Chapter Text
Billy remembers
everything.
Billy remembers the endless questions.
"When did the abuse begin?"
Fuck off.
"Have you ever gotten seriously injured as a result of the abuse?"
No, of course not, what are we even talking about? Inju-what? What even is
"Have you sought medical attention? If not, why?"
Oh, for no fucking reason.
Billy remembers being ready to lash out at the counselor, but instead he just sat there and snapped at him. His leg was twitching and his shoulders were aching from the way he was tensing them.
This repeated in circles for an infinitely long time. Many, many times, all the same questions. All the same questions. All the same questions. All the same questions. All the same questions. All the same questions.
Then Billy was waiting for Max. She'd go into the office, and Billy didn't know how long she'd been there, because he was sitting there, shaking and passing out, because Billy remembers
everything.
Billy remembers the tiles and the blood and the clinking of knives. A knife. Billy remembers the crunch.
‘Do you remember having a knife in your hand?’ the counselor asks.
Billy is in shock, his shoulders and legs are shaking. Billy's in shock, but he remembers having
a knife in his hand.
The counselor thinks Billy's in shock, so he doesn't remember what he did. Billy remembers what he did. And that's why he's in shock.
Billy remembers
everything.
Billy remembers Neil grabbing Max by the scruff of the neck, Billy remembers a thud thunderous LOUD sound, Billy remembers Neil's fist in the air, Billy remembers an eerie, wild animalistic cry, screaming, punching, Billy remembers Neil's hand on Max's neck,
Billy remembers everything.
Billy remembers Neil's face when he hit him, him, him, those rage-filled eyes, there was the unconscious, the dumb, the instinctive, and Billy remembers his fucking scum nasty nauseating clear clear clear eyes as he choked and beat Max, Billy remembers the fear because Neil knew what he was doing.
Neil knew what he was doing.
Billy remembers Max's wheezing.
Billy remembers Susan's squeal, the knife clinking: she was holding it, squealed, the knife fell to the floor.
Billy doesn't remember.
Flash.
Billy remembers a hand on the knife
and the hand was his.
Billy doesn't remember anything.
Billy remembers heavy breathing. Silence.
Realization.
Billy remembers the blood, the clinking of knife and tile.
Billy should have been horrified. Should’ve looked at the blood on the floor, the stains on his T-shirt, the knife in his hand, should’ve dropped the knife, should’ve sprinted to call an ambulance, because Billy had realized what he had done. Neil was wheezing, it was a wet, blood-soaked wheeze. Billy looked at the blood on the floor, at the stains on his T-shirt, the knife in his hand.
And kept on going.
Billy stabbed him again, again, again, over and over again, because Billy promised.
‘WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!’ Neil yelled, wheezing and coughing and kicking and tearing. Hit Billy with his elbow. Hit Billy in the eye.
‘I TOLD YOU!’ Billy yelled back, and he knew what he was yelling. ‘I TOLD YOU NOT TO TOUCH MAX! I TOLD YOU I'D KILL YOU, I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU! I'M GONNA KILL YOU, YOU'RE GONNA DIE, I'M GONNA KILL YOU!’
Billy remembers the crunch.
‘I HATE YOU!’
Billy remembers the blood.
‘I WANT YOU TO FUCKING DIE!’
Billy remembers Susan crying. Billy remembers Max screaming.
Billy knew what he was thinking. Billy could hear wheezing. Billy remembers thinking Susan would yell for him to stop. Billy froze with his hand in the air. Billy knew that Neil was about to die. Neil wasn't kicking, Neil was wheezing, Neil was dying.
But Susan sobbed. A nasty, full, stuffy nose, pathetic.
‘Just fucking finish him already!’
Billy remembers his mom. Billy remembers Neil hovering over her, hitting her, and Billy gripped the knife tighter, and
‘DON’T!’
- Max yelled
and Billy stopped.
Max was crying,
like a little
little girl —
quiet, loose, coughing and hiccupping. Billy should have dropped the knife in shock. Billy should have been shocked. But Billy looked at the meat beneath him, and Billy put the knife down on the tile, and the knife clinked, and Billy put his hands away and listened to Max crying, and listened to Susan crying.
He hated Susan, but he hated the meat beneath him, which was Neil, even more. And Billy hated himself.
The raw meat in the market stalls. It smells of corpses and flies buzz over damp stale tenderloins. Billy hasn't finished Neil and he won't finish him, but he doesn't need to - Neil's already raw meat in a market stall. He smells of corpses. And flies buzz over him.
‘Stop fucking crying, just call an ambulance,’ he s a i d quietly.
Billy remembers that Susan took a long time to calm down. She called an ambulance. She was weeping, and she crawled over to Billy with her bare knees on the tile and buried her face in his shoulder and wept louder.
He hated Susan, she was aloof, weird, distant, she was a drug addict, he hated Susan and still loved her like a dog because sometimes she reminded him of his mom.
He didn't hate Susan. Sometimes she reminded him of his mom.
