Survival Of The Fittest

There were implications, for sure. That Lorenzo might’ve been using Diego the same way he’d used others, that it wasn’t entirely clear whether he saved Diego or not for selfish reasons. Maybe Diego understood totally what they might be, maybe he was asking to see if there was a better explanation from Ty.

There was worse, and there was better. It didn’t really feel right to tell Diego how to feel about it, even though he probably could. This person wasn’t standing on a solid foundation, and it almost seemed too easy to push him in one direction or another. It felt familiar.

With a shrug, he offered the best assessment he could.

"I'd say all told saving you was the best thing he did, given the what, four others he killed? He probably thought so too, maybe it made him feel better about the rest. All it says is he thought you were worth saving. I dunno. What do you think it says about you?"

It seemed best to leave the question with Diego, at least so that he’d voice the answer he no doubt already had in his mind.

Diego shook for a few seconds.

What was the point of asking a question if it was just gonna get thrown back at you? His torso vibrated, his fist clenched, unclenched. He didn't want to answer. He'd hoped Ty could answer that himself, somehow, but Ty kept on putting him on the spot again and again.

He tried to answer after a few seconds. Word fragments, orphaned consonants came and went every now and then, explanations, rationalizations interrupting themselves. His eyes wandered. A second become half a minute, the urge to answer became stronger, the air around them compelled him to speak, amost.

Finally, he wiped some blood away from his eyes. It still hurt to look anywhere. But words came out anyways, slow, hesitant.

"I've always thought there was something wrong with me. Every time I looked at... someone, I felt like an intruder. Like, like I was harassing them- him, just by looking. And, like, I know there's a bunch of other people like me on this school, hell, I'm- I was friends with some of them. But, like, when they dated, when they loved, it felt normal, but when I did it, when I desired, it felt wrong. I felt... monstrous."

The last word was spat out. Diego tried to rub away the bits of saliva, he got more blood on his face. It tasted tart, the back of his tongue dried.

"Lorenzo was my last chance. He was my last chance. And, I went for it, because."

His voice wavered on the last word. He stopped for a few seconds.


"I went for it because I didn't want to die alone. Like you said. I finally went for it. And then, it turns out he did that and... they were right." His voice started to crack. "Every bully, every old person who said that we were freaks, that we were monsters, they were right. I fell in- I crushed on one, I became one."

There was that word again. Monster. At first Ty’s expression softened, as he saw much of himself in Diego’s words. The idea of feeling like there was something innately wrong with how he existed out in the world, that he didn’t quite get the way everyone else managed to do it. The difference, he figured, was that Ty was willing to just be himself anyways. They were more alike than he'd imagined, at first.

Sympathy was his first instinct, lasting about as long as it took for Diego to really affirm what his self-hatred meant. The cowardly admission that the bigots must have been right, that the perceived moral failing of homosexuality inevitably led to actions like those Lorenzo had taken.

It was enough for Ty to start seeing pieces of his own past again. Hearing the sound of his father’s favourite insult, calling him a fag for the way he wore his hair, for the bands he liked, for the things he didn’t like. Paradoxically anything other than actually being attracted to men, which he really wasn’t. It hurt all the same.

Some people liked to play at offense and indignation, jumping at the chance to be the first to condemn bigotry. It never failed to seem hollow and fake. Whenever Ty saw it, heard that word in the halls of their school, it just brought him back home. Back to being made lesser for what he was. There was no act, no mask to wear when he tore into those people. Suspensions and split lips were a small price to pay for some catharsis.

He raised an eyebrow, incredulous. Warmth disappeared from his face.

"They weren’t right. You thought you’re a monster for what, liking dudes? Am I hearing you right? How the fuck does that connect to murder, Diego? What, you think rape and murder's exclusive to gay people just because of Lorenzo?"

"No, I-"

Incensed, Ty was unable to hide the self-loathing in his own tirade.

