Bane

February 26, 1980

Trent's sophomore year could be going worse, all things considered. There was suspicion, of course. People who knew his relationship with Nadjia hit the rocks wondered. That's how the rumors started... then there was that nosey punk cop Polovatski asking all those questions. When he saw her last, what their friendship was like, and where they were in their friendship.

It did not matter.

There were questions about his facial injury from the faculty. Did someone at home do this? How bad was the injury? Did he want to talk to a guidance councilor?

No, no one at home was abusing him (badly); the injury wasn't all that bad... he just texted took a nasty fall while hiking; no thank you, a guidance councilor was unnecessary.

His refusals did little to calm the rumors going on about him, but at least school was more interesting. The people who used to start trouble did so now only from a distance; the people who used to dislike him now kept their distance entirely, and those curious of who he was we're almost like a fan club. Being seventeen and a sophomore did little to help him make friends, before... but being seventeen and a sophomore, and a killer?

It was like being a rock star.

♚ ♚ ♚

Mother and father did catch wind of all the news eventually, toward the end of February. He was surprised they showed up home at all.

Mother wanted him on home study.

Father wanted him to take the belt across his hindquarters... but Trent was well past that.

Father's face was priceless when he caught the belt, the stunned expression when he tore it out of his hands, and the abject fear in his eyes when Trent raised it up was delicious. It also gave him insight on his father's opinion.

That, and the fact that his father outright asked him.

"You did it, didn't you? You finally snapped!"

Trent stared the man down without a word, and his father stayed there in his home office, cowering behind his desk as Trent stood there staring at him quietly, eyes hard, his expression hard; this silent terror lasted a good ten minutes before Trent grew bored, and walked out on his father.

"You, and mother... don't be here when I get home."

♚ ♚ ♚

"I'm proud of you, Trent."

Trent sulked in the mid-evening gloom, sitting against the ruins from the outside. "What do I need to do to St you free?"

"I'm not Djinn, baby. You can't just make a wish and set me free. You have to die to do that, and I can wait. What's a lifetime to me? Time no longer means much to me."

"I can't just do nothing."

"You can stay here from now on. Jonathan is looking for you. I've seen it. He will go to your house and try to take what is mine."

"How can I stay here? It's cold at night, and it rains so much since you died. Since I killed you."

Nadjia appeared next to Trent, sitting next to him in the natural compost of old skeletal oak leaves, and pine needles. She stared at him, tilting her head. "I've forgiven you for that. Now you need to forgive yourself."

"I don't know if I can. I was so sure you deserved it, that it wasn't really my fault. I was sure that I was only the tool... that Jonathan was the one who made me do it."

Nadjia was quiet, and Trent sighed. He climbed to his feet, and went around Nadjia, into the MacAllen ruins. Darkness would soon fall over Driftwood, and as often it was, rainfall was expected any time. Nadjia smiled a small, satisfied smile to herself, and appeared next to Trent in the ruins.