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“Do you ever just feel kind of, I don’t know, empty?” David asks, stumbling slightly when he gets up.
“I mean you did just puke, like, three times man,” Exer slurs. “I’d be surprised if there was anything left in there.”
He pokes David’s stomach with a laugh.
David doesn’t laugh with him. Exer doesn’t notice.
“C’mon big guy,” Exer says, putting an arm around David to help him find his balance. “We’re almost home, just a few more blocks.”
They’re slowly and unsteadily making their way back from a party at Melissa McCormick’s house. Surprisingly, the REDs were invited despite their less than stellar current social status.
Brenda and Pam were invited as well, but the two of them opted to have a sleepover at Mrs. Miller’s house, instead.
David, not wanting to encroach on their space and having nowhere else to go, had swallowed his shame and asked Exer to sleepover at the Campbell’s house.
It’s not a big deal for him to sleepover there; he knows he’s welcome — Exer and Mr. Harry make it abundantly clear every time he enters their home — but lately, David hasn’t been able to help but feel like he’s always some sort of burden on someone. Without any one space to call his own, any area he inhabits he is technically an intruder in.
He’s taken to sleeping on the couch and brushing off Brenda and his mother’s comments in the morning, claiming he accidentally fell asleep while watching TV or doing homework.
And part of him feels stupid for doing it — overdramatic and attention seeking, in a way.
Because he knows Brenda doesn’t mind sharing her room with him. Especially considering half the time he is be able to slip into her room well after she has already fallen asleep, so she doesn’t notice the difference. And the other half of the time he’s asleep before she gets home. Their conflicting schedules mean they really don’t get in each other’s hair as much one would think they do.
So, as much as he doesn’t want to be a bother or a burden, it’s not entirely about that.
No. Truthfully, part of him likes sleeping on the couch.
Likes it because he doesn’t like it.
Likes it because it’s a little uncomfortable. Not that the mattress upstairs is a luxury, but the couch is scratchy and gets too hot. It’s somehow both stiff and soft in all the wrong places. And he’s just a bit too tall to lay straight across it, meaning he has to crunch his legs up uncomfortably — knees unsupported where they dangle over the edge.
Likes it because the radiator downstairs is broken, so it’s always a little cold; and all he has is a tiny square throw blanket that can either cover his shoulders or his feet, but not both.
He likes that it’s pathetic, in a fucked up way. It feels comfortable, the discomfort.
He always seems to wake up feeling more tired than the day before. Shivering and sore, with at least one numb extremity from the way his body was bent.
And he knows it’s wrong to keep doing it. Knows the silent, self-pitying sob sessions he has every night on the couch are hurting any progress he could be making toward ‘getting better’.
So maybe he doesn’t deserve to feel better at all, because what kind of person revels in sadness?
What kind of person claims they want to get better, but actively works to prolong their own suffering?
Tonight, though, he was trying not to feed into the pity party. At least at first.
So he asked Exer to sleepover at his house. Something nice, rather than the couch or a mattress on the floor.
Exer was thrilled, of course; as was Mr. Harry when they told him their plan on their way out the door five hours ago.
Now, as they walk back to the Campbell’s house at nearly three a.m., David reflects on how poorly he stuck to his plan to not be self-destructive tonight.
Because when they showed up to Melissa’s house, it became increasingly clear why the REDs were extended an invitation.
Melissa’s best friend, Kimberly Davis, has a thing for Exer.
A very big, very, uh, passionate thing for Exer.
The majority of the student body has negative feelings toward the REDs — or they at least act like they do because that’s the socially acceptable thing to do now. The football guys, however, greet them with drunken smiles and a few heavy pats on the back.
“Welcome, dudes! Are you ready to party hardy?” One of their fellow seniors, Aaron, asks.
“Whoa, I can’t believe you guys are here, we weren’t expecting you,” Mark (a junior who spent most of his time on the bench until Exer quit and everything got mixed around) says incredulously, earning him a smack on the back of the head from Aaron. “It’s totally awesome that you are, though,” he adds sheepishly.
“Let’s go get you guys some drinks,” Aaron slurs. “Miller looks like he could use something strong.”
