strangetomato | Strangetown, Here We Come: Chapter Thirty

Warnings: language, partial nudity, sexual situations, misleading teaser pics, bad mental health

Chapter Thirty

Part One

"A FLOWER shop?!"

Buck stifled a laugh on the other side of the phone. "Well, yeah, Tank. You knew that Ophelia was into flower arranging, didn't you? He got involved with it because of her. He's a salesman. I think it's really good to see him working like that. The responsibility is good for him, you know?"

Tank sighed. That was Ripp. Selling flowers. Why was he not surprised? It was one thing to choose not to follow the military life, but did he have to go so far in the other direction? Could he be any more contrary if he tried? Maybe he wore a dress sometimes too. Maybe he shaved his legs.

The Ripp in his head said, "No, Tank, but I do trim my pubes sometimes... don't you?! It makes your cock look bigger. You should try it. It's fucking awesome." He started to get uncontrollably angry, but Ripp hadn't even said that.

He, Tank Grunt, had said that. He had thought of that. He didn't even need Ripp to be there anymore for that sort of thing. Ripp had infected his brain, and it would never go away. He felt so unclean.

"Tank, are you still there? All I hear is white noise." "Yeah, I'm here."

"Well, anyway, I should go. I have bread in the oven." He paused. "I mean... umm..."

"Yeah, it's bread. I'm sorry, I can't lie." "I know. You never could." Buck waited for Tank to say something, but he didn't. "Well, bye, Tank."

"Yeah, bye."

Bread.

Tank sighed. Couldn't Buck just buy the same crappy white bread that Buzz had picked up like clockwork every week on Saturday? Sure, it tasted awful, but at least you still had your balls intact after you were done eating it. Tank threw up his hands at them both, and wondered how it was possible that they were all related by blood.

Tank Grunt didn't like to dwell on his problems. He had been raised to deal with them, move on, or simply push them aside and never speak of them again. There had been no tolerance for whining in the Grunt household.

Tank preferred the first category. Things like school work and his work with the military were easy. As each new task presented itself, he simply completed it. If it was hard, he worked harder at it, and put more time into it. Likewise, maintaining the household was easily dealt with. Tank actually liked doing chores, because it was a clear case of getting things from point A to point B. The house was dirty, so he cleaned it. The bills arrived, so he paid them.

Not so for things like relationships. Things like emotions. These things fell into the second category, and Tank buried them deep. He was good at that. So far, this had been an excellent strategy, he figured. It had worked for his father, hadn't it?

The problem was, he wasn't so sure any more. It seemed like avoidance only worked for so long. he could push those things down deep into his subconsciousness, but then everything eventually started bubbling back up to the surface. After a while, avoidance didn't work anymore.

His final year of university had been a troubled one, and a time of change. It was hard for him to avoid. There were things he couldn't avoid. By the end of it, he would barely recognize his life, for better or for worse.

The dreams were his first indication of the depth of his issues. Once he closed his eyes, all sorts of things came to the surface.

He was pregnant, pollinated, by Johnny Smith.

He was in labour.

Johnny watched him, impassively. He was only concerned that the child was unharmed. Tank was just a vessel to him, a tool for the sick genetic experiment of the aliens. The whole sim race was just an incubator to them. Johnny was an alien, so how could Tank trust him?

He was an alien. How could Tank trust him?

The baby was born. But the baby wasn't green. It wasn't green, it was normal. A normal sim baby. She had his hair and Johnny Smith's green eyes. Green eyes, but not green skin.

Then he came upon a clearing, where a witch had set up shop, and she spoke to him. The witch was Olive Specter. "Why don't you give me that sweet little baby?" asked Olive. Tank paused. "What are you going to do with it?"

"Why, I'm going to roast it, my pretty!" Tank recoiled in horror, clutching the baby in his arms. "What? NO! You can't do that!"

"Okay then I'll boil it instead."

"No, you can't do that! I won't let you!"

"But it's a disgusting alien child. I thought you wanted it dead. You want them all dead, don't you?"

"What?! But it's my baby!"

"Okay, then. I won't do it. But can I see the child?" Tank found himself handing her over.

Once Olive had the child, she tossed it into the cauldron.

Tank screamed and flailed but his arms couldn't reach her. He lept at her, but made no contact. Finally, he was able to grasp her, and he pulled her down onto the ground.

He was going to kill her. The evil green witch. Then she was Johnny. Green, just like Johnny. Johnny and his smug green smirk, his loud braying laughter, his stupid undulating voice, and his goddamn pretty blond hair. Johnny. All his fault. Johnny. Always winning. Johnny. Pollinating him. Johnny. His worst enemy. Johnny. Johnny. Johnny.

