i won't get out {alive}: luca

[Di]

The first time the alarm clock goes off at 6:30, muscle memory took over, and Caine practically punches down on the snooze button before the radio host could finish his sentence intelligibly, without even opening his eyes, the talented little bugger he was. That problem temporarily handled, the redhead shoved off his stomach with a wobbly arm, turning away from his clock and towards his poster littered wall with an unceremonious flop. Of course this nonverbal decision would not be accepted so easily for so long. The digital clock, the persistent bastard he had internally nicknamed it, attempted to rouse the sleeping redhead yet again five minutes later, this time with guitar riffs and a steady beat.

“—nna run and hide,
I wanna run and hide.

I do it every time.
You're killin' me now!
And I won't be denied by you;
The animal insi—!”

Before the male singer could scream any further, Caine caved into consciousness, eyes rolling open. He flipped back towards the clock, searching for the black chord before promptly detaching the clock from the outlet with a small yank.

Caine was left with sudden silence; save for his woeful breathing of newfound awareness to what he dreaded the most: the first day of school. Because he’d rather be late than anything, Caine looks over his room for a few seconds. An array of both clean and dirty clothing on his floor decorates the carpeted floor, and an obscene amount of posters litter his wall –quite literally– from ceiling to the floor. He figured he should see how hot the day might be, Caine decides, but he might just feel that way because he recognizes that he’d rather not face the day quite yet.

He clambered onto his knees and pulled the mini-blinds aside to peer outside; only to flinch as his eyes adjusted to the upcoming sunrise. The sun had not yet peeked over the other apartments that obstructed his view of the horizon, but what clouds that occupied the purple sky were a stark orange. Caine pressed his forehead to the window pane with his eyes closed, trying to feel for the weather. Hs nose crinkled when he discovered the glass was disgustingly warmer.

“Fantastic,” Caine grumbled, before rolling off of his bed and onto his feet with a grunt of effort. Swinging the door open, he trekked down the hall to the bathroom, nearly thrown into the wall as his mom nudged passed him from her bedroom to the kitchen. “Jeez!" Caine exclaimed, making a disbelieving, amused sound. “You walk just like you drive! Maybe you should just carry your steering wheel with you. At least then you can honk so I’ll be forewarned of incoming traffic,” he suggested with a smirk as he shifted into the small bathroom.

“Smart ass!” Aubrey McCauley called, earning another snort from her son as he went to brushing his teeth. The chore became a half-hearted action as he looked himself over in the mirror with his ice blue irises. He gained an obtuse amount of freckles over the expanse of his pale skin, the summer sun to blame. His short red tresses were still damp from last night’s shower, limp against his forehead. With his free hand, Caine grabbed a comb and ran it through a couple of times before jerking his head to move his hair just that way before spitting into the sink.

Trailing back to his room, Caine grabbed a pair of gray jeans, shimming into them without much thought that his hips could rival the flexibility of most girls. He then shoved his head through a white long sleeved tee, shoving the sleeves to his elbows before settling with some graphic shirt. As he was toeing on his black sneakers, his mom barged in (manners weren't a necessity considering it was only them), dressed and made up professionally, but her curly bob was a messy fire on her head.

“Love you,” She muttered, pecking his cheek and dashing back out as he muttered “You too.”

“Have a good first day!” She yelled, the slam of the door a reminder that maybe he should hurry as well. Caine sped about the room, stuffing miscellaneous items for the sake of stuffing his backpack (yes, he did have the essentials for school considering his mom’s bitching the day before, but it was a comfort to feel like he wasn’t forgetting anything).

He made as his mother had and hurried down the hall towards the door. And although despite the fact that for a single parent, Ms. McCauley was doing pretty well with her job, Caine was left with his trusty mountain bike. It was no trouble, really: the distance between the apartment complex and the school was roughly fifteen minutes. His only hope was that that by the time those fifteen minutes he had gotten to school, the first bell would ring, and he wouldn’t have to deal with them.

Locking the door behind him, Caine lifted his bike as he stormed down the metal stairs before mounting his bike and pedaling towards The Hell That Came With His Own Locker, a blank frown gracing his lips.

