Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6116964.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Saw_(Movies)
  Relationship:
      Adam_Faulkner-Stanheight/Lawrence_Gordon
  Character:
      Adam_Faulkner-Stanheight, Lawrence_Gordon
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, So_much_angst, Alternate_Universe_-_Teenagers, yeah_they're
      teenagers, so_the_angst_is_like_super_stupid_and_annoying, Child_Abuse,
      Homophobia, Adam_is_a_little_shit, lawrence_is_messed_up, they_messed_up
      together, Original_Character(s), original_character_has_sex_addiction, if
      that_matters_to_ya, in_fact_all_the_original_characters_are_fucked_up
      somehow, as_well_as_the_not_original_ones, why_do_i_only_write_miserable
      stuff
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-02-27 Completed: 2017-09-19 Chapters: 32/32 Words: 91109
****** Hereditary Sin ******
by SALJStella
Summary
     "Lawrence's eyes look so much like hers, and he hates it. Why
     couldn't they have been his first? Why did she have to have them, why
     does he need to be reminded where they come from?"
     ---
     You inherit the sins, you inherit the pain. A story about giving up
     that inheritance.
Notes
     I posted this story years ago on my Fanfiction account, and like
     everyone else, eventually became embarrassed of ever having a
     Fanfiction account. So, here it is. It's revamped and retranslated,
     and hopefully better, but HEY WHAT DO I KNOW.
     This has... fuck all to do with the Saw movies, tbh. I'm simply
     borrowing the characters and being a dick towards them for the
     amusement of my very few readers. (y)
***** Prologue: Still Not a Shared Story *****
The first day of high school should be amazing.
That’s what Lawrence has heard. Or, maybe not ‘heard,’ his circles don’t really
tell stories about their school years. But it’s what he imagined.
He can imagine waking up now, realizing that he’s late, but it’s no big deal.
Lawrence in his head doesn’t get late. It doesn’t happen. If the other Lawrence
wakes up late, it’s fine, because he does a little magic hand wave that makes
time slow down. He’ll turn day to night so he gets to sleep longer, or, he
could’ve if he’d wanted to, but he doesn’t. He wants to go to school, because
it’s his first day and he’ll meet new people, ambitious and interesting people,
he’ll learn stuff.
But that’s another Lawrence.
Real Lawrence wakes up too late, and he can’t stop time, he can’t even look
forward to the day even though he was so excited last night that he was
practically jumping up and down. Because he wakes up to the sound of Louise,
crying like a battered cat, covering her face with her hands.
Lawrence will never get used to waking up to that sound.
Instead of waking up slowly and calmly, like he was supposed to, he opens his
eyes a couple of seconds after his legs got a life of their own and started
disentangling themselves from the sheets. He straightens his pajamas and
hurries up to Louise, tries to look worried even though he hates her right now,
sincerely and bitterly, because he knows what she’s about to say.
“What’s the matter, sweetie?” he asks and kneels down in front of her.
Louise looks up at him with a gaze that erases every trace of hatred. Against
her, at least. He hates the person who’s done this to them all the more, which
makes more sense, really. Louise can’t control this situation any more than he
can, but it’s still her fault.
“Mom’s sleeping,” Louise whines, her little face retracted in a sad grimace.
“We-we haven’t eaten in so long and I’m hungry, Lawrence, we’re really hungry…”
Lawrence nods hysterically and feels his heart sink. He knew this would happen.
She wouldn’t let him have anything that made him happy.
He puts his hands on his little sister’s shoulders, tries to be comforting, he
feels a hopelessness that would kill him if he let it in, knocking on his
forehead. He’ll deal with it later. Shutting her up is more important. If she
keeps crying, Daniel’s going to wake up, and if he does, he’ll also discover
how hungry he is.
Lawrence has learned to live with that hunger. They have not.
“Lou,” he says, with kind determination, and rubs her shoulders until she
quiets down. Then he grabs mom’s purse, grabbles through it and finds a balled-
up fiver at the bottom. “Here’s five bucks, okay? Run down to the store, get
some bread or something for you and Daniel. You can do that, right? You know
where the store is…”
Louise’s eyes widen under ash-blond bangs. She’s never heard him disown
responsibilities before, and neither has he.
“Can’t you do it?” she says, her voice sounds like a creaky hinge. Lawrence has
to look away, fuck, her eyes. Little puddles of faithlessness.
“I have to go to school, baby,” he says, and Lou falls apart again, her hands
covering her face but can’t hold the cry back.
Lawrence hates when she brings her hands to her face. He’d actually much rather
see her tears up front than seeing her hands, how boney they are, knuckles
outlined like deformed gravel by her fingers.
Lawrence has seen six year old hands. How they’re supposed to look. In a
magazine somewhere. Chubby and clean. Stuffed animals and shit. Like it’s
supposed to be at that age. Like it’s supposed to.
Lou’s fingers are thin and knotted like twigs, and constantly grey. Lawrence
doesn’t know if there’s something up with the air vents in the apartment, it
must be pumping dust right into the living room, because everything’s always
covered in dirt. It doesn’t matter how much he cleans, dusting like a
hysterical home wife, it’s dirty anyway. He wonders if Lou can feel how it’s
crawled in under her skin, the dirt parasitizing off of them. He wonders if
he’s making her feel it.
He takes her hands, they almost disappear in his.
“Lou, I’ll go get us breakfast,” he says, tries to soften his voice. “Stay here
and keep an eye on Daniel, okay?”
Lou nods humbly, and despite everything, Lawrence gets warm inside seeing her
modest little smile. He leans forward and kisses her forehead.
“I’m so proud of you, you know that?” he says an means it. “You haven’t had to
eat in almost two days, right? You know how good you are?”
Louise nods again.
“I am good,” she says and giggles tiredly.
“You really are,” Lawrence says, standing up. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,
okay?”
He squeezes her hand before he walks towards the door. He really tries not to
look at mom’s bed as he walks out.
If he saw the disarray of dirty hair sticking up by the edge of the blanket, he
wouldn’t manage to leave them alone with her.
xxxxxx
Adam wakes up from Maria’s soft hand on his arm, and already knows that his day
is ruined for no particular reason.
He grunts something, shakes her off and buries his head under the pillow. Maria
doesn’t point out how he acts like a five year old. That annoys him even more.
It’s weird that he hates her so much. If he met her in any other context, she’d
be his only friend. But he can’t look at her without seeing the stamp in her
forehead, look how much money we’ve got,and her clothes that blend into the
walls, like Adam’s not supposed to notice her running around cleaning and
cooking and shit.
For god’s sake, she’s their maid.The woman lives in his housefor no other
reason than to spoil him.
“Maria, it’s eight o’clock,” he hisses and rolls to his side when she tries to
take the pillow away. “It’s summer.”
“Adam, school starts today. High school.” She’s not annoyed at all, her voice
is smooth and cool like the living room curtains. “You have to get up, you’ll
be late.”
Adam moans something incomprehensible, his mood sinking a little further. Black
inside out, he gets so mean when he’s mad. Especially at ones who haven’t done
anything to deserve it.
He gets up eventually, gets dressed and heads out. Pretends not to notice the
looks from the men walking past him, his over-sized, washed-down Sex Pistols
shirt, tired black jeans, Doc Martens despite the heat.
Or, that’s not true. He doesn’t ignore a single look, he absorbs every one.
He knows how it’s supposed to be. How he’ssupposed to be. The evil little genie
living in his chest feeds off of the looks, they fuel it. Adam straightens up,
sighs contentedly.
It’s going to be such a nice day. It’s the end of August, that time of year
when the beginning of fall makes the sunlight orange and soft, but the winds
are still warm from summer.
A man walks past him, Adam reflexively opens one eye, still with his hands in
his back pockets and head leaned back. The man swiftly looks ahead, not visibly
startled, but he’ll think about this in the office later. That weird, pale boy
looking like death but still smiling at the sunlight.
That thought makes Adam smile even wider and the evil genie writhes in his
chest, giggling and purring.
He opens his eyes again. It’s one of those days when it’s impossible to stay
inside. The mere sight of the sidewalk sends little twitches through his
fingertips. His dark heart growing. He needs to get away from here.
Adam starts walking.
Not the same direction The Nice Boys are heading, he just keeps walking. He
walks along the sidewalk, lights a cigarette and looks at the world around him
through a mist of despise. It’s still better than being home.
***** Sleeper Cities *****
The 21st century is still so young. No one’s managed to fuck up it irreversibly
yet.
No world wars, no natural disasters. They live in a developed society, America
is still the richest country in the world, they’re more or less all equal,
they’re not like those fucking middle-eastern nut jobs, nor communist femi-nazi
Scandinavia. America is the perfect middle road.
In the 21st century, man has managed to invent iPhones, kill Usama Bin Laden,
everyone who’s anything has a Twitter account. And if something bad happens,
it’s always Somewhere Else, it’s earthquakes in Haiti, it’s people in Egypt
getting killed for wanting democracy. Close enough for us to shed a tear when
we hear about the brave young protesters on the news, but far enough for us to
pretend we had no idea that Egypt was a dictatorship until the people started
rising up against it.
It’s pretty good here. That’s how Lawrence will try to remember it years later:
it could’ve been worse. So many people have it worse. They’re a rich country, a
democratic country, and in the grand scheme of things, there had to be a good
reason he was poor. Them being poor couldn’t be because of politics, or the
economy, it had to be something else.
No one stopped people from his neighborhood from moving out of here and work
their way up. No one forced them to sleep in the burnt-out cars standing
abandoned on the sidewalks. They were there because they were stupid. It had to
be that way. He needed to think that.
In the 21st century, the real working class has died out. At least the ones you
hear from, the ones still bent over machines and mops and registers don’t have
unions, no revolutions coming. Eyes down, going to work and going home. That’s
what life is. Dying slowly.
The ones who were upset about the conservatives winning their first election in
sixteen years have had kids, and those kids have had kids, and that generation
doesn’t know anything else. A gallon of milk is supposed to cost 7.50. One
semester of daycare, 500. Lawrence wouldn’t know. He never even bothered to
check it up, knows it would just open up that cold pit of inadequacy in his
belly.
Lawrence isn’t the least bit bothered by how expensive health care is. He
hasn’t been able to afford it for either himself or his siblings, but that’s
because he hasn’t worked hard enough. The little heart attack he gets when Lou
gets as much as a scrape is a consequence he’ll have to take, the list
infection blood poisoning HIVrolling down his mind is all on him.
If she’d get any of those things, she’d die. That’s all his fault. But that’s
fine.
Earning his place in the world isn’t a foreign concept for him, and it
shouldn’t be for anyone else either.
Lawrence asks for nothing.
He’s part of the sixty percent. The ones who have to suffer for other people to
have it good. He’s not even working class, he’s bottom filler. He knows this.
It doesn’t have to be a problem. He gets awfully annoyed with himself if any of
those thoughts even almostpop up in his head.
During the 21st century, we do our best. You can’t help everyone. That’s why
Adam’s only real experience of working class society is when they launch New
Chicago.
He was probably thirteen-fourteen when it first came up. The TV was playing in
his room, mom had come in to talk and then even the news had seemed more
interesting. He didn’t understand everything they said, but the gist of it
seemed to be that the they were expanding the outskirts of town.
It was a state project, they’d thought of a name and a slogan to make it
catchy. New Chicago. New and fresh.
It basically came down to adding more apartment buildings to the ghetto parts.
More cheap living places, since the lack thereof was getting hard to ignore.
They managed to for a long time, though, since most people had a place to stay.
There were just a lot of students jumping between short-stay contracts,
immigrant families living twelve people in one apartment.
We were changing that. The president at the time explained the whole thing.
Adam remembers how serious his eyes were when he said it.
“Why are you expanding these neighborhoods especially?” the reporter asked.
“That…” the president said, you wouldn’t notice the pause unless you paid
attention, “is a matter of costs. These parts of Chicago are cheaper to build
in, and we see it as a… redefinition of integration. Where we put the money
into the effort of getting struggling families and individuals back on their
feet, step by step.”
“Adam,” mom had said in a soft voice. “Would you please look at me and not the
television?”
Adam tore his gaze from the screen, but gestured feebly with the remote.
“Can’t they just chop up our apartment?” he asked sarcastically.
Mom smiled. But she didn’t seem to hear him.
He just didn’t get it. He was a kid, and a weird little kid at that. You had to
prioritize. And at least they’d thought of a solution! It’s not like they
executed poor people. You just gave them space where there was any.
The sleeper cities were built on, molded together. Auburn Gresham, Little
Village, the Lawndales, one mess of black, sticky well-meaning. They tried to
make it nice, they really did, and afterwards, Lawrence will think that it
probably would’ve been nice if it weren’t for all the people who started
settling down there.
All the fucking morons. All those people with their disgusting poverty, their
lack of education, their too many, too stupid, too ugly kids.
The low-income neighborhoods are way too big at this point to be kept as far
away from the high-income ones as one might’ve liked. If Adam and Lawrence had
known about each other, they could’ve taken a ten minute walk and been outside
the other one’s front door. The transition is extreme, the only thing
separating them is a thin, thin line of awareness.
Adam knows where he belongs, but he likes to walk through Lawrence’s
neighborhoods sometimes. He prefers it there, in the dirt, the misery. Lawrence
would love to do the same, moving back and forth between lines, but it is what
it is.
The politicians named it Somna.
The main reason no one gets out of here is that no one has it in them to try.
Here, in the filth, the failure, the sacrificed generation, Lawrence is born.
xxxxxx 
When Lawrence told his mom that he was going to start high school, she reacted
in a way that could almost be considered normal, at least considering their
circumstances. Widened her eyes, gaped a little so the cigarette almost fell
onto the mattress. But it only took a second for her eyes to slit, accusing,
almost hateful through the Pal Mal smoke hanging between them.
“High school?”
She spat the words.
“Why would you want that?”
“Because I want to.”
Lawrence was surprised by how little he seemed to care. He’d probably realized
by then that his mom would never be proud of him, so caring about what she
thought would be a complete waste of time.
She scoffed.
“Ain’t that fucking cute.”
“It’s a little cute, yes.”
She’d turned away. But at this, she looked up, her eyes like dying light bulbs,
not even her anger could make them look like live things.
“Lou’s going there eventually, too. And Daniel.”
By then, she was so pissed that she probably wouldn’t be able to talk even if
she tried. Lawrence was almost proud, at least this was a genuine emotion, not
that awful, unmotivated spite that turned up on certain days. He really didn’t
give a shit if she was angry. Being able to think that was wonderful. He
clasped his hands in front of himself, locked his eyes somewhere around her
knees to underline his indifference.
“None of us are going to be like you.”
Then he’d stood up and walked away.
Lawrence has rights, even though he’s poor. He knows he has the right to a free
education. Even with the way things are, he can become almost anything he wants
to be, aspire to whatever and attempt at it, as long as he knows that he’ll
receive absolutely no help in getting there. That’s fine.
Lawrence doesn’t ask for much, and there’s really no reason he’d start doing so
when picking schools. He’s always known his limitations, and it’s not hard to
swallow the self-preservation when it’s the only thing left to eat. But
whatever school he “should” settle for is a limitation he won’t adjust to. The
only thing making it possible for him to stand in this school yard now, so
nervous that he can barely breathe, is that he’s also entitled to a student
loan.
He’d been able to go to an okay high school for free if he’d been born ten
years ago. That’s probably the one thing he’s bitter about, he faces everything
else with some kind of jaded hopelessness. High school is expensive as hell
now, at least the one he wants to go to. The schools in Somna are without
charge, and they’ll keep him a bottom filling until he’s dead. The real
education’s in the private schools, which means he has to pay for it, while his
mom could’ve gotten in for free when she was his age.
That part still stings, but there’s no point in obsessing. As usual, he’s
adjusted,worked extra hours in fluorescent-lit, greasy stores, pleaded at the
welfare office, scrimped, saved, cut back on expenses that were cut down to the
bone.
Pure stubbornness is what stretched the student loan enough to afford the new
clothes he’s wearing. But he’s here. He’s at the school yard. To his school.
And it’s not on his level, it’s nowhere near where he lives.
But that’s not why he came here, he knows that, too. The schools in Somna
could’ve put a damn scalpel in his hand and let him perform his own surgeries,
he still wouldn’t have gone there.
It’s still where he’s from. It’s still there,and Lawrence wants to be somewhere
else, anywhere, even if he’s not sure where that is. As long as it’s something
else.
Lawrence is at the school yard, surrounded by students that think all this is
totally normal. They don’t really want to be here, and they see the school as a
school, nothing more. When Lawrence sees the bright-yellow building in front of
him he’s filled with endless joy and paralyzing fear, because he sees it as an
airplane.
xxxxxx
Adam sees her a few feet away from the front gates. She got here before him,
they didn’t go together. She asked him this morning if he wanted to carpool,
but he didn’t even answer, it felt important to preserve the sound between
them. You can’t call it silence, she prattles on like teenage girls do, but it
might as well be. It contains nothing.
Claire’s chirpy voice, talking-talking-talking about whatever comes to her
mind, so eager to maintain some kind of contact.
And Adam’s face, dead and cold, her light little voice bounces off his head,
doesn’t even touch him.
He doesn’t get how she puts up with it. He’s never given her a reason to keep
trying. He doesn’t want to talk to her, doesn’t want to be her brother. If she
weren’t his sister he’d love her like she was. But since he is,and there’s a
connection between them whether he likes it or not, it just makes him feel some
odd kind of melancholy.
She’s done nothing to deserve the way he treats her. She can’t change, and he’d
never ask her to.
Claire Faulkner is standing by the gates of her school. She’s gorgeous as
always, the sunlight sets her hair on fire, straight, dark waterfall down her
shoulders. Adam Faulkner is a few feet away, watching her. She doesn’t see him.
He could walk up to her. Tell her they’ll catch up. Wish her good luck, it’s
her first day, he knows she’s nervous.
Be a big brother.
But it doesn’t work that way. Claire has no problem being his sister, so if she
saw him, she’d do all those things so he wouldn’t have to. But she doesn’t, and
Adam’s completely incapable of loving her, so he walks past her, into a
building that he hates but is still better than standing there and watching
such an obvious proof of his failures.
xxxxxx
Lawrence tries to will his hands to stop shaking as he walks up the stairs. It
doesn’t really work. He’d probably claw scrapes into his palms if he hadn’t
sanded his fingernails yesterday.
Yeah, “sanded” is the right word. There are no nail clippers at their
apartment. Lawrence could’ve ignored it, there are a lot worse things that can
go wrong today, but around bed time, when he was preparing his books and bag
and reality crept in, it felt like his nails grew into long, yellow witch nails
and he’d have to drag his hands into class the next day, like an ape. He went
out and found a good cobble, sat down on the sidewalk and started scraping his
fingertips against it until they bled and burned, but his nails were short.
The other Lawrence would never go to school with too long nails. This is one
step closer to being him, just like Lawrence gets closer to him with every step
he takes into the school. Maybe that’s why it’s getting hard to lift his feet.
He hopes he’ll meet someone as nervous as he is, but everyone at this school
seems so disgustingly normal. Girls walk around in packs, giggling and
bickering, guys greeting each other, happy but politely distant, because
they’re Nice Boys. The right amount of Nice, not like dorky, but can still keep
a pleasant conversation with their friends’ parents.
Lawrence feels his one hand grip his bag harder, the pubertal voices bouncing
between the walls are drilling into his brain.
They’re so far above him.
He wants to vomit. Probably would’ve, if he’d had a decent breakfast. Everyone
here is so adjusted.Lawrence needs someone who’s as terrified as he is, someone
understanding how this can be everything he wanted in the meantime as he wants
to kill himself now that he’s here.
“They can’t be that scary, man. And your pretty shirt would get dirty if you
passed out.”
Lawrence’s vision widens when he realizes he’s being spoken to. He can’t
respond until he’s sorted out his blood flow, but when he does, he turns to the
guy who suddenly, for some reason, is standing next to him. He responds to
Lawrence’s look with a completely joyless grin, and then resumes to staring at
the students in front of them.
He’s small, Lawrence’s first thought is that he must be on his way to the
junior section, but he quickly realizes he can’t be that much younger than
himself. Sure, he’s the height of a thirteen year old and as skinny as Lawrence
is. But there’s something about his features, the anger of an eighteen year old
and something beneath, something deeper, and Lawrence would love to feel
superior to him, but he can’t.
He can, however, feel pissed. Someone actually pointing out that he looks
terrified ruins everything. It’s like this little fucker has walked up to him
and yanked the hands out of his pockets, carefully studying his scraped,
swollen fingertips.
“I’m sorry?”
Lawrence’s voice sounds more shrill than he would’ve liked, since he’s not used
to talking back to people his own age, but the boy doesn’t seem to notice. He
takes a step closer to Lawrence, keeps watching the students with a despise so
great Lawrence swears he can feel it radiating from his body.
“You’re looking at them like they’re monsters. Trust me, if anyone has any
reason to be nervous here, it’s not you. I’m the one who’s gonna get in
trouble, and I couldn’t be more bored if I’d visited your dad at his lawyer
firm, because I assume that’s how he paid for those fabulousclothes you’re
wearing?”
