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“You aren’t his mother!” Malcolm cries, and this is the first time he’s ever been truly, purely angry with Jack. Jack opens his mouth to defend himself, extends an arm halfway, trying with all his power to actually reach Malcolm, despite how fruitless it seems. “ — I don’t want you to touch me.” Malcolm continues, sentences becoming one big word as he stumbles around the living room, packing up a small handbag. “Where are you going?” Jack begs, loathing himself, because he’s positive he looks just as helpless as he feels.
“Ray ’n Pearl’s,” Malcolm answers, wiping a tear from the tip of his nose with the sleeve of his jacket. “Please, Mal, please,” Jack keeps on, wrapping long, manicured fingers around Malcolm’s arm. “ — we can talk this out. I promise you, I’m only trying to be the friend Curt needs me to be.” Malcolm scoffs. “Friend, of course. You spend all your time with him, Jack. Him, and not me! He’s a grown man, Jack, really!”
The last few things Malcolm stuffs away into his purse are money and a tube of purple lipstick. “He needs someone,” Jack assures, a perfect tear rolling down his cheek. “He needs rehab — or something. I need you.” argues the younger of the two, wrenching his arm away from Jack. “Why are you leaving me, then? I need you, Malcolm, I need you, too.” Any other night, Jack would be able to talk his way out of this situation. He is losing Malcolm.
“I just need time to … to think.” Malcolm is sweating, though the flat is quite chilly. Jack is well aware of how inebriated his lover is at this point, which hurts him tremendously, because he knows there’s nothing he can do to stop Malcolm from leaving with the car. He feels as if he’s going insane.
“You can think all you want here, Mal. I’ll sleep on the sofa if —” Malcolm interrupts him. “I’m going now,” he hisses, trudging to the door. His fragile hands turn the knob, and Malcolm disappears into the foggy night. Jack is left quivering at the doorstep, calling after him, black and lavender streams staining his pearlescent face.
♦
When Malcolm does not return, Jack calls Pearl, who tells him that Malcolm never stopped by. Jack, at this point, figures he has surely lost his mind along with the love of his life. It’s about noon when Pearl rings him with the news.
And Jack lets go. He collapses onto the sofa, the receiver hits the floor, and Pearl is crying on the other end, begging Jack to answer her. Jack has always told himself that he can live without Malcolm, but that he’s got no reason to, that he definitely doesn’t want to have to. Now that he does have to, though, he counts each beat of his own heart, sucking in mouthfuls of air between choked sobs, wishing it’d been him that’d stormed out instead of Malcolm.
Malcolm must have suffered. It was slow, it was painful. The car flipped over on itself, trapping Malcolm inside, a mess of fire, shattered glass, and airbags. Jack hears that a woman in her forties is close to death from the accident, too. The only thought going through Jack Fairy’s mind is that he caused this. He could have held on just that one bit tighter. He will never forgive himself.
He does the only thing he knows to do — cries himself sick and calls Curt when he can cry no more. Curt answers, hears Jack’s breathless crying and knows something is dreadfully wrong. Jack says nothing for a good two minutes, he can’t bring himself to. “It’s Malcolm,” he manages, finally. “— Malcolm’s gone, Malcolm’s gone, Malcolm’s gone.”