David pretends not to notice the way Exer and Ron both shoot him concerned glances, and plasters on a smile.
“I’ll just start with some beer, thanks,” he replies with a fake laugh.
“Beer before liquor never been sicker,” Aaron says, nudging David with his elbow.
“Liquor before beer you’re in the clear,” Mark finishes, taking a swig from his red solo cup.
David waves his hand dismissively. “Then I’ll stick to beer all night if I have to. I’m not drinking much tonight, anyway.”
“Nah,” another senior cuts in. “We’re taking shots later, and none of you are getting out of it. Not even you, Campbell. You’re still an honorary teammate.”
Exer smiles, looking a mix of both uncomfortable and flattered.
“Thanks, man. But I don’t know if I’m up for shots—”
“Laaame,” comes a sing-songy voice from David’s left. It’s Kim. “Exer Campbell, since when did you become such a herb?”
“Yea, my crib, my rules. Don’t be a party pooper,” Melissa says, popping her gum and rolling her eyes with no real malice.
“I’ll take a shot with either of you ladies,” Mark pipes up, leaning forward in an attempt to insert himself into the circle the girls have created including them, the REDs, and a few of the other senior guys from the team.
Melissa scrunches up one side of her nose and sticks out her tongue.
“As if, sophomore. Get lost.”
He starts to correct her, but Kim shifts her weight onto her other hip; blocking Mark and effectively pushing him from the conversation. “I know you had your whole, like, burn out moment or whatever, but we all know you’re still the same Exer. Anyone at this school who can’t see that is a poser wannabe loser, just mindlessly following along with everyone else. That or they’re plain stupid.”
Exer frowns. “I have made mistakes, though. I’ve—”
“Okay, and who here hasn’t made a mistake? Raise your hand,” Kim prompts, glancing around the group. When the circle of teens remains unmoving, she gestures toward them dramatically, with an upturned open palm. “See? It’s just a fact of being in high school. You’re, like, destined to fuck up and hurt people.”
Exer’s eyes briefly meet David’s before he flashes Kim a smile. It’s fake — David has been able to decipher Exer’s real smiles from his phony ones for quite some time now — but no one else seems to be able to tell.
“Uh, thanks, I guess,” Exer says awkwardly.
“You can thank me by taking a shot with me,” Kim replies smugly, and David doesn’t miss the way Melissa smirks at her.
The football guys chime in too, now — nudging at Exer’s bicep and elbowing Ron’s waist while prompting them to agree to the round of shots.
“C’mon man, you know you want to,” Aaron says while grabbing one of David’s shoulders and shaking him somewhat violently.
David can’t help the shocked laughter that bubbles up from his throat, and the group cheers as they interpret his laughter as acquiescence.
“Brill,” Melissa smirks. “I’ll grab a couple bottles from the kitchen.”
A tiny, tiny part of David feels like he should be more angry. He hates this for sure — wants to spend time with his boyfriend instead of letting him talk to some girl all night — but not enough to do anything about it other than mope.
Maybe if he were more of a man, he’d be territorial. He’d stake his claim by stepping in and telling Kim to buzz off.
But he supposes that wouldn’t really make him more of a man, would it? Because being territorial over your boyfriend isn’t exactly peak masculinity.
So David does what he’s been doing for the past however many years since he realized his feelings toward Exer were more than platonic, and ignores it.
“Hey, Mark,” he calls loudly over the music. “You down to take another shot?”
“David—” Ron starts, but Mark grins and lets out a whoop and a ‘no duh’, before throwing an arm over David’s shoulder and leading them toward the kitchen.
He must’ve forgotten that ignoring it didn’t exactly work last time, either, because he finds himself sneaking one peak at Exer, despite himself.
Just one little glance over his shoulder, and then he’ll go back to ignoring the feelings.
Or maybe Exer will be looking back at him. And maybe he’ll give Kim some sort of excuse and make his way over to David, instead. Maybe he’ll apologize for letting her take up so much of his time, and ask David if he’s having any fun or if he wants to split. Maybe they’ll head home early and cozy up in Exer’s comfortable bed — a real bed — and David will actually get a good night’s sleep for the first time in a long time.
He instantly regrets letting himself look.