Lawrence’s heart is about to bust with all the things he’s feeling right now,
his fingertips throbbing against the shoulder strap of his bag. Despite this,
he’s needs to be calm enough to smile at his teachers in a few minutes.
And in front of him is a boy that he’ll never talk to again, looking at him
like he already has a comeback for anything he could say.
“Maybe this is news to you,” he says and turns to the young man next to him,
“but yeah, clothes actually costif you’re not happy to blow… Tokio Hotel for
permission to raid their closet.”
The other smiles bitterly and turns to him, seemingly unfazed by the fact that
Lawrence is at least ten inches taller.
“Wow, don’t you have a mouth on ya.”
He somehow manages to sound sugar sweet and venomous at the same time.
“Just so you know,” the boy says, voice even softer, but so much sharper, “no
one listens to Tokio Hotel anymore, you should’ve said Black Veil Brides. And
for future reference, using blow bribes as an insult sort of loses effect when
we both know that’s how you got into this school.”
Lawrence isn’t a violent person. Not because he doesn’t want to be, but because
he likes to believe that as a doctor, you need to be able to keep your emotions
inside, because honestly, what situation can be more stressful than standing in
an OR with someone else’s blood on your hands? And what kind of doctor would he
be if he broke down into a sobbing mess then?
He’s never started a fight in his life. And what this kid said isn’t even that
bad, he’s heard worse insults from his own mom, dirtier stuff said to Wendy by
people who don’t even know her. He should be able to restrain himself. But he
isn’t.
He leaps forward, feels a scrawnier body collapse under his weight and hunch
back when Lawrence’s fists hit him, not even aiming, just hitting, hitting,
hitting, wordless and pointless and just to feel something other than fear. The
other doesn’t even react at first, he doesn’t start punching back until he hits
the ground, but when he does, it’s with more force than what should be able to
fit into such a small person. The hands that looked tiny when they were by his
sides hits Lawrence in the face, once in the ear making it ring tonelessly, on
the mouth until he feels blood filling out the wrinkles in the skin on his
lips.
They manage to get pretty far into it. By the time two teachers get there and
manage to pull them apart from a tangle of waving arms and kicks, Lawrence
doesn’t even feel any specific place in which his face hurts, and the other is
panting, hissing like a raging animal, the sleeve of his t-shirt is ripped at
the seam.
Lawrence doesn’t take his eyes off him when the teachers grab their arms and
yells something about calls to parents. He doesn’t care that the other boy
looks like he wants to rip his throat out with his teeth. Lawrence will never
be able to back down from a fight with him.
***** The Good One *****
Chapter Notes
     There's throwing up in this chapter. (And in future chapters. I know
     no one's reading this, but figured you'd be warned.)
“Get off,” Adam hisses when the teacher – there’s only one of them now, two
pulled them apart but one got sick of trying to hold Adam still – tries to grab
his shoulder again. That’s the third time he’s managed to break free, and once
they reach the teacher’s lounge, the remaining teacher’s also given up and lets
Adam walk on his own. Lawrence hasn’t even tried to shrug off the meaty hand on
his shoulder since he was hauled off the ground, because he barely notices
being restrained.
He’s busy cursing himself. Trying to block out the icy, sour ball in his
stomach.
He’s such an idiot. He’s such a no-good dumb fucking idiot that he wishes a
school shooting would take place this second and he’d be one of those
unfortunate victims who gets a picture leaned against the wall in a corridor so
people can put flowers below it, because seriously, how the fuckcould he be so
stupid that he ruined the opportunity he’s worked his whole life for because
some goddamn little Somniac set him off?
Lawrence glances at the boy on the other side of the teacher as they wait by
the door. His gaze is set solid and pissed off at something in front of him,
back straight, shoulders slim but tense under the washed-down t-shirt. He looks
like he’s expecting a punch.
Eventually, another teacher opens the door, takes a look at the boys in front
of her and asks what the problem is. The teacher answers that they need to find
the contact information and talk to their councilors. Answered with a nod, the
door swings fully open and Lawrence is pushed into the lounge. They just sort
of stand there as the first teacher runs to check what grade they’re starting.
He’s never put much thought into how a teacher’s lounge should look, but
Lawrence has known from the start that this is one of those places that he
shouldlike, but in reality just makes him nervous. He sort of figured it’d be
full of giant, fluffy couches, dimmed lights and wall after wall of book cases,
but here, there are only waiting room chairs and desks. Some of the teachers
sitting by them look up at Lawrence and the other.
Lawrence can’t even look at them, he glares into the floor and feels a blush
forming under his bruises. But the asshole he came in with just grins, that
joyless smile he wore right before they jumped each other. Oh, Lawrence hates
him.
The teacher sticks his head out of a door in the corner of the room, waves a
folder at them and tells them to come. Lawrence almost runs up to him, won’t
show anything but cooperation from now on, but the little fucker follows him at
his own pace. Practically dances out of the room. Oooh, look at me, I’m so free
and quirky.
Lawrence thought they’d get sent to the principal’s office, like in the movies.
But no one seems to have a real office here. They follow the teacher into a
giant room split into cubicles, where people are hunched over their computers.
Lawrence tries to walk with a light step, since concentration seems to be
important in here, but as a student, his mere presence seems to disrupt the
office silence as brutally as if he’d been banging a couple of those
instruments that look like pot lids against each other. He’s almost relieved
when the teacher leads him into a cubicle where someone, obviously their
councilor, is waiting.
Lawrence’s mentor is the size of a mountain, there’s no better way to put it.
He’s not necessarily menacing, just extremely intensewith dark, bug-glistening
eyes, but the folder the other teacher hands him is the size of his hands, and
he looks so compact that Lawrence is certain that you could jam two fingers up
his nostrils and it’d be a total block.
There’s only one chair in the cubicle. The other boy sits down right away.
Lawrence doesn’t care. He couldn’t sit still now even if he wanted to.
“Hello,” their councilor says, voice resonating like one long bass tone.
“What’s happened with you guys?”
“There was a little rumble. This young man,” the teacher says and points to the
boy in the chair, very cautious about not touching him, “is of the Faulkners,
so we figured…”
“The fuck does that matter?” the other hisses, his gaze even harder when he
looks up at the teacher.
“Adam,” their councilor says, and his baritone is scary enough to shut up even
Adam, as he’s apparently called, though he still looks grumpy. “Language.
Barry, would you get a chair for… Lawrence.”
It’s not a question. The other teacher leaves, the silence is unbearable for a
couple of seconds until she comes back, places a chair behind Lawrence, he sits
down in lack of something better to do.
He needs this. He can’t mess it up.
When their councilor looks down and starts looking through the files, Lawrence
realizes that his and his entire family’s future depends on this conversation.
That makes the ball in his stomach twist, it’s like a living thing.
Then it’s complete silence. It seems like a really long time. Maybe their
councilor just wants to torture them for as long as he can, Adam is so fuming
that Lawrence swears he can feelthe negativity to his right, and as for
himself, he doesn’t know when’s the time to start making excuses.
Eventually, the councilor clears his throat, takes a pen from the little jar on
his desk and opens their files again, without looking at them.
“My name’s Mr. Peters,” he says. “And yours?”
“Lawrence Gordon,” Lawrence mumbles.
Peters nods and looks to Adam. His eyes glisten disapprovingly below bushy
eyebrows, and are met with a gaze twice as disapproving.
“And you?” Peter asks patiently.
Lawrence doesn’t get how Adam can even pretend to be unfazed. Peter was scary
even before his voice got a warning undertone. Maybe to Adam, it’s enough to
fool himself.
“You know my name,” Adam says and folds his arms.
“Indeed,” Peters says. “And why is that?”
Adam rolls his eyes.
“Because I was supposed to start last year, showed up first day and all, but
then my parents remembered that this wasn’t the best idea.”
“That’s right,” Peters says. “Why is that?”
“My Barbie doll sister doesn’t start until now, and if she’s not here to keep
tracks on me I’ll plant a bomb in one of the toilets,” Adam says, standing up.
“So I should be ashamedof myself for fucking up Golden Boy’s hairdo on the very
first day, I get it. Can I go now?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. Peters doesn’t even look surprised, but then
again, he’s obviously met Adam before, and even Lawrence, who doesn’t know him
at all, gets that he’d never stay here.
“I’ll be in touch with your folks, Adam,” he still says, calmly, aimed at
Adam’s back.
“I’m dreading it,” Adam says, and Lawrence actually sees a hint of a smile as
he disappears around the corner.
There’s something up with his vocabulary. Lawrence has never heard anyone talk
like that. If he’d use the word ‘dreading’ at home, and he assumes that Adam
comes from a similar neighborhood, people wouldn’t get what he was saying.
Peters looks after Adam for a moment, his head bobbing over the walls of the
cubicles as he walks out. There’s a cold kind of disappointment in his eyes
that only grownups can bring out, before he looks at Lawrence again. Lawrence
thought this would be the definite end to everything in his world, the
apocalypse awaits, might as well get it over with, but Peter just studieshim,
it feels like those black eyes look straight through him. Past his nice
clothes, right down to the aching ball in his belly. Maybe that’s why he
settles for saying:
“Lawrence?”
“Yes?”
“You’re not going to do this again?”
“No, no, of course not, I would never…”
Peters waves his hand dismissively.
“You can go. I’ll call your mom.”
Lawrence feels how his relief doesn’t really overcome that thing in his
stomach. Instead of staying put it starts moving up, dangerously close to his
larynx.
“Sir,” he says carefully,” lifts his hand but quickly lowers it when he
remembers what his fingertips look like. “That file, is it…”
“It has your contact info, your legal guardian’s number, address and a bunch of
other stuff you probably don’t want me to know,” Peters says, completely
ruthless and without even looking up. Either he doesn’t care, or he just gets
that the biggest favor he can do Lawrence right now is to pretend this
conversation never happened. But it doesn’t feel like the latter. Lawrence has
to swallow several times. He can’t throw up, for god’s sake. He hasn’t even
eaten today.
Peters seems to read his mind. He looks up, and once again sees everything, but
Lawrence guesses that his fear isn’t that hard to discover at this point.
“I won’t tell anyone, for Christ sake. And for what it’s worth, you’re not the
only Somniac kid in this school, let me tell you.”
Lawrence nods and gets up. If he runs out, it’ll be too obvious, so he just
walks as quickly as he can, out, through the lounge, sees the restrooms further
down the hallway, and by a fraction he gets there before his guts are wringed
out like dish towels, trying to find something to throw up as Lawrence is bent
over the toilet, just stomach acid, it burns in the cut on his lip.
He can stand there and hate himself for maybe thirty seconds before it starts
feeling stupid.
He has to do this. It’s for them.
Lawrence leans against the toilet seat with both hands, white-knuckled, and he
decides to hate Adam from now on.
He swallows a mouthful of ill-tasting saliva and sits down on the dirt-grey
floor. Hates him so intently, through his entire soul. If not for making him
miss his first class, then for making Peters open up that file and see the
secret behind Lawrence’s ambition, Lou’s pleading eyes looking back from the
papers.
xxxxxx
Claire comes home a couple of hours after him. That’s probably because she
stayed for the entire day and Adam went straight home after leaving the
teacher’s lounge and thusly was only in school for about an hour, but he still
makes an internal snide remark about how verybusy and important she is, with
all these four hour coffee sessions with her girlsand chirping about nail
polish.
Whore.
“Hello, brother,” Claire says as she enters the kitchen where Adam sits with
his feet on the opposite chair. “How was the first day?”
Adam turns page in the paper. Europe is being weird again.
“They sent me home.”
Claire takes the tea kettle from the stove and holds it under the tap. She
doesn’t seem surprised at all, and it annoys him.
“Was it that fight?”
Adam glances at her.
“You saw that?”
“No,” Claire says and takes the box of tea bags out of the cabinet without
looking at him. “I would’ve helped you out if I had, dummy. Sonya told me.”
Adam nods, annoyed, and closes the paper.
“Sure you had.”
She doesn’t appear to notice the bitterness in his tone. She never does.
“Yeah, she asked me if I’d tell mom and dad,” Claire goes on as the hiss of the
burner slowly fills the kitchen.
She jumps up to sit on the counter and puts the tea bag in her cup. She giggles
to herself and looks up at him, almost shyly, even though she can say whatever
she wants, to whoever.
“They don’t seem to get that you’ll tell them yourself, huh?”
Adam looks at her. Claire Faulkner is sitting on the countertop. Nice girls
don’t do that. She does it anyway, and she’s nicer than anyone.
She’s wearing a t-shirt that says ‘Little Miss Chatterbox,’ it’s tight across
her chest, and there’s one of those things that looks like Ms. Packman on her
stomach. Her jeans are low-riding, and she insists on keeping her calendar in
her back pocket, even though it keeps slipping out when she sits down.
She’s not perfect. But she’s one of those people who can do whatever.
She’s holding a tea cup with her name on it, white, sort of wriggly letters on
blue china. Adam has one with his own name. They both got one when they were
born.
As some constant reminder that they belong together. Always standing next to
each other, compared. She’s perfect, always perfect, and she’ll be no matter
what. He’ll never even be passable.
Adam stands up, leaves the paper on the table, and shoots Claire a venomous
glance which she responds with a completely indifferent one. That is also
perfect.
“Why the fuck would they getme?” Adam hisses as he passes her, through the
kitchen door and the hall to his room.
He doesn’t see Maria on the way, for which he’s very grateful.
xxxxxx
Lawrence’s first love was Barefoot Girl.
He remembers it so clearly. He doesn’t remember a first time he saw her or
anything, she was just one of many malnourished kids where he lived. She wasn’t
even the first one he’d seen without any shoes. But she was the first one he’d
seen that could be so beautiful even though she was so dirty, worn down like a
coin that used to be shiny, and he’d loved her as intently as only a nine year-
old can love.
It’s been six years, but she still doesn’t have shoes, so technically she
should still be Barefoot Girl. But she’s his best friend now instead of someone
he blushes and runs away from when he sees her, so he calls her Wendy. It makes
more sense.
Right now, Lawrence and Wendy are sitting on a wreck of a car in the parking
lot outside the convenience store. It’s been here for as long as Lawrence can
remember, and he hates it a little, this further proof of the failures that are
so many in Somna, but it’s nice to have somewhere to drink warm beer in the
orange evening sun. Even though he knows Lou and Daniel are at home sleeping,
he keeps feeling like he’s forgotten something he’s supposed to have with him.
“Oh,” Wendy says after a minute of silence and turns to him. Her big eyes look
like they’re on fire when the sunlight reflects in them. “I forgot. How was
school?”
Lawrence blushes feebly and looks away.
He shouldn’t be this ashamed. The rest of his classes went great. He even dared
to raise his hand at one point, despite the scrapes on his fingertips. And more
importantly, Adam wasn’t there. But he wants to tell her about a perfect day.
Lawrence takes a sip of his beer and mutters into the can:
“I got in a fight.”
Wendy turns to him again, her eyes so wide that they look too big for her slim
face.
“You got in a fight?”
Lawrence shrugs, even though his confidence shrinks down further when he
notices how disappointed she gets.
“I was nervous, okay?” he says impatiently, even though he’s not angry with
her. “And some fucking little emo kid went up and said something about my dad
buying my nice clothes, and I just… I got pissed.”
Wendy flickers her gaze over his lifted t-shirt and the gaping holes in his
jeans.
“Those clothes?”
“No. Other ones, I showed you. Like… Acne and whatever.”
“Acne?”
“Yeah, whatever they’re called. Just fucking expensive clothes.”
“As in pimples?”
Lawrence laughs, even though he feels peculiarly helpless.
“You sound more mad about that than the fight.”
Wendy laughs too, her eyes sparkling tiredly.
“So what happened?” she asks and leans her beer can against her belly, it’s
perked on the rim of her jeans. “Did anyone see you?”
“Mm,” Lawrence says, nodding. “They talked to my councilor, or like… the guy
that sort of… takes care of the students. And the guy I fought with… Adam, he
just took off after the councilor said something about him being held back a
year so he’d start the same year as his little sister. Real mature. But I stuck
around, and he, the councilor, he… looked through my files, and said he’d call
mom.”
Wendy nods, lowers her gaze and fiddles with her can.
“But he didn’t get to her?” she asks. “Or… shit, does she even have a phone?”
“I really don’t know,” Lawrence says and takes the last swig of his beer. “I
think so, but she’s been asleep since I got home.”
Pause.
“But I think he gets it,” he then says, trying to sound like he doesn’t care,
but probably wouldn’t have fooled someone who didn’tknow him. “I mean, if he
saw my address, and that she’s unemployed… he has to get what’s wrong. He has
to get why I’m there.”
Wendy nods. The light that was in her eyes, the one that only Lawrence seems
able to bring out, has already died.
“I hope he didn’t,” she says sincerely and turns to him again.
Lawrence nods. The words me, toohangs between them, he doesn’t have to say
them, so they’re quiet for a bit.
“That… Adam,” Wendy then says. “He thought you were, like, rich?”
“Yeah.”
For some reason, he just wants to cry.
Then they’re quiet again. Watch the sun drown in the oily smoke from the
factory in the distance, such heavy pollution that it barely rises above the
rooftops. The air is dry and hot, you can taste the dirt. They’re sitting on
the food of an old car, leaning against the cracked windshield.
Somna.
“It must’ve taken forever to save up for those clothes,” Wendy says quietly.
She leans her head against Lawrence’s shoulder and they’re quiet until the sun
is gone.
***** Old Habits *****
Lawrence wakes up with determination. It feels a tad bit more like that fantasy
he had of a perfect day. Sunlight seeps in through dirt-yellow blinders, waking
him up, and he actually slept well last night. No Daniel crying, no mom
sneaking out and tripping over his shoes in the hall.
He gets a perfect first day two days too late. That’s a lot more than what he
hoped for.
Lawrence swings his legs over the edge of the bed and gets up. The apartment is
quiet. No one throwing things yet, no one coming to meet his mom. When he
manages to drag himself out to the kitchen he sees that Lou is up, sitting
cross-legged in front of Daniel’s crib.
She’s playing with the only toy she owns, a small plastic pony. She just
brought it home one day, so Lawrence is pretty sure she nicked it from
somewhere, but he hasn’t asked, doesn’t really care. He supposes that she, just
like he does, feels they owe it to her.
“Hi, baby,” he says and crouches down next to her.
She looks up, smile wide.
“Hi, Lawrence,” she whispers. “Are you going to school?”
“Yup,” Lawrence says and gives her a quick kiss on the top of her head before
he gets up. “But we should have some sort of breakfast first, shouldn’t we?”
Lou nods and follows him to the kitchenette. Lawrence kneels down again, opens
the small fridge and looks around. Yoghurt cups, apples, half-full pack of
waffles. At least they won’t starve.
“Larry?”
Lawrence doesn’t look around when she addresses him. Her hair looks like a
blond crow’s nest and he doesn’t want to see it and realize that Lou’s hair
looks exactly like it.
“Morning,” he says neutrally and takes two yoghurt cups from the fridge. “Do we
have any clean spoons?”
Lou hurriedly takes two dirty spoons from the sink and starts rinsing them off,
and Lawrence gets sad in that way again as he takes the plastic from the cups.
Mom stumbles out of bed with a moan and wraps the sheet around herself.
Lawrence takes a yoghurt cup and hands it to Lou.
“How was school?” mom asks hoarsely and walks up to him.
“Fine,” Lawrence says and starts eating his breakfast in such a rush that he
gets yoghurt on his chin. “There are waffles in the fridge. Make sure Daniel
gets some.”
“Sure.”
One morning without hating each other, invitation to breakfast. That’s as close
to love as they’ll ever get.
xxxxxx
Lawrence feels genuinely good today. That doesn’t happen often. It feels like
the whole process of making his dreams come try has been postponed two days,
but that’s okay, because now he can really get to it.
He had a bad start. It doesn’t have to be a problem. The way he sees it,
there’s a simple solution, and that’s to be the best possible student anyone
could ever imagine during the rest of the semester.
“Good morning, Paris Hilton,” Adam says gleefully when Lawrence walks up to him
– yes, he does it willingly, but he regrets it the second Adam opens his mouth
– and grabs his jacket. “Did you get a spanking for the pretty clothes you
ruined?”
“Adam,” Lawrence mumbles. “Can we talk?”
“You want to talkto me?” Adam says, that sugary sweet tone again, and adjusts
his worn backpack. “I’m honored. But not really in the mood.”
“Adam,” Lawrence repeats, tries to keep from yelling, and sternly leads them
away from the cloud of cologne and puberty heading into the school. Adam
follows, only feigning reluctance.
“You know, I have an idea,” Lawrence says when they’re at a safe distance from
the people he wants to impress. “Can’t we… for the rest of the semester, can’t
we just try to avoid each other? For the sake of both of us?”
Adam smiles. It doesn’t affect his features in the slightest.
“Why?”
