Work Text:
“HOW ARE YOU DOING today?” The therapist asks. Her office is silent, not too cold yet not too warm either. It is pristinely clean, organized, not a speck of dust to be seen anywhere. Even the blinds are slightly open to let the sun rays peek through to cast golden streaks across the walls and the floor.
There is her desk in the center, her back towards the windows, a small wooden coffee table stationed in front of the two-seated sofa and on the other side are two arm chairs. All beautiful muted pastel colors with patterned throw pillows and a neatly folded blanket. A mug of hot chocolate is left abandoned, the steam releasing soft and swirling tendrils into the atmosphere.
He sits on the sofa still and stiff, tense muscles as he keeps his eyes on his hands in his lap. He had never liked speaking to someone about his problems. He liked it less when he allowed it to show on his face so much so that one of the nurses at school questioned him and his well-being before giving him the contact to schedule an appointment for therapy. He hasn’t spoken much to her since November but it served well to kill time. He can’t bear stepping foot into that apartment constantly, not when there’s so many memories. He needed an escape. If he isn’t in class, he’d work, if not work, he’d be here.
The therapist doesn’t seem to mind the silence he’d bring. She is more than content enough to let the boy use her as a method of slipping from the real world. It is as if everything on the outside of the room is unable to touch him. Hurt him. Perhaps after a long time, he should start there.
Or from the beginning.
“I…” His voice is unrecognizable. Torn and hoarse with misuse that it aches his throat and he almost cannot form these words after finding them. His heart pounds in his chest and he swallows thickly, rubbing his palms together to buy time. He wants the clock to run out. It seems like no matter what he works the courage for, he turns tail and bolts in the end. He doesn’t know how to stop that. God, does he want to stop. “I want to tell you a story. If that’s alright.”
“Of course. You can tell me anything you like, Nathaniel,” she says softly and he nods. For the first time since Nathaniel has occupied this room every evening three days a week from the month of November, he looks up at her. A known friend of the nurse and coach at school. Betsy Dobson, who specializes in taking in strays and helps them heal from the pain they went through. Betsy smiles at him, her eyes twinkling as he’s taken the first step to pouring out his soul. “Forgive me for my asking but does this…have something to do with your grief? I’ve noticed you’re more withdrawn lately.”
“It does. I just don’t know where else to start.” Nathaniel sighs, urging his body to relax but it refuses. His skin itches and he glances away from her, staring down at the hot chocolate.
“We have time,” Betsy murmurs and there’s a twinge in his heart, a twisting sensation in his gut at the irony of those words. Time. There’s never enough time. “Whenever you’re ready.”
It was October 2004.
Mary Hatford died in the early summer, a gruesome display of violence portrayed by Nathan Wesninski and by a granted miracle, the Butcher of Baltimore was soon arrested and sentenced with the death penalty.
Nathaniel wanted nothing to do with anything, expressing his distaste for the constant reminder and after much pushing and arguing with nasty insults and creative threats, Stuart allowed him to live anywhere he liked.
And so, Nathaniel was on his own. His uncle funded everything he could to make sure Nathaniel was settled in well. Despite the fact he was in England, he always expressed he could be on the next flight to South Carolina if need be. Nathaniel didn’t say anything but an alright, thank you.
He lived alone. A one bedroom apartment with a bathroom, the living room and kitchen along with in-unit laundry, a balcony, and the trash chute down the hall. After much paperwork and contacts, Nathaniel’s transfer had gone through and he was effectively enrolled in high school for the junior year. He was set to begin that morning but as he stared up at the ceiling, the sheets cool against scarred skin, he realized he didn’t want to go anywhere.
His bones weighed him down and he was incredibly tired. Nathaniel hadn’t been sleeping much at all, with night terrors of his mother’s death haunting him and the ghost of his father lurking in every corner, it was a miracle if he managed to close his eyes for more than an hour and a half. He’d barely eaten as well, most of the food was nearing their expiration date except for the pack of fruits that only had several small pieces left in the clear containers.
It took an obscene amount of strength to peel himself off the bed and sit up. His vision swam and crackled with dark spots accompanied by a shrill ring in his ears. Nathaniel braced himself, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the bed tightly and waited for it to pass.
An hour ago, he would’ve been stressed with anxiety burning down to his nerves with that empty void in his stomach he could nearly throw up. But now, he didn’t want to leave. He wanted to waste away and die in the isolation and solitude that welcomed him with open arms and a warm expression.
He moved around his room sluggishly after he stood slowly. Nathaniel pulled a drawer open from the small dresser stationed in the corner of his room beside the window. The sky is starting to lighten with a pale blue color, the glass panes behind the sheer curtains covered in mist and morning dew as he took two shirts to layer over, a pair of worn down black jeans, and socks. He tossed the clothes onto his bed—twin sized with a white fitted sheet and a navy blue blanket to accumulate warmth in the winter. There was nothing on his walls, no decorations or display of what he liked and what he was interested in, he wasn’t allowed to express himself the way others might have been able to.
The only other thing taking up space in the room was a desk at the foot of his bed. A stack of textbooks for languages he was learning paired with a few notebooks and loose paper, others were crumpled up and forgotten.
Nathaniel turned to twist the doorknob to his bathroom, parallel to the bed pushed against the wall, and entered. He flicked the light switch, his eyes squinted from the sudden assault by the bright light. He leaned against the door frame, blinking several times until his eyes adjusted.
The bathroom wasn’t anything special either. The sink and the mirror were right beside the door, the toilet in the corner and across from that was the ceramic tub with shower doors to slide shut. It was like no one of importance occupied the apartment. He’d only been living in the complex for a week and the neighbors had always been surprised to see room 310 housed a young boy that never left unless he needed to. An enigma, they’d say. Comments about where his parents were and why’d they leave him on his own were heard through whispers as the halls would echo, letting just about anyone hear the entire conversation.
He had only sat on the balcony once on Saturday night, a lit cigarette in his hand but he didn’t inhale any of it. Nathaniel let it burn to the filter for some semblance of peace. Or maybe it was to remind him of his mother who used to smoke nearly every hour due to the high stress she was under.
He remembered when the look in her eyes had changed every time she caught sight of him. How it switched from a mother’s love to downright hatred because he had been the splitting image of his father that it made her sick. As he stared at his own reflection in the mirror, his hands gripping the sides of the sink, she wasn’t at all wrong. But at the time, she made it seem like he was more of Nathan’s son than hers. Bearing his features and even his name, the bloody past he didn’t want to think about, he was always going to be marked for death.
He just hoped the Reaper would take him away soon enough.
Nathaniel finished washing up, ignoring the dark circles beneath his eyes and shut off the light to the bathroom before he’d spiral further into thoughts he wouldn’t be able to pull himself out of. He got dressed and tugged on his shoes, leaving his pajama pants on the blanket and picked up his black book bag that was shoved underneath the bed then he exited his room, closing the door behind him.
Stuart had taken care of the living room and kitchen necessities. A comfortable couch with a dark oak coffee table and a tv mounted on the stand that was paid with cable. He left Nathaniel a collection of DVDs and VHS tapes of movies underneath the stand, tucked away inside the cabinet. But Nathaniel hadn’t touched any of it yet. Anytime he felt like leaving the room to use the tv, it was late and the cable would air old episodes of 90s shows that he’d watch until he fell asleep.