Billy clumsily put his arm behind Susan's back, clenched her shoulder and she sobbed louder. Max, covered in tears and snot, crawled closer from the other side, and Billy hugged her too. He sat on the barely twitching wheezing meat that was Neil, Max and Susan were crying, he didn't know how to hug them, and he knew this family was over.
Dysfunctional.
Billy remembered everything, but said he didn't remember anything. He was never prosecuted. Shock and self-defense.
But the truth is.
Billy
remembers
everything.
And Billy still can’t sleep.
Paperwork. File folder. Double-check everything, and then again, and then again, and then again. Decent clothes.
He doesn't have any decent clothes, he texts Argyle, Argyle texts Jonathan, Jonathan brings him his button up because he lives with Mrs Byers and she lives just a floor above, and wishes him good luck. Billy feels like dying and his palms are sweating.
Paperwork. A folder of papers. Questions. Keyboard clicking. Double-check.
Billy filed for custody.
Billy texted Argyle because it was too nerve-wracking to text anyone else. Billy. Filed. For. Custody. Argyle told him to come over to Steve's house.
Billy is unconscious. Billy lies staring at one point on the ceiling on the high ceiling in the huge house at Steve's and Argyle lies next to him and snores and Billy can't breathe. Billy goes out on the balcony, Billy doesn’t talk to Chrissy and hasn’t talked to her the whole evening. Billy doesn't remember anything and Billy remembers
everything.
Billy is home. Max is home. Max is nervous, constantly tugging her hair, chewing on something. Billy is nervous, shaking.
The doorbell rings.
Billy is twitchy. Max is nervous. Billy goes to answer the door.
‘Hello.’
The social worker. He was promised a social worker to watch him and Max and decide whether to give him custody or not.
Billy filed for custody.
A social worker.
A man in his 50s, bearded, balding and wearing old-fashioned thick aviator glasses and a blue polo. He’s weird. He has a bag and some kind of folder.
'Hi,' he looks at Billy and Billy feels like he's done something wrong. ‘Maxwell? I need your brother, William.’
Billy's about to throw the fuck up.
‘It’s me, I’m William,’ he clears his throat and doesn't know where to put his hands. ‘Max is my sister.’
The social worker adjusts his glasses and lowers his eyes into his folder.
‘Maxine,' Billy says quietly. ‘Not Maxwell.’
The last thing Billy wants to do is explain all of this, but the social worker just shrugs.
'Good, I'll head through then?’ Billy steps away from the doorway. 'My name's Murray Bauman, I'm your social worker, I’ll be dealing with your custody issues.’
Billy nods.
'Right.’
Murray looks at him, squinting, scrutinizing him, as if searching for what's wrong, as if he's already found it. Billy’s transparent.
Murray asks him about
everything.
"Have you both suffered abuse?"
Fuck you.
"Do you think your psyche was affected by the abuse?"
No, of course not, what are we even talking about? Psy-what? What even is that?
"Have you ever tried to run away from home before? If not, why?"
Oh, for no fucking reason.
They're sitting in the kitchen, Murray in a chair at the table, Max on the couch cross-legged, Billy standing against the wall. Nervously.
‘Can you tell me what happened that night?’
‘Aren’t you supposed to have it in your folder?’ Max snaps at him.
'These folders don’t help with anything, young lady. It’s pure bureaucracy and nothing that would give me an actual understanding of what’s going on.’
Murray turns to Billy. Billy forgets he's the adult here. Billy doesn't forget, Billy remembers everything.
Coughs.
The kitchen is white like an asylum, tiled, Susan sits staring at nothing, Neil is almost drunk and pissed as fuck.
‘We… we were having dinner,’ he fumbles around the floor with his eyes. ‘Me, my dad, and Susan.’
Billy eats quickly, then he’ll go to
‘Just a second,’ Murray lowers his eyes to the folder. ‘So Susan isn't your mother?’
'No,' Billy pulls his hand away from his face to keep from biting his nails. 'She's Max's mother.’
‘And yours?’
‘Well she’s obviously not Susan,’ Billy doesn't like to talk about his mom. ‘She left when I was little.’
That's a retarded catchphrase. Billy is sick of himself. Murray nods after writing something down.
‘So, you were having dinner.’
The kitchen is white like an asylum, tiled, Susan sits staring at nothing, Neil is almost drunk and pissed as fuck. Billy eats quickly, then he’ll go to Tommy's. Neil's almost drunk and pissed as fuck.
‘Where's Maxwell?’ Neil asks, and he sounds calmer than he looks, and it's scary. He glances at his watch.
Susan stares silently at her plate. Billy stares silently at his plate.
‘If I wanted to talk to the wall, I'd talk to the fucking wall, I asked you: where's Maxwell?’
Billy doesn't react to his fist hitting the table.
‘Skating,’ he mutters.
‘I told him to be home at eight,’ Susan whispers.
Billy eats as fast as he can.
‘And he's not home at eight,’ Neil glances irritably at his watch again. ‘Billy.’
‘What?’
‘Where's your brother?’ Neil's voice is not so calm anymore. ‘Do you have a hearing problem? I'm asking you, where's your fucking brother?’
If Billy had a hearing problem, he’d get it from Neil punching him in the ear.