“I’m not gonna get held back my first year,” Lawrence says, finally finding the
nerve or rage to look him in the eye. “I’m not spending any more classes locked
up in Mr. Peters’ office with you. Seriously, can’t you just…”
“For god’s sake,” Adam moans and rolls his eyes. “Is thatwhat you’re worried
about? Honey, you mayhave to work your baby-soft little hands if World War
fucking Three breaks out, but if you just want to be a doctor or a lawyer or
whatever the fuckit is you want to be, you only have to keep sucking CEO cock
until you get there.”
Lawrence was prepared that he’d say something like this. You don’t really have
to know Adam to see that he won’t do anything that someone asks him to do, even
if it means avoiding someone he doesn’t like. Lawrence should’ve known it
wouldn’t be that simple.
When Adam says this, he can’t think rationally. Or of his sacred pledge to be
the perfect student, or of Lou and her dirty fingers. Adam is saying he’ll
never have to work, when that’s all he’s ever done in life.
Because of this, Lawrence misses his first class today, too. Not because they
fight all that long, but because they sit a long time in Mr. Peters’ office,
Lawrence trying to maintain eye contact with him even though the beetle eyes
still scare the hell out of him. His left eye is throbbing dully, and he’s
pretty sure he’s bleeding from the side of his head, where Adam’s tugged on his
hair.
It feels like all Peters does is stare at them for several minutes, before he
tells them that he’ll make sure other teachers put them at different sides of
the classroom if that’s what it takes, and as if he’s just been waiting for an
opportunity to interrupt, Adam gets up, muttering curses during the entire walk
out of the room.
xxxxxx
Adam is on his bed, touching his swollen nose and wondering how a rich boy can
swing that hard, when there’s a knock on his door. His mom opens, without
waiting for an answer. The knock is therefore pretty pointless.
“Hi, honey.”
“Hey.”
She walks up to the bedside, sits down. It seems like she’s trying to think of
a way to approach him, and maybe that’s to be considered thoughtful, but to
Adam it feels more like she’s the cop trying to calm down the psycho with a
twitchy finger on the trigger.
The evil genie cackles.
“Mr. Peters called me today.”
“Big surprise.”
Mom nods. Adam glances at her, smiles slightly, and notices that everyone in
their family looks pretty much the same. Except for dad, at least. Soft, dark
hair, pale skin, light eyes always aimed at something other than the person
they’re talking to. He manages to get pretty annoyed at that before she speaks
up again.
“Adam,” she says, her voice sort of aches in a weird way. “Do you have to do
this?”
Adam looks at the ceiling. The place on his leg where she’s placed her hand
feels tainted and slimy.
“He was being a bitch.”
“I get that,” mom says, louder. “Can’t you act bigger than that? You act like a
kid, you can’t handle getting picked on…”
“How would you like me to be, then?” Adam spits out and looks at her again.
“Like Claire? Or like you?”
“I just don’t want you to be like this,”mom hisses. That’s how long that
lasted, the calm and pedagogic thing. “You think you’ll get anywhere in life
when you… dress like that and isn’t even allowed in school before your little
sister?”
She usually at least sees his standpoint when they fight. And when they’re not
fighting, she at least tries to understand his feelings, even if she doesn’t
always succeed at it. She doesn’t get him, but at least she doesn’t hate him,
like dad does.
And sometimes she’s just so fucking dumb. It’s like a shell over Adam’s heart
that gets a little bit thicker, just with those words. Thissaid with infinite
spite.
“I sure as shit won’t get to where you are, so I’m good,” he finally says. He
can feel his eyes darkening, good, good,then they’ll look less like hers.
The evil genie is screeching with delight.
Mom stares at him in silence, probably every bit as mad as he is, but she has
no idea how one shows that, so eventually, she looks away, and Adam grins
ruefully.
He won.
“Sophie and Jean are coming over for dinner,” she says, referring to her
sisters. “Should I ask Maria to bring you some food in here?”
“You don’t want me to sit down with them and talk about what I’ve been up to?”
Adam says.
Mom pretends not to hear him. Adam scoffs wearily and starts fidgeting with his
nose again.
“I’ll get my own food,” he says, and mom nods and gets up. Adam watches the
door close behind her.
He should get angrier that she’s so ashamed of him that she doesn’t even want
him in the same room as her sisters. Just like she should probably get angrier
that he hasn’t had one rumble-free day of school yet, but none of what they
discussed is news to them. They’ve had this conversation a thousand times, and
just like now, it started nothing and ended nothing. Nothing was resolved.
Adam steps into the dining room about an hour later, when his aunts are already
there, Sophie with too much hair spray and Jean with purple lipstick. Claire
gets to join them, because it’s a girl’s night. Dad’s not there, so they’re
talking and giggling all loud and shrill as women do when there are no men
around, that state when they stop being women and start being girls.
“We’ve been loadingClaire’s college fund,” mom says as Adam takes silverware
from the drawer. “We’ve known the principal for some time, so we’re hoping to…
tip the scale in her direction.”
That laugh. Hehehehe.Not from Claire, though.
“Mom,” she says, correcting. “My grades would get me to whatever college.”
Hehehe.
Mom laughs too loud. Her face is shiny from the wine.
“My little toots,” she says, pinching Claire’s cheek. “You hear that? Like
she’s going to get her hands dirty.”
Hehehehe.Adam wants to throw the milk carton at her head.
He walks to the cupboard and gets a plate. Jean doesn’t notice him until he
goes to the dining table for the food.
“Hello, Adam,” she says. “I didn’t know you were home.”
“No, I know,” Adam says, smiling politely as he takes a pork chop from the pan.
“Mom locks me in my room when she has people over. I only get out for my ration
of water and crackers.”
No one seems to have heard him. Except for Claire, she smiles into her milk.
“What’s it like finally starting high school?” Sophie asks and taps her scary
finger nails against her palm. “Is it weird being older than the other kids in
your grade?”
Adam shrugs.
“Oh, definitely. I feel older than everyone in that school, to be honest.
Including the teachers. But I’m glad mom lets me out to go there, even if it
costs me the water for that week.”
Mom is weirdly focused on her food. Sophie’s face is frozen in what might be
her version of a smile. But Claire puts her drink down, throws her head back
and laughs out loud, so shamelessly that even mom tears her gaze off the plate
and looks at her accusingly. Not saying anything. She doesn’t need to.
In the middle of a nerve-tearing silence, Claire seems to be the only one who’s
still alive. She looks from her aunts, to mom, who’s smiling in a way that
seems painful, and back again.
She seems honestly confused by the sudden uncomfortable mood, but eventually,
she looks at mom and rolls her eyes.
“What?” she says impatiently. “It was funny, even you got to admit that.”
She’s still giggling when Adam exists the kitchen, smiling cruelly, along with
his evil genie.
He won again.
***** I'm the Bomb, You're the Fuse *****
Lawrence’s first love was Barefoot Girl. He doesn’t remember where he got that
name from, it’s possible that he heard it in a song or something. She’ll always
be Barefoot Girl to him, now more than ever, because during the weeks that
follow, he’d love not having to be a grownup. He’d give anything to be nine
again and lift gum from the convenience store with her.
It’s the first time he’s wanted to regress since he got that letter on granted
student loans. That makes him hate Adam even more.
For some reason, every time Lawrence sits down with Wendy and spews out all the
aggressions he’s kept down during the day, he’s convinced he’ll somehow be
collected enough tomorrow. He spends hours on the hood of their car in the
parking lot, sometimes with Daniel nodding off in his lap, sometimes with Lou
in the front seat, behind the wind shield they’re leaning against, and Lawrence
just talks and talks and Wendy listens and nods. And he walks away feeling so
much lighter.
But then he goes to school.
He tries to stay away from Adam, he really does. But it doesn’t seem to matter.
Lawrence’s temper is like a tank of gasoline, dirty and insignificant and
harmless on its own. He’s ignored it for so long that he’s forgotten it’s
there, and it takes nothing but a little spark for it to explode into half-
molten shards of metal.
The worst part is that Adam seems to get that he’s the spark. He seems to
likeit, the little asshole. Why else would he keep doing those little things
that he somehow knows pisses Lawrence off?
Like rolling his eyes when Lawrence raises his hand in class. Like smiling that
way when Lawrence sees him and can’t ignore it, loses track, starts stuttering,
quiets down.
That’s how it starts. Something stupid that’s really nothing compared to all
the reasons he has notto care about Adam, like Lou and mom and the entire
goddamn future. Maybe that’s it; all those things are the gasoline, those
things that have been there for so long that he doesn’t mind it anymore, and
Adam’s that tiny spark, means nothing, but still ruins everything.
Because it’s always ruined. If Adam gets Lawrence to lose track in front of a
teacher, Lawrence will inevitably grab him by the elbow at the end of the
class, Adam will go with him without much protest. Lawrence will probably throw
the first punch, Adam hits back, and they keep going until someone sees them
and drags them off to Peters where they’ll sit wallowing in shame under the
black beetle gaze.
At some point, Lawrence tries to explain this turn of events to Wendy in a way
that makes sense. She just shakes her head, she’s never done that at him
before. Lawrence gets annoyed even though he absolutely agrees with her.
“I’m sorry, I don’t get it,” she says, propping her elbows against her knees.
“If you hadn’t been able to… control yourself, you would’ve taken the kids and
gotten as far away from your mom as you could get by now. What is it about this
guy that makes you…”
She can’t think of a proper word for it. Lawrence scoffs.
“I don’t know. Why didn’t you finish grade school?”
Wendy laughs, her eyes lighting up. The sunlight coming in from the side, on
her legs and her neck, skin that would’ve been pale if it weren’t for the thin,
grey sheen of street dust on it. It’s almost hard to bare how beautiful she is.
“I don’t fucking know!” she says, more amused than bothered. “But we’re talking
about you now.”
Lawrence looks at her. Then up at the oily sky.
“I really try not being like him,” he says eventually.
She gets it. It’s nice.
“You’re nothing like him,” Wendy says. “But… I know you. I know you’re the
best. The teachers won’t know that if you keep acting like a spaz.”
Lawrence nods, annoyed. He knows she’s right. It doesn’t matter.
“Whatever.”
“Lawrence,” Wendy says patiently. “Seriously. You don’t want to be this way.
Idon’t want you to be this way. Get a grip.”
Lawrence sighs, tries to keep some kind of trusty eye contact when he nods
again. He wishes he didn’t have this many people in his life that could make
him feel bad.
It’d be so much easier if he could just leave it all without looking back.
xxxxxxxxx
“Does Backstreet Boys know you’ve stolen their haircuts?” Adam asks when he
passes Lawrence the next morning.
“You’re hilarious,” Lawrence says, cautious about putting as much despise in
those words as possible, but it doesn’t seem to take effect. Adam just keeps
walking, straightening the backpack so there’s a rattle from the little pins
with anarchistic messages.
Lawrence feels the fire dangerously close to the gasoline, but pushes it away.
If he can’t keep calm when this little fucker pushes him he’ll never become a
doctor, and if he can’t be that he might as well lay down and die.
He gets through the day, at least. Or, he puts so much energy into not
exploding that he doesn’t learn that much. But who cares. He’s here, it’s a
step in the right direction.
And yeah, Adam does everything to keep him from that, but it’s nothing Lawrence
can’t handle. It’s surprisingly easy to develop tunnel vision when he looks at
his teachers. It’s cool. He’s cool.
There’s one time when he’s not, drags Adam into the restrooms, they wrestle for
a bit, goes back outside. Adam gets a bloody nose, and rams Lawrence’s head
into a sink so he gets a bump that throbs and burns and everything spins, but
that’s fine, Lawrence can wipe away blood, cover it with his bangs and walks
outside, goes on.
It doesn’t matter, because the gasoline doesn’t explode. It boils a bit, burns
inside, he feels it in the lining of his stomach. When Lawrence finally walks
out the gates of the school to go home to safety, it’s with a feeling that he’s
overcome something huge, like there’s nothing he can’t do if he can handle a
day like this.
That’s why it feels so unfair when he hears Adam’s voice behind him.
“You going home, sweetie?”
Lawrence keeps walking. He wants to kill someone. No. It’s fine. He’s cool.
“What, you’re not even gonna talk to me?”
Adam hurries up to him. For god’s sake…
“Fuck off.”
“Well, lookie who just found his nuts!” Adam says. “Come on, you can’t just
ignore me, I get worried. Have I busted so many of your suits that you have to
start paying for them yourself?”
Lawrence has to look at him. That smirk, that two-dollar hair cut. The worn
Ramones shirt.
So obviously not caring.
“You know what,” Lawrence says and the gasoline boiling, burning, “I don’t know
what your deal is with me, but honestly, I don’t give a shit. And you can’t
care so much about me that you really have to fuck up me specifically,so why
don’t you go screw someone else’s education?”
Adam’s smile fades a little as he’s talking, but he seems perfectly calm,
despite this minor dip in Lawrence’s entertainment value. He knows as well as
Lawrence that there’s nothing he doesn’t have an answer to.
“I don’t know, Larry,” he says, tilting his head. “I think it sort of bugs me
that you make it sound like I’m fucking up your entire future by pushing your
small shiny buttons, even though there’s not a principal in the country that
wouldn’t take you in if you just batted your lashes and waved daddy’s business
card. But who knows, maybe this place has better lunch.”
Then he starts walking. Lawrence’s fingers twitch, the gasoline boils and
explodes, a giant ball of fire that kills everyone around him, but it’s still
totally pointless since no one will ever care about it. His explosions don’t
mean shit. People wouldn’t care about a goddamn nuclear holocaust if it
happened because of someone like him.
In another one of those cute fits that poor people get sometimes, he grabs a
handful of gravel from the ground and throws it at Adam, it says clinkagainst
the pins on his backpack and hits Adam’s head making him turn around. Good.
Good.
Lawrence won’t be overseen. He got to this school so he wouldn’t have to be
ignored. He won’t let Adamof all people take that away from him.
“I don’t even havea fucking dad!” Lawrence explodes as Adam turns around. “I
barely got a fucking mom,okay? Some asshole fucked her and she discovered it
too late to get an abortion, and she don’t even know who the fuck it was, it
can be anyone in our goddamn apartment building! Today is the first time she
got out of bed for three fucking days! She doesn’t even get up to smoke
anymore, I can only hope she hasn’t dropped a cigarette in bed and burned the
place down even though it’d be so fucking… good if she died!Why did you even
think I was rich, was it the clothes? I bought them for my motherfucking
student loan when I should’ve spent it on food… because I got nothing, okay? I
don’t have any-fucking-thing!”
He wants to end it with some smoldering warrior gaze, or at least a snappy
finishing statement, but it doesn’t really work. He notices that Adam doesn’t
have a smart comeback right away, at least that’s nice, but Lawrence just
catches a glimpse of his face before he has to look down. Hopes he doesn’t see
them. Tears, fucking tears, won’t let them out. Not for Adam.
Lawrence won’t cry. He has good reasons to, but he never does. He has others to
take care of. Their tears are always more important.
Not having thought about it for fifteen years, how can Adam, in a matter of
seconds, make him realize how much he hates it?
Lawrence thought Adam would say something about what an outstandingperformance
that was. A slow, sarcastic clap wouldn’t have been unexpected. But there’s
nothing. When he dares to look up, he sees Adam’s face more or less
expressionless, or maybe it just seems that way because Lawrence has never seen
him serious before. After a few motionless seconds, Adam slowly walks up to
him, hands in pockets.
“How’s your head?” he finally asks.
Lawrence stares at him stupidly. The tears calm down, they didn’t manage to
fall.
“What?”
“Your head,” Adam says, the spark is back but less cruel now, and nods at
Lawrence’s forehead. “It’s bleeding again. If you want to stay cute, maybe
don’t get PMS when you have open wounds on your face.”
Lawrence lifts his hand to the point on his forehead that’s still throbbing and
aching. When he lowers it again, it’s sticky, and he sees red in the corner of
his eye. His blood must’ve been pounding at a rate that his bangs couldn’t hold
back.
“Come on,” Adam says and jerks his head at the sidewalk outside the school
yard. “Come back to my place, I’ll get you a band-aid or whatever.”
Lawrence nods, without much thought to it. He shouldn’t go with Adam, but it’s
such a long way back to his place. And he’s so tired.
“Okay.”
Adam nods curtly, doesn’t seem to get sentimental about something as trivial
as… whatever it is they’re doing now. They stand there for a second in awkward
silence until Adam starts walking. It takes Lawrence a moment to realize he’s
supposed to go with him, so he takes big leaps to catch up, then they keep
walking. Like it’s not a big deal.
He walks along the street with Adam. He says nothing, and neither does Adam.
Still trying to get used to the idea of someone else tending to his open
wounds.
***** Masks *****
When Adam was younger, he used to think that his family wasn’t his real family.
Fine, they all looked like him, they had the same last name and he called his
mom “mom” for some reason, but they couldn’t be his family. No way.
He had vague memories of what a real family was. They weren’t clear imagery,
more like an old DVD you’d played too many times, with jags on the record. But
whoever these people were, they weren’t his family.
Adam’s older now, but he’s never fully let go of the idea. At least he gets
some kind of comfort knowing that either he’ll get out of here on his own, or
his real family will come to get him.
Since he’s not bringing Lawrence to his real home or his real family he
shouldn’t be this nervous. And even if he were, it’s not like Lawrence’s
opinions matter to him. It’s definitely too late for that, since the nicest
thing Adam’s done for him thus far is offering to bandage the wound he got when
Adam rammed his head into a sink.
Adam doesn’t really get why it feels like he’s swallowed a giant eel when the
transition is made and they’re suddenly on a clean sidewalk and there are
flower pots outside the front doors.
Lawrence doesn’t seem to mind the flowers, or how Adam and his Ramones shirt is
a black spot against the houses behind them. He probably thinks they’re just
taking a shortcut to the streets where Adam really lives, where child hookers
dig through trashcans and you can’t leave your house without, intentionally or
not, buying crack.
Adam feels a soft stab in his chest. Right around that point where he’s
supposed to be empty by now.
He’d rather bring Lawrence to a home like that. But it is what it is, so he has
to walk up to the house that, despite what he tries to pretend, ishis home,
open the door and pretend he doesn’t notice Lawrence stopping on the front
steps and looking around like he just woke up.
Adam turns around impatiently as he takes his jacket off.
“You coming?”
Lawrence tears his gaze from the golden frame of the hall mirror.
“You don’t… livehere, right?” Lawrence asks, and Adam wants to punch him even
more than he already did.
It’s like his otherness is reflected even clearer than usual through Lawrence’s
eyes. They don’t talk about it in the family, it just is. There are The
Faulkners That Succeed in Life and there’s him, locked in his room. He’s almost
used to it and then Lawrence comes along. Standing outside and looking at Adam
like there’s nothing in this house that goes together with what he is.
“I know you don’t think much of me,” Adam says with venomous calm, “but I don’t
break and enter. Especially not to get a fucking band-aid for you of all
people. Would you come in?”
Lawrence stays put for another second. Then he finally goes inside, looks like
he’s not sure where he’s allowed to step, almost stumbles as he follows Adam to
the kitchen because there’s so much he wants to look at.
Adam is grateful for a reason to turn away from him as they walk down the hall.
Lawrence shouldn’t have given that little speech. It was much better before,
when Adam had zero sympathy for him. Lawrence was everything he hated. At least
the way he saw it, and that was enough.
Luckily, any emotion beyond a distant tolerance goes away when Adam hears
Lawrence’s steps behind him. Adam can almost feelhis eyes jumping across the
walls, the paintings and the carpets and the door frames, even they’vebeen
poofed up to perfection. And how he admires it, whydoes he do that? They all
scream the same thing, and Lawrence if anyone should despise it. Look how rich
we are!
You want to live here?Adam thinks hatefully as they enter the kitchen. You want
to come home to my parents and my sister and my fuckingmaid? It’s fine, I
promise, just take my place. They won’t see the difference.
Adam looks around the kitchen. He just has to find the goddamn first aid kit.
Then Lawrence can leave, and this annoying section of his life will be over.
Lawrence’s gaze follows Adam around the kitchen, like he still can’t believe
how he can move so casually around here, how he can move between these walls as
if they were home. Because of course Adam can’t live here. Not the roughed up
little punk kid cutting classes and binge drinking and getting The Good Boys in
trouble.
Anyone can see that.
“Seriously,” Lawrence says as Adam, in lack of a better view, climbs up on the
counter top and rummages on top of the fridge. “You live here?”
Adam sighs, hanging his head.
“Yes, Lawrence, I live here,” he says politely. “You don’t happen to see a
first aid kit somewhere?”
He wishes Lawrence would answer quickly. He hears footsteps in the hall.
“Adam, have you…” Claire says a few seconds later as she walks in, and Adam
crouches down and starts frenetically searching through the bread box so he
won’t have to see her stupid eyes widen as she sees Lawrence. “Oh… hi.”
“Hi,” Lawrence says, actually sounding nervous.
“Claire, Lawrence, Lawrence, Claire,” Adam says and takes a few steps on top of
the counter to get an overview. “Claire, where’s the first aid kit?”