"You know, I hated how everyone just put up with people like that. Assholes who’d step on other people for no reason. I couldn't help but start fights. I hated fake people, weak people too. I was good at making them feel like nothing when I wanted them to. Words, fists, didn't matter. Sometimes there was a good reason, like using the word faggot a little too often. Or I'd just figure they needed to be taken down a peg. Sometimes, I just felt like it. I loved when people hit me and I'd just laugh. Like the pain was better than feeling numb all the time.

"It wasn't, I was just lashing out ‘cause I didn't know what else to do. Positive relationships aren't exactly easy for me.

"And you, what, you think you're a freak? For liking guys?! Nothing bad comes out of that, your feelings don't hurt anyone. Except you, letting the dumbest motherfuckers imaginable talk you into hating yourself. At least you're not like me."

Diego looked down almost instantly when Ty started speaking. Diego had said something wrong, he knew it. He'd been expecting backlash for the entire conversation, but it didn't burn any less when it finally came.

It was an attempt at consolation, he eventually realized. It took him a few seconds to actually process the words, he tended to phase out sometimes when being shouted at. Drowning the words in static made it more bearable.

It was dumb to hate yourself for being gay, Ty was trying to say. And, he was right, probably. Diego knew on some level, perhaps, that being gay wasn't morally wrong. Everything that Diego felt about himself, the disgust, the self-loathing, it never extended to other people that way. That was why he'd been friends with Declyn and Drew. That was what Ty had gotten wrong about him just now.

But, it felt almost demoralizing for Ty to tell him that something that had governed his life for the better half of it was just that: dumb, irrational. That those people he had listened to for so long were dumb, irrational. That Diego himself was dumb and irrational for listening to them. That, ostensibly, he could've let go of the feelings just like that. Diego had prided himself on his scholastic prowess, on being smart, allegedly, yet he hadn't had the wits to just let go of those feelings. It had always been easy, Ty said. He just didn't have the guts to let go of it.

So many years had been wasted.

His eyes felt wet. It was so easy, Ty said, and yet Diego couldn't stop himself from crying. He didn't wipe his eyes. If he didn't acknowledge it, maybe Ty wouldn't notice, he hoped.

"Sorry," he said quietly, almost inaudibly.

Ty took a shuddering breath, forcing the anger and frustration aside. His reaction didn’t help, he could see that. One couldn’t just bully someone into not hating themselves. He held out his hands in an apologetic gesture, though still wary of getting any closer to Diego.

"I... no, don't be.”

It wasn’t lost on him that any physical contact seemed like enough to freak the guy out. It was hard not to feel more than a bit of guilt at the idea that he was the source of someone else’s trauma, something that cut so deep it created a tangible physical response.

Ultimately, he’d either accept himself in the next few days before he died, or he wouldn’t. Surely the words had been spoken to Diego before, he’d heard every argument about why homophobia was an asinine prejudice that didn’t belong in a society with any self-respect. Saying them again wouldn’t make that much of a difference.

Where he knew he could speak with authority was on the ways they’d addressed the world they found themselves in. The strange way that unresolved conflicts within seemed to flare up even when the conflict outside was far more immediate and dire. It didn’t take long for Ty to find another connection - they’d both sought some kind of resolution, in much the same way.

“Look, I think we - I think you and I made the same mistake."

Diego looked back at Ty. The tension in his shoulders lessened slightly.

"What mistake?"

He wanted Lorenzo, he wanted to be Lorenzo. Despite all he'd done, being together seemed to have let Diego accept himself, for a time. Live out a fantasy. What he knew now cast that into doubt.

Ty had wanted Erika. Even still, despite everything she'd done. Stopping her wasn't even really revenge at this point. He didn't want her to hurt anymore. The person that helped him feel like he could accept himself, that he could be better, she was gone. What he knew now cast doubt on whether that future he'd dreamed of ever would've come to pass, or whether he'd always been meant to fall so far.

"Thinking someone else could fix us; thinking that it would still work, here."

Diego turned his attention to the grass, dug his nails into the soil.

"...yeah."

It was a mistake. He had been dumb to expect so much from Lorenzo, of all people.

It had felt nice, though, until it didn't.

The words sounded odd coming from Ty, though. He seemed calm, now. Almost the polar opposite of what he'd been on the pier. And, here he was giving all this advice on accepting yourself and reconciling your mistakes with who you are now, or something like it. It was remarkable, in a sense.