‘He's 14, he doesn't need a babysitter.’
‘Don't talk back.’
Billy swallows his tongue.
‘Sorry.’
‘Sorry,…?’
‘Sir,’ Billy squints. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’
‘Dad asked me where Max was,' Billy's throat is dry. 'Since she wasn’t home by time. I told him she was skateboarding. He was kind of pissed.’
Keys jingling. Door slamming. Rustling. Stomping. Max walks into the house. Walks down the hall. Walks into the kitchen. Billy looks back his plate. Susan stares at the floor.
Dead silence.
Dead silence.
Max puts food on her plate.
‘William,’ Neil puts his fork to the side. The full name means he’s fucked. ‘How many times do I have to talk to you before you realize your fucking brother is your fucking responsibility?’
Billy doesn't have time to respond.
'Sister,' Max says, sitting down at the table. ‘Your fucking sister.’
‘Then Max came home,’ Billy looks at Max, Max looks at Billy. ‘Told us about how she’s now, uh… she’s not a… I don’t know how to word this…’
‘She came out to you?’ Murray suggests. Billy nods.
‘Yeah, sort of.’
‘Fuck you talking about? I don't have a sister,’ Billy snaps back.
‘You do. A brother is what you don’t have.’
D E A D S I L E N C E.
Billy remembers everything, but doesn't want to.
‘Neil got mad, lashed out at Max, I…’ a pause to find a word. ‘I stood up for her. We had a fight. And… Susan called an ambulance, and the police came with it, and that's how… this happened.’
Billy's voice is stilted and uneven and nervous and uneven. His hands shake, his hands shake way too often and way too much.
He thinks a lot and talks a little.
‘At what point did you decide to take custody of Max?’
A week ago.
He needs to lie.
'A long time ago,' Billy looks Murray in the eye. ‘Well, I was planning to. To run away with her. This was just kind of a last straw.’
Murray looks at him for a long moment, as if he knows everything.
‘And what was your relationship like before?’
Fucking hell.
I should lie.
‘Good,’ Billy shrugs. 'It's always been. I took care of her.’
Murray raises his eyes to Max. She nods in agreement. As if it's true.
Murray nods. He's writing something down. He's writing something down.
Everyone is quiet, in D E A D S I L E N C E Billy and Max look at each other. Billy doesn't know her at all. Max doesn't know him at all. They don't know each other at all, and for some reason they're clinging to each other like the world is about to end. Billy doesn't know her at all, and for some reason will die without this fucking custody. Max doesn't know him at all and for some reason nods at his lies.
They don't know each other at all, and for some reason Billy has no one and nothing dearer to him than Max.
‘I'll talk to Max one-on-one, okay?’
Then Billy was waiting for Max. She'd go into the office, and Billy didn't know how long she'd been there, because he was sitting there, shaking and passing out, because Billy remembers
everything.
A long time. Very, very, very, very, very, very, very long, and Billy has no energy.
Are you listening?
You don't have to listen.
Billy falls on the couch where Max was sitting before. Billy falls on the couch, Billy falls into the couch, his legs are tired, they're shaking, he's cold, his hands are icy, they're shaking, he's exhausted and shaking, if he could, he would just fall asleep.
To sleep. To sleep long and hard.
Everything from yesterday seems like a month ago. Everything that was a month ago seems like a lifetime ago. California feels like it never even happened. There was never no power, no sleep, and no sun.
There is sun.
The sun is Argyle.
Billy thinks of Max, who he doesn't know at all. Billy thinks of Max, who is somehow the most precious thing he has.
Billy has always felt he owed her something, from the moment he saw her. Billy has always felt he had to protect her
and
nothing.
And there was nothing else.
Billy always had someone and something dearer than Max. Billy was never friends with Max. Billy would yell at her, wouldn’t talk to her, would kick her out of the car. Max was just a responsibility. It was like someone Billy loved dearly had asked him to look after her, and even though he didn't like Max, he still had to push her into the closet when Neil was drunk and still had to promise to kill him.
Like that someone was his mom.
Max was a seashell.
Something changed when Neil pushed Max into the wall. Billy had no reason to change, Billy didn't have a single reason. Billy was a trained dog who was scared of his owner and always had been, Billy doesn't like fags, trannies and all the queer shit, Billy doesn't like Max. He didn't have a single reason to hit Neil. He had no reason to file for custody.
Only somehow now he had no one and nothing dearer than Max.
Max was a seashell. If you put your ear to it, you can hear the ocean.
Billy hates Neil.
Murray walks into the room.
Murray walks into the room and doesn't say anything. Billy senses the mood.
And it’s bad.
Billy squirms on the couch, Murray silently walks over to the table. Silently takes a chair. Silently sits down across from Billy.
Everything’s fucked, isn't it?
Billy squirms under his gaze.
Cold.
Dry.
In the silence, Billy hears the clinking of knives.
‘I won't get custody?’ he says quietly.
Murray sighs heavily and takes off his glasses to wipe them clean.
'What's short for William?’
‘What?’
‘Willie? Bill? Will?’ he’s breathing on the glass. ‘What do your friends call you?’