“I have no idea,” Claire says. “Ask Maria. What are you doing up there?”
“I’m looking for the fucking first aid kit.”
He still refuses to meet her eyes. He hates her, hates the way Lawrence looks
at her. He can tell that she’s better than Adam. He could tell right away.
Adam climbs down from the counter, feeling Lawrence’s eyes lapping up Claire as
clearly as if it were his own body being so thoroughly taken in. He gets to the
bathroom and finally founds the kit on a plastic container on the wall. He
takes it, goes back into the kitchen to get Lawrence even though the guilt he
felt over that wound on his forehead is steadily declining.
They’re talking. Adam doesn’t catch what about. That’s how he feels most of the
time, listening to people like them. Like they’re talking a language he sort
ofknows, but not really.
“Lawrence?” he cuts through, politely. “Would you like to go to my room, or you
want to get straight to business and fuck my sister right away?”
Lawrence blushes and lowers his gaze. Claire rolls her eyes before hiding her
face behind the open fridge door.
He doesn’t even like Lawrence. But no fucking way Claire’s going to get him.
That feels important for some reason.
They pass Maria on the way to Adam’s room, she looks as surprised as Claire was
that Adam has brought someone home that’s not a hammered girl with smeared
makeup and a crop top. She looks so happy for him that he doesn’t even feel
like he wants to ruin it.
“Hello, Adam,” she says, as sincerelyhappy as she always is when she thinks he
has friends.
She turns to Lawrence. Adam sighs theatrically. It doesn’t seem to take effect.
“Hi, dear,” she says, extending her hand. “I’m Maria.”
Lawrence glances at Adam, probably a silent question about what she’s doing in
this house, but still smiles at Maria, so polite,oh, Adam wants to smack it out
of his face.
“Hi,” he says. “Lawrence.”
“Lawrence,” Maria repeats. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“Thanks.”
Adam starts walking before Maria’s quiet footsteps start moving away.
He wishes he’d never brought Lawrence here. He wishes they could stay enemies.
He likes himself more getting into fights every day than when he has to face
what he really is.
Adam opens the door to his room, steps inside and fights his natural instinct
to slam it shut. He hears gentle footsteps follow him inside, turns around and
sees Lawrence’s eyes wander the room.
Adam’s room. He hates that, too. He wants to chop the legs off the giant bed
just to have something to hit Lawrence in the face with. Instead he tears the
first aid kit open and points to his bed.
“Sit.”
Lawrence immediately obeys. Adam takes out a cotton ball and alcohol, his
fingers are stiff and jittery as he unscrews the cap. Lawrence stares at his
hands, in lack of something else, seems to put a lot of thought into what to
say next.
“Is your family rich?”
It almost sounds innocent. But Adam still tips the rubbing alcohol over the
cotton ball way too hard, it drips over his fingers, stingy scent rising to his
nose. God, he’d give anything for a whiskey right now.
Adam walks up to Lawrence, kneels in front of him and lifts the cotton to his
forehead. Lawrence cringes, grits his teeth, then he feels better.
Unfortunately, Lawrence isn’t satisfied. Maybe because Adam didn’t answer him.
“Or are you like… is it a foster family?”
Adam sighs loudly, to make his annoyance apparent.
“No,” he says curtly, and Lawrence nods.
“So that girl we met outside…”
“My family’s maid, not mine,” Adam says, and his bitterness is so total that
Lawrence feels it in his touch. “I don’t use her for anything. But don’t worry,
she’s compliant, I’m sure she’ll get in on a threesome with you and Claire if
you ask her nicely.”
He feels Lawrence’s gaze on him darken, but Adam doesn’t care. He really
doesn’t care. Not even the evil genie enjoys this; he can’t even hear it when
it’s buried in the gray ash of pointless frustration.
“The fuck is your problem?” Lawrence hisses. “You think you got it bad? God’s
sake, you’re a fucking little brat who don’t get along with his maid! You got
money, roof above your head and an education you didn’t even have to pay your
goddamn self for! You know how much I’d…”
He silences abruptly, like someone’s slammed a door on him. He was so close to
saying it.
You know how much I’d give to be you?
Adam doesn’t. Lawrence sees in his eyes how wrong he is, how Adam has every
reason to hate his family, but he doesn’t care. He wants to piss Adam off,
wants him to say something equally cruel back so Lawrence can storm out, go
back to his tiny, tiny, filthy apartment and forget about this.
Adam just stares at Lawrence, maintaining eye contact for the first time since
they got here, and his eyes are black crystal, completely ruthless.
“You want this?” he says, calmer than Lawrence has ever heard him, but every
syllable razor sharp, like little shards of stone, throws the cotton ball
aside. “Take it all. Do it. Wear my clothes, play Billy Talent real fucking
loud every night and I swear,they won’t know the difference. It’ll make it a
little harder to fuck Claire, but by now, there’s nothing so bad that I won’t
do it, they won’t be surprised at all.”
Adam gets up. The raging pain in his eyes is related to something completely
different from watching his siblings starve, but it’s just as sincere as
Lawrence’s, and it’s definitely something deeper than not liking his maid.
“I don’t get what’s the deal with your mom,” Adam says, throwing his arm out at
nothing. “She’s unemployed or mental or whatever? Who fucking cares! She’d
notice if you went away, wouldn’t she? And when you get home now, she won’t
hide you away in your room because you’re such a fucking disappointment that
it’s best if she doesn’t have to see you at all?”
His formerly pale face is bright red, hands trembling by his sides. He needs
the evil genie now, it’s at times like these it’s supposed to wake up and make
him forget about the fact that he just wants to punch something and then cry.
But it’s left him, it’s just Adam, and his open, bleeding wounds, nothing to
numb them.
He thought it’d get better. For years, he was convinced that his real family
would come along and take him away from this, wash his forehead from the
Faulkner stamp that tied him here so long after it became clear that this
wasn’t where he belonged.
That family never came. All Adam gets is a teenage guy sitting on his bed with
bloody bangs over the cut in his forehead, looking pissed off and lost.
Lawrence doesn’t answer. Looks down. Adam smiles bitterly and walks up to his
speakers.
“You’re such a fucking cunt, you know that?” he says, almost calm again, and
pretends to check if his phone is hooked up.
Lawrence still doesn’t reply. Adam feels his genie returning. Thank god.
“Fuck off, Lawrence. I don’t wanna fucking looking at you.”
The words sound like they’re written on a tombstone.
Adam hears the door closing seconds after. He’s glad, of course. Glad and
destructive.
Maybe a little lonely.
Adam presses play, turns it up higher and higher until the music shuts out his
brain and he doesn’t have to think, Johnny Rotten screams into his ear, he
doesn’t need anyone else.
Don’t know what I want but
I know how to get it
I wanna destroy the passer by cus I
I wanna be anarchy
no dog’s body...
***** The Fifth Stage *****
When Adam complains too much about his life, his mom usually says, and her
voice always gets a little sharper, that he sure doesn’t know how she grew up.
Adam knows. He knows exactly.
He knows where she lived. What she had to do to get by. He knows all of it.
But he doesn’t care. He keeps complaining, and not just because that’s what he
does. It’s for the exact same reason he just threw Lawrence out.
He knows other people got it worse. But he’d rather live on the street. He’d
rather live in a dumpster. He’d rather be Jewish and live in Germany during
fucking World War II.
Anything. Everything is better than this.
xxxxxxxxx
Rage boiling, fingers twitching, it’s like a monster taking over his body but
not fitting, pressing up against his skin, about to explode.
Lawrence gets angry like this more often as he grows. When that happens, he
represses it. There are too many people he has to take care of, he can’t come
home like this.
That’s Adam’s fault, too. Everything’s Adam’s fault. He’s furious, that’s
Adam’s fault. If he goes home now, either mom or Lou’s pleading eyes are going
to pay for it, and that’s Adam’s fault, too.
You’re such a fucking little cunt.
Lawrence walks faster and hopes to release some adrenaline that way before he
gets home.
Fucking Adam. Fucking Adam with his fucking riches. Fucking Adam not even
getting how lucky he is. Happiness is a genetic lottery, Adam’s a sperm that
came out of the right balls, coincidence alone has gotten him that giant house
that he mopes around in, and he doesn’t even get how lucky he is.
Lawrence tries to work his way out of this complete bottom gunk. By the time he
started filing for loans last year, Adam had already gotten into too many
fights to stay in school.
Lawrence has never hated anyone like this.
That plan about speeding up in order to calm down didn’t work all that well. He
gets home about twice as fast as he would’ve, but just as pissed off. He takes
a deep breath before opening the door. It shouldn’t be a problem, he’s
repressed bigger frustrations than this.
The apartment is dead. The only thing meeting him is a cloud of stuffy warmth,
so thick and fetid that he feels it sticking to his skin. That usually means
that mom hasn’t woken up all day, either to open a window or get them some
food.
It’s one of her bad days. Sometimes it’s okay, sometimes she gets up at a
decent hour, sometimes she even goes outside while it’s still bright.
Lawrence enters the living room, looks around. The air is sour with cigarette
smoke and ingrain dirt. An empty milk carton on the floor, the dust swirling
lazily in the lone ray of sunlight from the window. Everything’s dusty,
everything is always dusty, the dust will still be on him after he’s moved out.
It’s under his skin.
Lawrence immediately stops being angry. All he feels is a cold hand around his
guts. That complete hopelessness that he almost wishes would finally overpower
him.
He walks up to Daniel’s crib. He’s in it, of course, but Lawrence’s heart
retracts in sudden ache when he sees Lou next to him, her bony arms around his
neck. Like he’s her teddy bear.
The anger towards Adam almost grows. Mostly because it isn’t until now he
realizes how much he’d give to care as little as he does.
Lawrence reaches into the crib.
“Lou,” he says softly. “Lou, wake up.”
She doesn’t react at first. Then her one eye opens to a blue slit, before she
whines something unintelligible and burrows her face into Daniel’s cheek.
Lawrence smiles, even though he can barely stand. Everything so hard.
“It’s okay. Go back to sleep. I just wanted you to know I’m home.”
“Alright,” she mumbles and closes her eyes again.
Lawrence leans his elbows against the fence of the crib.
“Did you guys get anything to eat today?”
Lou yawns. Daniel rolls over in sleep and reaches out, finds her upper arm. His
hand is as thin as hers.
“No, mom was tired,” Lou slurs and pulls Daniel closer. “But someone came to
see her before, so we went out, and we found a hot dog, and I split it, and
Daniel got the big half…”
She says all this in one single breath. Lawrence feels something warm and
burning rising in his throat.
“That’s sweet of you, baby,” he says. “But I’ll let you go back to sleep.”
She doesn’t wait for his permission, she’s asleep again before Lawrence manages
to stroke her cheek and straighten up. Is still Nice Big Brother somehow.
He turns around. Her bed is in the other corner of the room. One hand over the
edge of the mattress. Lawrence can’t make out if whoever came to see her
earlier is still next to her, but they rarely are.
He doesn’t hold her accountable for this, not outward, at least. Lawrence just
takes a breath, clenches and unclenches his fists a few times until he’s put
himself back together.
That’s what he does, that’s what he’s always done. He doesn’t take it out on
her, he walks past her bed, back outside, and that cold hand, as always, gives
an extra squeeze at the idea of leaving the kids alone with her.
She’s not a bad person. Lawrence wants to think that she’s just sick, but then
there’s the other side of him that just thinks how hard can it be, how fucking
hard can it be,and what sickness would do this to someone, what would get her
so stupid and so lazy and so fucking horny besides herself, the person she is?
And then there’s the tiny, tiny part of him whispering that maybe it’s them,
the kids, they’re the one costing money and take up room, and Lawrence is the
one who hates her, who could’ve done more, who was born and since then just
sits by her bedside gaping and squeaking like one of those stupid baby birds
that don’t even have real feathers yet.
Lawrence opens the door and walks in to the stairway, pretends that the air
doesn’t taste better out here, that he wouldn’t spare himself so much suffering
if he just closed the door behind him and never opened it again.
xxxxxxx
It takes him a while to find Adam’s house again. They all look the same in this
part of town. Shiny brass numbers above the doors. Fallen flower petals dancing
across balconies. And everyone passing Lawrence looking at him that way.
For a split second, Lawrence actually understands why Adam is so angry. The
boredom must be devastating after a while. But then he remembers that all the
houses look the same where he lives, too, but in a different way. The same
dusty copper roofs. Same green corners in the bathrooms.
Maria opens the door, almost immediately after he knocks. Lawrence smiles
politely and asks if Adam is in. As she walks him to his room, he tries to talk
to her like he’d talk to Victoria, because he needs someone in this house
that’s at least almost on his level.
He doesn’t knock before opening the door to Adam’s room, slams it shut behind
him. Adam startles, he’s on his bed with his feet on the pillow and head by the
foot, oh, so quirky, so weird!Some singer’s ragged voice presses against the
window panes, and Lawrence strides over to the speakers, turning them off.
Turns to Adam, the wound on his head throbs like a second heartbeat.
“Give me money.”
Adam doesn’t seem to have kept up with the turn of events. He opens his mouth
slowly, his eyes glazed and unfocused.
“I’m sorry?” he says eventually.
Lawrence pretends not to hear the sarcasm.
“Give me some money. You don’t want them, and I do. I need them, even. Really
bad. Give me some.”
Adam sighs, raises his eyebrows slowly. Then he shrugs.
“Okay.”
Lawrence exhales.
“Good. Thanks.”
Adam gets up and walks over to a small, plain jar, standing on a shelf by the
window. Lawrence hears a crisp rustling, and is ashamed when he realizes that
he has to hold himself back from running up to Adam and snatch the jar out of
his hands.
“You know this won’t do anything?” Adam asks before turning around.
He didn’t choose a good time to say that. When Lawrence sees the bills Adam’s
holding, they look like the key to salvation, and when Adam sees that, he sighs
again.
“Lawrence,” he says, and Lawrence forces himself to meet his eyes. “You get
that?”
Lawrence scoffs and looks at his shoes.
His worn, leaking, two-sizes-too-small shoes.
“You bought that?” he says, looking up. “Seriously. That’s socialist bullshit,
the whole ‘money doesn’t buy happiness.’ I get that your parents have ulcers
and shitty marriages and doing their secretaries and whatever, but they can
eat. And I heard good things about that.”
Adam holds out the bills, but when Lawrence reaches out, he yanks them away,
locking his gaze.
“Lawrence, this is 200 bucks,” he says. “It’s a week’s worth of food for your
family. It won’t get your mom to stand up and get a job.”
Lawrence steps closer to him. It’s hard for him to seem scary when there’s
money at stake.
“Right now, food sounds fine,” barely more than a whisper. “So would you please
give me the money?”
Adam holds out the money again, and Lawrence grabs them. He even thinks he
might detect a smile before he turns around and leaves.
Adam sits back down, and smiles sincerely as he realizes that he’s both done
something his parents wouldn’t like, and bought his way out of getting a
nosebleed tomorrow. Sometimes he gets it right.
***** Sworn Enemies *****
Chapter Notes
     Dudes, I'm so sorry about the delay. I've had some computer issues,
     and the one I have now is a piece of shit, but at least it can post
     chapters! (Kind of)
     Luckily, no one is reading this, so there shouldn't be a problem. :
     D With that said, look at this thing that I wrote!
Adam was right. One week is all they get, and even then, Lawrence scrimps back
like mad, mostly out of habit. But it’s worth it. He gets to give Lou an ice
cream. That happens just about never. Maybe on birthdays.
And Daniel being awake for a while today to play with her. He sleeps too much…
“Doesn’t it bother you?” Wendy asks one night when they’re out walking and
Lou’s fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder.
Lawrence shakes his head, only kind of hesitating, since he already knows what
she’s talking about.
“Not really.” Then he adds, smiling: “I never had that honoryou think I do.
It’s all in your head.”
Wendy laughs. Lawrence looks at her legs, the frayed edges of her jeans. She
only has one pair, and a few years ago they had to accept the fact that they
were about four sizes too small, so she and Lawrence located a bookstore,
pleaded until the cashier lent them a pair of scissors, and then cut the legs
off. They’re shorts now, and despite the lifted knee socks, her legs get damn
near blue in the winter.
“If I were you, for example, I’d turn tricks,” he mumbles, but regrets it
immediately when he feels Lou’s slim arms around his neck.
Wendy keeps smiling.
“Yeah, I don’t believe you. You could be out mugging people right now.”
She stops by a bench and sits down, and Lawrence turns around to look at the
road sidewalk them.
They’ve been walking for almost an hour and a half, and realizing that,
Lawrence immediately gets that cold feeling of fuck he’s alone with her how
could I,and it passes through him like a stab. But then he sees Wendy, her
dirty hair and the white marks on her nails, and gets even more worried, but in
another way.
“You cut way back to get into that school,” she goes on. “I think your morals
are all you have left.”
“Eh,” Lawrence says, stroking Lou’s hair. “I got them, and you. Who needs
consistent food intake?”
Wendy smiles bleakly.
“More mouths to feed.”
“I like those, in case you couldn’t tell,” Lawrence says, and Wendy’s laughter
is so big it shouldn’t fit into their tiny lives.
“I have.”
She looks at Lou, sleeping in his arms.
“Can I hold her?” she asks.
Lawrence hands her over. Lou doesn’t even stir. She doesn’t sleep often, so
when she does, it’s impenetrable and deep, she doesn’t wake up until the hunger
gets too great.
Wendy carries her all the way home, and tries to talk about Other Things, like
how she wonders where her own mom is, or ask him about school, since she can
tell that Lawrence is thinking about those things again, and she wants him to
get away from them even more than he does.
xxxxxxxxx
When Lawrence enters school the next day, he’s cold inside in a different way
than he usually is.
The two weeks Adam predicted are up. As of today’s breakfast, he has ten bucks
left. In Lawrence’s world, that means the judgment day has come and the
trumpets sound and he’s in every conceivable way fucked,because he can’t do it
anymore, he can’t do school and money and the rest, not when he’s actually
tasted life without it, but he won’t ask Adam for more money. Not a chance in
hell.
He’s completely abandoned his pride, it’s not about that. With Adam, it’s
something else.
Lawrence starts walking up the stairs. He sees Adam from a distance, his
leather jacket is like a worn blotch in the blur of sleek gray and adequately
short skirts, and slows down. Unfortunately Adam seems to have eyes in the back
of his head, or it’s just easy to notice when someone tries really hard not to
stare at you, because he stops in the middle of the stairs and turns around.
Lawrence stops too, thusly ruining any chance to pretend that he was just
heading to class, and then, can’t even move at all, just stand there and feel
the blush creeping up his neck.
Adam just looks at him first, with his usual, vindictive indifference. Then he
walks down the stairs, until he’s just one step above him, and almost as tall.
The weird contrast between rising noise around them and their complete silence.
“Hey,” Adam says, finally.
Lawrence nods, hopefully looking casual.
“Hi.”
Adam’s gaze pins him to the step, seemingly waiting for something, before he
sighs and take a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.
“I’ll go out for a smoke,” he says, with no effort at all to be discreet. “I
guess you’ll take that George Michael haircut and head to class. But let’s meet
up at lunch and chat?”
Lawrence opens his mouth to reply, but quickly realizes he has no idea what to
say. He doesn’t get what Adam would want to talk about.
Or, that’s not true. He knows.
Adam’s given him money, and being the way he is, of course he needs something
in return. Lawrence knew it somehow, but didn’t want to believe it. Too much
has been happening. Always something happening.
xxxxxxxxx
Lawrence walks out to the schoolyard by the next break, and by then, he hasn’t
seen Adam in a while. Adam’s always been the mystic phantom of the classes,
leaving when he feels like it and getting back with a cloud of smoke on his
trail, the teacher leaves a dry remark about his absence and Adam smiles
ruefully.
Adam’s not smoking now. He’s sitting on a bench by the edge of the schoolyard,
one foot on the edge of a trashcan in front of him. He looks so confident in
the meantime as he doesn’t seem comfortable in his own skin, always that
posture as if he’s expecting a blow, and Lawrence realizes a few seconds too
late that he’s staring at the t-shirt hanging loosely around his chest.
How can he be so goddamn skinny? If any of them is able to eat until he’s
notsickly thin, it’s him.
Lawrence sits down next to him. Adam keeps looking at the sky. He barely seems
to notice that Lawrence is there, and Lawrence doesn’t feel the need to remind
him, so they sit quiet for a while.
“What was it that you wanted to talk about?” he says eventually.
It sounds more annoyed than he meant it to be. Adam doesn’t seem to mind. He
turns his face from the sun and looks at Lawrence through the corner of his
eye.
“It’s been a while since you got that money,” he says softly.
‘Money.’ He just throws the word out there, it means nothing to him.
“Yeah,” Lawrence says. “What about it?”
Adam shrugs.
“Don’t you want any more? Like I said, I don’t think your mom turned into
Martha Stewart because you got two hundred bucks.”
Lawrence doesn’t know who that is. He sighs.