There were many reasons as to why one might not enjoy returning to high school. For some, it was a matter of summer homework and the decision to ignore it. Other students were most likely freshmen who weren’t ready to be tossed from that pond they call middle school into a shark tank. For Caine, it came with the fact that he was just born as an easy target for those stereotypical Neanderthals called jocks. It might be his wild red hair, or his freckles, his slim and frail stature, or the fact that when it came down to it, he preferred men.

Yet, although all of these characteristics could be the reason as to why each day he had to look around every corner to ensure he wasn’t about to get jumped, the primary reason would have to be his talent: cooking. With the accomplishment of being the star pupil of home economics with the chance to hopefully attend culinary school, came the consequence of involuntary dumpster dives or slushie facials.

This endless cycle of vicious rituals that were performed publicly is what demoted him to pretty much loser status. And being outcasted from the entire student population, save for a few close friends, is what prevented him from coming into contact with the one guy he’s been pining over since, well damn, the seventh grade: Luca Lovell. Just hearing his name alone made his stomach drop pleasantly. It didn't take much at the cusp of puberty: a few compliments, some long, heated glances, and some accidental touches that lingered a little too long to be just friendly and he was a goner. However, he knew that Luca was untouchable to the likes of him. Guys found him cool, girls found him hot, depending on what he wanted from them, his friends would walk through fire for him; how things always went his way. Someone with that kind of status was way out of his league. Unfortunately, neither Caine’s heart nor head seemed to grasp that concept. However, maybe he just stayed as invisible as he was and pointedly avoided him and focused on getting out of RHS and finally make a life of his own that wasn’t sufferable. Maybe then he would grow old of Luca and rid himself of heartache.

Caine perked up as he noticed the intricate brick building that towered over the parking lot. He bobbed and weaved between the mass of students, slowing to a stop as he dismounted his bike. His fingers felt jittery as he reached for his bike chain, trying to connect his front tire with the rack. To say that Caine was nervous was an understatement. He could feel his insides trying to crawl out of his body. His nervousness was only growing the longer he lingered outside. The longer he stayed outside, the high probability he had of being spotted as easy pickings for bullies.

Unbeknownst to him, a stream of boys in letterman jackets thrown over identical body builds flocked from the parking lot as Caine stood standing at the foot of the front steps, staring up at the front entrance and reading REGINA HIGH SCHOOL that was etched into stone over the big double doors of the administration building. No one was giving him a second glance; they were aware of the threat that was coming. It was best not to interfere once the jocks had locked onto a target.

“Hey Ginger!” Caine started, but it only took a second or two before remembering that select few who called him by that name as well as a few other, more degrading ones. Clenching his eyes shut, the redhead slowly turned to face his fate. The boys’ leers darkened as their smirks stretched over their meaty faces. Caine blanched. “Don’t tell me you forgot about us, did you?” Mayberry, the quarterback and leader of the pack of idiots, jeered.

Caine bit the inside of his lip. For some odd reason, he had a tendency to put his foot in his mouth in the worst situations. It’s what usually ended in the dumpster dives or a brand new shiner. And while he promised he would just keep his mouth shut and get the daily harassment over with, this time seemed no different from the others as he drawled, “Mayberry. I never forget a face. Unfortunately, yours is no exception.”

Mayberry went on without notice to his insult. “How’s your Easy Bake Oven coming along, pansy?” Caine suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Mayberry then spat at his feet. “God, make me sick, you freaking fruit. You couldn’t even pay me to eat that shit you make.”

While his lackeys snickered at what Caine figured was an insult, he shrugged indifferently. “That’s okay. I’m against testing on animals anyway.”

Caine then chanced a glance back at the jocks, noticing that all of them were eerily silent. Their skin was red from their hairline to their necks as their jaws tightened. Caine stared at the lot for a second, before muttering a profound, “Crap,” and pivoting on his heel to run like hell. But before his heel could even touch the ground, he was yanked back by his arms. Mayberry had been the one to pull him back, while Daniels and Gutierrez struggled to grab each leg separately as he kicked and squirmed violently. When they finally managed a firm grip over his calves, Caine felt the group moving towards the side of the building.