‘Billy.’
‘Can I call you Billy?’
Billy shrugs his shoulders.
‘Sure.’
His hands are shaking. They're still in bandages.
'So, Billy,' Murray puts his glasses back on. ‘'I don't know if you're going to get custody or not, because I don't know what exactly you and your sister are lying to me about.’
Billy twitches. What?
‘We're not lying.’
‘I've been in social work for twenty years, I know when kids are lying to me and when they're not,’ Murray sighs heavily. Irritated. Billy tenses his shoulders. Gonnahurtgonnahurtgonnahurt. ‘I can see you two haven't had a good relationship. But I'm not a mind reader, and I can't tell if you had a bad relationship of the "we saw each other once a week and didn't know what to talk about" variety or the "I beat her up with her dad and…"
‘I’ve never ever hit her and I never ever will,’ Billy barks loudly, interrupting.
Murray should be angry or surprised or put a note in his fucking folder about anger issues. Instead, he smiles, as if Billy has fallen into some kind of trap.
‘Really,’ Billy mumbles. 'I'm not lying.’
‘This I believe.’
This is no time for fucking games, traps, tricks and psychological shit. Billy is getting awfully pissed off at Murray.
‘What do you need me to tell?’
‘The truth about your relationship. Don't turn this into a cheesy crime-drama interrogation. I'm not a cop.’
‘You talk like one.’
‘I'm not a cop, I'm a social worker,’ Murray looks at Billy with his arms folded across his chest. ‘I have one goal in mind: to figure out what’s better for your sister. I can't figure it out when you two are as silent as partners in crime in an interrogation.’
Billy remembers the blood and the clinking of knives and tiles.
Billy is silent.
Billy wants to punch Murray in the face.
‘Billy,’ Murray says a little quieter. Leans forward. Billy twitches. Again. 'This is a matter of parenting and the future of a child, it's a very ambiguous issue. It's not a math problem, and the solution is more emotional than logical. You have a head start because Max is your sister, and any court would give you custody with great pleasure. A living relative, not a drug addict, not an alcoholic, you have housing and a job - you’re a gift! But when you build an impregnable wall out of your life, I get suspicious, you know?’
Billy. Wants. To. Punch. Murray. In. The. Face.
‘Don't bite the hand that feeds you,’ Murray enunciates the words more clearly than usual. ‘Especially if the hand is yours.’
Billy wants to punch Murray in the face.
Billy's eyes are burning. They feel wet and stingy.
Neil reprimands him by hooking his hand into his collar and nailing it to the closet:
‘Do you promise never to fucking do that again?’
Billy goes silent and Neil slaps him in the face, because Billy never learns anything.
‘You promise?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Murray raises his eyebrows. Murray raises his eyebrows.
'No need in sir-ing me,' he replies quietly and Billy is fucking ashamed.
Swallows back tears.
A kid.
‘No need in sir-ing me,’ he replies quietly and Billy is fucking ashamed. ‘Look, I have no gain from separating brother and sister, or whatever you think. But I have a duty to know if Max is in danger or not. And I can't know that when you're lying to me, obviously.’
Billy grits his teeth. His eyes are burning. He's crying too much too much too much too much too much too much too much crying. Too much.
Too much.
Crying.
‘Just because we're not best friends doesn't mean she's in danger,’ Billy whispers because he knows a louder voice will break.
‘I know,’ Murray nods.
‘I’ve never hit her, I didn't let Neil hit her,’ Billy whispers because his voice is breaking and he's mad as fuck and he doesn't think he's talking and the words speak themselves. ‘He touched her and I almost killed him. Yeah, we didn't communicate well, but I bailed on college and friends and my hometown for her, and I went to live in this fucking hole in thins fucking block in this fucking shelter and I work in a fucking ice cream store. Say whatever you want, but Max is not in danger with me.’
Billy's biting the hand that feeds him.
Billy needs to keep his mouth shut.
Billy needs to keep the tears behind his eyelids.
Billy knows
nothing.
‘I don't have anyone dearer than her,’ Billy whispers guiltily. Quietly. ‘Really. I'm not lying.’
The kitchen is quiet.
‘I believe you.’
Murray speaks and is silent.
De
ad
si
len
ce.
‘How old are you, Billy?’
Billy swallows.
‘Eighteen.’
He turned eighteen a month ago, and almost answered 'seventeen' out of habit.
‘I'm going to ask you once, like a man to a boy, and I want you not to answer right away, but to think hard.’
Billy's eyes are wet and he knows his nose is red.
‘I'm not a boy.’
Murray lets out a chuckle, but his face doesn't move.
‘Okay, like man to man, is that better?’
Billy nods. Feels like a little kid.
A boy.
‘You're her brother, you're a legal adult, you have a job, you have a place to live, you have a clean house and there's food in the fridge, and Max wants to stay with you, and I'll say it again: you have a lot of chances to get that custody,’ Murray adjusts his glasses and lowers his voice, squinting at the door as if Max is standing there eavesdropping. ‘But are you sure you want it?’
And Billy doesn't answer.