Then Johnny stopped moving. Tank held his neck in his hands, and Johnny looked back at him with lifeless eyes. He was dead, and Tank had killed him. Finally. He was finally rid of that goddamned alien piece of shit. But then why did he feel so empty? Oh, god. He had killed him.

"Johnny... Johnny?!" Tank shook him. "Shit... I didn't mean it. Wake up, you asshole! I wasn't being serious. I was only kidding around! Just get up!" Frantically, he tried to revive him, but it was too late.

Then Ripp was there, wailing. He fell onto the corpse in despair. "Johnny! You've killed him. You've killed my Johnny!" "Stop it!" Tank yelled, "Stop crying!" Ripp didn't stop. It was pouring out of him.

"You killed him. My brother... my brother. You killed my brother." Ripp cradled the body, face pressed to a cooling cheek. Still crying. Tank filled with rage.

"No, I'M your brother!" Tank was Ripp's brother. Not Johnny. Johnny... his brother. Tank wanted to know why. Why, Ripp? Why him? Why not me?

"I hate you."

Had he said the words, or had Ripp? Then he was choking him, pressing Ripp to the ground, and feeling the life go out of him too. Why not me?

He was killing him. He wanted to stop, but couldn't. He tried to break out of it, but couldn't. He tried to scream, but nothing came out.

"Tank?" Frances was on him, shaking him. "TANK!"

Tank still couldn't move or say anything. He couldn't even catch his breath. He could see the room around him, and Frances reaching down at him, but he couldn't move. Frances had his hands reaching out towards his neck, and he thought he must be trying to kill him too. He tried to yell, "Get the fuck off of me!" but nothing came out.

"Tank?! What's wrong with you? Stop it! Wake up! You're scaring me."

Frances felt his panic rising, and the next thing he knew, he had slapped Tank squarely across the face. "WAKE UP!" Tank woke up.

For a moment, they just stared at each other. Tank wanted to escape, to shove Frances aside and get out of there, but he felt a strange comfort in having him there too. He didn't want to be comforted. He didn't need it. How much of that had Frances been able to witness? Had he cried out in his sleep? Dreams were blurring into reality, and he didn't want Frances to see that... to see what he had done. He didn't want Frances on his bed either.

"You... hit me."

"I'm sorry." Frances bit his quivering lip, and tried not to cry, but the panic and relief were too much for him.

"God... don't cry."

"I'm s-sorry," Frances sobbed, "but y-you, you-"

"I'm okay," Tank said. He placed his hand on Frances's shoulder. "Thanks for waking me up."

"Sorry I hit you." "It's okay." "I... slapped you." Some laughter began to break through the tears. "I bitch-slapped you. Like a little bitch."

Tank smiled. "Actually, there was some decent force behind it. I'm impressed."

Frances smiled and grimaced all at once. Tank recognized it as relief mixed with embarrassment. Frances had a wide catalogue of subtle expressions around that theme. Very rare was a smile from Frances that didn't contain some other, more reluctant, emotion.

Tank knew them all.

It was strange to him, that he knew someone so well. Tank had never had that before. He was there with Frances. Even then, after Frances had revealed the truth about his desires to him, Tank was there, with Frances.

He thought they were doing quite well, all things considered.

Then Beau showed up.

Beau Broke.

Tank was truly, truly at a loss for words.

"Why are you so..."

"Gay?" Beau finished for him. "Well you see, Tank, some people have this thing called 'gayness' inside of them."

He gestured all over his body in small circles, fluttering his fingertips. "And this 'gayness' needs to be released. If you don't let the 'gayness' out of you, you might get really sick, or even die. Some people, like Frances, let their 'gayness' out in a steady trickle, and it's not so noticeable, but then there are other people, like me, who have so much 'gayness' in them that they just have to shoot it out in these periodic bursts. Like, BAM!"

He lunged at Tank, hands held up, hoping to make him jump, but he didn't. Tank didn't budge. Beau ended up falling into him, hands on his chest, with his face about an inch from Tank's. He was taken aback, but just for a moment.

"So, yeah," he said, "does that clear things up?"

Tank reached up with just one finger, and slowly pushed Beau back and away from him.

"I was actually going to ask you why you were so loud, but sure."

"I'm loud and proud, T."

"Yeah, I can see that."

"Nice pecs, by the way."

It was like Beau could smell Tank's uncomfortableness a mile away, and then, instead of accommodating him, he tried to challenge him. Fair enough, Tank figured, since he was there, living with Frances. He didn't want to be hung up on it, and he was giving it an honest effort, wasn't he? It wasn't like he was homophobic. He wasn't afraid of them. Not exactly.

Well, he was sometimes afraid of Beau, he had to admit, but it didn't have anything to do with the fact he was gay. Well, not much. It wasn't the scariest thing about him. The boy was frighteningly disarming. It wasn't just the embarrassing moments, the ridiculous questions, and the divulging of too much information. Beau had a way of drawing out Tank's honest reaction. That scared him.