“Adam,” he says, trying to get used to how that name sounds without being
shouted. “I really appreciate it. All of it. You giving me that… but it’d feel
totally off.”
Adam raises his brows.
“Not because we’re sworn enemies,” Lawrence continues, and Adam grins, “but
because… it’s not like I can afford to owe you anything.”
Adam eyes him over, like he’s trying to determine if there’s any idea to talk
him out of this, and finally nods.
“That makes sense,” he says. “Or… it doesn’t make a lot of sense that it’s more
important to not owe me shit than to feed that little sister you keep whining
about, but… I guess I respect it.”
Lawrence scoffs, but with less annoyance than usual.
“Feeding her is the most important thing. But if we’re going to ever get even,
I won’t be able to do that for a while.”
Adam snorts, shakes his head.
“Lawrence, we both know you don’t owe me a fucking thing,” he says, looking at
him like that again, making it impossible to look away. “I won’t ask you for
anything. And if you hadn’t gotten that you wouldn’t have asked me for shit in
the first place.”
Lawrence tries to think of a cool comeback, but gives up without much effort.
What Adam says is true. And admitting that is for some reason not as hard as he
thought it would be.
“But let me know if you need anything else,” Adam says and stands up.
Lawrence nods, even though Adam’s already turned away. He opens his mouth again
before he’s figured out why he’s doing it.
“Adam.” Adam turns around. “I mean, the whole sworn enemies thing…” Lawrence
feels his face heating, admitting this is horrible. “We don’t have to… I mean…”
Adam smiles reluctantly, blushes a bit, too. Lawrence didn’t think him capable.
“Let’s not push it,” he mumbles and turns around again.
Lawrence smiles, too. That’s probably the closest Adam will ever get to letting
his guard down, but it doesn’t feel inadequate in any way. He feels better now
than he has in a long time.
xxxxxxxxx
Adam gets home a few minutes later, and he feels restless and frustrated. More
than usual, anyway. And it doesn’t help that he hears Claire rummaging through
the fridge.
He doesn’t want to be friends with Lawrence. He doesn’t want to wantto be
friends with Lawrence, because that his biggest downside is that he’s a good
person. That’s more or less the only thing wrong with him, but it feels like
enough reason for Adam to hate him unconditionally.
Adam doesn’t like nice people. Nice people get inside his heart and roots down
there.
He steps into the kitchen the second that Claire closes the refrigerator door.
She wears her hair up today, shorter strands of hair falling loose from the
bun. She’s wearing a tight, orange shirt and black jeans. Not everyone can
combine black and orange, but she can. Some people can.
“Hello, brother,” Claire says cheerfully and puts a plate covered with saran
wrap on the counter.
“Hey,” Adam mumbles. “We got any coffee?”
“I think Maria made some earlier,” Claire says. “You can heat it up. You want
some of these pancakes? There’s a ton.”
“No,” Adam says, takes the coffee pot from the stove and empties it in the
sink. “I’m good.”
He can make his own fucking coffee. The mere implication that he couldn’t
annoys him.
They don’t talk for a while. Claire heats up some pancakes in the microwave and
hops up on the counter with the plate next to her. Adam waits for the coffee.
“By the way,” Claire says. “I saw you talking to that Lawrence dude today. You
guys finally getting along?”
Adam stares intently at the coffee pot.
Claire gets to ask stuff like that. Claire can do whatever she wants.
Everyone else lets her do that. Mom and dad, stuff that’d buy him a whole
evening of cold stares is just cute little quirks when she does it. She can do
whatever she wants, but not with him.
“No, not really,” Adam says without lifting his gaze from the coffee. “So if
you gave in to your wild little teenage dreams and blew him, there wouldn’t be
any awkward situations where he’d have choose between the two of us. I think
you should go for it.”
Claire gives him a look. She very rarely loses her temper, which is why it’s
almost scary when she does. Her eyes get dark and voice sharp, and Adam feels
like he’s finally proven that there’s something beneath all the sugary sweet
that’s just as rotten and useless as he is.
“Dad gets home from his business trip soon,” she says.
It’s not an insult, but it’s the absolute worst thing she could say. It’s only
in her absolute darkest times she actually uses how far above him she is.
 
***** Something Else Entirely *****
Lawrence doesn’t keep up with politics. It doesn’t interest him much. He
doesn’t have enough tie-ins with the outside world to know much more than
what’s on the front of the news stands he passes on his way to the subway, and
it’s mostly internal bickering amongst the parties and anti-fascist movements
beating down those poor racists in suits.
It doesn’t matter anyway. He won’t blame anyone else. He really doesn’t. He
hates it when people do. Just because you’re born with certain prospects
doesn’t it mean you have to adjust to them.
That’s why it’s so hard when those idiot thoughts worm their way into his
brain. That part of his mind that’s only supposed to criticize himsometimes
turns against him and blames other people. Politicians, class society. Things
that he, no matter how superhuman he tries to be, can’t control.
It’s hard to name a specific turn of events. He knows that most schools are
private now, even though he never got why that was a big deal. Just how it
upset a bunch of other people, even the tiny part of Somna that was involved in
politics. They sat outside the closed McDonald’s and talked with nostalgia
about when education was for everyone. When anyone could work their way up.
Read between the lines: when there was hope even for us.Lawrence hates them.
Anyone can still work their way up, as long as you work hard enough. Even he
can. As long as he doesn’t kill himself first.
The first time he realized something was seriously wrong was when he heard the
saying “more money in the taxpayer wallets.” Said with a big Serious Face by a
liberal candidate, when the first presidential debate aired live in the window
of a TV store he happened to pass.
Lower taxes means more money in their wallets. The problem is that Lawrence, in
the age of sixteen and having worked for almost half of that time, has never
been able to afford a wallet.
xxxxxxxxx
One day, Lawrence comes home while his mom is awake.
Her eyes are drooping and fogged, filthy hair. So tussled it looks like a bun
on top of her head.
She’s so disgusting. Lawrence wishes that wouldn’t be his first thought upon
seeing his mom.
“Hi,” he says, closing the front door.
It’s poorly hinged since someone threw her into it, now there’s a big gap
between the frame and the door. He has no idea what to do with that once the
winter comes.
“Hey,” she says.
Yellow fingertips rubbing her temples, she squints at the light shining through
the blinders. But her voice is slightly less gravelly than usual.
“How… how was school?” she asks and opens an eye to look at him, circled with
smeared makeup. “You were in school, right?”
Lawrence shrugs.
“It was fine.”
“You got any friends there, Larry?”
Lawrence ruffles his hair in distress.
“Not really. You know what, I’m gonna go out and see if I can get us some
dinner.”
“You don’t have to,” mom says, almost panicky, like she thinks he’s about the
bolt out the door, which isn’t too distant. “I bought us some food today. I
left Lou and Daniel with Wendy to go to the store. In the fridge, look.”
She sounds so eager, like a little kid. Lawrence opens the fridge as she takes
a cigarette. When he takes the box of pancake mix and looks at her, she smiles
over her lighter.
“Can you make ‘em?” she asks shyly. “I’m kind of tired.”
“Sure,” Lawrence says and puts the box on top of the fridge. “I’ll go get the
kids.”
She nods. Lawrence nods, too, opens the crooked door and goes outside.
It’s so stupid. He should he glad she was awake at all today. Jesus, she’s been
conscious long enough to get that her children need food.
It’s just that these days, the good days, make the bad ones even worse.
If she’d been in bed all day every day, that would’ve been reality. It would’ve
been all he knew, Lou and Daniel’s reality. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed
to explain the pancakes the next time they go to bed without dinner.
Wendy looks relieved when she sees him. She’s sitting on a power box with
Daniel in her lap. He’s wriggling to get down to Lou, stomping on a soda can on
the ground.
“Don’t you have a mom, Wendy?” she asks when Lawrence is within earshot.
Wendy smiles, a glimpse of discolored teeth.
“I do, actually,” she says absentmindedly and holds Daniel tighter, trying to
keep him still.
Lou doesn’t look up when Lawrence stands beside her. She keeps stepping on the
can, flattening it, and Lawrence takes the opportunity to hug Wendy, squeezing
Daniel between them.
“I’ve never seen you with her,” Lou says, looking up at them. “Don’t you like
each other?”
Wendy smiles again and strokes Daniel’s hair before handing him over to
Lawrence. Lawrence smiles, too, even though the few memories of Wendy’s mom
almost hurt him more than the actuality of their own mom at home. It’s always
worse when it’s about someone he loves.
“Lou, I’ve met her mom,” he says and puts Daniel down. “She’s almost worse than
the fucking whore we’re stuck with. Trust me.”
Wendy laughs, in that impossibly happy way, and Lou squints at them. She
doesn’t seem to accept Lawrence’s way to end the discussion.
“What’s a whore?” she asks, the exact moment a man in a disgusting expensive
suit passes them. Just the fact that he’s in this neighborhood voluntarily
screams“client,” and upon hearing a six year-old saying those things, he stops,
staring at Lou, then at Lawrence, then Wendy, hoping at least one of them will
scowl her. When none of them do, he keeps walking, glancing over his shoulder a
few times, and Wendy giggles as Lou keeps looking confused.
Some things can’t be taken seriously. Mainly the most serious things of all.
xxxxxxxxx
Adam’s dad does get home.
There’s a teary reunion in the hall. Mom smiles so wide that you can see all
the whitened teeth and lets him stick his tongue far down her throat. Claire
falsetto shrieks and hugs him until he laughs, pretends to choke and bends her
arms from his neck with a big sigh of relief.
Which is fucking hilarious, of course. Claire almost passes out from laughing
so hard.
Adam is further back in the hall. He usually tries to at least say hi to his
father when he gets home from a trip. That way, he won’t get it thrown in his
face the next time they fight that he’s not even trying, just hiding away in
his room and won’t face the problems.
“Hi,” Adam says dully when Claire has stopped laughing and mom stopped stroking
his dad’s chest.
Dad shrugs off mom’s caresses and walks up to him, putting strong hands on his
shoulders. Adam forces himself to look him in the eye.
“Hello, Adam,” his dad says. “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” Adam says with a shrug. “School is… fine.”
Dad nods. He won’t stop smiling, he never does, but eventually lets him go and
walks back to mom and Claire.
“What do you say, girls? Should we crack open a bottle of wine?”
Adam still feels those hands on his shoulders. He still wants to shake them
off.
Later, when they’re sitting around the dinner table, Adam covering from a
silent threat, his mom seems to realize that she can’t ignore his existence any
longer, after a whole meal of conversation about school, work, food, wine,
economy and Claire. She puts her hand over his, nails red and slick.
“Mr. Peters has hardly called us at all about Adam since he started,” she says.
Adam stares into his plate. Sees his dad’s politely despiteful expression
without really looking at him.
“How about that,” he says.
A pause, just the sound of his chewing jaws. Adam wants to puke.
“And I guess he still refuses to dress like a normal person?” dad says, yup,
there it is. “Walking around in there like a goddamn streetwalker? Thinking
he’s a little better than everyone else?”
Tuna steak and salad are moving in Adam’s stomach. He hates eating when dad is
home.
“Dad, I don’t think Adam wants to dress like other people at our school because
they look like fucking tools,” Claire steps in gently and takes a sip of her
wine. “I don’t dress like that either.”
“That’s not really the same thing, honey,” dad says, still smiling. “You don’t
dress that way to show everyone how cool you are. But Adam does, doesn’t he?
You won’t let the manget you down? You don’t need no education, right?”
Something breaks inside Adam, and even the nausea calms down. He even looks up.
“You’re right, dad,” he says, he, too, polite. “I should dress like a
constipated Trump wannabe? Then I should talk my way to the top? Because I’d
want to be just like you.”
Then he stands up and puts his dishes away so Maria doesn’t have to do it. He
manages to get out of there before dad got what he said.
xxxxxxxxx
It’s getting dark.
Adam is lying on the bed. Staring at the ceiling.
The evil genie is restless, he feels it. Something moving, pushing up, getting
out. Sort of like the dinner he had earlier, and almost as unsettling. It feels
like he’s bigger than his room, the whole house, like he’s about to blow out
the roof.
At least dad let him get away, he hasn’t had any ramifications of what he said
at the dinner table. Somehow, dad has to appreciate how boring their
relationship would be if Adam never pushed back.
Maybe he should see it as a good thing that he’s feeling this way. He still has
something inside, and it separates him from the idiots in his family, his
school, this whole fucking side of town. He’s scared of becoming like them,
deep down, never apparent. It’s like there’s not that much separating him from
them, in the meantime as he’ll never fit in, and sometimes he catches a few
words from a conversation between other people his age, in school or on the
subway, and he gets cold with despair when he doesn’t understand,he doesn’t get
why they talk that way or what’s the purpose of anything they say.
Those are the days when Adam has to get home, drink five cups of coffee and
reorganize his bookshelf, draw word bubbles in the papers, paint his
fingernails purple, jerk off until he dazes off across the keyboard. All those
things to get away from the question that’s getting harder to ignore: if you’re
not one of them, who are you?
He doesn’t get that far tonight, though. Just when it’s sneaking up on him,
someone knocks on the door, and Adam sits up.
“Yeah?”
Maria opens up. She knows that he and dad had a fight, so she looks all soft
and understanding. Adam doesn’t get as surprised as he’d like to have been when
Lawrence walks past her, smiling almost as sweetly and nervous as she does.
He’s wearing a tee and jeans that are torn in the crotch. Similar to what Adam
is wearing. He almost doesn’t recognize him.
“Hi.”
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Adam asks, more as a general wonder than an
insult.
Lawrence shrugs and tries to look like he’s not soaking in every inch of Adam’s
room, the big bed, TV, expensive carpet.
“I had nothing to do. You wanna go for a walk?”
Adam hesitates for a moment. The genie says no, but even if he hadn’t known how
Lawrence really lives, he wouldn’t be able to protest too much as he is now.
Standing in front of him like this, hands in his pockets, hair carelessly
pushed to the side, Lawrence doesn’t look like the rich kid Adam thought him
for. He looks like a teenager.
“Sure,” he says, standing up.
xxxxxxxxx
It’s like walking with Wendy. And also nothing like it.
The air tastes different, but maybe that’s because of where they’re walking.
And just like when he’s with Wendy, he planned for them to be out for maybe
half an hour, but it doesn’t turn out that way. More like he looks at his watch
two hours later and wonders why the hands moved so fast.
Then there’s the areas Adam leads him through, but that’s to be expected. And
he talks less to Adam, and most things they say are passive aggressive insults,
followed by a giggle from either party. They don’t know each other well enough
to tease, and none of them care.
“Why are you even here?” Adam suddenly asks when they’ve been walking for a
while. “Who’s taking care of that little sister you’re so fucking hung up on?
Because please don’t tell me you left her with your mom.”
Lawrence lowers his gaze. Doesn’t really have the energy to be ashamed.
“Yeah, I did,” he says, tucking his hands in his pockets. “But she’s a heavy
sleeper, so she won’t wake up if… I mean, if…”
“If she starts shooting up on the floor next to the crib?” Adam says venomously
and takes his cigarettes out of his pocket. “Do youbelieve that?”
Lawrence scoffs.
“If you’re trying to guilt trip me, it’s not working,” he says. “She’ll be
fine. She won’t be like mom. Neither will Daniel.”
Adam nods indifferently. Looks away.
“It’s not drugs,” Lawrence adds in an absurd need to defend himself.
Adam shrugs minutely and exhales smoke.  
“There’s a Daniel too?”
“Yeah,” Lawrence says, looking at his shoes. “And a Wendy.”
“Another sister?”
Lawrence smiles wearily.
“Sometimes I think she is. But no. Not that I know of.”
Adam smiles.
“And you’re getting them all out of… wherever it is you come from?” he says,
looking Lawrence in the eye since the first time since they started this
conversation.
Lawrence swallows.
“Somna.”
Adam flinches. He seems to fight a sudden urge to seem compassionate. Lawrence
isn’t sure he appreciates it.
He has no reason to be surprised. If you’re poor in Chicago, there aren’t a lot
of other places to live. It just feels weird to have a name for it. He probably
figured Lawrence lives in some kind of general, fictional Poor Land.
Doesn’t realize until now that if you live in Chicago at all, there’s a greater
chance that you live in Somna. They’d count Adam as a lucky minority.
“Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
Adam purses his lips. The cigarette tilts dangerously.
“And you’re hoping to do this all by yourself?”
“Yeah.”
“How?”
Shrug.
“I never figured it’d be easy. But I managed to get the opportunity to go to
high school. I’llget out. What am I supposed to do with them then, just leave
‘em?”
Adam nods slowly.
“Makes sense.”
Lawrence knows he’s thinking that he doesn’t need to take on more
responsibility. It annoys him even though Adam doesn’t say it.
They stop by a dock that Lawrence hasn’t seen before. Or, why would he have. He
stands on the bridge for a damn near full minute, awestruck by clean water for
the sunset to reflect in. When Adam realizes he won’t keep walking, he rolls
his eyes and sits down to show his reluctant admission to this lame situation.
Lawrence sits down next to him. The smoke from Adam’s cigarette unravels into
the sky. They say almost nothing until Adam huffs with annoyance and gets up,
and Lawrence realizes that they’ve reached the limit of sentimental moments
allowed in one night.
They’re back by Adam’s front door about half an hour later. Adam places his
hand on the knob, puts out his third cigarette on the doorframe and turns to
Lawrence with that look you get when you don’t know how to say goodbye to
someone.
“We should do this again,” Lawrence says, extremely awkward, looking at
anything that isn’t Adam’s face. “But we’re not… like…”
Adam smiles. It’s more sincere than Lawrence has seen him smile before.
“Don’t worry,” he says and opens the door. “See you tomorrow.”
Lawrence smiles, too, as he turns around and walks away.
***** I'll Be the Devil on Your Shoulder *****
One of the last memories Adam has of loving his sister is when he got his
Gameboy.
He was eight, maybe nine, it was at least before the whole deal with dad had
started in earnest, and Claire a year younger. He’d gotten his Gameboy, they
were playing Tetris, and he was the big brother and of course beat her again
and again. Claire thought it was fun for about ten minutes, then she threw the
game at the wall and said it was stupid. Adam accepted this, and told her that
if she wanted, they’d go make muffins instead. They did, and he got chocolate
frosting in his hair as punishment for the Tetris incident.
Something Adam can think back at smiling. A shameful smile, because yeah, he’s
ashamed of ever having loved her.
In the meantime as he doesn’t get what changed since then. They loved each
other then because they were siblings, and aren’t they still? Their parents
shouldn’t be able to fuck that up.
He thinks that sometimes.
But then he feels the evil genie, and he remembers that he can’t afford to
think like that. Not about her. She’s one of Those Other People, and no matter
what she likes to pretend, there’s no way she can like him. It’s just a matter
of time before she gets that.
xxxxxxxxx
She’s having one of her bad days. Lawrence gets painfully aware, but still has
to leave them with her.
Not even he gets how he does it. His whole body’s fighting it, and he’s not
sure how focused he’ll be once he gets to school, that fucking school that he
lives and dies for now days. Feet moving ahead but the knowledge of what he
left Lou and Daniel with is like a cold lump in his stomach, like that feeling
you get when you realize you forgot the stove on.
Except it’s not a tiny heart attack lasting for a few seconds. It’s with him
through the day. The only thing getting him ahead is that thought that he has
to,it’s for them, in order to make them happy in the future he has to make them
unhappy today. It’s completely logical thinking, but the look Lou gave him
before he left home lingers, no matter how logical he tries to be.
Lawrence does get in time to class, but he has to run the last block, sweaty
and out of breath once he finds his classroom. His teacher gives him a glance
as she’s letting them in, and that’s enough to make the weight in his belly
even colder, burning and pushing. She doesn’t say anything, but he knows she’s
thinking it.
Lawrence enters the classroom, clutching to his notebook, and he feels his gaze
involuntarily wandering amongst the teens trying to find a place to sit.
Where the fuck is Adam? Doesn’t he get that he’s needed here? Lawrence has
stopped denying it, he wants Adam here, someone to calm him down just by the
attitude that he hates when it’s on someone else, but somehow is his saving
grace when it’s Adam’s.
The teacher starts talking, Lawrence picks up his pen and starts writing down
every single thing she says, even though he knows the information that’s
actually useful won’t come up until it’s been another ten minutes.
He keeps an eye on the door. Adam doesn’t show.
xxxxxxxxx
Adam’s rarely in school before lunch, Lawrence should’ve seen that pattern by
now. And if he is, he usually leaves afterwards. This is one of the days in
which he shows up after lunch, which should mean he’s gotten a lot of sleep,
but when Lawrence sees him in the cafeteria, he has dark circles under his
eyes.
They never sit together during lunch. Adam’s well aware that Lawrence will
mutilate himself beyond recognition to pass as One of Those Who Are Respected,
so he doesn’t even try to approach him in public. Lawrence has never denied
this, to himself or Adam, so he’s sitting with those who actually dohave rich
parents.
Adam doesn’t mind. He’s not crazy about food, and Lawrence seems like the type
of dude who would nag him to eat until Adam snapped and threw the slimy
cafeteria spaghetti in his face. He’s by himself, with his feet up, reading.
