Cinnamon Muffins Chapter 22: Decorate Yourself in Violence, It Might Help
Spoiler: we begin to peel the onion :) layer :) by :) layer :)
Hello! Y’all we are in the final stretch!! Last seven chapters!! Last two weeks!! Here’s your reminder that you can support my ability to elope with my online lover to Portugal and write with sweet little treats by pressing this cute lil button:
Other than that, let’s see what our little disasters are up to <3
"I'm gonna go open the shop soon," Wes says when he's finishing his second scone, sipping some of Todd's ridiculously rich, organic, ethically-sourced tea made with care by a Keurig machine.
Todd, Dalton, Collin, and Jaxson all look at each other like who's gonna say it, but, of course, Taylor beats them all to it with a sharp, "No."
"Wha— why!?"
Collin, looking at the floor, says, "Well, yesterday it didn't go so well."
"So?" Wes crosses his arms, which undermines his point because they're decorated in bandaids that cover the roadrash from being shoved to the ground yesterday.
"No, Wes." Taylor's head is still resting on the granite countertop. He hasn't lifted it since he set it there earlier, when he admitted his nightmare.
Wes twitches and grumbles but can't come up with an answer before Dalton says, "Can we talk about how it's literally been one thing after another every day for, like, the past week!?" He laughs, but it's thin and his hands are shaking. "I'm a little nervous letting anyone go anywhere by themselves."
Surprisingly, it's Jaxson who agrees first. "Not gonna lie, same. It feels like every time someone goes off by themselves it goes fucking sideways." Collin pushes into Jaxson's shoulder, a comfort for both of them.
"I can't say I disagree," Todd says, "and I've got enough room for everyone to stay here until…" he pauses, looking around the room as if his friends might have answers. "Until we stop being fucking disasters, I guess," is what he ends up saying.
"I'd need to go home and grab some clothes," Dalton says, "but the neverending sleepover sounds absolutely fucking ideal, Toddster. You're a smart guy."
"Someone has to keep you from running headfirst into walls," Todd replies.
Jaxson says, "I gotta go check on Juniper-Maisie. And Collin—" he looks at Collin. He really looks. He looks for so long that everyone else looks too, and wonders. "Collin, how're you gonna—?"
"Jax, please, don't," Collin whispers. "I can't…" he doesn't seem to realize everyone can hear him when he says, "I can't go home, Jax. I can't— they'll—"
Jaxson is quick to say, "Okay." He busies his fingers petting Collin' hair, even if his eyes are wide and panicked as he looks around the room, begging for help. Even Taylor has lifted his head off the granite.
"Collin," Taylor says, "it's okay." The way he looks at Collin is a look that only they can understand. His dazed, groggy expression goes flinty and he says, "We're not gonna let anything happen to you." Which is absolutely the furthest thing from what anybody expected to come out of Taylor's mouth.
Taylor is thinking about how Collin helped him up off the floor last week when Freddy Peters knocked him flat. It’s so rare that anyone helps him up after anything.
Collin, in his trusting way, takes in Taylor's face: the bruises that are yellowing at the edges and the knuckles still wrapped in bandages, the hardened break in his nose that's been crooked as long as anybody can remember (even though Dalton and Todd know his nose was straight when they met in kindergarten). Collin, in his trusting way, believes Taylor.
Jaxson, with a slight nod, thanks Taylor for taking the words out of his mouth. He smiles, fakely, for Collin and says, "Taylor's right, Collin. We've got you. Anybody trying to hurt you would have to get through me and him and they would have to try to get through Wes and Dalton's dumb, burly asses— and Todd would probably have had them thrown in prison for some law they broke when they were six by the time they got through there."
Everyone laughs a little, for each other's benefit, because maybe it will become funny if they pretend it is, even if Todd and Dalton and Wes don't understand what's going on at all.
They still don’t know exactly what happens in the Macready household, or the Dixon and Donahue household for that matter.
"Okay," Todd says, scrabbling for control in a world where he knows he has very little, if any. "Okay, here's what the new plan is." Everyone turns imploring, thankful eyes to Todd, and he continues a little faster. "Nobody goes anywhere alone. Taylor don't even start looking at me like—"
"No, I think that's a good idea," Taylor replies before Todd can get started preemptively defending himself. "Between Collin’s parents and whatever the fuck went on yesterday at the shop, I think it's a good idea not to be alone."