He couldn't fix himself on this island, whatever fixing meant. Not in such a short time span. But, he could make a start. Ty had, apparently. Maybe he could teach a thing or two. Diego looked up at him.

"How did you get past it? Like, the pier, everything you did after. Because, you're not the same person I saw there. How'd you manage it?"

Ty sat back, almost as if the words had physically struck him. It was true, but hearing it out loud felt strange. Almost as if saying so might break the spell, pull him back to where he’d started.

Move past it. I can’t move past it. I’ll always be the guy that told the world what Lorenzo did to Artem. I’ll always be the guy that bit out a girl’s throat for all the world to see. I’ll always be a killer. I’ll always be Erika Stieglitz’s boyfriend. There’s no time for anything else.

He never stopped thinking about it. There were no amends to make. What he was now, was what he should have been from the start. It was the next best thing to dead, a state of being he’d learned he was in no rush to experience. All he’d done was stop denying reality, to correct for flaws in his perception it had taken him years to even identify.

It meant living the way he should, instead of surviving as something he never should have been.

"I'm... I'm not past it."

His long brown hair hung in front of his face as he bowed his head. A few drops of tears landed on the dirt below. Ty muttered, repeating the maxim that had guided him from the noose, to the pier, and away from everything he valued.

"I was fighting. As long as I won, nothing else mattered."

Looking up, he struck an image that couldn’t have matched what Diego saw that day. Absent was the confidence, the arrogance, the brutality.

It didn’t feel like a good explanation. All Tyrell felt he could do was grieve.

"I wanted her to be okay, and she's never gonna be okay. The person I wanted to keep safe is long gone. Like, for a little while I got to know what it was like to really love someone, to want better instead of worse, to feel safe. All my friends are dead, too. I wish I’d let them closer. I wish I’d mattered more to them. If a few more days is all that’s left, I can't just pretend I didn't feel that. I can't pretend to be anything other than what I am. I think - I think when this all started, that was all I knew how to do. That person I tried to become, he failed me."

Diego had said something wrong again. He was gaining a knack for it. But, the words he'd said inspired something other than rage or indignation in Ty. He crumbled, almost. He cried. The man that had inspired so much fear in Diego on day 1 was crying, now. It felt surreal.

Ty hadn't moved past it, like he said. He'd given up. There was nothing to head toward here, no grand answer that Ty could guide him towards. It sucked, to be honest.

Diego had forgotten, for a few moments, that he wasn't the only one hurting. Ty spoke from a position of empathy, he and Diego were on the same team. So, Ty had to be feeling some version of the pain Diego was.

There was a compulsion to offer some words of encouragement, consolation. Give back some of what Ty had attempted to offer him. But Diego was never any good at speaking. He only listened.

"...do you still plan on going home?"

Home?

It was hard to even fathom. Of course he didn’t want to be here. Of course he wanted this bomb off of his neck. What it took to get there seemed so far beyond anything he’d want.

It meant being totally alone, both as a means and an end. Ty didn’t want to think about finding the bodies of the others, or what fate would have to befall Diego for that to happen. As much as it felt like a necessity, he knew he still wasn’t ready to hear Erika’s name on the announcements, much less find and end her.

The path out of here seemed so untenable it was hard to picture what home even looked like, what would even be waiting for him there. Could anyone let him move on, and disappear? Most folks probably thought people like him belonged in some kind of prison; just not this kind.

"...I don't know. I don't like the idea of dying. I'm not sure I really deserve to live, honestly."

If he did make it back, and the world let him move on, he liked the idea of fading into the background. Working somewhere, quietly. Figuring out something to be good at, something that helped. He’d often daydreamed about opening a bar somewhere.

Maybe the notoriety would help.

A smile breaking through drying tears, Ty seemed to linger on the thought for a few moments, idly passing the crowbar from one palm to another. Picking up on one little fantasy, the idea of home didn’t seem quite as remote. He looked back at Diego, and shrugged.

