Mumble

By therealmystique

7.1K 736 1.8K

Meet Ozzie Blue, a nineteen year old with way too many problems for his age. Anxiety. Paranoia. Depression. T... More

Author's Note
Prologue
P A R T O N E: The Murder
V I S I T I N G ②⓪①③ -[The Seventeenth Birthday]
②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R [1]
𝟚𝟘𝟙𝟘 V I S I T I N G : [The Fourteenth Birthday]
②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R [2]
V I S I T I N G : ②⓪①③ [Tomorrow]
②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R [3]
V I S I T I N G : ②⓪①③ [Limits]
②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R [4]
V I S I T I N G : ②⓪①③ [So You Say You Wanna Know]
②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R [5]
V I S I T I N G : ②⓪①③ [Hypnosis]
②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R [6]
V I S I T I N G : [Meeting Dr. Nelson]
②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R [7]
P A R T T W O: The After
②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R [8]
②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R [9]
②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R : [1 0]
②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R [1 1]
②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R : [1 2]
②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R : [1 3]
②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R : [1 4]
P A R T T H R E E : H A L E Y
②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R : [1 5]
②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R : [1 6]
②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R : [1 7]
②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R : [1 8]

②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R : [1 9]

79 6 2
By therealmystique


19.

"If I'm going to be helping you somehow," Clint mused aloud as he began pacing across the plush carpet with shorter and faster strides. There was a tumbler of alcohol in the loose handed grip of his right hand, "I suppose I should get a better idea of what exactly it is you're looking for," he tapped the glass against his forehead before bringing it back down to his lips and letting out a resigned sigh as the dredges drained from it, "but you don't know what that is in the first place do you?" He stopped mid-step, raising a brow in Ozzie's direction.

Ozzie jerked in his seat and slowly shook his head, "not really," he said with a wince.

As embarrassing as it was, he hadn't really come up with a plan. Well, he had his list, the mental one he'd put together earlier, but that hadn't gone so far as to lay out the specifics and subtexts of what to do in the event of Clint agreeing to help him. It had been a shot in the dark and now that it was all sort of paying off he was traveling blind. The fact he was stumped really wasn't all that surprising. The entire night had been one long impulsive streak of debatably bad decisions paved in the wake of debatably good intentions. Ozzie tried leaning back on the couch in yet another attempt at getting comfortable. It didn't work, almost like even the furniture wanted him to know what a dumbass he was, "I...don't really know what 'm doing," he mumbled.

Clint rolled his eyes. "Clearly," he drawled. Ozzie flinched in his seat and Clint rolled his eyes again. He ran his pointer finger against the rim of the now empty tumbler with a frown. "Why did I agree to this? Maybe I should get some sleep. I'm clearly losing my mind—Or developing a conscience. Ugh." He shivered, gagging like he'd tasted something foul.

In that moment, Ozzie couldn't help but think that Clint was like a lion in its den stalking an unsuspecting sheep, lean, calculating and always calling the shots. Ozzie kept his expression carefully blank. Dry and unaffected. Everything's normal. Nothing to see here. I'm not regretting this at all. This all hinged on Clint's continued benevolence and they both knew it. Maybe it would amount to something. Maybe nothing. Hopefully it wouldn't be a mistake.

Ozzie said nothing. He watched. He waited.

Even if he does give you something useful, the vindictive voice in the back of his head whispered, you know the moment you leave he'll just call James. And that's only if you get lucky.

Shut up, he shot back. 'S'not like I have a choice. Not like 'm gonna be 'Most Popular Teen of the Year'.

Fuck that. You're just making excuses. Ignore it like a normal person would, throw away that fucking rock and. Move. The. Fuck. On. Haley's not your problem. A dream doesn't mean anything but that you're going fucking crazy.

Ozzie shoved that thought aside. Caged it. Buried it in a grave in the darkest corner of his mind and threw away the key.

Instead, he brought his attention back to Clint. It was better to focus on the currently pacing short-stack than be stuck in his own mutinous thoughts. At worst, Ozzie knew he'd get nothing at all out of the other man and Clint would get over his (rational) fear of Toni and call her anyway. And that was still assuming she hadn't realized he'd up and disappeared yet. Which was—well—saying 'unlikely' would be an understatement.

Ozzie needed this to work if for no other reason than to make sure the ensuing shitstorm was worth it.