Because Exer doesn’t look back at him at all. In fact, Exer looks completely immersed in his conversation. He's talking animatedly while Kim listens intently, leaning in closely.
And Exer looks like he’s having fun. And he hasn’t looked that way in so long. Not with David weighing him down recently.
Watching Exer talk to someone who isn’t David about something that isn’t David-related, and seeing him look happy about it; David comes to realize something.
He hasn’t just been taking up physical space — he has been taking up mental space as well.
And it isn’t just Exer, either. It’s his mother. His sister. Ron. Even Pam, who he wasn’t ever all that close with. They’ve all been worried about him. He’s been taking up space in each of their minds; keeping them from ever feeling fully happy or relaxed.
Burden. Inconvenience. Unwanted intruder.
“Actually, let’s make it two,” David says with a grimace. Mark’s smile widens as he pulls David through the doorway.
They leave the room. Exer doesn’t notice.
It's more than two.
David has fun. Or, at least he thinks he does.
He’s trying his best to be normal and happy and some semblance of the person everyone at this party once thought that he was.
He and Ron make their way to the makeshift dance floor (a medium-sized living room with all the furniture pushed up against the walls); and David pretends not to notice when multiple people glare at him and reluctantly leave the dance floor, clearly appalled at the thought of being in the same vicinity as him. Wherever he goes, his presence really is an inconvenience.
Lately, he has been starting to feel like the only way for him to stop taking up someone else’s space is to stop existing. The thought makes him nauseous.
At some point, though, his stomach feels warm and his thoughts feel blurry, and David realizes that he doesn’t actually care too much about what any of these people think. He and Ron dance freely, smiling and laughing and letting themselves get lost in the music; and David feels good.
At some point after that, Ron tells him he needs to leave because it’s getting late and he’s working an early morning shift at the Smith’s Store.
“Finding Exer for you,” he half-shouts over the music. “No worry.”
“‘M not worried, dude. I am totally awesome right now. Don’t bother Exer.”
Ron says goodbye with a hug and a firm shoulder squeeze, and David wishes him good luck with his shift tomorrow.
It's not as much fun dancing alone, though, so David ends up ditching the dance floor.
As he leaves the living room, he expects to find Exer still sitting and chatting with Kimberly in the dining room. But Exer’s not there. Kim is gone too.
He trusts Exer, he really does, but David still can’t help feeling a little relieved when he scans the room quickly and spots Kim chatting with Melissa.
He passes them on what he thinks he remembers is the way to the bathroom, but pauses for a moment to eavesdrop when he hears his boyfriend’s name.
“—and Exer’s for sure into it, Kimmy. I say you just ask him point blank. It’s the perfect opportunity, since your parents aren’t home.”
“What if he says no?” Kim asks nervously, biting her lip and twirling her hair in her fingers.
“Why would he? You’re bodacious, babe. And guys never say no to that kind of thing, anyway. So even if you were a total clydesdale, he’d probably still—”
“Shut up, skank,” Kim says jokingly, shoving Melissa’s shoulder.
The two of them laugh loudly, and David walks away feeling a bit sick.
When he gets to the bathroom, David puts his ear up to the door and knocks.
“Just a second,” comes Exer’s voice on the other side. It’s upbeat and polite and so so sweet that David’s heart feels a little lighter just hearing it.
He wants to try the handle. Wants to walk in and lock the door behind him and make out with his boyfriend like any other person at this party would do if they wanted to.
Honestly, most people are drunk enough that they probably wouldn’t think twice if he and Exer were in there together for a long time. And if anyone was suspicious, the two of them could come out and pretend one of them was just puking, and no one would ever know any better.
But, if he remembers correctly, the McCormicks only have the one bathroom. And David doesn’t want to take it up if someone else needs it.
Inconvenience. Burden. Intruder. Find your own place to go.
And even if the chances are slim, he doesn’t want to risk rumors or mocking — or worse, violence.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about him. Don’t—
The hallway he’s standing in suddenly feels way too crowded and borderline claustrophobic and he needs to not be there anymore. He takes one last glance at the door and thinks about how badly he wants to rip it open and throw himself at boy behind it and… what?