People’s reactions to Adam saying he loves to read are just amazing. He knows
he doesn’t look like the type who’d voluntarily read Nietzsche and Wilde, and
that just makes it funnier.
He may not be cultural, but he’s an esthetic at heart. The words in his books
are transcendent, burning through the pages, almost forbidden even though the
whole world reads them, and that appeals to both sides of him.
All but lust is turned to dust, in humanity’s machine.
Adam flips the page, then sees Lawrence’s fingertips on the table in front of
him. He looks up, Lawrence has that look on his face that he does when
something’s weighing him down. He makes a dog-ear on the right page.
“Care to join me?”
Lawrence smiles, not even pretending to take him seriously.
“I was hoping you’d join me outside,” he says quietly. “I’d like to… why are
you reading Oscar Wilde?”
Adam smiles coyly and shoves the book into his backpack.
“You think I can’t read the classics?”
Lawrence scoffs.
“Oscar Wilde was a bisexual, drugged up junkie with as much impulse control as
my three year old little brother. Of course you’d like him.”
Adam laughs and stands up, brings his tray. Despite the time that’s passed
since they started hanging out, it’s not until now that he sees that Lawrence
really is allowed to say stuff like this. Whether he likes it or not, and even
though he’s still not sure how it happened, they’re friends now, and it’s going
to be this way from now on.
When they’re out on the schoolyard, Adam takes out his cigarettes, and Lawrence
rolls his eyes as they go to the sidewalk outside the greenish copper fence
marking the borders of the school area. There, Adam lights his smoke and
inhales gratefully, as Lawrence gives him a venomous look.
“You know how many kinds of cancer you can get from smoking?”
“You know how much I don’t care?” Adam replies, in that sugary tone that
Lawrence already hates. “God, you should be a doctor, Lawrence.”
Lawrence sour expression falls apart, and he smiles, in that stupid optimistic
way.
“I’m going to be a doctor.”
Adam looks at him.
“That’s how I’ll do it. I’ll be a doctor.”
Adam smiles crookedly over his cigarette.
“You’ll be awesome,” he says sincerely.
Lawrence smiles back, but with a lowered gaze. Like he’s kind of ashamed of it.
“But that’s not what you wanted to talk about,” Adam goes on.
Lawrence shakes his head.
“She… she’s having a bad day,” he presses out.
Adam nods slowly. Another drag.
“Sometimes she has days when she at least wantsto be a mom,” Lawrence says.
“And she gets pancakes, and pacifiers for Daniel… instead of cigarettes, I
mean. But there are days… she’s like that today, she…”
He swallows and looks down at his shoes. The holes by the toes. Adam’s not the
kind of comforter that wants to cuddle and whisper nice things in his ear, he
just looks at him. Waits.
“She just gets so mean,”Lawrence says, there’s no better word for it. “She
asked me why I’m even in school when I’ll never be nothing and not good at
nothing… she said I was selfishfor spending so much money on these clothes… I
mean, she called me… selfish…and she told Lou she was a mistake, she’s only
here because she couldn’t afford an abortion… and she…”
He can’t go on. He keeps staring at his shoes and swallows again. Adam’s a
sped-up smoker, so he’s already done with his cigarette when Lawrence quiets
down. He drops the butt on the ground, smothers it with his heel and doesn’t
say anything for a while. Only sighs heavily and rakes his fingers through his
hair, like he doesn’t want to give any advice if he’s not entirely sure that
every word is exactly the way it should be.
“Don’t ever believe anything coming out of her mouth, Lawrence,” he then says,
dead serious. “As long as you don’t, you’re good.”
Lawrence looks up. Adam shakes his head, and for a second, he looks almost
grown up.
“People in these situations always start blaming themselves,” Adam says, with a
bitter undertone. “Especially people like you. You get how happy your fucking
mom would be then, if she doesn’t even have to say shit like that to you,
because you’re saying it to yourself? Don’t give her that angle. She doesn’t
deserve it.”
Lawrence clears his throat. Now that Adam has eye contact with him, it’s hard
for Lawrence to keep it. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets, clears his
throat, looks at anything, the girls smoking by the fence, Adam’s shoelace
that’s torn and frayed at the end, anything but his face.
No one’s said it to him out loud before.
“I don’t know what else to do,” he says and shrugs, a hollow little laugh and
looks up again.
Adam looks at the giant clock face above the gates to the school.
“Than blaming yourself?” he says and starts walking back to the schoolyard.
“It’ll come. I think it will.”
Lawrence follows.
“Aren’t you going home now that you’ve gotten your free lunch?” he asks as Adam
holds the door for him. Adam grins.
“Claire’s home sick, and if I go home now I’ll have to watch everyone dot
around with her,” he says jokingly, but as always when he’s talking about her,
there’s truth beneath. “She’s the cutest little thing when she’s well, imagine
what they’re like around her when she’s sick.”
Lawrence takes two steps of the stairs in a long stride.
“Why do you hate her?”
“Why not?” Adam says.
He sounds too defensive for that to be the only explanation.
xxxxxxxxx
They keep doing this. Adam’s not entirely sure what it is they’re doing, or why
it’s working, but it’s fine.
They’re so different. Lawrence annoys him as much as those other good kids,
really. There’s no logical explanation of why Adam happily spends all the short
time he’s in school with him, and still isn’t the least bit tired of him if
Lawrence shows up at his house later that night and doesn’t even ask if he
wants to go out anymore, just shows up at the door, and Adam gets up right
away.
At some point, Mr. Peters sits Adam down for a talk,it’s the first time it
happens without Lawrence being in the office with him. Mr. Peters wonders if
Adam’s thought about how it can affect Lawrence’s grades that they’ve started
hanging out. He says they’ve noticed that they’re spending every available and
unavailable second together, does Adam think he hasn’t noticed? He says birds
of a feather flock together.
“You know how goddamn smart this kid is,” Mr. Peters says and leans forward
with his enormous hands on his knees. “If he does his work, he’ll definitely
get a scholarship, and that’s not something we just throw at anyone. Do you
really want to ruin that for him?”
“Why would I want that?” Adam asks.
“Of course you don’t,” Peters says. “But especially at your age… you’re known
by the company you keep. It’s a cliché, but it’s true.”
“If Lawrence doesn’t get a little more like me, he’ll get a nervous breakdown
and start chopping up hookers,” Adam says.
Mr. Peters doesn’t have an answer for that. Adam gets to leave shortly after.
Adam has his own evil genie. Now he’ll get to be one himself, for someone who
needs it more than he does. If Lawrence didn’t have a devil on one shoulder,
the weight of the angel on the other side would make his spine crooked.
xxxxxxxxx
One day, Lawrence is in the cafeteria with the rich kids.
Or, everyone’s rich here but him. But the students by this table are part of
the elite, and very few are allowed here. He’s worked the entire semester to
get up to their table. Being here now is a big enough victory to get him
anywhere he wants in life.
The captain of the rich table is James, and you’d know that even if you’d never
sat here before. Lawrence has never questioned it, and he doesn’t talk to
anyone except him, even though he thinks James is pretty annoying.
He’s not in a position to question the rules here. Lawrence is allowed here
because they haven’t seen the remains of tomato sauce on his shirt that he
tried to get away with hot water yesterday, or that he can barely keep his head
up because he hasn’t had breakfast, not today either.
Or that he’s hiding his hands under the table, since he’s taken the concept of
keeping his nails short a little too far, and his fingertips aren’t just
bleeding, they’ve adapted a purplish-red shade and throbs alarmingly. There’s
no point in trying to fool himself when he spends so much energy fooling them.
They’re jumping between subjects. Most of them are about school, how much they
hate it, especially that teacher. Well-phrased negativity hiding under the
sound of scraping chairs, the slurping sound from the water cooler by the
corner.
“Hey Lawrence,” James suddenly says, and Lawrence damn near flinches. “You’re
one of the good ones. What was our homework for today?”
It takes Lawrence a couple of seconds to grasp that James has addressed him.
“Page thirteen to thirty-three in the history book,” he says and takes a bite
of hid food.
Tries to keep himself from eating his whole portion in one bite. God. He’s so
hungry. Always hungry.
James makes some kind of displeased growling sound and pushes the pasta around
on his plate.
“I don’t get how they expect us to do all this stuff,” he says, and the others
nod affirmatively. “It’s like, ‘hey, life, I didn’t see you behind all that
school!’”
“What does it matter to you?” another one of the rich kids says. “You don’t do
it anyway.”
She’s one of the few who are allowed to say that. James grins in a way that’s
supposed to seem embarrassed even though it’s not.
“I don’t haveto do it,” he says. “I just feel bad for the ones who don’t have a
job ready for them by the time they graduate. Adam, for example; since we can
be sure he hasn’t done a damn thing since the semester started, how’s he
supposed to get by in life?”
Affirmative nods.
“Do you know how he gets money for food?” one of the rich kids says, and goes
on without a pause: “His parents kicked him out. So he turns tricks. Downtown.
And hitchhikes here every morning.”
Glee mixed with horror. James shoots Claire, sitting a few tables down from
them, a compassionate glance.
“Get how Claire still turned out okay,” he says.
Affirmative nods. For the first time, Lawrence doesn’t join them.
He doesn’t even know what he says to excuse himself from the table. He just
stands up, says something, leaves. He’s not sure what, blood is pounding in his
ears, anger burning worse than his fingertips.
Lawrence won’t join the rich kids again after this. He and Adam are back
outside the schoolyard, he’s as wound up as the last time, spits out an
abundance of curses and Adam listens patiently while taking long drags from his
cigarette.
“They don’t have to do shitto get ahead in life!” Lawrence hisses, fists
opening and closing irregularly. “I have to work my ass off and take
responsibility for both me and my family, and they…they don’t even have to do
their fucking homework! And if they’d have to they’d have some fucking maid to
do it! And they knowit! They don’t even have to try,it’s…”
“Wasn’t it you who thought that poor people should stop complaining about the
upper class?” Adam interrupts softly. Lawrence shoots him an angry glance.
“That’s not what I mean. You got to fucking workfor it.”
“Why?” Adam smiles teasingly, he looks unbearably pleased about painting
Lawrence into a corner. “Some people have to have it worse off for other people
to have it better. Right?”
Lawrence pretends not to hear him. Those are his words, they’ve had this
discussion before and Adam’s always looked at him like he’s an idiot when he’s
explained that it’s all really about trying harder. You can always try harder.
“I’m just saying…” Lawrence spits out, without knowing what he’s saying, “it’s
like… it’s not fair!”
He quiets down to catch his breath. Adam’s teasing smile has faded, and now he
puts his cigarette out to clasp his hands loosely in front of himself.
“Maybe you should learn something from them,” he says.
Lawrence turns sharply to look at him.
“What?”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Adam says, smiling again. “I hate them every bit as much
as you do. And of course I think they should stop sucking up to their dads and
do something real. But are you really the prototype for doing things right?”
Lawrence scoffs.
“Is it a bad thing to work your ass off on your own?”
“No,” Adam says. “But when was the last time you ate? Before today?”
Lawrence doesn’t reply. Adam nods.
“And when you can afford something, you give it to the kids, or Wendy.”
Lawrence scoffs again. Already feeling how it’s losing its edge.
“Should I let them starve?”
“Again, no,” Adam says. “I mean, the shit you do for them… I’d never do it, and
fuck knows I can push when I want to. But no one’s going to give you a blue
ribbon for breaking yourself, okay?”
Lawrence shakes his head frenetically before he’s even finished the sentence.
Still pretending to be angry even though he feels something break by Adam
saying that.
“We’ve been through this,” he sputters. “I have to do it, who else is gonna…”
He quiets down mid-sentence. These fucking moments when it hits him.
Adam looks like he’s about to shrug, but his eyes stick to Lawrence’s fingers,
that he’s taken out of his pockets for the first time since they came out here,
and then he frowns and grabs his hand before Lawrence has time to pull it away.
“The fuck did you do to your hand?” he says, appalled, as he’s looking from
Lawrence’s face to his throbbing, inflamed fingertips.
Lawrence cringes and wriggles it away. He tries to avoid eye contact, because
Adam’s looking at him in this stupid way, worried, and Lawrence isn’t sure how
to handle it.
“We don’t have nail clippers at home,” he mutters and hides his hands away.
“They were getting too long.”
“So the spoiled little shits that you’ve been whining about for the past half
hour would’ve seen that you can’t afford nail clippers?” Adam damn near yells.
“The horror!The thought is ghastly!”
Lawrence tries to scowl at him, but can’t help but laugh.
“You wouldn’t even know those words if you weren’t such a fucking nerd,” he
says, and Adam smiles, too.
“Lawrence,” he says, so steadily that Lawrence has to look at him. “I’ll buy
you a pair of fucking nail clippers, okay?”
Lawrence shakes his head.
“It’s not that. Clippers cost two fucking dollars, max. She’s not allowed to
have sharp objects at home.”
Adam sighs and hangs his head.
“Fine,” he says, in a tone like he doesn’t get why Adam insists on having a
psycho mom. “You can come to my house and cut your nails when they grow out, is
that better? You can even have some cash. I’m feeling nice today.”
An almost overwhelming amount of relief washes over Lawrence. He tries not to
show it too clearly, but Adam sees. Jesus, they actually know each other that
well.
“Does this mean you’ll stay for the whole day for me?” Lawrence says.
Adam laughs and starts walking back to the school.
“Don’t get ideas,” he says. “You don’t mean that much.”
xxxxxxxx
Adam wishes his dad could go on another business trip. The only reason he
hasn’t started living on the streets is that his dad is rarely home for more
than one or maybe two weeks at a time, but this time, he’s actually there for a
while. Every day when Adam gets home he’s hoping that he’ll be gone again, but
before he even sees him, he feels his presence, like a cold wind through the
apartment.
They’re by the dinner table now, all four of them. Adam still barely looks up
from the plate, still not eating much. Bites keep swelling in his mouth, he
feels dirty inside.
Dad’s been talking and joking and ha ha ha with Claire and mom during the whole
dinner, but now it’s been quiet a few seconds too long, and Adam knows it’s
coming, that turning point when he gets sick of being nice and acknowledges
Adam’s presence for the first time today.
His dad wipes the corners of his mouth with the napkin and turns to him with
such a nice smile. Adam sees all this without actually looking at him.
“So, Adam,” he says. “How was school today? Were you there for half an hour at
least?”
Adam doesn’t look up.
“It was fine.”
Dad laughs without a trace of humor.
“Fine? You know how much it costs to keep you there, don’t you?”
“It’s school, dad,” Adam says coldly. “How fucking excited you expect me to be
about it?”
“Not at all, of course,” dad says. “You are the way you are, after all. I
should probably just be happy that you thank us for dinner.”
“You don’t fucking make it,” Adam hisses, looking up now, one burning glance.
The slaps come in three sharp bursts, not a second in between, and Adam gets up
before dad can see the blood trickling from his bottom lip, searing tears, he
won’t get to see shit.
The silverware is clinking softly by the table. There was no break. Before Adam
slams the front door he hears his mom’s frail, thin voice, like she’s not sure
she’s allowed to talk yet:
“Claire, honey, how is school work going?”
xxxxxxxxx
Adam isn’t drunk. He’s pretty proud of that. Not everyone would manage to be
surrounded by people who can barely stand and still be sober. He’s been good
tonight.
He promised Lawrence to be there for the first class tomorrow. They have a test
in biology, and he’ll need all the support he can get.
Lawrence always studies to the very last minute, until the teacher lets them
in, and he’s always dead pale, biting his non-existent nails and staring at the
textbook in front of him without really seeing it. Adam’s told him he only
freaks himself out more by doing that, but it doesn’t matter. He sits like that
until Adam takes the book away from him.
It’s all the expectations, Lawrence said earlier that day, when they were at
Adam’s place before his parents had come home. Sitting on his bed after Adam
had cleaned his infected wounds, talking about those things that usually annoy
the hell out of him, but now seem like the best spent hours Adam’s had in a
long time.
Adam leans against an empty car wreck and watches the drunken scenarios.
Someone’s lit a fire in an oil drum, it puts a yellow glow over everyone’s
face.
Most people here are probably almost as well off as he is, but they don’t look
like it, with all the torn clothes and frizzy hair. Neon pink extensions and
corsets are expensive, but if it’s who you are, it’s more important to spend
money on that than on food. And a party can be free, you just show up here and
steal booze from home. Either way, you can’t tell who they usually are. You can
be whomever you want.
That’s why Adam likes this place more than any other in the world.
He takes a drag and is about to put his cigarette out when a girl walks up to
him. She’s hot, and not even that drunk. Her arms are thin and eyes painted so
black she looks like the picture of Alice Cooper she has on her t-shirt. She
smiles that way with blood red lips. Adam smiles back. If he’s not going to
drink, this seems like a good as any way to end the night.
Adam loves girls. Kind of weird, since the only two women he really knows, he
hates intently. He loves the anatomy, shapes, the taste, but somehow, he knows
he doesn’t love them the right way, not the way he’s supposed to. More like a
dog loves a chew toy.
This girl walks up to him, gets close. Then she touches the bruise on his
cheek.
“What happened?” she asks.
Her voice is hoarse, she’s been smoking since she was a kid. Adam’s smile
fades.
“My dad beat me up,” he says simply.
Something lights up in her eyes. Her fingers move to his hair.
“Does it hurt?” she asks softly.
“Yeah,” Adam says.
Pause.
“My dad is an asshole, too,” she says.
Adam nods. She’s very close now. Her hand not moving.
“I don’t want to go home yet,” she says, barely more than a whisper now, her
face is right up close. That momentary, fairly pointless lust is awakened in
Adam, and he grabs her hand.
“Come on,” he mumbles and pulls her away from the fire, even though he doesn’t
really care if someone sees them. He’s seen more people fuck in backseats here
than he cares to remember, and he assumes it’s the same for them. They wouldn’t
care, even if they registered it, as drunk as most of them are by now.
He’s going to find an unoccupied car wreck, do this girl, and go home. Hope
that dad isn’t up, since he probably hasn’t gotten his full punishment for his
comment by the dinner table. If dad is awake, he’ll take whatever he gets for
that, and go to bed.
The upside is that he’ll get to go to school tomorrow.
The thought hits Adam then, despite the situation. But he’s not that surprised.
For some reason, it feels totally natural to find someone who won’t be offended
if he doesn’t keep in touch, and still look forward more to going to school
than having sex with her.
He almost laughs when he pulls her into a fumbly kiss before opening a car
door. So that’s who he’s become.
He’s spent the whole day in either emotional apathy or unbearable pain, and
getting pushed down to his back with a hot girl sitting across his lap doesn’t
make him feel much more than that. But when he’ll get to see the tiny smile he
manages to draw out on Lawrence’s face before the test tomorrow, he’ll get
happy for real, in a weird, self-fulfilling way.
Going there and being moral support for Lawrence and knowing that he’s needed,
is one of the few things that make him feel meaningful.
It definitely beats sweaty hands in the backseat of a car, and knowing that
he’ll have to go home eventually.
***** If This is It *****
Chapter Notes
     I'm almost done with the filler stuff I promise
“Who did Hitler form a pact with?”
“Stalin.”
“Why?”
Lawrence rubs a finger over his nose.
“Because… he was hoping that… by teaming up with Russia, he’d get to do
whatever he wanted in Poland.”
“Good. And why did Stalin agree to team up?”
Lawrence sighs and hangs his head.
“Because…”
“Come on,” Adam says, trying to make eye contact over the edge of the history
textbook. “You know this. Why would he form a pact with his enemy?”
Lawrence moans, puts a hand over his forehead, biting his lip. Desperate for
knowledge that he makes himself forget.
“He…”
Then he passes that line again, when the ambition doesn’t help but only ruins.
“Fuck!” he yells and stands up, pacing back and forth.
Adam sighs and puts the book aside. He hates seeing Lawrence this way, and
maybe it’s open to interpretation whether it’s good or not that he’s done that
so many times that he’s used to it by now.
“It’s just a test,” he says.
Lawrence scoffs.
“Just my fucking future, you mean,” he hisses, subconsciously opening and
closing fists. “Is that all you got, Adam? You know it just pisses me off.”
Adam smiles halfheartedly.
“I’m probably hoping that if I say it enough times, you’ll start to listen,” he
says softly.
Lawrence shoots him another annoyed glance. Adam’s smile just gets wider.
“And even if it’s true that this is your life, and that if you got a B the
world would implode and the dinosaurs would come back to life and eat us all,”
he goes on, “you don’t really have to worry about that. Because it’s about as
relevant as you failing in the first place. It won’t happen. Okay?”
Lawrence seems to calm down a bit. His breaths get less frantic, his hands stop
gripping something invisible. But just as Adam’s about to ask him to sit down
so they can go on, the sparks fly up again, Lawrence gets that look in his eyes
that he gets when he’s talking to himself and not to Adam.