"Ugh," Clint groaned from his place by the window. There were two in the room, large and opening out into a view of the pool that took up most of the backyard. It glowed a faint blue, reflecting the light of the moon and the lights that illuminated it from under the surface, "what is taking Courtney so long? And you," he snapped his fingers at Ozzie, "think of what you want. And try to keep it at least mostly legal. I'd prefer this...favor...not costing me any more."

"Mostly?" Ozzie furrowed his brow.

Clint spared him half a glance, and scoffed, "Oh don't act so surprised, Ozzie! You've seen me pop Adderall's like they're fucking candy and snort enough coke to down a damn elephant. You're not so innocent in this either, you fucking helped." And you liked it. He hissed. "You can't fucking say shit."

That wasn't even the fucking point! Ozzie wanted to yell. He glared instead. Was this what all of this was about? The reason why Clint hadn't stopped pacing around Ozzie since he'd asked for his help? Why he was even bitchier than normal? Because once upon a time Ozzie had been fucked in the head—well more fucked in the head—and they'd gotten shitfaced together a few times? Well, fuck you. "I didn't come here to talk about drugs, Clint," he grit out, I'm not gonna say shit! "what the fuck do'ya think I'd want that'd be illegal?!"

"Aye, there's the rub," Clint spread his arms. "I don't know, Einstein. But you came to me," he growled, "You didn't call James. You didn't tell Toni. You didn't ask fucking Siri. You came to me and you know exactly what I can get away with."

E-ver-y-thing.

"I'm not an idiot, Oz," Clint continued, spitting Ozzie's name back like an insult. "You came to me for one of two reasons," He prowled into Ozzie's space and jabbed a finger into Ozzie's chest, wrinkling the fabric of his shirt. "Either what you want is something you can't get without pulling some strings or it's something you think you'll have to," he laughed without humor, "I don't fucking care which, but drop the fucking act and stop acting coy. It's not cute," he jabbed Ozzie's chest again, "it's not cuddly," and again, "and it sure as hell's not going to do you any favors so. Just," he went to jab Ozzie a fourth time, "admit—"

"I didn't tell James," Ozzie said, the 'despite everything' went unsaid. But like an anvil it weighed down his words. His breathing came out harsh through his nose. His tone was deceptively even, but his fists shook where they sat in his lap. He pushed Clint's finger aside with as much deliberation as he could, "but I will." Clint's eyes widened, his jaw snapping shut, and Ozzie met his surprised gaze head on, honey gold meeting hazel, for once unafraid. There was a phantom echo, beating counter to the rhythm in his chest B-bmp-b-bmp-bmp! B-bmp-b-bmp! B-bmp-b-bmp-bmp! It gave him the courage to finish, "don't make me."

Clint reared back like he'd been struck, stumbling back a step. He whirled around, jittery steps taking him back to the minibar. "I need a fucking drink," he intoned shakily.

"This's 'bout Haley, Clint," Ozzie sighed, resting his head in the palm of his hand. He ran his fingers through his grimy locks, "'M not trying to blackmail you." I'm not trying to hurt you. Stop worrying about you and me. Stop worrying about James. Just...stop.

And yet.

You can't say you're not using him, Ozzie, that dark voice teased, the little devil on his shoulder, an insidious thought that curled through his mind like poison, Clint's right to be wary, you know. Acting coy doesn't stop you from being a fucking snake.

"'M not," he brought his other hand up to rub over his face.

Clint tossed back a shot. "Uh-huh," he made a face then pushed the glass aside, drinking straight from the bottle instead, "so I'm just being paranoid? Is that it?" He scoffed and took another swing, "Sure."

"Clint."

He slammed the bottle back on the counter. He shook his head and looked over his shoulder, fixing Ozzie with a tired gaze. Clint's face seemed drawn in, the circles under his eyes standing out like bruises. "Just tell me what you want."

What do you want?

Ozzie took another breath. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Rinse. Repeat. Once. Twice. Thrice. "Can you get an address?"

Clint blinked. "That's it?"

"I mean—"

"Jesus, a fucking address," Clint braced both hands on the counter, "yeah, I can get a fucking address," he waved a hand dismissively, "that's child's play. I could just use google. Why didn't you?"

I woke up from a seance a dead girl and decided to almost kill myself by climbing out my bedroom window. This hasn't been a night of good decisions.

"Didn't come to mind," Ozzie said mildly.