And Billy doesn’t answer.
'I realize this is a lot of complicated feelings,' Murray continues curtly. ‘But you're eighteen, you can't even legally buy alcohol yet, you haven't finished college, you haven't had your good time, you’re not done being a teenager yet, are you sure you want to leave it all behind for your sister? She's gonna be your responsibility. Everything about her is. Her physical, financial, emotional well-being, everything will fall on you. And you'll have to spend a long time earning a living for two instead of studying, partying, and whatever else eighteen year olds do. You're going to miss out on an important part of your life, and it's going to be very hard to catch up.’
And Billy doesn't answer.
‘If you say no, that's okay. No one will say a word to you, you'll go to college, live a normal life, we'll find Max a nice foster family, you'll see each other, it's just…’
‘Max is the most normal thing about my life,’ Billy interrupts him. ‘Not friends, not partying, not basketball, not high school, it’s Max. I'm not ten, I know what I can and can't do. I can be her guardian.’
Please don't take her away from me - Billy swallows along with the lump in his throat.
Murray is silent. Again. Silent. Silent. Silence.
Nods.
‘I got you,’ he exhales. Billy's shoulders hurt.
Billy's all sore, stiff.
He's having a hard time
breathing.
The silence presses on his ears, his head clenches and is about to explode.
Argyle must be back from work by now.
Billy's sleepy.
‘I'll visit you a couple more times, report for duty, and if it works out for you, I'll be stopping by for a while on your probation,’ Murray glances at his watch. ‘If you have any questions or need any help, don't hesitate to get in touch. It's not just words in the air, if you need anything, really get in touch. Heard me?’
Billy nods silently.
Billy failed at everything he could.
You had one task, one task, and you still fucked it all up?
Billy's an idiot. Billy's a fucking idiot.
Billy nods silently.
Billy watches silently as the door closes behind Murray.
There's silence
and Billy knows it's not going to work. He looks like a little boy, he lies, he lies badly, he looks like a little boy, he is irresponsible, he is a danger to Max I’VE NEVER EVER HIT HER AND I NEVER EVER WILL I’VE NEVER EVER HIT HER AND I NEVER EVER WILL I’VE NEVER EVER HIT HER AND I NEVER EVER WILL I’VE NEVER EVER HIT HER AND I NEVER EVER WILL I’VE NEVER EVER HIT HER AND I NEVER EVER WILL I’VE NEVER EVER HIT HER AND I NEVER EVER WILL
I’VE NEVER EVER HIT HER
AND I NEVER EVER WILL
I’VE
NEVER
EVER
HIT
HER
AND
I
NEVER
EVER
WILL!
How old are you, Billy?
Because Billy's a boy. And Murray laughs.
Max walks out of the living room.
She walks over to Billy, slow, uncertain, remains standing in the middle of the hallway. Slow and uncertain.
Glances at the door behind which Murray has hidden.
Max has never been the kind of child who needed to be explained everything. Max has never been the kind of child who needed to be lied to and no one ever had to turn the truth into something soft and gentle and sparkly for her. Or maybe she has been, only she'd never been explained anything or lied to. Maybe Max was this kind of children, only she had to become the kind of child who understood everything at a glance.
‘Did I say something wrong?’ she asks quietly and grayly. ‘Was it my fault?’
Billy looks at her, also quiet and gray.
e
m
p
t
y
‘No,’ he replies and pulls his hand out of his pocket. Why? To ruffle her hair? To hug? Why? Why? ‘Not you.’
Max takes his hands out of his pockets too. Why?
E
M
P
T
Y
In the silence there should be some blurted out adult question from Max. "It’s not going to work out?" "You won't get custody?" "Is it going to end?" because without it it’s too
e
m
p
t
y and unbearable, and Billy wants to ask something like that, too, but there’s no one to ask, but Max had never been the kind of child who needed to be explained everything and lied to, Max understands everything and doesn’t ask anything.
Max has never been the kind of child, and Billy sometimes feels like she's never been a child at.
‘What's going to happen?’ Max finally asks, in a barely audible voice.
Billy wants to bark, he wants to snap. Billy wants to say, "I don't give a fuck," Billy wants to say, "No fucking way, Max," Billy wants to bang his bandaged hand into the wall, Billy wants to break something.
But Billy's looking at Max.
And Max is looking at Billy.
She has clear blue eyes and freckles.
Max has never been the kind of child to be comforted, and Billy sometimes feels like she's never been a child at all, and Max is small and grown-up and not like herself, but Billy looks at her, and she has clear blue eyes and freckles. Billy looks at her, and suddenly Max is a first-grader, holding Susan's hand and looking up at Billy all from down up and grinning with tooth and a half.
Billy sometimes thinks she's never been a child at all, except that she was, and she probably still is.
‘It'll be all right,’ Billy wheezes, coughing, as if his eyes aren’t red and he isn’t shaking like a wet dog. ‘Don't be sour. He didn't really say anything, he just didn't like me, and not a lot of people like me. That doesn't mean I won’t get custody.’
Max nods and wipes his nose. She's crying, too.
‘It doesn't.’