Kiss him? Hug him? Sob his eyes out into his arms and confess how miserable he has been? How much he has been struggling with everything since his fath— since they were found out.
Any of those options sound like they’d help him feel better.
He should open up.
He had wanted to stop the pity party earlier, even if it didn’t last — he had wanted to get better.
Or he had wanted to want to get better, at least.
But David still isn’t sure if he deserves to feel better.
He was supposed to stay relatively sober tonight, but something as stupid as a girl flirting with Exer was enough to set him back. And that doesn’t even have anything to do with—
So he really is just looking for excuses to stay sad. He really must not want to get better at all.
He makes his way back to the kitchen and grabs a bottle of liquor, instead. He finds a cup that appears to be unused and clean at first glance, pours himself a very generous amount of alcohol, and chokes the whole thing down in one painful swig.
When he stumbles his way back to the dance floor, he half-registers that the people around him must be really drunk, because no one glares at him at all.
Some of the girls even come up and try to dance with him, like they’ve forgotten he’s supposed to be this horrible evil social pariah.
Or maybe they’re just drunk enough that they don’t really care. And David gets that; because who fucking cares about anything, actually.
He doesn’t really remember what happened, but Exer must’ve come to find him at some point; because they are now making their way through the chilly night and back to Exer’s place.
Kim was trying to take Exer back to her place.
He wishes he could bring Exer back to his place, but he doesn’t have a place.
He misses having a place.
A closet full of his clothes and shoes. A desk to do his homework at. Walls to hang his posters.
A bed. A real bed.
“She was clearly tryna boink you, dude.”
“Boink? Okay gross, Day. Please don’t ever use that word again. Now I’m the one that’s gonna ralph.”
“It’s true. I heard them talking about it,” David snaps, annoyed that Exer is being dismissive about something that’s clearly bothering him.
“And? Big whoop — I don’t even know her. I don't get what the big deal is, Day. Are you seriously mad at me for something I don’t even have control over?”
“You talked to her all night, you must know her pretty well by now.”
“She was telling me about how her younger brother is trying out for the football team; asking me for advice for him,” Exer shrugs.
“You’re not even on the team anymore, she couldn’t have asked literally anyone else?”
“Okay, so you are mad. Right. Cool. Because that’s totally fair, Day,” he says, sarcasm dripping throughout his tone.
The rest of the walk is quiet.
“I’m not mad,” David says with a long exhale. The overhead light in Exer’s room is jarring and too bright, and the lighting makes David’s hands look sort of fake if he looks at them too hard. It’s unsettling, and all David wants to do is close his eyes, but things are a bit too spin-y for that right now, so he needs something else to think about. A distraction. He continues on. “Well, I wasn’t mad about it before. Now I’m — I don’t know. I just feel weird.”
“Jealous,” Exer supplies.
“No,” David replies, honestly.
“Sad?”
“No.”
“Upset?”
“Isn’t that the same as sad?”
“I don’t know, I’m just trying to help.”
“Thanks, but I don’t feel any of that.”
“Well, what do you feel?”
That’s the problem, he thinks.
“Day,” Exer repeats gently when David remains silent. “What are you feeling?”
“I don’t think I really feel, like, anything,” David confesses. “I feel heavy, in a way, but that’s it. It’s like I’m numb. Heavy and numb and empty all at once.”
“Empty,” Exer echoes, sounding a bit like David’s admission has sobered him up.
“Yea.”
“Not stomach empty,” Exer says, clarifying his earlier misinterpretation of David’s words.
“Not stomach empty,” David confirms.
“Emotional empty.”
David recognizes that his body has nodded in response, but he doesn’t really feel like he was the one who did it. Honestly, he doesn’t really feel like anything he’s said in the past few minutes has come from his mouth.
In fact, the more they talk, the further and further from the conversation David feels.
Instead, he’s kind of just trying to focus his eyes on Exer’s dresser; but it’s proving difficult because his vision is repeatedly and rapidly shifting to the left without his permission. Everything is blurry and his eyes are unable to focus on anything, but he can’t close them because he’s still so fucking dizzy.