In the kitchen, aside from the counters and stove with the microwave plugged into an outlet beside the fridge, was a dark oak circular table with two chairs. They’d been in the same spot since he moved in because he’d eat whatever he could and without a second glance, retreat into his room.
Nathaniel opened the fridge and bent down to take a water bottle from the shelf, tucking it into his bag and grabbed a premade sandwich he had the energy of making the night before. He unwrapped the plastic from it, throwing it into the trash as he bit into it.
His house keys jingled when he unhooked the ring from the key holder and he left the apartment. He locked the deadbolt and the handle then turned on his heel to walk down the stairs and out into the parking lot.
Nathaniel ate on the way to the school. He didn’t live far; five minutes by car but ten to fifteen on foot. No matter how early or how late he left, he’d still get there on time to visit the front office and request a physical copy for his schedule. He had his laptop left on the desk but he didn’t know what website he needed to use to check his classes, much less what programs the school had that he could take so he wouldn’t have to stay in the apartment all the time. But what he had done, after leaving that a problem for another day, was looking for places that were willing to hire sixteen year-olds. Stuart gave him a weekly allowance of eighty dollars on a debit card he left him and when groceries or new clothes were needed, he’d transfer as much money to cover everything but still leave Nathaniel with enough to use on the side. Money wasn’t scarce and his uncle was positively loaded but Nathaniel didn’t want to live off his uncle forever if he managed to survive past the age of eighteen.
With the early dismissal that came with high school, Nathaniel was making plans to head further into the city and ask around, hopefully a clerk or two needed a young body and mind to move boxes around or work the cash register. Nathaniel hadn’t worked a day in his life—not that he was able to with Nathan’s watchful eye and need to keep him and Mary in his sight at all times—but he was a quick learner and if anything, he knew Stuart would be more than happy enough to act as a reference or forge a resume with his employees and coworkers vouching for him.
He sighed as he finished his sandwich and crossed the street, stepping foot onto the sidewalk that led to the large and heavy doors.
Nathaniel arrived with five minutes to spare and he stood beside an empty chair in the front office. The employees there were busy, running back and forth between the principal’s room, the nurse’s, among the others with radios fastened around their hips.
But nothing caught his attention the way the boy at the desk did. He spoke quietly in mutter to a young woman, an important topic by the looks of it because he slid a folded paper across the counter. As the woman unfolded it to examine it, the boy sighed and glanced around.
Silence fell over the two, save for the chatter and the thudding footsteps echoing down the seemingly endless halls. His jaw was clenched tightly, his nails digging into his arms with white knuckles as he fiercely glared at Nathaniel.
Nathaniel had only seen that look on one other person.
Himself.
The anger shining in the boy’s eyes and the tension in his shoulders. It was like a mirror. A reflection of another life staring back at him with how much resentment the boy seemed to hold.
The woman called the boy’s name and the eye contact fell through like grains of sand. The next moment, he slipped into the nurse’s office and disappeared.
Nathaniel walked up to the desk, one hand tightly gripping the strap of his bag as the woman gathered her paperwork before looking up at him with a soft smile. “How may I help you?”
“I’m a new student here and I was hoping to get my schedule,” he replied.
Nathaniel’s eyes flicked down to the plaque with her name on it as she moved her mouse around to turn on the computer. Renee Walker. He watched as her fingers fly across the keyboard, the clicking sound of each press filling the silence of the office. “What’s your name?”
“Wesninski. Nathaniel.”
A few minutes passed before she spoke again, having found his records and information that she needed. “Well, Nathaniel, you only missed a few weeks since the start of eleventh grade but it was syllabus week and getting back into the swing of things so you’re not too far behind. If you’d like, I can print out a list of materials you need for each class.” Nathaniel nodded in response and Renee continued as the printer beside her started up. “The school is open from six in the morning and four in the afternoon should you need anything. As for the bell schedule, each student here has eight classes. However, most of them can test out of the core subjects and substitute that for an elective or leave it as a free period. Some juniors can even have half-days much like seniors due to having jobs.”
Nathaniel tapped his finger against the strap in thought. “What classes do I have?” He asked.
Renee reached over to take the printed papers and slid them over for him to take a look. Nathaniel picked it up with his free hand and blue eyes skimmed the page. He had Algebra II first thing, English III, gym, and Chemistry. The rest of the boxes had been empty. “Some of the boxes are empty.”
“For your electives. You may take a history class if you wish to or you may simply leave it as that and leave early after lunch. If you do want to choose what you’re taking, you will have to miss your math class so we can speak with the principal and get you set up and situated.”
Nathaniel pursed his lips, staring at the schedule in his hand before he flipped the page for the materials he’d need to buy at the end of the day. He’d have his hands full with the classes already chosen for him and he was sure the languages he studied on his own time weren’t available based on teacher availability and if they had space for him in the student roster. Not that he needed the extra time because he’d been learning those languages for as long as he could remember. Then there was the concern of finding a job and eventually being accepted.
It was hard to get out of bed to come here. It would strain what little health he had on his mental stability if he decided to add more classes.
But that left the real reason.
Nathaniel was going to die before the age of eighteen. He had long since decided that the first time he stole his mother’s pills and swallowed them when he was thirteen years old and bruised. At fifteen, he tried provoking his father and even though his mother wasn’t loving to him anymore, she interfered. So what was the reason why, with his mother dead and his father following behind, he was still here? Alive and speaking to the receptionist about something as insignificant as education when it would be futile?
Perhaps he was still searching for a reason to live.
He didn’t have to wait until January of 2006 to kill himself, he could’ve easily done it the moment Stuart left for London.
Nathaniel was prolonging the deal he made with the Grim Reaper for nothing other than decaying away in his own body.
He sighed, folding the papers and unzipped his bag to place them inside. “Can I have time to think about it?”
“Of course. The deadline for changing and solidifying your schedule is the end of October. Take all the time you need, Nathaniel, and if you have any questions, please let me know.”
Nathaniel murmured a thank you and he exited through the door that led to the hallways.
Betsy dabs her eyes with a napkin, a slight sniffle each time she inhales and Nathaniel stares at her curiously. “I’m sorry. It’s just,” she sighs and clears her throat to erase the waver in her words, “in all of my years of helping others, not just children and teenagers, I don’t think I’ve heard something such as that.”
“I’m sorry,” Nathaniel says quietly and she shakes her head.
“Don’t be, Nathaniel. You have gone through so much and you’re only seventeen years old. No one is as strong as you are.”
“It doesn’t feel like I am,” he admits and leans back into the cushions of the couch, bringing his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around himself. “There are days when I still think about it. About dying and hope that the next life I have is easier, more peaceful. More…appealing. I understand my parents are horrible people but I don’t know what I did to make them act that way with me. I don’t care about it, not anymore, and I’m glad they’re gone but sometimes I wonder. What it would’ve been like if things were different. What if. How dangerous they are.”
“I’d like to talk about something with you before we continue on with the story, if that’s alright with you.”
“That’s fine.”