“How the fuck would you know?” he exclaims and starts pacing again. “I don’t
remember this shit when I’m in your fucking bedroom, how the fuck am I supposed
to handle the test? I’ll have a fucking breakdown,I’ll…”
He quiets down like someone’s pressed an off-button, and Adam clasps his hands,
leaning forward.
Lawrence will always be the skittish one of them. That’s one side of him, at
least, the other is so cautious about keeping his feelings bottled up that not
even Adam gets how he does it. It’s like seeing all his own idiot habits
mirrored in someone else. With the difference that now, it’s affecting someone
he actually cares about.
“Only you decide if you’re going to pass this test, Lawrence,” Adam says. “But
as you put it so eloquently yourself, there’s no way in hell you can do it if
you can’t even study for it. And not even I can fix up your nerves. So try the
following…”
He’s quiet until he’s sure they have eye contact. Then he says, pressing every
syllable:
“Fucking. Calm. Down.”
Lawrence stares at him with something almost resembling hatred, and Adam
laughs.
“You can hate me all you want. But sit down so we can go through this. I’d
rather not see how pissed you’d get if you actually got a B.”
Lawrence stands there for a few seconds. Then he exhales a breath he seems to
have been holding since he got up, and sits back down. Adam smiles and opens
the book.
“Where were we?” he says and finds the page they were on. “Stalin agreed to his
conditions. Why did he do that?”
Lawrence is quiet for a bit. Then he lights up like a kid who just found five
bucks on the ground.
“He’d already tried to team up with the Brits and the French, and it didn’t
work!”
Adam looks at him over the edge of the book.
“I told you you knew this!”
Then they grin like morons for a bit before they go on.
xxxxxxxxx
Lawrence gets home late that night. It’s February, the end of the blizzard. The
days are warmer, but the nights are so nightmarish with their cold that the
fingers get stiff and it’s hard to get the keys out of his pocket, and he tries
to tell himself that the fucking egg cartons make a difference. He and Wendy
spent Christmas day looking for fabric to cover them up with, and it ended with
them ripping the seat covers out of a few cars in their parking lot, and pinned
them to the cartons with thumbtacks. It got a little warmer, but Lawrence knows
it doesn’t matter if it did. Every time he looks up at the wall, he remembers
that night, Adam balancing on the rickety chair. That’s going to remain, no
matter how cold it gets.
When he opens the door, he sees Wendy sitting by the kitchen table with his
blanket around her. Lou and Daniel are fast asleep in the crib, and Lawrence
doesn’t look at mom’s bed. He knows that sound, the strain of the springs in
the mattress and the grunting, like a fucking pig.
Stomach turning. He hates her.
“Who’s that?” asks whoever’s fucking his mom this time.
“It’s my son,” she says, actually sounding bored. “Don’t mind him.”
Lawrence grits his teeth and beckons Wendy to come.
“Let’s go out,” he says. “Bring the blanket.”
Wendy nods and gets up. A cloud of dust from the blanket swirls behind her.
Fucking dust. Always there. Under the skin.
They go out, Lawrence is cautious about closing the door as loudly as he can.
He avoids eye contact with her as they go to the parking lot, because he knows
that she’s ashamed, and that she feels bad for him, which he can’t stand and
desperately need at the same time.
When they find the Volvo that they usually sit atop when it’s warm, they open
the doors and get inside. Lawrence’s heart hurts when he sees Wendy’s worn
sneakers under the edge of the blanket.
“We got any beer?” Lawrence asks with a sigh when they’ve sat there for a bit.
Wendy opens the glove compartment. There’s a brown paper bag inside, she takes
two cans of the four they have left.
“At least it stays cold now,” she says and hands one to him. Lawrence chuckles
tiredly.
They open the cans, drink. Don’t talk. Lawrence is scared he’ll say something
he’ll regret. But eventually, Wendy can’t keep it inside.
“He didn’t come over until after they were asleep,” she says, sounding like she
wants to get it out as fast as she can because he’ll cut her off if she
doesn’t. “And they didn’t wake up… I don’t think they woke up. I know I
should’ve brought them outside, but it was cold, I figured it was better if
they were…”
Lawrence is straining not to put his hands over his ears.
“Fucks sake, I’m not mad at you,” he moans and pinches the bridge of his nose,
closing his eyes. “It’s good that you were there, or I don’t know what…”
He quiets down, trying to think of what to say. He shouldn’t be mad at her.
When she’s like this, she only hears the bad stuff, she wouldn’t even register
all the wonderful stuff he has to say about her.
“Don’t talk about yourself like that,” he eventually says and looks at her.
“Or, don’t talk about your… efforts like that. I wouldn’t have gotten this far
without you. They probably wouldn’t have either. You’re not a burden, you’re…
you do a fuckload more for them than she does.”
Wendy seems to search his face for any sign that he doesn’t mean it, but
eventually, she smiles embarrassedly and puts her hand on top of his.
“Okay.”
Lawrence has to smile, too, even though he’s pitch black inside. He gets happy
when she’s happy, it’s actually that simple. Then he puts his arms around her
shoulders, and she scoots closer, puts her head on his chest. They stay like
that, just a few seconds when he can just feel safe, until he has to ask.
“She… it was a bad day today, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Wendy says quietly. “I think she was out of smokes, she was so
fuckingon edge. She started doing that thing with Lou again, ‘if I’d afforded
an abortion, blah blah blah…”
She stops talking. Probably sensing how pissed Lawrence is without seeing his
face.
“I don’t think Lou knows what an abortion is,” Lawrence says halfheartedly.
She probably doesn’t. She still gets to hear about it every time mom gets like
this.
“You’ve been to the welfare?” Wendy asks and takes a sip of her beer.
“Yeah. Told ‘em mom’s looking for work.”
“They believed you?”
“Probably not. But I can’t keep working the crazy angle. I can’t prove that if
she won’t get any treatment.”
“Wouldn’t you get benefits if she was admitted or something?”
Lawrence shakes his head, holding back a very snarky answer. It’s been a long
time since he tried to see any kind of logic in the welfare system.
“That only goes if you have a job. Or whatever. We’re not getting it is the
point.”
Wendy rolls her eyes, but fortunately drops the subject. They’re quiet for a
bit.
“Do you know that stuff on your test now?” she then asks.
“Yeah,” Lawrence says absentmindedly. “Or, well… I have no idea. I guess it’s
cool. I won’t know until I get the results back. I can’t really judge by
feeling, because I always feel like I’m fucked.”
Wendy nods.
“Adam helps you study?”
Lawrence smiles.
“He’s not very good at it.”
She nods again. He already feels a difference in her movements; something’s
bothering her.
“Dude, I’m sorry,” Wendy says after a few seconds, disentangles herself from
his arms and sits back up. “I have no right to say this. You’d die or something
if all you had was me and your family. You’ve found a friend, and that’s
awesome, and I’m happy for you. There. That’s it. I’ll shut up.”
Lawrence sighs and turns to her. He knew they’d have to have this talk sooner
or later. He’s just surprised she dared to bring it up at all, She usually
refuses to criticize anything he does.
“You don’t have to be happy that I met him, Wendy,” he says solemnly. “I’m
also… you’ve been like all I got for… almost all my life, I have no idea how to
act with someone else in the picture just like… you know.”
Wendy smiles wearily. Lawrence hangs his head, sighs again, totally lost on how
he’s supposed to say this. This should be when he explains his and Adam’s
relationship, and how the fuck is he supposed to do that?
“When I’m with Adam, I feel normal,you know?” he finally says, almost panicky.
“I feel… like a teen!I get to, like, laugh at stupid shit and study and sit on
a real bed in his own room, you get it, he has his ownroom, and I… or, I mean,
we… this…”
He quiets down and gestures, directionless, at their whole lives, this whole
situation.
“This isn’t fucking normal!” he almost shouts, and laughs hysterically. “We…
we’ve never had a conversation that’s not about whether or not we’re going to
survive the week! And now… we’re sitting in a car because I can’t be in the
same room as my mom, and your mom left you at the goddamn playground!”
Wendy, who up until now has looked like she wonders what the hell he’s talking
about, suddenly throws her head back laughing. Lawrence laughs, too, right now,
their lives can be funny instead of sad, and if he doesn’t laugh he’s going to
start crying.
He never new that he needed the normal stuff. He’s not sure if he’s grateful or
not that Adam’s opened his eyes to it.
They calm down after a while, roaring laughter turns into soft giggling, and
Wendy comes to enough to put her hand over his again.
“You’ve earned it,” she says, with emphasis, meaning every word. “Don’t let me
make you think anything else just cause I don’t got an Adam.”
Lawrence nods, squeezing her hand. He has one of those moments when he loves
her so much that it almost gets too much, before she straightens up again.
“You should be able to go back now,” she says. “It usually doesn’t take more
than, like, ten minutes, right?”
Lawrence sighs.
“No, but if I go back there now, I’ll hit her in the head with a frying pan.
Can’t we sit here for a while?”
“Course we can.”
She puts her head back on his chest. Lawrence kisses her forehead from an
awkward angle. He’s missed this, this complete lack of normalcy with her is
almost as good as the sort of normal with Adam. But with school, and Adam, and
Lou, Daniel, and the fucking money that always has to be scraped up, there’s
not a lot of space left for her. His old life is already crumbling, but he
won’t see the ramifications of that for a bit longer.
They stay. Lawrence doesn’t know how long for. Then they go home, closing the
front door as quiet as they can. Mom usually doesn’t let Wendy stay over if
she’s awake to bitch about it, but now, she’s asleep on her back, open mouth,
greasy hair draped over her pillow.
Wendy falls asleep next to him right away, but Lawrence stays awake in the
single bed, stomach turning and going sour as he tries to think of how to make
sure she has better shoes for next winter.
***** We Don't Need More Christmas Stories *****
The walks get longer every day.
Adam’s not sure how or when it happens, but Lawrence somehow becomes a constant
element to his day, like cigarettes and music. Lawrence shows up, about the
same time, and Adam realizes he’s equally happy every time he does, just as
restless and annoyed the few times he’s late.
Not that they do much once he gets there. If Lawrence has something he needs to
talk about, he does, but if he doesn’t, they don’t say much. Once they get into
a discussion about which one of their parents would be the best president. It’s
not great, and it doesn’t have to be.
When the fall is drawing to an end and it gets colder every day, they’re
sitting by the same dock they did that first night. Lawrence is again looking
out at the water with damn near childlike wonder, and Adam’s very obvious with
his boredom, like it’s important that Lawrence gets that they’re only doing
this for his sake. They’ve been quiet for almost five minutes when Lawrence
starts talking.
“I forget that there are places like these,” he says without looking at Adam.
“That there’s like… a world outside of Somna.”
Adam stares indifferently at the water, but Lawrence knows that he’s listening.
“I grew up there…” he goes on, starting to hear how weird it sounds. “I grew up
where there were… like… nothing like this… like, beautiful stuff.”
Adam keeps looking at the water. He wasn’t going to answer, Lawrence rarely
needs response as long as he gets to say every single thing on his mind, but he
starts talking before he’s aware he’s doing it.
“My parents whine about my music because it’s not pretty,”he says, scratching
his head. “But come on. Most of the bands sing about how you should fuck your
school and do what you want, which I think is like the most beautiful thing
ever.”
Lawrence smiles.
“Judging by what you told me about your sister she seems beautiful as fuck,”
Adam goes on. Judging by.That vocabulary. “Like, in her own way. Just like
Wendy, and all the shit you do for them. It’s all kind of beautiful. Or
something.”
Lawrence nods slowly. They’re quiet for a bit.
“I’d do it for you, too,” he then says.
Adam scoffs.
“Don’t need it.”
Being friends is one thing. But he’s instinctively terrified whenever Lawrence
even implies that he needs stuff.
xxxxxxxxx
The fall passes by quickly, and before you know it, their first semester is up.
Adam gets an E in most of their classes, and their gym coach manages to raise
his expectations by beginning a sentence with: “I’ll give you a D,” but shoots
them down just as quick by finishing it: “if you quit smoking.”
Adam looks like a thunderstorm when Lawrence asks him what the coach said.
The last day of their semester, they get their grades. Lawrence’s are so good
that he doesn’t want to show them to Adam, or anyone else, for that matter.
They’re supposed to have a closing ceremony before the vacation starts, but
most students don’t even show up for that day, and the ones that do run off as
soon as they get their huge envelopes with their grade sheet in. They’ve gotten
reward money from their folks for just making it through the semester, and they
need to spend them all on drinks tonight.
“We need to think of something else to do for the evenings now,” Adam says
while putting on his winter coat. “We won’t be able to be outside. The news say
it’s going to be Day After Tomorrow until February.”
Lawrence has no idea what that means, but he doesn’t ask. The message comes
through from all the five-inch thick-lettered headlines about BLIZZARD COMING,
screaming at him from the front pages on the newsstands, and he guesses that’s
what Adam’s referring to.
In fact, the mere idea of winter gets him cold inside. There hasto be a way to
fix the crooked door, the fucking place is poorly insulated enough as it is…
He’s so wrapped up in himself that he doesn’t notice Adam looking at him.
“Lawrence?” he says with a small smile, flicking his collar up.
“Yes?”
“You need something to get through the winter?” Adam asks as they’re walking to
the gates.
“No, we’re fine,” Lawrence says. “Do you happen to have any egg cartons or
something so I can insulate the apartment and not have to worry about my little
brother dying in his sleep?”
Adam laughs. When he opens the front doors, the cold air is like liquid,
flowing beneath the collar. Lawrence could’ve just left his jacket at home,
it’s the same one he had this spring and it does nothing for the cold, but Adam
barely seems to notice it, with his knee-length coat that also looks nice on
him. For the first time since they stopped fighting, Lawrence feels a sting of
hatred.
“I know you’re not serious,” Adam says. “But not even I can afford to get you a
new place, so maybe that’s the best solution.”
Lawrence rolls his eyes.
“Egg cartons?”
“Yup,” Adam says, with that look that makes it impossible for Lawrence not to
agree with him. “You got a better idea?”
Lawrence doesn’t. They spend Christmas Eve getting all the egg cartons that
they found or stole from home and taping them to the living room wall, and
filling up as many of them as they can with little pieces of balled up fabric
they found outside. And for the first time since December started, Lou forgets
that her breath is a white cloud in front of her face and that she can barely
move her fingers. She’s bouncing around, giggly, sparklingly happy, and
immediately gets the role of Adam’s assistant, handing him the tape when he
asks for it and blushing every time he smiles at her. Her joy sweeps away the
dust covering everything in the apartment, wiping it clean.
Mom’s probably sitting on her bed giving them the evil eye through a cloud of
cigarette smoke. Lawrence wouldn’t know, he hasn’t looked at her all night.
She’s not important.
“There we go,” Adam says happily when he finally steps down from the stool he’s
been using as a ladder. “Fucking palace now, isn’t it?”
The egg cartons cover literally the entire wall. They don’t even match in
color; some are clean, teal, organic packs that Adam’s taken from home, the
dirt-yellow from Lidl that Lawrence begged for after closing hours, some they
found on the street, dark grey and damp. Lawrence smiles in that lame grateful
way and probably looks stupid.
“Totally,” he says, looking around. “Now we just have to deal with the fact
that the apartment looks like it’s owned by not only white trash, but insane
white trash.”
Maybe he should worry about the fact that they’re ruining the wallpaper, but it
doesn’t feel relevant. Their landlord won’t care, and they’ll never move out.
“Don’t worry,” Adam says. “We can find something to cover it, like… fabric or
whatever. That should insulate too.”
Lawrence nods. He feels different now from what he usually feels after he’s
finished something. Less worried about all the things he no doubt screwed up,
but more… fulfilled. Content.
“Adam,” Lou says, looking up at him. “Lawrence told me you’re rich.”
Adam smiles patiently.
“My parents are,” he says, looking at the egg cartons again. “Unfortunately.
I’d give it all to you guys, but I’d go to jail.”
Lou squints up at him. It takes her a few seconds of intense pondering before
saying:
“You don’t look rich.”
A scoff behind them. Lawrence feels his happiness deflate like someone’s
punched a hole in him.
Just as he thought, mom’s sitting on the bed, in filthy white top and panties,
smoking her third cigarette in ten minutes with Daniel in her lap. And she’s
looking at Adam like he’s the one who shouldn’t be here.
“If anyone’s white trash here, it’s him,” she says and points to Adam with her
smoking hand. Her face is sort of scrunched up, like it always is when she’s
like this. “Look at him. Even Larry looks less retarded, the fucking little
asshole… fucking little… think he’s so much better than us if he just blows his
principal and just fucks off from… fucking great. You wanna fucking medal?
Shit…”
Lawrence tries not to listen, turns away. Blushing. He usually can’t even be
bothered to be ashamed; if he got started, he’d never be able to stop. But
this. These times. When she can’t even talk right.
He never thought Adam would be able to hear stuff like this without starting a
fight. It’s part of the whole punk thing, or something. But Adam just smiles,
just so adorable, and cocks his head.
“Your son thinks I’m the hottest shit,” Adam says. “And either way, I’m not
going to get judged by someone trying to give a three year old lung cancer.”
Lawrence takes the hint and walks up to mom, picking up Daniel from her lap.
She doesn’t make an attempt to keep him there. Lawrence isn’t sure if he’s
grateful or offended. She just sits there, staring at Adam. The cloud of smoke
doesn’t take the edge off her spite.
Adam barely seems to notice. He’s digging through his pockets, finding a stick
of gum he can give Lou.
A few hours later, when the kids are asleep, Lawrence and Adam are sitting in
the stairway, so they won’t wake them up, even though it’s too late for that,
with mom throwing stuff around the living room. It’s almost as cold here as it
is outside, and since there’s a limit to Adam’s generosity, Lawrence is only
allowed to borrow one of his gloves.
“Lawrence,” Adam says suddenly. He sounds like he’s wanted to say this the
whole night. “You know, this… this won’t fix anything. I’ve had a blast
tonight, it’s not that, but when the winter really kicks in… egg cartons won’t
do it. You’ll have to…”
“I know,” Lawrence cuts him off.
He tries to sound calm, but even he hears how scared he is of Adam finishing
that sentence.
“I know, we’ll need more. But don’t say it didn’t fix anything. They had fun.
They rarely do. It made a difference. You made a difference.”
Adam gives him a look. Lawrence can’t see what kind of look it is, because he’s
staring blindly in front of him. Eventually, Adam gives up, looks down at the
ground, and they’re quiet a bit longer.
“Right,” Adam says then. “I almost forgot. I got something for you.”
Lawrence smiles wearily and breathes warm air into his hands.
“You do realize I don’t got anything for you?”
Adam smiles, too, and takes a small package out of his coat pocket. Wrapped in
a newspaper, like he’s tried to make it seem like he didn’t put too much
thought into it.
“I know,” he says and places the package into Lawrence’s lap. “Just open the
fucking thing, would you?”
Lawrence reluctantly pulls his hands out of his sleeves and starts opening it
up. Once he’s unraveled the paper he drops it next to them, and laughs when he
sees what Adam bought him.
Journal of the American Medical Association.
Lawrence smiles stupidly. He’s not sure how he’s expected to react. No one’s
given him a gift before.
“Wow…” he finally gets out.
“You’re going to need it,” Adam says with a grin.
Lawrence keeps smiling, more out of shock than anything else, and without
talking his eyes from the book.
“Thanks,” he says eventually and looks at Adam. “It… this means a lot, I mean…”
“I can tell,” Adam says. “You deserve it.”
Pause.
“But if you buy me any fucking thing I’ll never talk to you again,” Adam says
firmly, and Lawrence laughs again.
“It must be hard for you, being this nice,” he says and puts the book in his
pocket.
“You know it,” Adam says. “But don’t worry, I’ll be an asshole again tomorrow.”
“Thank god.”
It’s the first time in his life that Lawrence thinks it’s a shame that
Christmas is only once a year.
 
 
***** Frozen *****
Lawrence is almost always prepared for winter. As prepared as he can be, at
least. He’s never prepared physically, since that kind costs money, but he’s
got his mind set. No repression, no denial, just a very real knowledge that he
doesn’t like but won’t get away from, like when the bank account is empty and
there’s a week until the next welfare pay: this is going to suck.
It’s kind of funny. Earlier he told Wendy that what he likes the most about
hanging out with Adam is that he doesn’t have to think about whether or not
he’s going to survive the week. And it feels like he’s earned it after sixteen
years of a life that shouldn’t be normal for anyone, which he probably has,
since Adam keeps telling him to chilland learn to delegateand that he should
fuck his family and just run around hanging with his rich friend.
“Scuse me,” Lawrence says politely. “You got some spare change?”
The bypassing man rummages through his pockets, finding some coins to put in
Lawrence’s hand.
“Good luck, kid.”
Lawrence nods.
“Thanks.”
He puts the change in his pocket, it rattles hopefully, and when he’s stood by
the sidewalk for another hour, he dares to take it out and count. Almost seven
bucks.
Lawrence works the stiff out of his fingers and goes to the tiny, raw cold
convenience store where he gets work occasionally. He buys an apple each for
himself, Lou and Daniel, tries to get out but turns around and buys one for mom
as well. For whenever she gets home. There’s still some kind of love for her
left, or maybe it’s just pity.