Billy uses the hand he has taken out of his pocket to poke Max in the shoulder with his fist.
‘It'll be fine,’ he repeats like a mantra.
Max nods.
‘It’ll be fine. I'm going to go see Ellie.’
‘I’ll go, too,’ Billy's head snaps up. ‘Not to see Ellie, I mean. Just the Byers.’
‘To see Argyle, you mean?’
‘No,’ Billy's lying for some reason. ‘Yeah. To see Argyle.’
Billy has no reason, Billy has no purpose, Billy has no point in going to see Argyle. Nothing at all. Just a desire.
The stairwell is cold and smells of cigarettes. There are flowers on the windowsill in the entryway. Max stomps up the stairs.
A knock. The door. Cinnamon. Buzz.
‘Well, look who I see!’ - Mrs. Byers. - ‘Max, sweetheart, you won't believe it, Ellie just went to ask if she could have you over!’
‘She did?’ Billy watches Max's eyes light up.
'Not even a minute ago! You're here to see her, aren't you?’
‘Yep.’
‘Well then, get your shoes off, have you had dinner? We've got potatoes still hot, don't be scared of the guy in the kitchen, that's Jim, he just shaved his mustache for unknown reasons,’ Mrs. Byers smiles, Max smiles as she walks into the apartment and takes off her shoes. Mrs. Byers watches her like she's five, smiling after her. She turns to Billy. ‘They get along so well, just look at that! And you? Have you had dinner?’
Billy blinks silently.
‘I'm not hungry.’
‘Of course you’re not, you guys never are,’ Mrs. Byers grumbles. ‘JIM! You hear that? He says he's not hungry! And he's shaking like a leaf!’
‘Everybody's not hungry until you cook something,’ Jim comes from the kitchen.
It's all just not for Billy.
‘Oh, didn't the social worker come to see you?’ Joyce remembers. ‘How did it go? Was it Murray or someone else?’
Billy swallows.
‘It was fine,’ he mumbles. ‘Murray, right. Is, uh… is Argyle home?’
‘Of course Argyle is,’ she pats herself on the side. ‘ARGYLE, DARLING, THERE'S SOMEONE TO SEE YOU!’
- she yells into the apartment.
It’s noisy here.
Billy shuffles from heel to toe.
Argyle comes out from somewhere in the hallway, raises their eyes to Billy and lights up.
Like they're happy to see Billy.
And Billy seems to light up himself.
‘Billy, dude!’
If Billy's got something going on inside him, no one will ever know, will they?
Will they?
Because some things are better never to be known to anyone.
Billy suddenly forgets all the words and just blurts out:
‘Wanna hang out at mine?’
‘Sure thing!’
‘All right, all right, hold your horses, cowboys,’ Mrs. Byers frowns. ‘You're not going anywhere without dinner. I'll give you some to take with you now.’
From the kitchen, someone with a full mouth responds: "I'll do it!" but Mrs. Byers leaves anyway.
Billy remains standing in front of Argyle. Shaking. Eyes still stinging.
‘Dude, are you okay?’ Argyle lowers their voice a little and reaches for his hand for some reason.
Just his hand. Just holding his hand. Not shaking his hand, not pulling on it, not twisting it, not squeezing it, just holding his hand. Billy's brain freezes.
‘No.’
Misinform
‘Is this the kind of "not okay" that needs to be distracted from, or talked about?’ Argyle finds themself across the doorway and rests their back on the jamb. A chill wanders down Billy's spine.
It’s not misinformation.
Not misinformation.
Billy says too many things he should keep quiet about.
Argyle smells like incense. The sticks you light on fire. Billy stands there for a while, sniffing the air instead of answering.
‘I don't know,’ Billy rasps quietly.
There's an urge to snuggle into Argyle's shoulder and sniff that smell like a coke line.
‘No pasa nada,’ Argyle shrugs lightly and Billy's hand reaches up for their arm. ‘We'll figure it out.”
We'll figure it out.
Billy looks from down up.
Billy usually looks down from the top. He's not very tall, actually quite average, but all the girls he hung out with were always shorter. All of his friends were at least no taller.
And here's Argyle.
Argyle is taller. Much taller. And Billy feels even shorter than he is.
Billy casts his eyes down. And feels Argyle's eyes on the top of his head. And their hand on his arm. His hand in their hand.
Billy spreads his fingers. Argyle's hand is bigger. It's warm and Billy twists from the inside out.
‘Okay, so you get a dinner and you get a second,’ Joyce shoves a container into Billy's hand, and then shoves a container into Argyle's hand as well.
Have fun!
Joyce is gentle and fussy, Jim puts his arm around her and claps Argyle on the shoulder. Neil and Susan, Neil and mom have never been like this, Billy is jealous.
The entryway. The stairs. Smells like smoke. Incense. Food. The door. Billy closes the door. Argyle takes off their shoes.
Mom and Neil argued loudly all the time, Susan silently obeyed Neil. Maybe Mom is somewhere in Utah or Idaho or Australia right now, maybe she has someone with his arm around her shoulder. But it's not Neil.
The apartment turns out to be empty, quiet, uninhabited. Dead.