“The days when you feel like you can’t live anymore, whether it’s because you wanted to die or you couldn’t take care of yourself, what is it like for you?”
Nathaniel rests his cheek on his knees, blue eyes dropping to the floor in thought. He’s not sure how to describe it, much less find the correct words.
There are moments in Nathaniel’s life when it comes in waves and pulls him into the depths of it for several weeks if not months. He doesn’t find meaning in most things, there isn’t an interest in what he does because while he’s done it for years, it was a means of survival. A means of communication to avoid being overheard or to distract his mind from what went on behind the closed doors in the house in Baltimore.
His father wasn’t a kind man and his mother’s light died inside of her before her body caught up. He was young, an innocent child, forced to bear the burden a soldier would have.
“Fate determines my free will,” Nathaniel starts in a murmur, his vision blurring as he unfocuses his eyes. “I have never felt human once in my life but some sort of robot. A creation programmed to adapt and never allowed to create a secure and solid foundation because it’s always taken from me. Until last year, my parents controlled everything about who I am. Once I was on my own, I only knew my name, who my parents were, and what I look like. I’m never able to forgive but constantly remember what stripped me. I am and will always be nothing.”
“It’s common for people with unstable homes to become unstable themselves. Sometimes, it’s not by the way parents raise their children but how others treat you. As you’re told various things like a mantra, your brain will begin to believe it and it opens the doors to something very fatal and dangerous. Someone will turn to drugs to feel something, others will drink to feel nothing at all. In your case, Nathaniel, I believe you tend to ignore it so it develops like a disease and it’s the comfort and familiarity you’re accustomed to. It can be hard to climb out of the hole you unknowingly dug.”
“I climbed out of it when—” Nathaniel blows out a deep, languid breath. His heart twists painfully and his throat closes, making it hard to swallow or breathe. His voice is strained as he says, “I feel like I lost…a part of myself. And I’ll never have it again. I’ll never have him again.”
Betsy doesn’t say anything at first, an evident frown curling her lips downward with sorrow in her gaze and a crinkle between her brows. “How long has it been since he passed?”
“It’s December now, right?” He hears her confirmation and he whispers, “A month. He would’ve been eighteen now.” Nathaniel buries his face between his knees, arms tightening around himself as he tries not to feel so very cold. As he tries to search for a warmth no longer present.
As lunch came, Nathaniel slipped away into the chaos of the hallways—bodies brushing against bodies, bumping and pushing one another with impatience and fervor—and hid away in the bathroom.
He needed to breathe. Nathaniel felt as if all eyes were on him, watching his every move. Each time someone whispered to another or laughed, shivers coiled around his spine and his mind thought the worst. If somehow, some way, the identity of his father made it past local news, if his identity was leaked out into the world for everyone to see and look at him, waiting for him to snap and follow in the bloody path his father was persistent in setting him on.
Nathaniel leaned against the wall, his head tilted back as he pressed a hand to his chest, desperate to feel the pounding of his heart to remind him he was still alive and it was just the anxiety of it all wanting to torture him. In some sick and twisted way, he almost missed the stinging slice of cold and sharp metal or a hot iron on his skin.
He remained in the bathroom until the outside quieted down and he shut his eyes. It’d only been four hours since the day started and he could barely handle it. To consider requesting for more classes on his schedule was a cruel joke and that was without having a job at the current moment. If he had wanted to run out less than ten times in each class, the number would reach one hundred by the end of the week. He refused to do it. So Nathaniel made up his mind: he’d keep the classes he had, end the school day with lunch before going home. Nothing was keeping him here but himself. It was like he chose misery over helping himself.
He sighed soundlessly, his hand dropping to his side just as something clattered onto the floor. His heart jumped at the sound and his eyes snapped open, flickering around the bathroom and relaxed when there was a short curse following after. Nathaniel didn’t move, instead he waited as he heard the clattering sound again, a rustle of clothes, and the lock to the stall clicking.
Out came the boy Nathaniel had seen that morning. The one with jet black hair and stormy gray eyes filled with anger and hatred. He watched as the boy washed his hands and dried them with a few napkins before tossing them into the bin. It was then, Nathaniel thought, that the boy realized he wasn’t alone.
“You were in the office,” Nathaniel said softly, an obvious observation but he didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know why he felt the need to speak with the boy at all but something in the back of his mind, a little voice who whispered and told him that he should.
“So were you.” Nathaniel hadn’t heard his voice hours ago but now that he did, it did something to his heart that had calmed down. It was heavily accented and he recognized that kind anywhere. The boy was French.
He really shouldn’t. He would die soon and all of what he had done would be for nothing. Nathaniel shouldn’t indulge in making friends, he needed to keep the distance, navigate through his last two years in high school silent and alone and find the nearest cliff to jump off of.
But he wanted to be worth something. Wanted something to be worth the pain and the inevitable doom he would find himself in. Nathaniel had no one to tell him otherwise and with the echo of his mother’s voice screaming in his ears, he ignored it. He just wanted something. He hated it.
He hated everything so much.
“I needed my schedule.” Nathaniel gave a one-shouldered shrug. “You visited the nurse’s office.”
“Personal reasons,” the boy said. “And for that, I will be leaving.”
Nathaniel didn’t stop him nor did he follow. The door slammed closed and he slid down the wall with a sigh.
Nathaniel created a routine that stuck.
He had gotten hired at the local library by a lovely old woman who was more than ecstatic to have him. Each afternoon, he’d leave school and change at the apartment before calling a cab to be driven there. His hours were flexible, being able to start or leave as early and late he wanted to. More often than not, he spent more time at the library than anywhere else. Nathaniel would take his things and study. When he needed to shake off the stiffness, he’d roll the cart of returned books and walk around placing them back in their designated places on the shelves.
There had been a few times when people asked him for things like which section held the history articles and records for essays or where they could find the best textbooks for a certain language that wasn’t taught in most schools. The visitors grew to enjoy Nathaniel’s help just as the old woman did, calling him remarkable for the knowledge he had on various things and thanked him greatly each time he redirected them to different areas that had what they were searching for and where they could order it online. To Nathaniel’s surprise, it was nice to be helpful but it still did nothing to fill the void deepening inside him.
His physical health was improving with walking and participating in gym class. He hadn’t seen the cafeteria at Palmetto, opting to order a few things from coffee shops to eat instead but it’d be the only time he ate every day.
With his mind and body occupied with school and work, he didn’t have time to wallow in his angst. All in all, he ignored it because it was easier than to think about everything that was wrong with him, what he lost without having it.
Nathaniel sighed and glanced out the window. It was the late afternoon and the cloudy skies covered the sun with all their might. With November coming to a close, the temperature was beginning to drop and the cold wind would bite as night fell. He was losing time and it surprised him earlier that morning to write the date of November as the 19th. Had he always been in this endless loop the moment it grew roots to stabilize itself?
He shook his head and leaned back in his seat to stretch his spine and his legs, his muscles aching from sitting down for a few hours pouring over a book report for English. Nathaniel placed his pencil down and shut his notebook and laptop before he stood. The doors to the library slid open, allowing university students and the elderly inside but in the small crowd, he noticed two familiar faces.
When they caught sight of Nathaniel, their faces instantly lit up like lights on a Christmas tree and made a beeline toward his table.