"Already punched my ticket a few times over, though. Maybe I'll just play it by ear. What about you?"

"I..."

Diego let out a shaky breath. He kept his eyes on Ty, away from the stone bench he sat on. He considered, again, bashing his head on its edge, finishing the job he'd started. Doing so until his forehead caved in, until the bone fragments punctured his brain, took away his consciousness. He considered, perhaps, taking Ty's advice, walking five minutes over to the cliffs, past the spot where Lorenzo had saved his life then abandoned him, where Diego had taken a life, the scene of the crime, and jumping off, head-first. It would be more efficient. Just a few seconds of freefall, a few seconds of fear, and then nothing.



And then what?



He wiped blood away from his forehead. More came to replace it, flow rivers through his face after a bit.

"I do, I think. I do plan on going home. Surprisingly enough."

He laughed, hollow.

"Punched my ticket too, so."

The remark hung in the air for a few seconds, uncomfortable.

He could've lied. They both knew what either one of them going home entailed for the other, and he didn't really know what Ty would do with that information. But, again, Diego was transparent. The truth would come out either way, so might as well come out under Diego's own volition. Might as well pretend to have a say in it.

He went on.

"It's just that... dying scares me too much. It scared me when I first saw it, you see. It scared me when you grabbed me, just earlier."

He rubbed a sore spot on his ribs, felt the ghost imprint of arms around his waist. He could still hear Lorenzo. He wouldn't shut up, sometimes.

"I don't know if I deserve it the most out of everyone remaining. I probably don't. There's probably much better people remaining on this island. But, I just. Now that I think about it more... I don't want to act on that thought, anymore. I'm too scared.

"That makes me a coward, I think."

He picked at the grass for some moments. It was stating the obvious for the both of them, really. But, somehow, the sentence felt important.

"I don't plan on punching my tick..."

No more metaphors.

"...on killing, again. Not that you can- I can make you believe me there, but, it felt like shit the first time, honestly. Still regret it, despite everything. Because of everything."

Something about hearing Diego plan not to die was refreshing. Maybe his other companions’ perspectives on life and death had become at least a little tiresome. Then again, it seemed hardwired into people to only ever plan to survive. Death happens to other people, of course. Given the finality of that end though, it may as well have been true. No one really ever experienced it, only getting there.

He thought back to his own brush with it. How a fear welled up within him that he didn’t expect to find. There was no accepting an end that felt meaningless, and futile. At first he’d thought it was ending without a purpose that scared him, but the longer he spent here the more it seemed to just be the way it was supposed to feel.

That was the thing she never got, though. One copes with fear. Understands it, and what it’s trying to say. It didn’t have to be the enemy. The cowardly thing to do was not to face it, to accept it. Find something to believe in that accounted for the unknowns, that placed them in some schema of understanding. Even if that meant, ultimately, still not being completely okay with it. There shouldn’t have been any shame in it.

Ty speculated, a bit, staring at the ceiling of the Temple as he tried to sleep. Eyes scanning the darkness, trying to make out the shape of the beam he’d once hung from. The best he could come up with, was that he’d go back to wherever metaphysical place his awareness had come from; and if he could come into existence once, maybe he’d find another place to exist later. If later even made sense as a word to use, there. It was something.

He nodded, gesticulating at first with the crowbar before catching himself and setting it aside.

"It is scary. Dying. You're not a coward for being afraid of it. Who the fuck knows what's on the other side? I've got... hopes, but that's all they are.”

One day the curtain would pull back, and they’d see what was really on the other side. Probably soon. It didn’t have to be, though. He couldn’t blame Diego for wanting to see more of what he could be. Especially when he seemed so… unfinished. Ty couldn’t help but feel the same way.

Full stop, none of them had deserved this. They’d all deserved to see their stories to a natural end. This didn’t feel natural, and misdeeds sure as hell didn’t dictate who got to survive and who didn’t. None of them would’ve been born, had that been the case.

"Diego, I don't think people survive this shit on merit. If you get the chance, man, just fuckin' go for it. Earn some time to have a life, love yourself, get laid. No reason not to try, you're gonna die eventually. Those better people are already dead, or will be."