Todd does not correct Taylor to say that he had also meant this to be a preventative measure for anyone deciding they want to, say, go pick a fight with a grown man outside a bar, or lay down in the snow for six hours. He just makes eye contact with Dalton, who blinks his understanding, and continues. "We can stay at my house, if that's okay with everyone?"
Nods all around. "You're house is kinda fucking sick, dude," Jaxson says with a grin. "You sure you're okay with a sleezeball like me getting your sheets dirty?"
Todd gives Jaxson a funny look, rolls his eyes. "You're not a wild animal, Jaxson. You don't have rabies. Just remember to take your shoes off at the door."
Jaxson laughs a little sideways.
"You're so anal about the shoes at the door," Dalton laughs.
"Not me," Todd insists, "my parents. But that's besides the point. Everyone takes their shoes off at the door. Everyone stays here. Everyone will go together to pick up people’s stuff."
"But I still want to open the shop today," Wes says. His eyes bore right into Todd's, the organizer of this new plan.
Taylor grumbles and sets his head back down on the granite countertop.
"Why are you so dead-set on opening the shop?" Dalton asks, instead of negating him like Todd can tell he wants to. They all want to. They all want to wrap Wes in blankets again, like they did on Saturday and protect him by keeping him with them, surrounded by them. It would be easier.
Wes immediately breaks eye contact and studies his fidgeting fingers. "I—" He struggles for an answer. "I want the extra money," he eventually settles on.
It's a weird answer, but Wes refuses to go any further. He's set on it, and that's that.
Taylor grumbles a few times into his arm, and that's the only noise in the room. Todd feels a little well of panic behind his throat. Jaxson is still running his hands through Collin' hair, trying to keep him calm; Wes is biting his lip and making fleeting, nervous eye contact with Todd and Dalton in turn trying to defend his choice; Todd and Dalton are looking at each other for answers, for reassurance. They're already in such precarious stasis, such careful safety.
"Fuck it," Taylor grumbles, just a bit louder than his other grumbling. "Wes, what's your parents' phone number?"
"What?" Wes looks sharply at Taylor, who has not lifted his head yet, "Why?"
"I'm gonna beg 'em to give me a job, I guess."
"Wha—!?” Wes squeaks. “A-at the shop!?"
"Yeah." Taylor pushes his face so far into his arms that his hat starts to slide off. "If you're going to open the shop, I'm coming with you. I'd feel dumb as shit just sitting around though. And you need help there anyway."
"I d-do not need help."
Taylor finally peeks up at Wes, ignoring everyone else in the room, to say, "Wes, you can do it alone, but that doesn't mean you should or that you have to." It’s kind and true and hilariously, obliviously ironic.
"Taylor's right, Wes," Dalton says, trying for one problem at a time.
Jaxson interrupts, "Can we all acknowledge, for posterity, that Taylor Macready, the pot, has just looked Wes Post, the kettle, in the eyes? Taylor, you heard yourself say that, right?"
"Shut the fuck up, Dixon."
"No judgement, Tayby Baby, just checking your self-awareness." Jaxson laughs in the space where the shadows of their little sisters sit, still burying their one Ken doll in the dirt. "I think we can call this character development."
Todd goes with Dalton to pick some stuff up from Dalton's house. Collin goes with Jaxson to pick some stuff up from Jaxson's house. Taylor goes with Wes to open the shop.
"You really don't have to do this, Taylor."
"I'm already here," Taylor says, "And I'm not leaving without you unless I'm chasing the assholes that did this with a fucking bat."
Wes gives Taylor a glare, like no you will not be getting into any more fights I don't care what the reason. Taylor shrugs, flips Wes off venomlessly. "What am I doing first?" he asks.
"First, you're changing," Wes says. "Todd was right, you really do need new clothes—"
"Shut the fuck up about my clothes."
"But we have a uniform anyway. Come're, we keep extras in the back." Taylor pauses in the doorway of the stockroom, glaring. "Don't be like that, it's just a t-shirt," Wes says, rolling his eyes. "I've gotta change into one too. The one from yesterday is…" Wes trails off, biting his lip and twitching. "It's dirty."