When they reached the faded yellow metal of the twenty foot bin, Mayberry jerked his head. Caine couldn’t see, but he heard the undeniable screech of the rust lid. “One,” Caine tensed as he was rocked to and fro, like a swing, “two,” Caine clenched his eyes shut, “three!” The collective grunts were drowned out by his gasp as he was lifted over the edge, gravity bringing him down hard. Luckily there was enough trash to break his fall. Outside, he could hear the jocks laughing and clenched his hands over his ears as they began to kick mercilessly against the metal frame, the sound reverberating to his very core. By the time he looked up, Mayberry was snarling something down at him as someone closed the lid, before moving out of the way just in time so Caine was left in the darkness, and a hollow feeling in his chest that things haven’t changed at all:

“Welcome back, pansy.”

[ollie]

CAUTION: obscenities!
note: i assumed caine would have passed out. no air and all that.

luca lounges, relaxing against a wall. “hey, luca,” a girl purrs, and he dismissively raises his hand in acknowledgement. truly, he lives his life in the limelight, but there is an overall calmness, a disinterest in the whole scene. partying had never been his thing; while he loves sex, and he loves the human body (male and female, though the former was much harder to find among the community), he hardly cares about the entity of it all. looking out the cafeteria window, having just gone to lunch, he finds himself looking at the skulking cavemen of the high school scene. “i heard mayberry threw some ginger into the dumpster before first period. it’s fifth now.” one of the boys nearby snickers. luca isn’t friends with him; just a wannabe onlooker, too rude to even attempt to join in with the group of luca’s friends.

“a ginger? y’mean caine mccarthy?” luca asks, eyes narrowing. they’d done it again? when did they ever stop this—and why did they always have to stalk around their victims like guarding prey? the boy that had said it nods, and with a glance at his friends, they all turn and leave, walking across the pavement towards the half-wit jocks. the boy scrambles after him, but he hears him exclaim as a boy—probably andrew cate—pushes him back. luca, with easy confidence he’d had since his childhood, goes straight to mayberry. “where the hell’d you put him, mayberry?” he spits, glancing around. the quarterback looks shocked—probably didn’t know caring could make you popular.

“er, in there. but don’t get him! i don’t want to have to redo—”

“like hell am i letting you redo anything, you damn dick. open the damn dumpster.” he gestures towards the dumpster, but mayberry stares at him, either not getting it or refusing. “now!” he exclaims, shoving mayberry hard. he stumbles, straightens, and with a bruised ego dusts himself off and waves to his friends. they all stalk over, reluctantly pushing the lid up. once they prop it up so it won’t fall, luca grabs mayberry by the arm, somewhat throwing him towards the cafeteria. he hits the ground, rolls, and scrambles up to run.

luca’s friends move closer, and he nods up towards the dumpster. “c’mon, let’s get the poor kid out,” he sighs, and they climb up, all taking a limb of caine’s and pulling him out of the garbage. “shit, he passed out. fucking idiot. is there any damn oxygen in there?” he mutters, and nods towards andrew. “we’ll put him in the van. i’ll stick with him to make sure he’s okay.” he says. carefully, they all carry him towards the van, andrew opening it for the rest of them, and set him down. climbing in and taking a seat next to him, he props his head up with a pillow (yes, of course he has pillows in there) before leaning against the inside wall of the van.

caine mccarthy is a… touchy subject. luca is bi, sure, and has enforced his manliness many a time when confronted by other boys, but caine wasn’t something about sex and flirting. caine is sweet, vulnerable—even if he feels that the feelings could be reciprocated. but still, the fact that he is just lying there, so beautiful and at his disposal… luca licks his lips, trying to feel less and less like a perverted stalker at a party. he swallows hard, rubbing his face, before nudging caine’s side. “wake up. dammit, you’re scaring the shit out of me.” he hisses, honestly panicked. his attraction to caine has always befuddled him; the feeling of desire in the pit of his stomach, that burning sensation whenever his hand brushed caine’s own, even the fact that his freckles aren’t appalling; it all makes it so obvious, how much he likes him, how long he has. since eighth grade, caine has appealed to him, his red hair unmatched in every dream, every fantasy. and there have been many.

“i promise you that you will be mine. and i’ll kick mayberry’s ass so hard it meets his damn neanderthal chin.” he sighs, running his hands through caine’s hair. it felt the way he’d expected it to; just right.

