just sayin' it,” he told her, empathising his discomfort with a wince as he tugged at the front of his jeans.
“Fair enough,” she acknowledged, but as he made for the changing room, she took another chance to admire his well-developed lower torso as it strained against the fabric.
The large familiar figure ambled through the mall, his green eyes gazing briefly into windows while his thoughts travelled elsewhere. Perhaps not surprisingly, some of the other people present reacted with hostility on catching sight of him, but the man merely waved a dismissive hand and continued on his way, until he spotted the couple on the bench.
“Don’t fiddle!” she admonished, slapping his hand away from his eyebrow.
Tank shrugged as he dropped his arm. “Just feels weird,” he slurred as he surveyed the bags, “You sure she’ll be okay with this?”
“Sure, especially with this,” she winked in reply, indicating her own change of look, “I’ll jus’ tell her we both needed a change.” She then combed her fingers through his hair as she continued. “Next step, grow that out a little,” she finished as she studied his one reminder of his past army desires.
“Yeah, I know,” he frowned, rubbing at the stubble at the base of his neck before holding a hand in front of his mouth.
“You okay?” she smiled, “How’s your tongue?”
Tank raised an eyebrow as he struggled to respond.
“Sore,” came the simple reply.
“Not too sore, I hope?” she invited hopefully, snuggling close to him.
Tank merely shook his head with a smile as he slipped an arm round her shoulders, pulling her nearer.
“Thanks,” he managed to say as he took her into his arms.
“My pleasure,” she grinned in reply, “Glad you finally approve!”
Tank smiled dryly as he moved forward in one simple movement, placing a soft kiss on her lips. Their grip tightened on each other’s bodies as the flame ignited within, their mouths locking together as they shared the growing warmth between them.
“Tank?” he quizzed no one in particular as he slowly approached, keeping his distance while continuing to watch them, folding his arms as he did so.
So Tank has a girlfriend now? … Interesting catch… and what on Earth is he wearing?!
Does it matter? At least he’s happy.
Puh… he’ll be growing his hair out next. Some army boy he turned out to be, huh?
Yeah… but is that such a bad thing? Look what it’s done to us all… and by “us”, I don’t just mean you and the kids. It fucked up Dad something bad, didn’t it? He was a lot worse than you have been.
I know…
It’s not too late to turn things around. You know at least where you crossed the line, something Dad never seemed to do.
Dad was always drunk. I’m not.
Because watching him that way was enough to put you off the very thought of alcohol. You’ve already shown you want for there to be change. There just seems to be this barrier, something stopping you completely breaking the chains… what is that?
… I wish I knew… I really do. I can’t help but feel this scar has something to do with it, too.
To do with what? Why you hit Tank?
Exactly that… there was something in his eyes that struck me as too close to home. I don’t know what, but until I unravel this mystery, there’s no way can I hope to make any progress. I just wish I knew where to start…