"Wes, you—"
"Here's a t-shirt, tell me if it's the wrong size," Wes interrupts, shoving a random t-shirt at Taylor and turning to let him change.
It's the right size, and Taylor, anxiously starts to shimmy out of his flannel and into the green Post Family Coffee t-shirt.
"Hey, Taylor—" Wes starts, turning to face Taylor maybe half-second before it would have been safe to do so. As it stands, Wes pauses mid-sentence because he has seen Taylor's torso for the instant it took for Taylor to yank the shirt down.
Ordinarily, this would be exciting, maybe even a little thrilling. Seeing your boyfriend's abs or waistline, or even just more exposed skin than normal, would send chills up anyone's spine! But not today, because Wes had been too distracted by the patchwork mess of bruising all over Taylor's stomach to think about muscles or curves or skin or anything like that.
It actually takes Wes a second to remember that yesterday evening, with the homophobes, had happened to Wes himself, and not Taylor. He panics and questions his own memory, his own bruises, for a few seconds before remembering that Taylor had gone and picked a fight Wednesday night for no reason. When, in the absence of meds, that seems too flimsy of an excuse, Wes acknowledges the stretch of the bandaids on his forearms, the ache of the bruises on his ribs, the yellow he had seen edging around Taylor's bruises.
"T-T-Taylor w-wha-w-why—"
"Wes, it's fine. Don't freak out."
"How a-am I s-s-supposed t-to—"
"Hey, don't— I'm sorry." Taylor seems panicked too. He straightens the stiff edges of the shirt over his shoulders and opens his arms. "C'mere, um, babe."
Wes accepts the hug, wrapping his arms all the way around Taylor to remind himself that Taylor is still here, still okay. It takes him a second to realize that Taylor had called him "babe." Another second to realize that Taylor's neck is red-hot with embarrassment from it. Wes giggles.
"You called me 'babe.'"
Taylor grumbles inaudibly in response. When Wes is a little calmer, Taylor says, "See, I'm fine."
"You're not fine," Wes replies.
"Yes, I am. I can barely feel it."
"Do you think I'm stupid?"
"What?"
"Taylor, I'll bet if we pulled up my shirt it w-would look exactly the same. And it does hurt. A lot. It's fucking s-scary when someone has you on the ground.” He puts a large, forceful effort into not dwelling on that, on how he had wondered if he should pretend to be dead or if the things they would have done to a corpse would be worse. But he won’t think about that now, while he’s safe. “D-don't try to tell me you're fine when you're not. I care about you too much for you t-to lie to me about that."
Taylor doesn't answer for a long time, but his fists tighten around handfuls of the sweater Wes is still borrowing from Todd. "I care about you too," he finally whispers.
Wes smiles into Taylor's hair.
"You want me to show you how to make a hot chocolate before we open?"
As before, the moment Wes flipped the sign to 'Open,' customers started in. Wes and Taylor agreed that Taylor would mostly work the register and Wes would mostly handle food and drinks. They threw some muffins that Wes whipped together insanely quickly and a few batches of cookies from dough stored in the storeroom fridge into the oven before opening, after Wes had made them both hot chocolate under the pretense of showing Taylor how to make it.
The first customer is a man in a suit (nevermind that no business in Swisher requires such strict dress code), and he orders a caramel macchiato with a shot of espresso and he pays with a metal credit card and he doesn't put down his cell phone once the whole time he's in the shop. After that, of course, is a disgruntled group of kids Taylor vaguely recognizes as Juniors from school, and they look hungover as fuck, and they order a complicated mess of drinks and food that Taylor has a hard time getting into the cash register correctly. Then there's a dad ordering for his family for breakfast. Then a mom on a roadtrip with her kid. Then there's fucking Frankie, from school, who looks at both Taylor and Wes with smiling eyes before ordering their coffee like they've never drank coffee before in their life and sitting down at a little cafe table to type at a computer like they're here every day. A few hours later, after Frankie has left, the entire English department (plus Ms. Williams, the psychology teacher, and Ms. Connie, who works in the office) comes through, tipsy at three pm.