“I’d ask if you do anything else other than live here but I already know that answer,” one of them said as a greeting as the woman beside him laughed softly.
Matt and Dan he met during the second week he started at the library. They were athletes for an ice hockey team coached by David Wymack, the same man who he avoided like the plague during the forty-five minutes of gym class. But aside from being athletes, they were students at the neighboring university. Nathaniel didn’t ask what their majors were nor did they ever tell him but he helped them out a few times looking for what they needed for assignments or projects.
If Nathaniel wasn’t busy, they’d talk in one of the booths hidden deep within the library. Sometimes, they went as far as to bring something small for Nathaniel to eat as they rambled on about stories from their dormitory, their unruly teammates, the monsters they had to deal with. It was during these talks that Nathaniel realized they also knew Renee Walker, the school receptionist who worked part-time until her afternoon classes began and practices for the seasons started up.
To see them around this time meant Matt and Dan were on a lunch break and left campus to check on Nathaniel. He softly smiled at the thought. “I close up here and sleep in one of the booths actually,” he said as they took the vacant seats on the other side of the table. “I absorb all the knowledge while I sleep.”
“That I believe. You’re freakishly smart, Nate, it’s insane to me.” Dan shot him a smile as she unzipped her bag to take out a textbook paired with a couple of notebooks and a pen while Matt carefully set down the tray of coffee cups and slid over a wrapped sandwich.
“What’s this?” Nathaniel asked as he moved aside his materials to make room for his coffee and the sandwich.
“Your black coffee with two packs of sugar and a grilled cheese. We stopped by a bakery on the way over here,” Matt answered and took a sip from his drink. “We guessed you hadn't eaten. Were we right?” Nathaniel cleared his throat and purposely drank from his coffee to avoid answering. Matt and Dan shared a look and they nodded at Nathaniel's silence. He had forgotten. “Of course we were right. I don’t know how you’re still alive.”
“You and me, both,” Nathaniel muttered under his breath and set his cup down. “How long are you two staying here?”
Dan flipped her pen around her fingers in thought. “We have a home game tonight so classes were cancelled early. Matt and I decided to spend at least an hour? Maybe? To get some things done before we have to go and handle the team. Will you be watching us win?”
“Or get our ass handed to us,” Matt remarked and he winced when Dan pinched his arm. “What? It’s true. Listen, I’m all for optimism but Seth and Allison are on the outs again , there’s something weird going on between the monsters and who knows if Andrew is in a good enough mood to lock down the goal.”
“We still have Kevin, Renee, and the rookies. We’ll be just fine.”
“Our rookies still stumble across the ice, Dan. Just fine is not what we need when we’re against—”
“Nate, will you be watching?” Dan cut him off deliberately and Matt sighed with exasperation.
Nathaniel didn’t answer as he unwrapped his grilled cheese and bit into it. He didn’t know how late he’d be getting back to the apartment, much less if he had enough energy to pull himself out of the shower and change into warmer clothes to find the channel the game would be live on.
He wasn’t going to promise but he said, “I’ll try. What time is it?”
“Commercials start at 7:30 but it’s at 8 PM.”
They ate and drank their coffee in silence after that. While Dan and Matt gave their full and undivided attention to the pages in front of them, Nathaniel left the table to take his place behind the main desk.
The old woman had ordered a new shipment of books, leaving him a sticky note with a reminder that whenever he could, to put it away and throw the cardboard boxes into the recycling bin. Thankfully, each box was labeled. There was one for classical European literature; some others for folklore, fantasy, and ancient mythology; and the rest were educational novels or textbooks for all ages.
Nathaniel slipped out one of his keys to slice through the tape, taking out the stacks to place them on the desk with a few inches to separate them and wrote down the genres on sticky notes to avoid his own confusion.
The library was nearly quiet as he went through his process. Soft whispering and mutters here and there, the rustle of clothes accompanied by the sliding of books back into the empty slots on the shelves with the faint scent of coffee wafting through the air and the brief cold that waved each time the doors opened.
Nathaniel slid the classic lit books into his arms and went through the sections categorized in alphabetical order. Blue eyes flicked to the author’s name and to the sign stationed at the top, shifting the books into the crook of his arm to free a hand and place it.
He continued for a while—traveling between the first and second floor until he was interrupted by a couple of questions and concerns, Matt and Dan saying goodbye because they were summoned earlier than intended and Nathaniel wished them luck.
As his mind was empty with nothing but what he needed to do, it would slip. And Nathaniel would find himself thinking about the boy from the bathroom. The telltale clatter of pills in an orange bottle, the visitation to the nurse’s office, the French accent, and pretty gray eyes.
He never asked for his name, much less asked around his classmates and others for it. But he hadn’t seen him at all since that day. He couldn’t help but wonder as he finally circled back to the main desk and gathered the boxes to take them outside through the back door and tossed them into the blue bin.
Nathaniel decided to leave the library early, saving his book report for the weekend, and headed to the apartment.
Nathaniel toed off his shoes, the motion automatic, and wandered to the bathroom to shower, as if moving through a checklist he barely remembered writing.
The water was lukewarm at best but it didn’t matter. The shower was quick, clinical, and he stood under the spray, watching the water swirl down the drain until his skin prickled with goosebumps. When he emerged, he avoided his reflection in the mirror. He wasn’t ready to meet his own eyes today.
Nathaniel threw on a hoodie and some old sweatpants once he dried off. He hung his towel up and grabbed his German textbooks and journals from his desk, retreating to the living room.
He sighed, setting them on the coffee table. His fingertips brushed crumbs from the surface, the result of a dinner he couldn’t recall eating last night and sat on the floor. He crossed his legs and took the tv remote into his hand to flip through the channels aimlessly before landing on the sports network. It wasn’t that he cared about the game—not really. But Matt and Dan had asked if he’d be watching, their enthusiasm palpable even through his haze of indifference. The least he could do was pretend and lie and say he did care and the noise would fill the oppressive silence of the apartment, the commentator’s rapid voice like white noise against the backdrop of his thoughts.
Nathaniel opened his German workbook and stared at the page he’d marked. His eyes traced over the words, but they blurred together, meaningless. He tried again, mouthing the foreign phrases under his breath, the sounds feeling alien in his mouth.
Why was he doing this?
Learning German wasn’t going to fix anything. It wouldn’t make school less exhausting or fill the hollow ache in his chest. It wouldn’t make his apartment any less lonely. Still, he kept reading, if only to keep the silence—and the thoughts it brought—from creeping back in.
The tv droned on in the background. The commentators were hyping up the rivalry between the teams, their voices rising with each pass, each near-miss. Nathaniel glanced up when he heard a familiar name—Matt—and saw him darting across the ice. Then Dan appeared a moment later, delivering a pass with the kind of ease that came from endless hours of practice.
For a second, Nathaniel felt a pang of something—jealousy? Longing? He didn’t know. It wasn’t that he wanted to be out there, crashing into walls and chasing a puck that their goalie—Andrew, he guessed—had blocked and sent it back with a swing. But he envied their certainty, their drive. They had something—each other, the game—that gave them purpose.
