Fifth Column

Chapter 23

Bradley wasn't sure what, entirely, had woken him. Or when he'd fallen asleep. He'd fought it so hard, sitting on the edge of Max's old bed, in the dark. Goofy's arms around him. Not saying much, but comforting all the same. The aftermath of his meltdown throbbing behind his temples, eyes feeling dry, eyelids heavy and swollen.

Bradley had fought it. Vaguely he remembered muttering about-

"Oh God." Brad moaned, hands covering his face, a futile attempt to repress the memory.

His mom. Of all things to blather about. Bradley grimaced, arms falling to the side, sighing heavily. But sleep had won, ultimately.

It always did.

And Bradley was the worse for wear for it. Blanket slipping off his thighs, legs uncomfortably tacky in his too tight jeans. Immediately regretting trying to impress Max, of all people, with his attire.

"Could've worn shorts." He hissed, swallowing hard.

Everything in him was dry. His mouth, his tongue, his throat, his eyes.

Fuck.

Bradley scoffed as he sat, hissed in a breath as his head protested violently. Keeping one eye closed he brought his wrist up, hitting a button, checking the time as it lit up.

11:20pm

He'd slept the entire damn party. Shit.

Not the impression he'd been hoping to make. Sighing as he rubbed the heavy sleep from the edges and corners of his eyes, crusted onto eyelashes from tears.

"Not that I'd impress anyone." He sighed, wiping fingers on his thighs, speaking to the dark.

First things were first - water.

It was stupid, really; the slow toe-to-heel way he crept across the floor to avoid any noise. The way he hovered by the small opening between door and door frame, breath practically held, ears straining for noise.

It felt like an eternity. But if Bradley had learned anything from living with his father, it was that you waited for too long and then even longer before attempting to escape.

Demons had a way of lingering in shadows and quiet, hidden corners.

A low, whispered sigh as he eased the door open, sliding out onto the hallway. Tongue nearly clicked as his mind raced towards the next hurdle: stairs. There was nothing to be done for it.

Bradley hesitated at the top, looking down. A light was on in the living room it looked like, by the direction of the illumination. Bradley crouched, ignoring the pop of his knees. Still he couldn't hear anything aside from the static of distant breathing.

Bradley shook his head, admonishing himself. What was he so scared of anyway?

He licked his lips, trying to swallow. The thirst grew from uncomfortable to a constant gnaw, nearly unbearable. Everything in him ached for a drink. Brain was rolling like a bowling ball in his head. Eyes squinted as he stood, wobbled. Hand clasped the railing, eased a socked foot down the first step. Second. Easily avoiding the toys, books.

Curiously he peered into the living room. The tv was on, playing on mute. Images flashing of some cheesy, low grade horror film. Bobby was asleep on the couch, Max curled up in the recliner.

Bradley took a moment to wonder if Max preferred the recliner when he slept at his dad's like this. A quick scan showed beer bottles mixed with chip bags and snacks on the coffee table. Untouched. Brad swallowed his smile.

He knew too well that youthful habits died quickly with age.

Max adjusted, leg falling out of the blanket.