"I told you-- I told you!" Ms. Merino-Ott whispers to Taylor, "I told her."
Ms. Alberts slaps her shoulder, "Carolyn, you're drunk."
"You're drunk."
Ms. Connie shoulders to the front. "I'll have an iced vanilla mocha please," she says, breathless and almost desperate.
"Ooh, that sounds good," Mrs. Liu, who Taylor has never had personally but he's heard from Todd she never assigns homework, croons, and asks for the same thing.
Mrs. Hunter blinks at Taylor several times, like she's not sure where she is. "Taylor? Taylor Macready? Since when do you work here?"
"Since today."
Ms. Williams spies Wes over Taylor's shoulder and immediately exclaims. "Wes! What happened to you!?" She turns suspicious eyes at Taylor, and he tries not to take that too personally. It's difficult when she's tacitly accusing him of beating the shit out of his boyfriend.
Wes jumps, a little panicked at seeing his teachers daydrunk in his coffee shop and yelling at him, but he gives a wobbly Customer Service Smile and explains that some thugs came around the coffee shop yesterday evening.
Mrs. Liu giggles and slurs, "Why worry about thugs outside the shop when you've got one working the register with you!" Mrs. Williams laughs a little, but even Ms.Merino-Ott, possibly the drunkest one here, doesn't look at Taylor but at Mrs. Liu.
Wes actually puts down the frappe drink he was making, and he storms up to the counter, and he tells Mrs. Liu, "If you're going to talk that way about Taylor, I'll ask you to leave."
The teachers stare, Mrs. Merino-Ott gaping a little. Ms. Connie raises a pointed eyebrow at Mrs. Liu and Ms. Alberts says, in a very particular tone of voice, "Tamiyoo, why don't you take Petra out to the patio."
For some reason, a lump rises in Taylor's throat while he watches Mrs. Williams lead Mrs. Liu out, laughing to her, "Petra, you can't say that to kids! Especailly not ones we teach! You know, I was reading this study the other day…" Wes watches them go with narrowed eyes, spares a glance for the remaining teachers, and gives Taylor a small, encouraging nudge before going back to finish making his drinks.
Mrs. Hunter pinches the bridge of her nose, blinking soberly, and says, "Taylor, honey, I am so sorry about that. She doesn't mean it. She's been drinking mimosas since ten am."
"But that's still no excuse for saying it," Ms. Connie snips.
Taylor says, "It's fine."
"It's not fine," Ms. Merino-Ott insists, pushing herself right up to the counter. She’s still drunk, and her words slur a little, but she leans over the counter to look Taylor dead in the eyes. "It was mean,” she tells him. “You're not a thug. You're a kid, a good kid."
The lump in Taylor's throat grows to a stinging behind his eyes. He can feel the whole coffee shop staring at him. They’ve gotta be staring. But Taylor has one thing in spades and that's stubbornness, so he clenches his teeth and swallows the lump in his throat. "What can I get for you guys? I have two iced vanilla mochas so far."
This might have been the wrong thing to say, the teachers give him peculiar looks. They order their coffees, some cookies, and a muffin, and pay with a card. Once they have their drinks, they leave with exasperated, embarrassed expressions. Ms. Alberts quickly shoves a twenty-dollar bill into the tip jar before following them out.
Taylor hears Mrs. Hunter groan, "God, that was embarrassing! Petra, what is wrong with you?" before the door of the shop closes.
Wes returns to his side to ask in a whisper, "Do you want to go sit down?"
"I'm fine."
"That was fucked up. You can go sit in the storeroom for a bit—"
"And leave you up here without help?"
Wes giggles, "You forget I worked the shop without help yesterday, and I do it pretty often on weekends too."
"I'm fine, Wes."
Wes sighs. He bites his lip and fidgets nervously for the first time since they started at the shop. "Alright," he says, "we're closing in, like, an hour anyways."
Then another customer comes in and it's back to work. Taylor is glad he's not great at the register yet, because that means it hoards his focus and there's no room left in his brain for words like thug.
we are peeling! this! onion! together! :D
our little idiots are starting to learn how to talk! to each other! did they have to have the shit beat out of them and nearly die to get there? yeaaaaa but progress is progress
as always, scream at me in the comments! nothing brings me more joy!