Nathaniel’s gaze drifted back to his workbook. He picked up his pen and underlined a sentence, the ink pressing deep into the page. He didn’t care if Matt and Dan asked him about the game tomorrow. He didn’t care about German or school or the library or anything, really.
But he still sat there, pen in hand, the tv buzzing, and forced himself to try.
Nathaniel isn’t sure how long it was until he couldn’t take it anymore.
He left everything in the living room and left the apartment with the door slamming shut behind him. He didn’t lock it nor did he bother grabbing a coat, even though the air was relentless at his exposed skin as he stepped onto the sidewalk. His feet carried him forward, the chill cutting through his hoodie like knives, but the discomfort felt distant, dulled.
The streets were quiet in that in-between time of evening, when people were either finishing dinner or settling in for the night.
Nathaniel didn’t know where he was going. The German workbook, the sports commentary, the endless drowning—they’d all grown unbearable. His legs moved automatically, taking him away from the suffocating apartment and its stifling silence. Streetlights flickered to life as the sky darkened completely, and Nathaniel walked through pools of amber light, hands stuffed into his pockets.
It wasn’t until he looked up and saw a church that he stopped. It loomed quietly, its tall and pointed spire like an accusing finger pointed at the heavens. Nathaniel hadn’t been in a church since he was a kid, dragged along by family more interested in some sort of tradition than belief considering who his father had been and what his mother didn’t do. He didn’t know why he was here now, but his feet carried him to the heavy wooden doors as if on their own.
Inside, the air was warmer, almost humid compared to the dry cold outside. The faint scent of incense lingered in the air, mingling with the deafening silence that swallowed every sound. A few candles danced near the altar, casting soft shadows against the high stone walls. The space was vast but empty, save for a single figure sitting in a pew near the middle of the room.
Nathaniel hesitated in the doorway, unsure what had drawn him here or why he wasn’t already turning around to leave. But something about the lone figure—about the way their head was bowed, shoulders hunched like they carried the weight of the world—held him in place.
And then the boy looked up.
It was him.
Jet black hair, sharp features, and those stormy gray eyes that had burned themselves into Nathaniel’s memory since the first day of school. The boy from the bathroom. The boy he couldn’t stop thinking about even though they hadn’t spoken since.
Nathaniel’s breath hitched. He wanted to leave, to run, but his legs wouldn’t move. Instead, he walked forward slowly, his footsteps echoing against the stone floor. The boy’s gaze followed him, wary and sharp, but he didn’t say anything as Nathaniel slid into the pew beside him.
Neither of them spoke for several minutes. Nathaniel stared at the back of the pew in front of him. Why did he come? Why would he stay?
“You look like shit,” the boy said finally, his voice low and rough, but not unkind. It was impassive.
Nathaniel let out a shaky laugh, a sound that startled him. “Yeah. Feels like it too.”
The boy didn’t reply right away. He leaned back slightly, his arms draped across the top of the pew. His presence was magnetic, drawing Nathaniel’s gaze despite the anger still simmering in his sharp eyes.
“I didn’t think you’d remember me,” Nathaniel admitted for a moment.
“Your looks are hard to forget.”
The boy’s reply loosened something in his chest, if only slightly. “I’m Nathaniel,” he offered, needing to fill the silence. He always had to fill the silence. He’d die otherwise.
The boy raised an eyebrow, those gray eyes piercing. “Jean,” he said simply, the name short and sharp on his tongue.
Jean. A name to the face he’d thought about too many nights to count. Nathaniel tested it in his mind, turning it over like a precious stone.
“Why are you here?” Nathaniel asked.
Jean shrugged, turning his eyes to the candles at the altar. “Same reason you are. Nowhere else to go.”
The honesty in the statement settled between them like a fragile thread, delicate but unbroken. Nathaniel nodded, though he didn’t have the words to respond. He felt like a balloon stretched too thin, one breath away from bursting, but Jean didn’t push him. He just sat there, his presence steady and grounding.
For the first time in a long while, Nathaniel didn’t feel entirely alone.
Since that fateful day in November, Nathaniel and Jean were together almost every waking moment of every day.
At first, their conversations were short and meaningless or they didn’t exchange any words. But with Jean, the silence wasn’t like a wasp’s nest in the attic as Nathaniel scratched at the walls and floors to escape. No, it was bearable. During school hours, they rarely saw one another but they’d meet at the end of a hall or in the bathroom, and they’d leave campus after lunch. Unlike Nathaniel, Jean had a full schedule but by nurse’s orders and permission, he was free to leave if he felt the need to. It wasn’t ideal as he would fall behind but he and Nathaniel would occupy a booth in the library, and they’d work on his homework and assignments in a cycle.
If they hadn’t gone to the library, they’d visit the park or the beach. Sometimes they’d sit or lie on their back and stare up at the sky, unmoving and lips shut when it was a bad day for both of them.
When they’d talk, it would be quietly as if it was their secret and theirs alone. But it had taken a while to get to that point of opening up and tell each other things they never told anyone.
It was early December, one day left for the school week before its doors closed for the weekend when Nathaniel and Jean occupied a spot underneath a tree.
They sat close for warmth but not enough to touch. As Nathaniel worked on math equations, using his thighs to prop up the textbook for a hard surface to write on, he mentally listed the things Jean was comfortable with sharing.
He was impartial to sweets and he didn’t like the heat or hot temperatures; preferring the fall and winter seasons along with showering in cold water as opposed to everything else—he claimed the steam would get him sick. Nathaniel thought it was ridiculous but he didn’t say so.
“What else do you like?” Nathaniel asked, glancing at Jean who flipped a page to the book he was reading beside him. “Do you have a favorite book?”
Jean paused at this, tapping idly on the spine of his book and a few minutes later, he met Nathaniel’s eyes. They weren’t as dark as they had been when they first met. Instead, the shade of it seemed to have matched the pale, cloudy skies, the snow that was beginning to build. It was unreal. “The Picture of Dorian Gray.”
Nathaniel shook his head, although it sounded familiar. “European literature?”
Jean hummed. “It’s considered a gothic novel for its themes but I like it.”
Nathaniel placed his pen down and rested his head against the tree bark. The wind blew softly as the melody of a child’s laughter carried from the swings and the conversation between two adults were in hushed tones far on the bench they sat on. “Tell me about it.”
Jean huffed, but it wasn’t out of annoyance. Instead, it was filled with amusement and decided to humor him. “Dorian Gray was believed to be an extraordinarily beautiful young man who was the muse of the artist, Basil Hallward. And this had been set in London during the Victorian era and as it is, the British were obsessed with beauty.” He ignored Nathaniel’s eyes rolling at the comment and continued, “Things led to another and after Dorian was taken under Lord Henry’s wing, he simply wanted to keep the appearance he had when Basil painted his portrait. He became a madman in the end and destroyed it.”
“Dorian dies.”
“Yes. Interesting, isn’t it? The fear of losing what made him so appealing and growing old with age led him on a path of immortality and sin. It makes someone wonder about it.”
Nathaniel raised a brow and asked with shining curiosity. “Wonder about immortality?”