Billy lies somewhere in the depths empty, quiet, uninhabited and dead. Billy’s the decomposing corpse in the kitchen. The day is long and too hard. Billy is about to fall and die.
Billy wants to fall and die. Billy's not making it, Billy's not going to make it.
‘Dude,’ Argyle pulls quietly and softly, their hand on Billy's back.
What's up?
Are you okay?
Billy doesn't have an answer for anything. Billy's got an answer for
everything.
But Billy won't answer.
‘I just want to sleep,’ he whispers.
‘Do you wanna talk?’
He doesn't.
He does.
Doesn't know.
Can't.
‘I don't even know what to talk about,’ Billy says through gritted teeth. Weakly.
Billy's ashamed. He's embarrassed. He doesn't even know why he called Argyle: to stand silent in the hallway? To look in different directions? Smoke?
Why?
Billy has no reason, no cause, no purpose, only desire.
‘You're all tense,’ Argyle says distantly. ‘Lemme feel your shoulder.’
‘What?’
‘Let me feel your shoulder.’
Billy squints at Argyle strangely, but turns his shoulder to him. Argyle reaches out and squeezes it gently. Well, they would squeeze it, except Billy's shoulders are rock hard and Billy can't relax.
‘Fucking hell, bro, what’s up with this?’ Argyle blares. ‘Jesus fuck, you're either gonna bulk up like this or you're gonna lose your arms!’
Billy snorts, 'cause Argyle's funny.
‘At least I’ll get disability pay,’ he jokes.
‘Lemme rub your shoulders.’
Billy snorts, 'cause Argyle's weird.
‘Yeah, and scratch my back?’
‘Nah, I'm serious,’ Argyle throws up his hands. ‘Clamps, bro, clamps! A clamped body is a clamped spirit! That's why you can't sleep, you know? Your body won't relax! Let me loosen it up!’
Billy blinks at Argyle tiredly.
‘It's hella gay,’ he hesitates. ‘One day you're rubbing your bro's shoulders, the next day you're rubbing his ass.’
‘Pretend I'm a masseuse,’ Argyle tosses aside his long hair to show off. ‘C’mon, man, it's not like I'm rubbing your prostate. Shoulders!’
Okay.
No one's gonna know about this.
Are they?
No one will find out, and Billy is so tired, and Argyle smells like pot and incense, and Billy is so tired he doesn't notice how they end up in the kitchen.
Argyle looks around.
Billy and Max's kitchen is uncomfortable. Dead. Uninhabited. There are no unwashed plates, no magnets on the fridge, no pictures on the walls, no notes on the cupboard. It's not lived in like the Byers'. It's cried and freezed and grieved in. And not slept in.
‘It's a rotten little house you've got here,’ Argyle exhaled thoughtfully. ‘I'll get you a rug.’
Billy snorts again.
‘What?’ Argyle smiles. ‘A rug just… ties the room together, you know. Makes it cozy.’
Billy snorts again, only this time he smiles.
‘Okay,’ he shrugs.
‘Wanna puff?’
‘Sure.’
They stretch out on the couch next to each other. The couch is rotten and uncomfortable, too, and it’s not for sleeping or sitting on. Argyle pulls a joint and a lighter out of their shirt pocket. Billy watches the fire.
It's getting quiet. Only the silence is no longer dead, like the rest of the kitchen, but warm, rustling, like the beginning of a song on a record player. Billy exhales the prickly smoke. He likes it.
He likes the way his eyelids droop.
They sit in silence for a while, passing the joint back and forth. Billy's heart isn't beating as fast.
Argyle looks at him, and Billy looks at them. Normally Billy doesn't like staring contests: they're tense, disturbing. But he likes to stare at Argyle. And when Argyle stares back at him.
‘You're really pretty,’ Argyle exhales along with the smoke.
Billy hesitates before taking the joint back.
He never thought of himself as "pretty." "Pretty" is about blonde-haired girls with rosy cheeks and round noses. Or fags. Skinny twinks in women's clothes. Billy's neither. Billy is handsome, good-looking, Billy is hot, masculine, and he's about to fucking puke.
Something tells him to resist and snort one more time, one last one, but that "pretty" thing spreads so warmly across his throat that it's impossible to resist and snort one more time. Billy throws back his head and exhales smoke. Argyle watches him carefully.
‘Thank you?’ Billy answers uncertainly.
The grass and whispers turn the kitchen into something almost cozy.
Argyle turn the kitchen into something almost cozy.
The curtains are drawn. Argyle tilts their head to the side.
‘Can you lose the shirt?’ they take a drag and toss the rest of the joint into the ashtray.
Billy hesitates for a moment. Again.
Billy doesn't like to show people his back. His chest, sure. Smooth, pumped-up man boobs and defined abs, in an unbuttoned shirt, jacket, with no shirt at all, whatever you want. Not the back. His back is a pile of bruises and abrasions, marks from Neil's hands and belt.
When Billy has sex, he puts the girls on top of him so he doesn't show his back. And he cums faster than they expect him to. And he doesn't give a shit. Billy doesn't want to think about sex.