So that was Beau.

After he had started dating Frances, Beau had moved in, bit by bit, until he was sleeping over at their place on a regular basis.

Tank could handle it, he really could, but he felt out of place. He felt like a third wheel, who was encroaching on something private. Who the hell wanted some other guy in the room with them like that?

Also, sometimes he heard them.

He heard them doing things.

Gay things.

So he escaped and went to Kendall's place.

Kendall.

His girlfriend.

They slept together.

They had sex.

Tank was finally having sex with someone. Or, as Ripp had so poetically phrased it, he'd finally "got his dicky wet."

What a dumbass.

Tank had been happy enough to offer a knowing grin, though, and to soak up the hooting and hollering and pat on the back offered by his brother. He had been worried he'd never do it, or that he'd have transitioned to an adult by the time he did, and how embarrassing would that be? Too embarrassing. He would had considered hiring a hooker before that happened.

Well, not really. Tank would never do that.

They had started having sex shortly after they started dating, since Tank didn't want her to think that he was a virgin. He wanted it to seem casual enough, and he never mentioned his inexperience. He hoped she hadn't noticed.

The first time had gone alright, he figured. He had lasted long enough. There was nothing really mind blowing or special about it, besides the fact that he was so amazed that it was really happening.

It seemed really stupid that the only thing he had been thinking about throughout it had been, "I can't believe I'm actually having sex." It was true, though. That's what he'd been thinking.

Kendall didn't snuggle. Tank was a little surprised to find himself mildly disappointed by this. After they were finished, she hopped right up to take a shower. It was always like that.

The one time he offered to join her, she brushed him off, saying that it wasn't an efficient use of shower time. She liked to shower alone. Usually, she was gone before he even had a chance to take the condom off.

Oh well, he thought. It could be worse, right?

Also, it could be better. Maybe. He had an inkling of an idea that he was looking for something else in his love life. Something specific. In fact, he was still having problems with dreams, but they were becoming quite different. Sex dreams.

It was normal enough to have dreams like that, even when you had a girlfriend, but it was a little disconcerting to him that they were always about Lucy Burb.

Beautiful, radiant, charming, full-figured, doe-eyed Lucy Burb.

Tank could forgive Beau many a transgression when he weighed it against the fact that he occasionally brought Lucy around with him.

Lucy was wonderful.

When she spoke, Tank couldn't help but listen. There was a brightness in her. She was light and full of life. She seemed like she was always having fun, so matter how mundane the situation. She was nice to him. She asked him to join in.

And he made her laugh. Somehow, against all odds, Lucy actually laughed when Tank attempted to amuse her. Lucy was a miracle.

Also, she had a body that meant business and a face that could launch a thousand ships. It launched his ship, anyway.

Tank wanted to tear off her clothes and nail her to his mattress. The things he dreamt about her would probably make even Ripp blush. Well, maybe not blush, but he would surely be shocked to hear it from Tank.

Tank would do truly unspeakable things to that woman. Terrible, terrible things. It just wasn't right.

The dreams even bled into his waking life. He was mildly ashamed of it, and he'd never confess to it, but he often even imagined that Kendall was Lucy Burb while they were having sex. Even worse was the fact that she usually commented on how improved his performance was when he did that.

He left her panting and crying out and begging for more, all because he was pretending she was Lucy.

Lucy. Oh, Lucy. She was simply amazing.

Tank would take her like his life depended on it. He would bury himself in her bounteous curves. He would lose himself completely in her. It was sort of frightening to think about how much he how much he wanted her.

It just wasn't right. Tank obviously had some issues that needed resolving, but who could he turn to? Frances would be there for him, but he hated to bring him down at a time when he was so happy.

He was also just really distracted with his new relationship, and Tank hated the thought that he might mention something to Beau. He wasn't sure he trusted him not to, and he didn't feel comfortable with Beau knowing that much about him. Even if he didn't mention Lucy directly, he'd still feel uneasy. No, he couldn't tell Frances. Not at that moment, anyway. He thought about seeking professional help. He even booked an appointment. Nobody would have to know.

But when the time came to spill the details, he froze up.

He couldn't do it.

He got distracted.

"Tank?"

"I asked you a question, Tank."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Cloud. I don't think I can do this."

He couldn't do it, not with some stranger. He couldn't even speak freely with the people he knew. Tank was doomed to silence. He'd stew in his troubles until he went mad. Unless...

There was one option available to him, as unlikely as it was. Maybe he could speak with someone who couldn't possibly think he was fucked up. Someone who was an even bigger mess than he was. Someone who'd keep family business in the family.