Viper's Nest {Tomer}

[Erik Stewart]

A boy as shy as Tomer could not possibly have had worse luck in a roommate. There were many reasons to hate living with Erik and they are as follows:

Erik was an avid smoker and the ‘No Smoking in the Dorms’ sign hung up on various walls didn’t seem to stop him; the scent hovered in the room and on all his clothes and a little on his seafoam bed cover; he was not filthy but he was not neat, either, and there was almost guaranteed to be a few things scattered on the ground (DVD cases, articles of clothing, cartons, etc.); he came in the dorm at various hours on weekend nights, sometimes at two or three in the morning; he was temperamental and broody, and sometimes a bully, especially to boys younger than himself and with Tomer’s disposition; most times he was short with him or even downright rude; he refused to compromise; when he was around, the very nature of the dorm felt oppressive, especially when he was in a ‘mood’; he would slam doors and snap at them both for the sole reason that they were available; and woe befell any who dared interrupt him.

Perhaps the worst of it all was his rat snake, Dead John. He was a docile creature, much more even-tempered than Erik himself, but he was very rarely in his tank. It wasn’t uncommon to find the almost-two-feet-long serpent slithering about the dorm. This would be very alarming to anyone who found snakes repulsive.

(There was also the matter of Dominique, whose arrival was always followed by suspect noises coming from Erik’s room.)

Today wasn’t a bad day, but it wasn’t really a good day, either. Most times Erik didn’t say much to Tomer, which was probably a good thing – he’d just bypass the common area and head straight to his room, the last one on the left, and do whatever he did in solitude…but today he stopped in front of his smaller roommate and looked him up and down.

Erik was from the deep south, in a town built of twenty-six people and choking in greenery and swampland; he’d the accent to prove it. Tomer always looked proper as could be. Had the look like he was tryin’ to make his mama proud. Erik, on the other hand, was wearing a sleeveless shirt with a hood on the back for that urban touch; it was gray-green and nearly threadbare.

“What’s up, short shit?” He glanced at the braces around his neck. “Ain’t dead yet?”

[Tomer Berelowitz]

Even if his powers had not disabled him, Tomer would have turned down any offer to live with his uncle and Sean over the perceived botheration and extra work he believed his presence would create. With the disability, the need to be independent (and thus avoid creating more work for anyone past the unavoidable) was so strong it was practically the only thing that kept him upright some days. It was this drive that helped him bear things like roommates like Erik Stewart, who seemed hellbent on flouting the rules and making the small common area they shared as unpleasant as humanly (meta-ly?) possible.

Since Tomer's uncle had only recently given up smoking, at the very least Tomer was not completely turned off by the scent on clothing, but Erik hadn't reacted well to being asked not to smoke. With 'hadn't reacted well' being an understatement of biblical proportions that meant Tomer just went into his room whenever Erik smelled too strongly, closed his door and turned on the fan he'd gotten for that very thing. The other thing was the snake. Tomer didn't mind snakes, but he did mind having to be so conscious of where he stepped and put his crutches down when class was over and he was tired. He wasn't sure if the snake was supposed to be allowed out, but since the smoking thing he wasn't going to bring it up. The rest of it was just run-of-the-mill bullying stuff that Tomer had dealt with his whole life, and it was much of a muchness. It was still ugly to put up with, but it was part of living in a dorm. Tomer considered it life training.

In most other cases, he would've found Erik's accent fascinating and lovely. Instead, he considered it a sort of advance warning signal to buck up his manners and defense mechanisms. The image of Santa Claus flashed across his mind at times like this, reminding him to keep a civil tongue and to not contribute to the levels of worldsuck.

“What’s up, short shit? Ain’t dead yet?”

Slightly hunched over under the weight of his backpack, Tomer stopped with one foot a little behind him for balance when Erik blocked his way. The brace the other boy was looking at was the one that meant Tomer couldn't tilt his head enough to look him in the eye at close quarters, but blue irises rolled up to meet them that way.

On the one hand, it was great that people could look past disability and treat him the same as they would anyone else, but on the other, he seriously did not need this. A number of responses percolated in his head, like 'I am, actually, and your brain is going to be delicious when I eat it because it's obviously never been used' and the more simple 'screw you', but Tomer's personal code of ethics would not allow either of them.

So he said, "No. Please let me by."