Jean folded the corner of the page he was on and slowly shut the book, placing it between them. He sighed, his head leaning on the tree and he slid his gaze away from Nathaniel to look up at the sky. “It’s why I don’t understand the concept of vampires. Maybe in a moment of desperation and the sudden reality to want to live but that would die soon enough. Could you picture it, Nathaniel? Could you picture being sixteen years old forever while you watch everything change in front of your eyes while you’re left behind?”
Nathaniel’s eyes dropped to the book between them. No, he couldn’t picture it. Things would come and go but to feel this way constantly for hundreds of years was something he would never want. It didn’t matter how desperate he could be or how tempting the offer was. To live as a vampire meant he’d have to kill to survive, carry that bloodshed, and be locked in a state of nothingness. He would never want that, not really. So he replied with: “No. I couldn’t. Could you?”
“If things were different, I would consider it. But I have enough pain in my life to entertain that thought of a fictional reality.”
Nathaniel heard the words that went unspoken.
I am not good enough and I am irrevocably and utterly alone.
Centuries drifting between professions and identities, Nathaniel would forget who he was. If there was anything to remember at all. “I think..I would consider it. For you, at least.”
Jean’s lips twitched as if he was fighting a smile and something swirled in Nathaniel’s chest. It was the second thing he liked about the other boy. His gray eyes and how a smile looked across his face.
“I would need a year away from you every decade.”
“You would miss me,” he quipped.
Jean didn’t confirm but he hadn’t denied it either. He only glanced at Nathaniel for a moment before he picked up his book and continued reading.
It became too cold to venture out to the beach but that didn’t deter the two boys.
As Nathaniel sat on the sand, hands in his coat, he watched Jean paced back and forth to unearth seashells hidden deep within the grains. It was that night, Nathaniel found how much he liked the shimmering water beneath the moonlight and just how ethereal Jean had appeared like an angel with his wings clipped.
Jean would stare at him oddly sometimes. His gray eyes would almost shine and something was written all over his features but Nathaniel didn’t know what it was. No one had ever looked at him like that before.
But it felt nice in spite of everything.
Jean sat down beside him, dusting off his hands from the sand that stuck to his cold skin and he shoved them into his pockets. “My family…was from a port city in southern France. The sound of the waves and how vast the ocean is has always been..”
“Comforting?” Nathaniel asked.
Jean pursed his lips and he shook his head. He faced Nathaniel with a soft smile. “Beautiful. It’s always been beautiful.”
Perhaps it had been the anger and loneliness that drew Nathaniel to Jean. How easily they understood one another more than they understood themselves with the limited identities they had because they weren’t allowed anything else.
Nathaniel settled his gaze on the horizon. He didn’t know what he thought was beautiful. He’d seen countless streets and parks, snowy nights and rainy days, but he never truly saw the world for what it was because it always hurt him.
He didn’t know why but when he thought about it, it was Jean.
“Yeah,” he muttered. Blue met gray and Nathaniel offered the same smile in response. “Yeah, it is.”
By March of 2005, when the seasons changed and nature grew brighter, they shared other things. They allowed themselves to show the parts they were desperate to hide.
It had been a Saturday night when they touched after months of leaving space between their bodies, careful to not brush fingers or press against each other. They were in the bathroom, the tv muffled behind the closed door of Nathaniel’s bedroom and it was only them in the universe. Nathaniel had been leaning against the bathroom sink, his back toward the mirror while Jean stood in front of him and traced each scar as Nathaniel explained where each one came from.
It was the only time he was truthful about who his father was.
Jean had scars but they were self-inflicted and he had been hiding bruises beneath his clothes.
Nathaniel had asked if that was the reason why Jean missed school for several days under alleged family emergencies, Jean didn’t answer. But his silence only confirmed it.
They quickly became each other’s escape. Their reason for waking up in the morning.
If Jean wasn’t anywhere to be found, Nathaniel couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t eat, and he barely left the library. With Jean’s presence at the apartment, it was a reminder and Nathaniel didn’t have the ability to deal with his absence each time Jean’s parents wanted to hit him or punish him severely.
Whenever Matt and Dan came, they asked him what was wrong but Nathaniel would lie. He was worried over someone he knew but trusted that somehow, if fate allowed it, Jean would return and be delivered in Nathaniel’s hands to piece him back together gently like he was made of ceramic. Jean didn’t hold onto the pieces anymore as he had given it to Nathaniel for safekeeping. Their unwavering faith in one another was unrivaled because no matter how terrible things became, Nathaniel was there just as Jean was for him.
And as the school year soon ended, the two passed onto the next grade. Nathaniel was mainly at the library alone or anywhere else with Jean.
Summer came and went and Nathaniel’s suffering was forgotten as each thought was all about Jean. They’d sleep on the couch in the living room or on the twin-sized bed in Nathaniel’s room. They held one another so tightly, breathed the other’s air, unable to tell where one ended and the other began. Nathaniel and Jean were slotted so perfectly that it was nearly devastating. They brought each other back from the edge but pushed too far to send the other spiraling into arguments. Nathaniel’s too personal, insensitive remarks and insults. Jean’s willingness to continuously go back to the abuse he put himself through because he felt as if he deserved it.
“I will endure,” Jean once said.
“Then leave. If you want to endure so fucking badly then go. I don’t want you here,” Nathaniel once spat back in anger.
They’d go hours without speaking. Jean would run off and Nathaniel sat on the balcony, letting cigarette after cigarette burn before they’d see each other again. They’d apologize wordlessly, staying in the park well after midnight or leave the beach with their clothes half-wet and dusted in sand.
Other times, Nathaniel would find Jean locking himself in the bathroom trying to swallow more pills than he should take and force him to throw it all up.
They had shared their first kiss on the tile floor of the apartment’s bathroom with the pills dissolving and the faucet of the sink running cold water.
“You idiot,” Nathaniel reprimanded as the toilet lid slammed shut and he held Jean close. His back ached from where it pressed into the hard ceramic of the tub, beneath the weight of Jean’s body against his own but he still held on. Jean’s head was cradled in his arms as he shivered and gripped Nathaniel’s shirt until he was sure there was a possibility to rip holes in it. “If you can’t handle it, tell me. I need you to tell me.”
“I don’t want to,” Jean had said. He lifted his head and closed his eyes, turning his head so he wouldn’t have to face Nathaniel but he wasn’t having any of it.
Nathaniel took Jean’s face into his palms. “Look at me. Don’t shut me out, look at me.”
Jean’s pained stare was enough to shatter Nathaniel down to his core and he didn’t know how to make it better. “I—”
“If you tell me you deserve it, I will kill you. Just,” he sighed and rubbed his thumb beneath Jean’s eye as his other hand brushed away black strands of hair, “don’t shut me out. Please, I can’t—”
Nathaniel never finished because Jean’s lips were on his.
Nathaniel didn’t want to lose him, not while he was alive. Not while the very reason for his breathing and his heart beating this long was to have Jean in his life as broken and unstable as he was.
It was brutal and rocky.
They couldn’t stand each other but they couldn’t stand being alone either. Where Jean was Nathaniel’s lifeline, Nathaniel was Jean’s drug.
It wasn’t healthy. They weren’t making each other better but they were making each other worse. Yet they couldn’t leave. They weren’t going to because it was all they had. It was everything they had and more.
So neither of them cared.