[Di]

WARNING: yeah, there's some swear words all up in here. including the F-bomb. sooo, if you get offended, i'm sorry. teenagers just have such filthy mouths. /wink
note: fff, yeah. sorry to make you guess about the dumpster thing. /dumbass
oh, and you might want to change caine's name in your post to mccauley instead of mccarthy. heh. P:

Despite the fact that Caine had accepted that being bullied meant being trapped within the dumpsters for the better half of his three years of high school, didn’t necessarily mean he had adjusted to it. The stench of ripe leftovers from the day’s lunch —the curdling fat-free milk combined with the stale lettuce leaves and the feculent mystery meat— was barely enough to bear. But the combination of rancid gruel and the dust and mildew previously swept from the campus by janitors the day before now festered within the metal container under the summer sun. The garbage concocted a gas so noxious that flooded Caine’s lungs, and without any circulation of air within the darkness of the trash bin, it was within minutes before he could no longer bear the smell, and passed out.

It was the change in smell that began to rouse him back to consciousness. Instead of the repulsing stench of expired dairy products, Caine breathed in the smell of air freshener, coffee, and something that could have been marijuana. In the distance, Caine could hear the faint rumbling of a calm voice, soft on his ears. I guess it was just a nightmare, he thought drowsily. Maybe I’m sick. That would explain how vivid it was. Mom must’ve taken the day off.

Finally relenting under the pressure against his side, Caine groaned softly as he shifted into slight consciousness, his eyebrows furrowing before relaxing as he felt fingers comb through his hair. Tilting his head towards the hand, Caine murmured, "Hm… don't stop please," his voice was slightly hoarse. Normally, he would’ve proceeded to freak out shamelessly at any unwanted touch. But Caine was still under the impression that his mom was responsible for petting his scalp. It was his mother who had found that spot in the first place, the spot that reduced him to that defenseless child he once was, and it never failed her to this day. So, he was quite content with where he was, his head nestling into his mother’s palm in hopes that she’d continue. It was warm and Caine was away from school, which was fine by him. Even if it meant that he had to suffer a head cold or whatever bug he had luckily managed to catch.

However, the day was persistent, and soon the heat warmed his skin to the point of being uncomfortable, goose pimples raising the hairs on his arms to attention. Sunlight tickled his eyelashes, warming his lids until he was forced to open them. His vision was suddenly tackled by a bright expanse of violets and greens, all the blood rushing to his head. Groaning, Caine tried opening and closing his eyes a few more times to blink out the vertigo, rubbing his eyes for good measure and shifting onto his elbows.

Everything is post-sleep fuzzy: his mouth, his eyes, and his head. He moved slowly in fear that another wave of vertigo might make him nauseous. Through his lashes, he spotted a figure sitting beside him, and tilted his head. “Mom?” He asked softly, leaning forward as though that would help clear his vision. Imagine his surprise, and utter horror, when he discovered that it wasn’t Ms. McCauley that greeted him, but Luca Lovell. Luca Freaking Lovell.

“Shit!” Caine shouted, his spine nearly snapped as he sat up with the speed he was unaware he possessed. Now fully awake, Caine gazed wide-eyed at his epic crush. Even after Caine had broken the record for the longest eye contact maintained to the point of disturbing, he kept looking at Luca, suddenly not caring about being caught staring, but the fact that the man of his desires was in the same vicinity of him, had been the one who touched his hair— acknowledging that fact might have inflicted an aneurism as he absorbed so much information.

When he finally realized that hey, staring might be freaking Luca out, Caine tore his eyes from Luca’s perfect face. Instead, looked he everywhere but him, and for a moment he didn't know where he was. By the mattress he was sitting on, it was hard to figure, but when he glanced to the front and noticed the steering wheel, Caine blanched as he found out that, oh dear God in heaven, I’m in Luca’s vain. Luca’s fucking van!

Braving the creeped out expression that Luca might’ve been sporting, Caine hesitantly glanced at Luca curiously. “Uh…” Okay, perhaps not the most articulate response he could muster. Clearing his throat, Caine tried again. “What, um—hi.” The urge to slap his forehead from his own idiocy was tempting at the moment, Caine settled for rolling his eyes at himself. Nonetheless, third time’s the charm. Huffing out a nervous laugh, Caine bit his lip before finally asking, “Wh—Luca… What… what happened?”