He kind of thinks he should feel bad for saying all this stuff. But he also kind of feels like a robot. Like he shut down a long time ago, and some pre-determined algorithm in his brain is answering Exer’s questions on autopilot. David is hardly paying attention at this point, staring down at his not fully real hands, that he just now realizes that Exer is holding — although he’s not able to register the sensation of it.
“—burden,” he hears Exer say; but it doesn’t sound like Exer’s voice.
Oh, David thinks, I said that. Whoops.
Some part of his brain knows he shouldn’t be spilling anything along those lines to anyone, let alone Exer.
He’s not registering the consequences of his rambling; he’s not really registering anything at all.
David has never been drunk like this in his life.
It’s kind of nice, in a way — giving up control and finally having a moment of silence from the fucked up thoughts that have been looping in his head nonstop as of late.
It would be really nice if it weren’t for the overwhelming dizziness and the underlying feeling that if he thinks about it too hard, he could throw up again at any moment.
“And you’ve been feeling like this since things with your— I mean, since things, like, you know, with—” Exer hesitates, clearly struggling to find a way to phrase it that won’t be upsetting.
Doesn’t he get that David isn’t upset about it anymore? That he can’t feel anything at all?
“I don’t know. Part of me kinda thinks I might’ve always felt like this,” David says with a shrug.
It’s quiet for a moment before Exer throws himself at David, wrapping him around the waist tightly in a way that makes David’s stomach turn. Oh god.
The tears pour from Exer immediately. David, however, doesn’t cry with him.
Exer doesn’t notice.
David wakes in the morning with a splitting head ache, and the overwhelming desire to puke his guts out.
He throws his legs over the side of Exer’s bed and knocks over a small plastic garbage pail; the contents of which spill out. Vomit.
The smell wafting into the air and the visual of the chunky liquid spilling on Exer’s floor are enough that David retches immediately. There’s nothing in his stomach but bile, seeing as he just woke up, and it burns coming up.
Exer’s standing behind him, hand on his back in heartbeat.
“Day, you okay?” He asks, concern lacing his voice.
David shakes his head weakly and wipes his mouth on the back of his arm.
“Feel like crap,” he manages.
“Yea, I figured you would. Let’s get some food in you and then you can take some medicine while I clean this up,” Exer offers, gripping David’s arm that he just smeared his vomit on.
He pulls the arm away, not wanting to subject Exer to something so disgusting.
“Ex, I’m fine. I can manage. You don’t have to clean up my puke, that’s so gross.”
He glances at Exer and notices two things at once.
One, he looks like absolute shit. His eyes are red and his eyelids are super puffy, like he’s been sobbing. He has dark circles under his eyes and his hair has what David can assume based on context clues is crusted vomit in it. Gross.
Two, he looks confused out of his mind.
“What?” David asks confusedly. “Oh shit, was that your puke in the garbage? Don’t worry, I can still clean it — I don’t mind. I mean it is half mine at this point.”
He’s lying, he very much minds; he just sympathy puked at the sight of it, for crying out loud. But he is a guest, a visitor, an intruder. So it kind of feels like he should clean up the vomit on the floor that is just as much his as it is Exer’s.
“You don’t remember throwing up last night?” Exer asks, and David’s heart rate picks up a little.
“No, I— I guess I don’t,” he says with a nervous laugh. “So that was me who ralphed in the garbage? Okay, I will definitely be the one cleaning it up. Sorry.”
“Yea, you threw up in there. You also puked in the bathroom, do you remember that?”
David’s face feels hot.
“Uh, no I guess not. I didn’t wake Mr. Harry, did I?”
Please, god, please don’t let him have woken Mr. Harry up if he was blackout drunk and puking in their toilet. That’s a level of shame he’s not sure he can manage.
Exer ignores his question to ask another one of his own.
“Do you remember throwing up in the bushes at the Anderson’s house on our way home?”
David shakes his head.
“Do you remember talking about Kim? Or Brenda? Or how you’ve been—” Exer chokes up on his words. His chest rises as he takes a deep breath, and then his mouth forms a circle and he lets out a shaky exhale. “Do you remember talking about anything?”
No, he really doesn't.
Shame builds in David’s chest. And his limbs. And his belly.