Being tortured with knives or nursing bruises and broken ribs were easier than being alone.
Nathaniel sat down beside Jean. The wind bit and the skies were cloudy. Even the moon wasn’t visible that night.
He swung his legs idly, his hands in his pockets in search of warmth as every exhale he released was shown in the cold fall breeze. He hadn’t seen Jean at school the entire week. Nathaniel didn’t have a phone so there was no way to check on him, ask him why. But even in the dim darkness accompanied by a lonely street lamp as cars drove by, Nathaniel didn’t need to. The winter season was always easy to hide the bruises and cuts due to the need of layering up to avoid sickness.
“How did you find me?” Jean’s voice was several kinds of hurt, quiet and weak, and he didn’t look at Nathaniel. He only stared down at the dormant water, at his reflection of what stared back at him.
Nathaniel shifted closer, careful enough not to fall, and his shoulder brushed Jean’s. The other boy inhaled sharply as if that gesture tugged him into reality, away from the memories, grounding him from the internal torment he was putting himself through. “Marseille is a port city. I spent a few hours looking for you.”
“You can go, Nathaniel. I’m sorry for troubling you,” Jean murmured in reply and Nathaniel kicked his foot. “What?”
“Come back with me,” Nathaniel whispered once he had gotten Jean to look at him with clouded gray irises. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, a blooming bruise on his cheek and a cut on the corner of his upper lip. He didn’t want to think what else there could’ve been beneath the jacket Jean wore. “Stay for as long as you need to.”
Jean sighed and it took several minutes for him to finally lower his head and rest it on Nathaniel’s shoulder. He slipped an arm around Nathaniel’s and a moment later, their palms were pressed against one another with their fingers intertwined. “I can’t do that. I won’t be able to.”
“I’m not letting you go back. I won’t. I will kidnap you and take you home with me.”
Jean huffed with mirth but Nathaniel was as serious as he could ever be. It took all of his life to escape. Jean wanted to but he wasn’t going to do it on his own. Not when he’s young and barely able to leave the house other than the sole purpose of education. “You’re seventeen. What could you possibly do against grown adults?”
Nathaniel hummed as if he was putting a lot of thought into his answer. “You would be surprised,” he said as he rubbed his thumb back and forth on Jean’s skin, tracing his knuckles and the veins in his hand. “Come back with me. You don’t have to drown in your hatred alone.”
Jean lifted his head from Nathaniel’s shoulder and their eyes met. Nothing but sadness in that gaze of his. “Hatred is all I’ve known. For as long as I can remember, it’s the first thing I’ve felt since I was a child. I don’t wish to share that with you.”
Nathaniel cupped Jean’s cheek with his free hand, a light brush of contact because he wasn’t planning to press on the bruise and add onto the pain Jean was so set on carrying. “Let me help. Please. Just come back with me and we can talk.”
Jean leaned into the touch and his eyes fluttered shut. All of the tension and apprehension poured from his body and allowed himself to get lost into Nathaniel. He once brushed away the thought that Jean was the only good thing that came out of everything. He wasn’t so quick to deny it now as his heart twisted at the sight of the boy who couldn’t stand him when they first met.
His mirror was cracked, his other half was shattered and Nathaniel could see everything that Jean never showed. Nathaniel used to be filled to the brim with anger and hatred, the frustration of everything he went through be for nothing, the envy of watching others live their lives carefree without an ounce of what it was like to wake up and wish they didn’t. He still did because seventeen years of fear and rage and resentment doesn’t go away so easily. Jean made it tolerable. If he lost him because he couldn’t protect him, Nathaniel would spiral and become a husk of himself for a long time.
He refused to lose him. He spent so long being alone. Nathaniel didn’t want to be alone anymore. “Come home,” he pleaded for the last time. It was safe, no one else in the apartment but then, locked away in their own little world until the time came to call them back into civilization.
Jean turned his face in Nathaniel’s palm and left a featherlight kiss before opening his eyes. He was sure he would be rejected again, he was unable to tell what Jean was thinking, but it surprised him when that wasn’t the case. “Take me home, Nathaniel.”
Nathaniel stood up and Jean followed, making their way back to the apartment that was known as home.
Nathaniel unlocked the door with a familiar heaviness in his chest, the kind that settled there every time he found himself bringing Jean back like this. The bruises on Jean’s face were stark against his pale skin. He didn’t ask questions—he learned not to. Jean wouldn’t answer and each time Nathaniel took it as that anyway, it pressed too hard and made the walls go up higher.
The door to Nathaniel’s room creaked open and they stepped inside. It was cluttered as ever, books and papers scattered across the surfaces, the air thick with the scent of coffee.
Jean moved stiffly, his shoulders hunched as if trying to make himself smaller. His features were harsh in the pale light of the single lamp Nathaniel switched on. He swallowed against the tightness in his throat and grabbed the first-aid kit from the bathroom and knelt in front of Jean where he sat on the edge of the bed.
His hands moved methodically, pulling out antiseptic wipes, bandages, and ointment. He kept his eyes focused on the task, not on Jean’s face, because looking too closely felt like trying to stare directly at the sun—blinding, searing, too much.
“This’ll sting,” Nathaniel murmured, his voice barely audible. He pressed the wipe against Jean’s lip and elicited a soft hiss. He worked carefully, gently dabbing at the cut, then moving to the bruise on Jean’s cheek.
“You don’t have to do this,” Jean said suddenly, his voice rough but quiet. His gray eyes flicked to Nathaniel’s, guarded and unreadable.
“Yes I do,” Nathaniel replied. He didn’t elaborate. They both knew what he meant. There was no one else.
Jean’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before dropping to his lap. His hands were clenched into fists against his thoughts, knuckles white. Nathaniel wanted to say something—anything—to fix the raw ache he could feel radiating from the other boy, but the words stuck in his throat. What could he say? That it would get better? That he was safe now? It would be a lie and they both knew it. They were counting down to the last day of their lives before ending it all. Words of comfort or encouragement meant nothing in the face of that.
When he finished tending to Jean’s face, Nathaniel set the first-aid kit aside and sat back on his heels. He looked at Jean, then, really looked at him. The boy he’d spent the past year clinging to, as much for Jean’s sake as for his own. The boy he’d memorized—the sharp line of his jaw, the angry storm in his eyes, the way he carried himself like he was ready to shatter.
“You should’ve come to me,” Nathaniel said, his words cracking beneath the weight. “You should’ve—” He stopped, shaking his head. He didn’t know how to finish the sentence. What could he have done? What could he ever do?
Jean looked at him and for a moment, the mask slipped. The defiance melted away, leaving something raw and vulnerable in its place. “I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he admitted.
Nathaniel felt something crack inside him. “I always see you like this,” he said with a sadness that threatened to kill him entirely. “You see me like this too. What’s the difference?”
They sat in silence. The words settled between them. It was true. They’d seen each other at their worst, held each other together when everything else was falling apart. But they both knew that wasn’t enough. They couldn’t fix each other because broken people can’t fix broken things. No matter how much they tried, no matter how much they loved each other.
Nathaniel reached out, his fingers brushing against Jean’s hand, and Jean let him. Their hands stayed there, barely touching, a fragile connection that felt like the only thing keeping them both afloat.
