Chapter Text
Matt stands next to you on the edge-walk; the wind whips his hair around. He spits, poking his tongue out as a strand goes into his mouth.
He bounces on the balls of his feet. You can sense the anticipation wafting off of him. This is it. The finality is so heavy, you’re unsure if you’ll be able to move from the spot.
There’s something you need to say. When you try to remember what, you’re hit with wall-to-wall static, shoving into the walls of your brain. When you try harder, the recollection comes no closer, but the pressure builds, like squeezing down on a bruise.
You open and close your mouth, gulping up air. Matt shakes his head. He thinks you’re just afraid of heights, that you not wanting to jump is as ridiculous as a child not wanting to eat their broccoli.
He pulls out the pair of wire cutters, snips you both free. Nothing is holding you here anymore. You’ve seen this before. He jumps; you scramble to reach for him, then time reverses, and he is back on the platform.
“Matt…” You beg, hoping it is enough for him to understand what even you don’t.
He jumps again, grabbing onto your shoulder and pulling you down with him.
The world is ripped out from under you. Reality streaks past and slams into you. Your stomach pitches. The fall refuses to end, refuses to let you smack onto the ground. You distantly remember you were supposed to have parachutes. You don’t now.
You search for Matt. He smiles at you, his pink lips stretching back. The skin of his face is being pulled backwards by the fall.
He is hurtling towards a building with a sharp point at the top. It wasn’t there when you jumped. You try to scream for him. But it is swallowed by the space between you.
Matt is Luke, then Matt again. The tip of the building spears the center of his face, the one you have spent your entire life looking at. Blood splatters backwards, like he’s been shot. You can’t see any of his features through the red.
In a split second, the scene is replaced. You are yourself, then Luke, then yourself again. You jolt backwards from an invisible impact. Your shoulder stings from the kickback. You pant, nearly crumbling to your knees. You are standing in front of a bathroom mirror. There is a hole in the center of your face, depressing into your tissue and bone. Blood pours out of it. Your thoughts zero in on the fact that you need to stop the bleeding. You fumble for the toilet paper roll and begin wrapping your face like a mummy. Adding layer upon layer of toilet paper, each one is bled through within seconds. You frantically grab a wadded-up handful and press it down on the wound. The pain makes you whine. Tears well up and pour out of your eyes. You can hear yourself yowling like a dying cat but feel no connection to the noise.
Someone puts their hands on your shoulders and shakes hard. You let your head fall limply to the side. You’re shaken again.
“Jay?” It’s Matt’s voice, thin and high.
Your eyes snap open. You wriggle the sheets off your legs, feeling like a drowning man dragged to shore. You need to cough the water up and get air back into your lungs. Unable to cough and inhale at once, you uselessly splutter.
Matt sits next to you on the top bunk. For a second, you forget ladders exist and wonder how he got here. It feels like a magic trick. His hands are still firmly on you. He rubs up and down your arms. “You were– crying. Making weird noises. It woke me up.” His eyes are wide, the white around his iris stark against the darkness.
Your brain still feels full of static. You don't have the energy to drag out a sentence. You move laggily, crushing your head into his chest. He tenses. His heart beats rapidly, pulsing against your ear.
“I’m sorry,” you say into his shirt.
“You really scared me, Bird. You should’ve heard yourself. It was– I don’t know.” His arms have dropped onto the mattress. “What’d you dream about?”
You close your eyes and lean into him. You could fall asleep right there.
“Seriously–” He starts and then stops.
“Can you lie down?” You beg. You picture him going to get down, falling, and cracking his head on the floor.
Matt lays back jerkily, like a lever was lowering him inch by inch.
“Tell me in the morning?” He asks, sounding more uncertain and small than you’d ever heard him.
You only hum in response. You can feel his weight on the mattress next to you, as he shifts and readjusts. You fall asleep listening to his breathing.
——————————————————————————————————————————
You are awoken by a loud slam. You paw at the spot Matt was, but only grip blankets. White-hot panic shoots through you. He isn’t there. You pull the blanket and your legs to your chest, curling like a snail’s shell.
From the kitchen, a cabinet closes hard. You unspool when you hear Matt. He is humming ‘Vampire Killer’, slightly off-key. You want to get up and play the song for him, but don’t want to explain anything. Matt was unpredictable about what he would drop, and what he would stringently hold onto. He was either going to let you brush it off in favor of his latest plan, or try to draw the truth out of you.
Your draw to him is swinging back and forth, hitting into the wall on each side. Your need to see him is almost physical; still you feel shaky and sick. If you play your cards right, he'll agree to have a video-game day.
Your foot slips off the last rung of the ladder, thumping onto the ground. Matt’s head pops out from around the corner, like a Whac-A-Mole. His hair is standing up in a dumpling shape; his eyes are red-rimmed.
He gives you a wired smile and waves his spatula in the air. “I’m making eggs, if you’re hungry. There’s definitely some shells in them.”
Your stomach pinches. You think you must be hungry but feel no desire to eat.
“That’s alright.” You say flippantly.
He frowns. “Some dream last night, eh? What was it about?”
“I don’t remember.” You shudder when you lie to him. You’ve been lying more than you’ve been honest lately. You think he must know. You picture your lies as dominoes in a row. If he learns about one, will it collapse the rest?
“That’s a shame. I was going to do a fortune teller dream analysis thing.” He passes the spatula from hand to hand, grabbing on the greasy end, instead of the handle. “You dreamed of being chased because you’re avoiding something in your life.” He puts on a faux-sage, airy voice.