[Erik Stewart]

”What?” Blue eyes peered through smoke fluttering up to the ceiling. “There ain’t nothin’ I like better ‘an smokin’ a light an’ I ain’t goin’ outside t’do it, fuck that. You know how fuckin’ hard I work for these damn things? I ain’t eighteen, shithead, I can’t just buy ‘em. An’ y’know what? I pay for th’ place same as you. Ain’t no one ever did, n’never will tell me where t’ smoke ‘em. I ain’t goin’ to th’ fuckin’ yard ‘r nowhere!”

“‘Please let me by,” he mimicked. “Priss.”

Tomer might sense him watching with some parts bemusement and other parts curiosity whenever he fumbled with the multitude of crutches and braces. He’d never seen such contraptions. Of course, he never asked him about it or showed any interest, because any interest in Tomer’s life might be mistaken for camaraderie, or weakness, and Erik thought he had better things to do than talk about some fourteen-year old beanpole’s affairs. Even if they did include looking like an invalid all the time.

“What’s the hurry, you gotta date or somethin’? Does it even work or do you gotta use a brace for it, too?” He laughed. It was hard to tell if he was laughing because he was mocking him or if he actually thought he’d been funny.

Tomer might get some comfort from the fact that Erik was the same towards all his roommates. He was decidedly the oldest, by either two or three years, and perhaps this made him think he had some sort of authority…if he did, then he certainly liked throwing his weight around. Erik couldn’t deny it. Callin’ people names and putting them down and making them feel like crap was something he did for pleasure, for no other reason than it made him feel a little better about himself.

[Tomer Berelowitz]

“Please let me by,” he mimicked. “Priss.”

There wasn't anything (polite) to say to that, so Tomer didn't. And he had noticed the staring, it was hard not to. Not the greatest thing to have happen to you that early in the morning (or at any point in the day, really), but he much preferred the staring over the verbal stuff.

"I'm not in a hurry. I just don't want to talk to you." He didn't answer the second part, didn't even blush. The remark was so rude it made him angry, but it was an anger that blew out quickly because it was futile.

Tomer wasn't relieved at all that Erik treated his other roommates (and presumably others) like crap, though it made him feel slightly better to know it wasn't some sort of personal vendetta. He thought it was sad that Erik felt he had to behave the way he did, but knew how easy it was to treat others badly once the habit got started. Tomer wasn't interested in why Erik was such a douche, and he wasn't interested in trying to see if he could make the older boy less of one either. He just wanted to avoid him, which sometimes proved difficult.

"Please move," he tried again.

[Erik Stewart]

Sometimes he found Tomer to be a little venting machine, ‘cause he could sure take a hit when it came down to it; didn’t yell back or fight or nothin’, just sat there and looked up at him with a frown on his face and a pair of round eyes. Sometimes this ‘words will never hurt me’ adage worked and sometimes it didn’t. Contrary to popular belief, there was no set formula to dealing with a bully: he had bad days and good days; sometimes he’d get bored of it and other times it would encourage him; he’d either lose interest, snort and flounce away or else he’d get in his face and ask him if he was “fuckin’ listenin’” to him (particularly if he was expecting an answer).
That was not to say that there wasn’t a way to make Erik shut up. There was.

“Y’don’t wanna talk t’me, huh?” he said. “Well, shit. Why didn’t you say so?”

He hadn’t started off this way. When the younger boy first moved in, Tomer might have thought he was just a little weird and creepy, what with the snake, and quiet; but then there would have been disagreements, probably minor and inconsequential, like why did he put his stuff over there; he would have been rude; Tomer would have been quiet; he’d have gotten curious as to how hard he could push the younger boy before he would snap back, and, soon enough, those angry little snips and blunt confrontation would have been the norm.

At Tomer’s third (fourth?) request that he move, Erik finally conceded and stepped aside. “Your fuckin’ teacher friend came over today…left somethin’ in your room.”

[Tomer Berelowitz]

The words did hurt, but not for very long at the initial outburst. Later, if Tomer was having a bad day and thinking about all his shortcomings, certain taunts came back to him, and these days they were typically Erik's. The first two ways Tomer dealt with bullies didn't work with someone he shared close quarters with (avoidance and exiting), and the third didn't work if Erik was feeling eloquent, so today luck was with him.

At 'teacher friend', Tomer thought he meant Zeb, since he hadn't been making his tie to Sean known to save himself some sanity. It was more difficult than he'd realized to refer to him as 'Dr. Neville', and strange to hear the opinions various students and staff had of him, which ranged from near-omnipotent to the complete opposite.

He weighed the pros and cons of taking the bait, of trying to converse. But no, he was around 89% done with today, and he needed that last eleven percent to get through his homework. So he just said, "Thank you."

Taking out his key, he unlocked his door, checked for the snake, and let himself in.