He sniffled, wiping away the tears with the back of his hand. This conversation took more out of him than he’d been prepared for, forgoing the anger he’d felt at Lucas for whatever this was. Vulnerability, he supposed. Most of the time he’d avoided talking like this, for fear it would make him seem weak. All he felt now was strength returning, an invisible balm to his injuries.

The practical side of him felt a pang of relief that some of the pain was beginning to settle completely. Given who he knew were still walking about the island, he’d need to show strength going forward. For the others, and for himself given what everyone knew he’d done. Anyone could’ve been a threat, not just those who played the game.

Diego didn’t want to kill, and didn’t plan on it. Ty trusted he’d at least make an attempt to avoid it, but didn’t believe for a moment that it couldn’t happen for him again. Not if he didn’t want to die. He knew better than that, and from the look they shared Diego knew it as well.

On his end, he couldn’t say the same. Ultimately he knew there were still some misdeeds he couldn’t ignore. Possibilities he accounted for, every time he listened to the names read out each morning.

Ty maintained eye contact as he spoke. If he didn’t say this, all he’d spoken about accepting himself was nothing more than talk.

"As for killing again - some of the people still here really shouldn't survive this. It wouldn't be right. I can't say I'm just gonna let them, if we cross paths."

"...thanks, Ty."

There was a hint of a smile on Diego's face, for the first time in their conversation.

It felt nice to have someone on your side, someone who understood him, in a way. It felt nice having his support. The feeling was unfamiliar, alien. It almost didn't feel right to feel this way on this place. It felt off.

Wrong word. Not unfamiliar, not off. The feeling was novel.

His expression faltered, for a moment. Was thanks the right word? Like, it had a similar sentiment to what he was going for, it seemed to fit almost,

"Or- hm. Never mind."

But it didn't matter.

Ty had said something about killing, if he met those that deserved it. He felt an echo of the fury Gervais' name rendered in him earlier, but he suppressed it. Now was not the time for such feelings, not when things felt so good. Not now, at least.

"I agree. Not that I'm in much of a position to do anything about it."

Diego gestured vaguely at himself, at the complete lack of anything other than his jeans, his shoes. There was a burst of air from his nose, what one could interpret as a laugh.

"But... go for it, if you get the chance."

Speaking of chances. Ty had told him to go for the chance to have a life, to get laid. The latter wasn't happening, probably, but.

Cam, Theo. They were still waiting for him. He'd told himself he wouldn't abandon Cam again. She didn't deserve it.

Diego stood from his position. His legs felt a bit wobbly.

"I got some friends I left behind. Lost, actually. So, uh, I should try getting back to them soon. You know what direction the infirmary is, again?"

Watching Diego stand, Ty rose as well, still wincing as some stinging pain in his limbs returned. It was probably best to get back to the others by now, especially before Lucas went off and did something stupid.

Diego had friends to get back to. That was good. There wasn’t any need to address the undercurrent in the conversation, to state his intentions should they meet in the future as he’d once done with Parker. Somewhere in all this, the two of them had really met. There was no need to say such things; their paths forward would present themselves however they were meant to.

First stretching an arm in recognition of a particular ache, he then looked out at the road leading from the Temple. The first day, he’d passed the Infirmary travelling across the island. The red building was hard to miss. Ty pointed vaguely north, away from the Temple.

"Down the hill, past the Menagerie. It's right on the other side, just at the edge of the village. The jungle's hard to walk through but it's safer than coming at it from open ground."

His eyes held fixed on the path leading away from them. Every parting word spoken in this place felt like a farewell. It was always the last time he’d speak to someone a particular way. Context changed so quickly, circumstances evolving before there was really any time to appreciate them. It was reasonable to assume they’d not see each other alive again, and if they did it was impossible to imagine what state the other would be in.

So there wasn’t really a good way to end this. It didn’t feel complete; nothing here did.

Almost as if the gesture was completely foreign to him, Ty stuck out his hand towards Diego.

"Goodbye, Diego. I, uhh, I hope you - I hope you can find something worth saving. Even if it's just you. Even if it's only for a few days."