Billy bites his lips and it's stupid.
Billy doesn't like to show people his back, but Argyle asked him to, and Billy reaches for the hem of his t-shirt and tugs it over his throat.
'Really pretty,' Argyle only exhales at that.
Billy doesn't like to show people his back, but showing off his tits and abs is another matter. Only now he feels too visible and somehow weak.
‘So, can you, like… lie down on your stomach and I'll get on top of you?’
‘Are you trying to make a home video or what?’ Billy grumbles, but under the influence and in the almost cozy kitchen he doesn’t give a shit and he obediently, like a good dog, lays down on his stomach.
Billy doesn't like vulnerable positions.
Argyle doesn't respond.
Argyle doesn’t respond because Billy's back is a healing mess of bruises, abrasions, and hand and belt marks. Long-lasting scars and permanent stains. And muscles that had hardened like rock.
Instead of the usual oohing and aahing and "who did that to you?" Argyle says simply, sweetly and quietly:
‘I'd never hit you.’
Billy swallows.
'You're not my father.’
‘I know,’ Argyle runs a hand down his back. It sags under the hand. ‘I'll be careful.’
Billy is clay in Argyle's hands. If Argyle bends his shoulders 90 degrees now, they will obey with a crunch and no whooping. If Argyle rips out his rib now and molds it into a human being, Billy will obediently watch their fingers.
Argyle runs their palms over Billy's shoulders and back to warm him up, and Billy breathlessly lets all the air out of his chest.
‘Are you going to tell me what your problem is?’ they ask.
‘The social worker,’ Billy puffs. ‘I fucked up, I said some weird shit, and now I don't know if they're gonna give me custody or not.’
‘Fuck, dude, that sucks.’
‘Yeah. Max thinks it's her fault,’ Billy suddenly feels like he's about to fall asleep under someone else's arms. ‘But it wasn't her, it was me.’
‘C’mon,’ Argyle presses their palms into his skin a little harder. ‘It's okay. You're not a junkie, you don't drink, you got a place, all that, they'll give you custody.’
Argyle sounds logical. Very. And Billy wants to believe them.
‘You tell me if it hurts,’ Argyle says casually. ‘I'm gonna start pushing.’
‘Go on.’
Billy feels fingers digging into his shoulders, goosebumps running down his spine, and a moaning sound trying to escape his throat.
‘FUCK!’ Billy almost yells, sinking into the armrest of the couch, but it's better than moaning.
‘Take it easy,’ Argyle continues to crumple his shoulders, but reaches forward to unhook Billy's arm from the couch.
Billy almost gets a boner.
And it's freaking him out.
He doesn't know what his body so stubbornly wants to react to, the long-awaited relaxation of frozen muscles, Argyle's command, Argyle themself, or all of it together, but he hopes only the former.
‘You okay down there?’ Argyle asks from above. Billy's heart races.
‘Yeah,’ Billy blurts out. Eyes wide open. ‘Yeah, I’m okay.’
‘Is that why you were shaking like that? That you might not get custody?’
Billy was shaking about so many things he can't even explain.
‘Because they might not give me custody, and they might be right,’ Billy exhales air he doesn't remember inhaling and closes his eyes. He is clay in Argyle's hands. Warming and softening. ‘I'm a shitty brother.’
Billy's eyes start to sting.
‘You're not a shitty brother,’ Argyle replies simply. ‘I know everybody here. There are no shitty moms, dads, sisters and brothers here. And you're not a shitty brother.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘Shitty brothers go off to college and leave their sisters at home, they’re not here.’
Billy's eyes are gonna flow out.
‘I don't know anything about her, I don't know how to talk to her, it's hard for me to say "she" about her because I'm not used to it, I don't know what to talk to her about, I don't know how to take care of her, I can't hug her and comfort her, I don't…’
‘You can do all that and be a shitty brother,’ Argyle kneads him like dough. ‘Or you can not know how to do it and be you.’
‘Still shitty.’
‘Trying,’ Argyle softens their voice. ‘You're not a shitty brother, dude, you're a trying one. You'd be a shitty one if you didn't know how and didn't try and learn. And you don't know how, but you're trying and learning. You're two-thirds not shitty!’
Billy suddenly squeezes out a chuckle somewhere into the couch. Two-thirds not shitty.
‘Exactly,’ and Argyle's voice is gentle. And so are hands.
‘You have a weird perception of me.’
‘I like having a weird perception of you.’
And Billy feels warm.
Billy feels warm and the things he doesn't want to talk about don't lie dead weight anymore. Billy is clay in Argyle's hands, and he takes their shape and blurs.
‘I'm gonna fall asleep,’ Billy suddenly realizes.
‘S okay,’ Argyle replies tenderly.
If Billy fell asleep without his shirt on the couch while Argyle was rubbing his shoulders, no one would ever find out.
If Billy woke up with a blanket and a pillow under his head, no one would ever find out.
If Billy jacked off with Argyle’s ‘take it ease’ in mind, no one would ever find out.
If Billy felt better after talking to Argyle than he had in the last 10 years, no one would ever find out.