“I don’t know what to do,” Nathaniel whispered, the confession spilling out before he could stop it. “I don’t know how to make this better.”
Jean didn’t answer right away. But when he finally spoke, his voice was empty. “You can’t.”
The words hit Nathaniel like a blow, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he rose to his feet and sat on the bed with his back leaning against the wall. He pulled Jean toward him and accommodated him comfortably.
Jean laid between Nathaniel’s legs with his head on Nathaniel’s chest and Nathaniel wrapped his arms around Jean, pressing a soft kiss into his hair. He held onto him, afraid to let go because if he did, he’d fall. He couldn’t fall anymore.
It was November.
Nathaniel had left Jean in the apartment to visit the nearby corner store to buy some snacks for another show they were going to watch.
The first time Nathaniel brought Jean to the apartment, they sat on the floor in the living room with packs of fruits on the coffee table. The tv was on low volume and played a rerun of an old show that they both watched despite knowing nothing of it. After much searching, they watched it from start to finish on Nathaniel’s laptop in his bedroom. Then they went on to find another show, and another, and another, and more to fill the time when neither of them wanted to leave the warmth and comfort the apartment had become for the two.
It was a tradition.
He stepped inside the apartment.
Nathaniel toed off his shoes and locked the front door before setting the bag of snacks and such on the kitchen counter. He took the half-eaten lunch and tossed it into the trash, blue eyes catching sight of the papers and books on the coffee table and the tv playing a commercial about hair products and kids’ toys.
“Jean?” He called as he removed everything from the plastic bags, piling one into the other and shoved it in the cabinet beneath the sink as he tried to listen for any source of life. “Jean, I brought your protein bars. Since you act like I killed your dog with junk food.”
Nathaniel paused.
Normally, Jean would make himself known. He’d ramble on and on about how such things weren’t good for the body and spout facts but there was nothing.
Anxiety pooled in his stomach like a bottomless pit and his heart threatened to stop pumping blood through his body.
“Jean?” He called again but no answer came. Nathaniel couldn’t breathe.
In an instant, he went into his room and came up empty.
It only left one place.
Nathaniel barged into the bathroom.
The sliding door to the shower was closed but he knew the outline of Jean’s body anywhere. He spent hundreds of days and nights beside it, traced his hands over every dip and curve, and hugged him to sleep.
There was a blur of orange in the sink, the bottle empty and Nathaniel choked back whatever tried to rip out of him.
He slid the door open and after much struggling, trying so hard not to think about how heavy Jean’s body was, he dragged him out onto the floor.
Jean laid between Nathaniel’s legs with his head on the other’s thigh. He was pale. So fucking pale and his lips were turning blue, the light dimming in his gray eyes.
There were red streaks in the tub, all over the floor, staining Nathaniel’s clothes and blue eyes trailed down Jean’s body, zeroing in on the large cuts across his wrist.
Nathaniel cupped Jean’s face urgently as his free hand tried to put pressure on the wounds. His mind ran a million miles per second and he inhaled sharply. “You idiot. Jean, don’t do this to me. Please, don’t do this to me. Why would— How— Jean, please, please. I can’t lose you.”
Jean groaned weakly, his eyes slowly sliding up to look at Nathaniel. “Nathaniel…” he breathed out.
“Don’t leave me. You can’t leave me. Jean, you promised you wouldn’t leave me,” Nathaniel’s voice cracked as he whimpered. He was torn between so many things all at once. Gray eyes, the first time Jean had smiled, the feel of his hands around Nathaniel, the soft brush of their lips, his dislike for sugar, the seashells he brought Nathaniel before dropping them into the ocean. He was furious at how easily Jean threw all of it away because in truth, Nathaniel wasn’t enough.
He had so much to give yet nothing at the same time. All he had was disappointment and pity and Jean was the only one who looked past that and touched his soul. Nathaniel remembered thinking to himself more than once that if Jean had asked, if he had wondered, that they could live with one another, Nathaniel would’ve yes said.
He would have always said yes.
Jean’s breath was labored, his chest rising and falling too slowly to fill his lungs and fuel his heart to beat. “I…was wrong, Nathaniel,” he murmured. “You ma—made it…better.”
Nathaniel lowered his head, pressing his cheek into Jean’s as he held him tighter, as blood dripped onto Nathaniel’s skin and clothes. “Please, don’t do this to me. I need— I need you to stay. Please, stay with me.”
Nathaniel leaned against the rail of the balcony. Jean was behind him, his arms around Nathaniel with his chin hooked onto his shoulder as they stared at the stars in the sky—the ones they could see without the pollution of light.
“Jean?” Nathaniel whispered, turning his head to the side and looked at him. How peaceful he was, how beautiful he had always been. Nathaniel didn’t know how much he could love something that he was willing to let it consume him and leave nothing behind. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Being alive.”
Nathaniel leaned forward to rest his forehead against Jean’s, his hands covered in blood as he placed it over Jean’s chest to feel his heartbeat.
It was too slow and Nathaniel knew that there wasn’t enough time to get help. There was never enough time to bang on each and every door until someone answered.
He only left for ten minutes.
Why did he leave? Nathaniel should’ve stayed, god, he should’ve stayed.
He felt a weak hand barely grip his, freezing fingers intertwining with Nathaniel’s and it made his breath hitch. Nathaniel raised his head slightly and watched Jean through blurry eyes. “If…if we had,” Jean’s voice was fading entirely, “if we had met..under diff–different circumstances…I would—”
“Jean, please. Please, don’t.”
“I would’ve chosen to…live forever with you.”
Nathaniel had never cried as he grew up.
Even under his father’s cruel hand or his mother’s abusive pull at his hair and digging her nails into his arms, he never cried. He didn’t shed a tear as he lost them both, he wanted nothing to do with them.
Nathaniel hadn’t known what it was like until he felt Jean’s last heart beat, the soft exhale between parted blue lips and the light dying in his beautiful gray eyes. His cheeks were wet with tears and in that moment, he would’ve thought it was someone else’s screams echoing in the walls of his bathroom.
Nathaniel sighs as he sits down on the edge of a cliff that overlooked the ocean waters crashing against the jagged rocks below.
He thought he would’ve felt better after telling Betsy the story but the truth is, he doesn’t.
It doesn’t change anything and he knows Betsy knew that. She tried to take him somewhere—a get together between a family she found her place in and he guessed who was included but he didn’t miss the way her face softened at the mention of Matt or Dan or Renee but he declined her offer to keep him alive. He promised he wasn’t going to do anything and that he’d see her in two days for their next session.
Nathaniel lied.
Jean died a few days before he turned eighteen years old.
It is December of 2005 and after the new year, Nathaniel would be eighteen years old. By June, he would graduate and figure out what to do with his life.
There is nothing.
No one left but himself.
Nothing but the memories he has and he supposes that Betsy’s knowledge, as well as Matt and Dan and Renee, will be proof that he existed. That Jean existed.
Nathaniel is sure things could turn out differently, that something else would give him the will to live but none of that mattered with his promise.
Nathaniel’s last thought before his body collides with the water is of Jean.
And what it meant to know someone who believed he wasn’t a ghost but human.
Oh, how human they both had been.