He’s going to throw up again.
He hastily grabs the garbage pail to set it upright and ignores when some of its contents splash back up onto his hand. And he pukes.
When David is done, Exer leads them both over to sit on the edge of the bed. David, feeling weak and shaky, lets him do so without protest.
Exer puts a hand gently on David’s; and David, trying not to be weird, doesn’t rip his arm away, despite wanting to. Despite every fiber of his being reading this interaction as pitypitypitypity and uncomfortable as hell.
“David you said some really concerning stuff last night, I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
It’s almost scary how quickly David’s brain provides him with the right words to say. The right lies.
“Ah c’mon man, don’t do that. You know they teach us alcohol is a depressant, or whatever. I’m fine, I don’t know why I said any of that,” he tries his best to sound convincing. “I’m fine.”
“Day.”
“I’m fine, Exer. Seriously, stop.”
“I think we should talk to my dad. You already know that I’m in therapy, it’s totally oka—”
“I said I’m fine,” David snaps, and then remembers he’s supposed to be going for normal. Unaffected. He clears his throat and tries his best at sounding casual. “Just, like, take a chill pill, man. I must’ve been super drunk, that’s all.”
Exer sighs.
“I don’t think that’s all it was, Day. And I really think my dad could—”
“Exer if you go to your dad about this, I swear to god I will—”
The words catch in his throat the second he meets Exer’s eyes.
And David feels like shit, because he’s not really sure why he’s so angry. Fuming, actually. And Exer looks hurt, and confused, and really, really scared.
Scared.
That’s it.
David is scared, too. But instead of being scared the way Exer is, meek and subdued and searching for comfort, David is scared more like— like— like a dog.
When a dog is scared and backed into a corner, it’s not going to show you that it’s scared. Instead, it’s going to snarl and bark. It’s going to bare its teeth and lunge at you.
It’s going to bite.
David bites.
He’s going to turn out just like his—
“I’m sorry, Day. I’m not trying to push you or anything. We don’t have to talk about it anymore. But, just—” Exer sighs and tugs at his hair, not meeting David’s eyes. “Just know that whenever you are ready to talk about it, I’m here for you. And my dad is, too. He asks about you a lot, you know? We both care about you more than anything. But if you say you’re fine, I’ll— I guess I’ll believe you. I won’t ask anymore, you can just come to me when— if you ever need me. Okay?”
David, unable to find the right words, simply nods.
Exer looks at him with a weak smile that doesn’t meet his eyes, and David tries his best to muster up his own.
“Okay,” Exer says, going for cheery, but his tone reads faker than his smile. “You should go shower, I’ll clean this up.”
“Ex, I couldn’t possibly let you—”
“It’s fine, seriously. You just go shower, and this will be all cleaned up by the time you’re out. And I’m sure Dad will have breakfast waiting by then too; and everything can be forgotten. Sound good?”
David pauses for a moment, waiting for the catch, but Exer seems sincere.
“Yea,” David swallows. “Yea, okay. Thanks.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Exer says. He looks at David and something makes him hesitate for just a moment before he recovers, and plants a quick kiss on his cheek. “Now go. There’s a fresh towel hanging in there already, and I’ll bring you stuff to change into in a second.”
“Thanks,” David says again, making no move toward the door.
“Go,” Exer replies, flicking his hands in a shooing motion with a hollow-sounding laugh.
David puts a hand on the door knob before turning around. He opens his mouth for a second, debating on saying something — anything — before really taking in the sight of his boyfriend. He stands in front of the little garbage pail and the mess on the floor, blocking it. As if he could erase what happened by simply keeping David from seeing it. He’s still got that same fake smile plastered on his face, but he looks ragged and desperate and like he could start crying at any moment.
But David can’t think of a single thing to say, so he shuts his mouth and leaves Exer’s room, closing the door behind him.
He makes his way into the bathroom, and stares at his unkempt and ghastly reflection in the mirror; and doesn’t let himself cry until he reaches over and turns the porcelain knob so the sound of the shower stream can drown it out.
This is what he wanted, right? To be left alone?
For no one to ask any questions or force him into talking about it?
This is what he asked for.
So why does it feel so awful?