"Uh-huh, well—" At that moment Courtney arrived, sporting a fresh new white blazer free of 'blood' stains, a pair of folded pants under the crook of her arm and another masked servant behind her. "Perfect," Clint droned, "how kind of you both to join us. You're just in time to take Ozzie to one of the guest rooms."

Wait. What?

"I didn't—" Ozzie began.

"Apologies, Clint. Alexios was..." Courtney's face titled towards Ozzie and though he couldn't be 100% sure what with the mask, he was almost positive she was giving him a look, "indisposed of when I came to retrieve him."

Clint pursed his lips, "well that couldn't be helped," he clicked his tongue, curling a finger towards himself, "come here and help me into those pants, Courtney."

"Wish You Could Fuck Me But I'm Ace AF as requested."

He hummed in appreciation. "You're always on task. It's refreshing."

"I was born this way."

"Uhm," Ozzie interjected, "'M spending the night?"

Clint rolled his eyes, "Yes—thank you Courtney—because I can't be bothered to google anything right now. You'll have to wait for the sun to rise just like any normal person would and I'm going to get some sleep," He groaned and rubbed his temples, "God, I'm gonna have such a fucking hangover."

He snapped his fingers, "Alexios," Clint said, and the man in question straightened to attention. He was dressed similarly to Courtney, a pure white suit, black mask over the face, black gloves and black shoes, "show Ozzie to his room, if you'd please."

Alexios cleared his throat. "Which one," he asked. His voice was gruff and lightly tinged with an accent Ozzie couldn't place.

"Any of them, I don't care, just get him out of my sight."

"Of course, Clint," He turned to Ozzie and bowed slightly, "if you'd follow me, sir."

Ozzie bit his lip, but stood with a nod, "yeah. Right. Sure," he mumbled.

Alexios turned crisply on his heel and began striding out of the room. He moved quickly, crossing the length of it in what felt like half the time it should. Ozzie blinked and ran a hand through his hair, the bracelet on his wrist dropping to the middle of his forearm. He guessed he could use a bed right now. Heck maybe this time he'd even get some sleep. Ozzie scoffed. Even in his head that sounded like sarcasm. He followed.

Alexios didn't make much in the way of conversation, Ozzie noted as they left Clint and Courtney to their own devices. It was appreciated, but he didn't know if that was because the other man was generally inclined towards silence or because he felt that Ozzie himself wasn't up for talking. It didn't really matter, he supposed. For all he knew it might even have been a propriety thing. Neither Courtney nor Alexios had seemed to talk much unless Clint had been directly addressing them, or in Courtney's case to subtly reign him in.

The two walked for a few minutes, retracing the steps Ozzie had made earlier until they reached the main atrium once again. From there, Alexios led him up, climbing the winding staircase up to the second floor and taking him straight down the hall. The floors were wood up here, with evenly separated doors of carved oak. 

"This will be your room," Alexios said, stopping in front of one with an interlocking design of vines. He pushed it open with a gloved hand. Ozzie peeked from around his broad shoulders. The room was simple and very square with a few square mirrors on the adjacent wall and a couple of those weird cube shaped things Ozzie could never decide between being  a very low seats or foot rests. It was tastefully modern, though, full of monochromatic colors of black, whites and grays. Not as decadent as he'd expected. He wondered how Alexios had picked it, "there is a restroom behind the door over there," Alexios pointed to the sole one in the right hand corner, "it is stocked with basic amenities: soap, toothbrush, paste, towels," he continued, "and the one perpendicular to it is a basic walk in closet. You'll find a bathrobe hanging there." He moved out the way and Ozzie took a few tentative steps inside the room.

"If you leave your clothes out I'll have them washed for you before you leave."

Ozzie nodded, fiddling with the hem of his still damp sweats. "Thanks."

"Of course," came the diplomatic reply, "now, if that is all...?"

Ozzie nodded again. He was doing a lot of that tonight. It was making him feel like a bobble-head. 

"Very good then," Alexios gave a stiff bow, "I will leave you to your rest." He shut the door.

"So," Ozzie mumbled with a sigh, "bed." He scratched the back of his head and stripped down to his briefs. He didn't know where to put his clothes so he just put them in a pile by the foot of the bed. He figured that'd be good enough for a night. A yawn crawled out of his throat and he stretched, cracking his back as he padded around towards the head of the mattress.

Sleep.

He collapsed onto the bed and closed his eyes.

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