Then he goes home. Lou is pale and quiet, Daniel’s started coughing, and
Lawrence wants to cry and then kill himself, but chooses not to think about it
and instead cuts one apple into slices so it’s easier for Daniel to eat. Then
he boils tea with honey that he found in the back of the cabinet and is so old
that he has to use a knife to scrape some sugary splinters from the rock hard
surface at the bottom.
He’s not trying to think of solutions. There is nothing. There’s health
insurance that they can’t afford, all those years of tiny heart attacks he got
whenever the kids scraped their knees have gathered up into one big death. He
knows they’ll charge him just to bring Daniel in to be examined. He doesn’t
want to know what it’ll cost to actually get treatment.
He remembers the time he had to bring Lou to the doctor when she had scabies
that wouldn’t go away. They got a queue number sitting in the waiting room, it
felt important somehow. The doctor was nice. Lou got a lollipop afterwards. But
it was Somna free clinic, it was dirty, crowded, the elevator didn’t work,
mildew in the corners, and Lawrence had nightmares afterwards about a
convenience store with rats luring in the freezers. Hungry eyes staring at him
from the shelves of instant coffee.
The dust is under the skin.
xxxxxxxxx
“Will it get warm again soon?” Lou asks quietly that night, when Lawrence has
turned on the stove for them to warm their hands on. He doesn’t answer. Lying
feels pointless.
Daniel is sick, and Lou is cold. And they are because Lawrence has been busy
prancing around with butterflies and unicorns and shit instead of thinking of
them, and he knewthis winter would get hard, that it wouldn’t be over just
because they got a couple of warm days. He could’ve done something instead of
taping egg cartons to the wall like a moron.
“Can’t we stay with Adam?” Lou asks and moves closer to him.
Lawrence stares emptily at the burner.
“We’re not going to see Adam any more, Louise,” he says.
He only calls her that when they’re talking serious.
xxxxxxxxx
Of course, the weekend hasn’t even passed before Adam shows up. Absolutely
furious, his face is so red that he doesn’t seem to need that goddamn coat he’s
so safely snuggled up in.
“Lawrence, what the fuck is your problem?” he hisses and puts a hand on the
door, like he expects Lawrence to slam it shut. “Where have you been?”
“Right here,” Lawrence says.
Adam flips his hood down. Lawrence looks at his coat. It’s thick, warm, best
possible protection from the snow blowing horizontally outside. Both Lou and
Daniel could fit in it at once, and Lawrence supposes he should get jealous,
but he doesn’t. He doesn’t know why. Probably for the same reason as he’s not
worried about Lou who hasn’t eaten since yesterday, or mad at mom who does what
she always does when it gets bad at home, and sets herself up with one of those
people who visits her at night.
Or he should be scared. Because his little brother is on his bed wrapped in
every blanket they own and barely breathing and can’t even drink the tea that
Lawrence tries to push on him and Lawrence can’t even look at him because he
knows he’s going to die.
He should feel all those things. But he doesn’t.
“Couldn’t you have stopped by and told me?” Adam goes on. “Fucks sake, I’ve
been worried!”
“I’m sorry,” Lawrence says, absolute flat tone.
Adam looks at him. The anger seems to sink away.
“Is everything okay?” he asks, still angrily, just in case.
“Yeah,” Lawrence says.
Adam eyes him over under furrowed brows. Then he tries to see past Lawrence
into the apartment, and when he realizes that Lawrence is too tall for that to
be a possibility, he grabs his arm and pulls him out into the hallway.
“What’s going on?” Adam says and closes the door behind them. “Tell me what’s
going on.”
Lawrence shrugs. Chuckles, exhausted, throwing his hand out against the tiny,
sharp snowflakes blowing at the window pane.
“I don’t know if you noticed the weather,” he says, looking Adam in the eye,
“but it’s fucking beyond cold. I live… here. And unlike mom, people aren’t
thirsty enough for my blowjobs for me to find someplace else to live.”
All the things he’s done for them.
“No one goes outside, so I can’t beg,” he goes on. “I’ve found every goddamn
windshield to clean within a five mile radius, I won’t get welfare until two
fucking weeks, I’ve worked as much as they’ll let me, no one has shit left, and
it’s…”
One goddamn night when he wouldn’t have to worry that they’d starve.
“It’s not that bad for the rest of the year, but now it’s all this shit,
andit’s cold! We have no food, no heat, Daniel’s sick and we have no health
insurance and no money and we never have any-fucking-money…”
He quiets abruptly. There’s a thick lump in his throat, freezing. It’s so cold.
It’s always so fucking cold.
Adam hasn’t said a word. He doesn’t say anything now, either, but when his head
falls forward and he rests a finger against both eyelids, Adam hesitatingly
lifts his hand and puts it on Lawrence’s shoulder. Lawrence appreciates it more
than he can put into words, and if he said anything now, he’d start bawling.
Adam’s defrosted him, as he does.
He eventually lifts his head. Adam doesn’t move his hand.
“Would you lose respect for me if I started hooking?” he says hoarsely, and
Adam laughs.
“Come on,” he says and squeezes Lawrence’s shoulder before putting his hand on
the doorknob. “Let’s go inside.”
Lawrence nods, even though he’d gladly leave this part to Adam. He still
doesn’t want to have to look at Daniel.
Adam opens the door. The cloud of stuffiness is the only difference between the
stairway climate and their apartment.
“Adam!”
Lou’s dead eyes light up when she sees him, and she leaps up from cowering by
the kitchen table and runs up to him. Adam picks her up, and Lawrence is so
senselessly grateful that she has an adult in her life that’s not himself.
“Your jacket’s so soft!” Lou exclaims and pinches the fabric of his coat.
Adam smiles, clasping his hands behind her back.
“You know what,” he says. “In, like… twenty years, when Lawrence is a big shot
doctor, he’ll get you a jacket like this.”
Lawrence blushes, and Lou laughs.
“You promise?”
“And then some,” Adam says and puts her down. “Let’s see…”
He looks around without finding Daniel, turns to Lawrence, who points at the
pile of blankets on mom’s bed. Adam walks up to it, pushes the blanket aside,
and even though Lawrence is certain that he was prepared for worse, Adam’s face
gets a pained expression that he hasn’t seen before.
“Jesus…” he mutters and puts a hand on Daniel’s forehead. “Fuck… okay.”
Adam puts two fingers on Daniel’s pulse. His head has fallen to the side, and
it’s like a wave of pain through Lawrence’s chest.
He looks dead.
“God,” Adam says and straightens up, starts buttoning down his coat. “Come on.
We’ll take care of this. Lawrence, come on.”
He sloppily wraps Daniel up before he lifts him off the bed. Lawrence tells Lou
to get dressed while he does the same. He’s not even worried anymore,
everything inside him is tensed up like he’s expecting a punch, the next in a
long line that he’s received.
“Can we pick up Wendy on the way?” he asks.
Adam nods.
“Sure. Come on.”
Then he opens the door.
The cold air is like a slap in the face. Lawrence barely reflects on it, and
Adam doesn’t seem to either, even though he’s just wearing a tee and hoodie
now. Lou is in sneakers that are worn by the toes, and even though he
prioritized getting her a new jacket, Lawrence knows she’s cold beyond belief,
but she doesn’t say a word. Just puts her tiny hand in his as they walk.
It’s like a pilgrimage. Lawrence will always remember it like that. Adam next
to him, with Daniel in his arms. And Lou on the other side, her teeth
chattering like in a cartoon, gaze somewhere far off, not complaining at all,
just whining to herself when a hard wind knocks against them.
It’s a wonder they don’t get frostbitten. Lawrence feels the cold creeping into
his bones, but doesn’t reflect on it. Nor on the looks they get when they pass
someone else stupid enough to be out in this weather, two summer dressed teens
and the rag doll looking girl with them. Let them look, stare until the fucking
eyes pop from their sockets, Lawrence doesn’t feel it. It’s like armor to the
wind, that thought. We’re going to fucking do this.
Lawrence knows where Wendy usually crashes when it’s this cold, so they find
her quickly. She’s sitting in an unlocked car left in a tunnel, dumped after a
robbery, probably. Even Lawrence’s apathy makes an anxious flip when she steps
out of the car. She’s pale as a ghost, arms white and boney like spider legs.
Lawrence gives her a quick hug and the run-over. Wendy just nods, and then
looks at Adam. Adam smiles in that way that could make anyone melt, despite
gender, orientation or the fact that they’re in a place like this.
“Wendy, I presume?” he says, politely, like she’s important, like he couldn’t
wait to run into her in a tunnel in Somna.
“Yeah,” Wendy says and smiles back, it looks out of place on her sunken
features.
“Adam. Further instructions can wait.”
Lawrence has no idea how far it is to the hospital. It feels like they’re
walking for hours. He doesn’t know if Adam knows either. He’s probably wound up
there himself, drunken rumble, a joint with something off about it. Lawrence
doesn’t know much about his life. That thought will hurt later.
Adam’s frustration progressively grows. Eventually he hisses something and gets
out his phone, is quiet for a bit and then blurts out their position, and hangs
up. He looks so annoyed that Lawrence doesn’t want to ask who he called, and he
doesn’t get what’s going on until a yellow car creeps up by the sidewalk.
Lawrence dares to shoot Adam a glance, which is answered by one so dark that it
seems stupid to question him.
“Get in the fucking car,” Adam says dully.
Lawrence obeys immediately. They get in, Adam in the front.
“Get us to a hospital,” Adam says to the man behind the wheel. “We’re in a
hurry.”
The man looks at the bundle in his arms. The tiny shoes hanging out of the
shadows of the coat.
“If it’s bad… there’s a free clinic…”
“Get us to a real hospital,”Adam hisses. “I can pay for the fucking thing. Just
go. And you buckle up when you’re in a car,” he barks at the people in the
backseat. “Don’t you have goddamn cars out here?”
Lawrence has never been in a cab before. The closest he’s gotten to riding a
car has been when they were younger and he and Wendy snuck aboard the bus to
get down to the boardwalk. This car is a totally different ballpark than the
ones hacking along the roads at home, sliding quietly across the brown slush on
the streets. Nobody says a word, not even the cabbie, who should understandably
ask what Adam’s carrying, but not even Lawrence would dare to ask Adam
questions the way he looks now. He only sees him at a half-profile, but still
sees it. Jaw tight, hands holding Daniel and seem to be frozen in protective
stance.
Lawrence wants to say something. That Adam saved him, saved them all. That if
Daniel survives it’s because of him. That he’s sorry that Adam has to carry
everything that he can’t carry on his own. But Adam won’t be susceptible to
that until he knows they’re safe, so he leans his forehead against the window
and stays silent until they get there.
The cab pulls up forty or so minutes later. Adam pays, and they get out.
Lawrence starts to feel his feet again when he sees the lit sign above the
sidewalk, seems to float in the air, it’s the only thing showing through the
snow.
It was warm in the car, but when they stumble through the automatic doors of
the hospital, it’s like stepping into a warm shower. A nurse hurries up to
them, but can’t decide which one of them needs care. Adam hands over the bundle
that is Daniel, then he gives Lawrence some bills and tells him to get them
food.
When they’ve eaten, a doctor comes up and says that Daniel has double sided
pneumonia. It’s treatable with antibiotics. But –he conveniently puts off
saying this until the very end – before they start treatment, they’re going to
have to see their insurance card. Adam gives him a look that could’ve stopped a
train.
“Now’s the part where we say we don’t have insurance and just be ashamedof
ourselves, isn’t it?” he hisses and gets his wallet out. “Sorry, dude. They
don’t have insurance, but Ihave money, I have a credit card, I have a fucking
billing addressif that’s how you want to do things. Could you stop standing
around being an ass and just go treat the kid?”
Daniel gets admitted for the night. The doctor asked for payment in advance,
but he would’ve treated Daniel anyway. Adam has that effect on people.
Lou falls asleep in Adam’s lap right after eating and Wendy collapses on
Lawrence’s shoulder shortly after. Adam and he stay awake for a while, watch
people get in, bleeding, fainting, coughing worse than Daniel did. So many more
people arriving than leaving.
“Adam?” Lawrence says after a while.
“What?”
“I wish you were my brother.”
Adam smiles inwardly.
“Just cause you’d have my rich ass parents,” he mumbles.
Lawrence smiles, grateful to have someone to ruin any serious moment. He’s got
enough of them as it is. Then Adam leans his head against his shoulder and
falls asleep, and Lawrence doesn’t feel like crying for the first time in a
long time.
That feeling is such luxury to him that he’d gladly spend the rest of his days
in the waiting room of Somna State Hospital.
 
***** Defrost *****
Daniel wakes up again the next morning. Lawrence has probably never hugged
anyone as tight as he does when tiny blue eyes squint at him. Even Adam seems
kind of moved.
They get to go home two days later, when Daniel’s been kept under observation
and gotten a prescription for penicillin. In the meantime, they hoard food from
the cafeteria and Adam tries to teach everyone how to play cards.
Mom is home again when they get back. She asks where they’ve been, which is
more engagement than he’d hoped for, but when Lawrence replies that they’ve
been to the hospital, she doesn’t ask anything more. That information alone is
more reality than she can handle, but he knows she sees the pills he forces
Daniel to take with every meal. Or, three times a day.
It gets better after that. Weather wise at least, and they get their welfare.
It’s like the world has tested if Lawrence can handle the threat of the
absolute worst, and now that he’s proven that he can, it can calm down.
That thought hits Lawrence when he’s outside his house and feels the first
signs of spring blow against his face. In that moment, he believes in god.
School starts again. It’s a terrible thing to think, but Lawrence is kind of
grateful that Daniel was at the peak of his sickness over the weekend, so the
only days he missed was the Friday before, and Monday when Daniel was still
admitted. Those are the only days he’s ever going to miss, and with all that’s
happened, it feels like he’s been gone a week.
Maybe that’s why that cold weight returns to his belly when he’s outside the
gates to the school. The thoughts, voices, you know how it’ll go when you go in
there, you know,and he gets terrified, can barely breathe.
The tests go over okay. Most of the time at least, because stress wise, they’re
kind of pitiful next to the certainty that your brother’s going to die. Sure,
there are times when he just sits there and stares stupidly at a question he
knew the answer for ten minutes earlier, or runs to the bathroom and makes
weird, gurgling noises but rarely with anything to throw up. But it’s not that
often.
“If you don’t calm down, I swear I’ll call your mom,” Mr. Peters says one day
when a teacher’s forced Lawrence to a sit down with him to talk about “the
situation,” which at least is a flattering term.
Lawrence shakes his head wearily.
“It wouldn’t make a difference.”
Peters rests his pen against his lip, sighs and seems to go through his
options. Then he looks at Lawrence, beetle eyes glistening with either concern
or annoyance.
“You’re such a good student, Lawrence,” he says slowly. “You’re wrecking your
own chances.”
He’s quiet for a bit again. Lawrence isn’t sure if he’s expected to answer.
“If you don’t calm down, maybe I’ll talk to Adam,” he then says, smiling. Which
looks way off. “That’ll make a difference, won’t it?”
Lawrence smiles, too.
“He’d force-feed me tranquilizers if he had to.”
Peters laughs loudly, which scares Lawrence half to death. Then he says it’s
time to talk about what Lawrence wants to do after school.
The teachers make no effort to change Lawrence’s stress levels after that. They
probably notice those less subtle signs, dark circles under his eyes and that
undertone of screaming despair when he politely has to ask why he got a B on
this assignment.
But he’s so good. It’s hard for a teacher to tell a student to try to be less
good.
Lawrence doesn’t want their pity. He doesn’t expect it either. He doesn’t know
why he’s just as disappointed every time he exits the classroom without anyone
calling him back to have a talk about his life.
Amongst all the angry voices in his head, there’s one who’s never given up,
always been there and that he hasn’t sold for food money: see me!
It’s the only thing he’s ever asked for. He wants to be seen. Or, worthyof
being seen would be enough.
During a geography class, all he inhuman things he forces himself to do are
defeated by the very human need to sleep, and he collapses silently into his
notebook. After class, the teacher calls him to her desk. She says she’s
noticed that he seems exhausted lately, and asks if there’s something he wants
to tell her. If there’s something at home affecting his results. Lawrence is
terrified of the idea of anything affecting his results, so he says no. Then he
goes home and studies nonstop for three hours until Lou pulls his arm and asks
if he wants some of a hotdog she manages to beg for at the gas station.
Adam leads an okay life during this semester. That’s the way it tends to be,
although he’s slipped a few notches down from okay at several occasions. When
Claire gets a hug from their mom, his okay fades, and when he fights with dad,
it sinks into complete darkness.
He doesn’t talk about it with Lawrence much. Of course he asks about it when
Adam gets to school with new bruises, but Adam brushes it off. If he’d made up
a story about a row at his holy junk yard, Lawrence would probably buy it, but
Adam doesn’t want to lie to him, and soon he’ll have refused to talk about it
so many times that Lawrence will get that something is wrong.
It’s not a problem for Adam personally that he doesn’t feel comfortable talking
to Lawrence about this. What bothers him is that it affects Lawrence’s ability
to talk to himabout stuff. He’s always seen their relationship as a one-way
street as far as sharing emotions go, and he never thought Lawrence would want
it another way. But it happens more and more that Adam sees that it’s worse
than usual, darker marks under Lawrence’s eyes, lunch breaks after a test when
he’s pale into his lips, and won’t talk about it. Their usual mix of
comfortable silence and Lawrence talking about things that he can’t tell anyone
else, has been replaced with hollow words. White marker fading away the second
it’s written down.
It annoys Adam immensely.
“Claire got home last night,” he says one night when they’re out walking.
“She’d been out with her squad.I guess her friends were fucking wasted, so she
wasn’t too bad, but… she was drunk. Not out of hand drunk, but drunk.”
Lawrence doesn’t answer. Adam keeps talking, not as nervous as he thought he’d
be.
“I’ve gone home drunk,” he goes on, Lawrence chuckles. “I’ve gone home fucking
plastered.Most of the time, it’s on booze I stole from them. And occasionally I
brought home a girl, even though I learned there was no point. Dad always
chased her off, so I didn’t get laid anyway. And when I did it, he yelled at me
nonstop for twenty minutes before he calmed down.”
Lawrence nods. Adam’s not used to this feeling. Almost relief.
“But when it’s Claire, it just cute. Mom’s like ‘oooh, you drink so
responsibly,’ blah blah. And she had the hangover breakfast of the century
prepared when she woke up in the morning.”
Lawrence nods again.
“Your sister is disgustingly cool, isn’t she?”
Adam sighs.
“She really is.”
“The kind you hate?”
“That exact kind.”
It doesn’t take more than that. Adam hadn’t let it go that far if he’d known it
was that easy to fix.
If all he has to do to fix this is to occasionally talkabout stuff, he will.
Jesus, he’s done harder stuff than verbalize things.
That goes on through the semester, too. This. Whatever it is.
Their relationship used to be all new and exciting, not to mention terrifying,
and then there was that phase where Adam tried to get used to it taking such a
huge part of his life. And now it kind of… just is.
They go out every night, or almost every night. They stay in and study to keep
Lawrence sane when they don’t. One day Lawrence has a cold, and Adam and Wendy
sit by his bedside, they’ve made instant noodles, and even though Lawrence is
perfectly capable of eating them by himself, Adam holds the fork to his mouth
and tells him that here comes the airplane, and Lou teases Lawrence about it
for days afterwards.
It’s insane that anyone can mean this much. At least to Adam. Everything’s been
black until now, because that’s what he’s wanted. Black hair, black clothes,
black down to the soul, and Lawrence doesn’t light up everything, but he makes
it okay, and that’s more than most has managed to do.
Or, what most.It’s not like anyone has tried.
Lawrence is so close, closer than he knows. Adam is dangerously close to
telling him everything. The first night of the summer break they get drunk, or,
Adam gets drunk and Lawrence gets tipsy,and Adam hangs around his neck and
tells him he really likeshim, and he doesn’t say that because he’s drunk,
Lawrence can’t think that. But at least it stays at that. Doesn’t touch him too
much, doesn’t get closer than he can handle.
It’s fine that Lawrence knows how much he likes him, and telling him other
stuff isn’t that bad either.
Lawrence is his only friend. He’s practically his brother. And that should be
enough, it really should. Adam doesn’t want more than that, he can’t afford to
ruin what they have. It’s too precious, too great, and he can’t botch it on
some stupid impulse.
It’s just that goddamn night.
***** Stolen *****
Chapter Summary
     You know when a fic is a slow burn and then it finally becomes a burn
     burn
Not even the music helps anymore. Adam moans and falls back onto the bed.
His room is so small, he can’t breathe in here. There’s no use going to
Lawrence’s, they have a test tomorrow, and Adam probably isn’t the best
studying aid right now. And he doesn’t want to go to the junk yard, just the
thought of picking up some random girl suddenly makes him sick.
He doesn’t want to go out, but anywhere is better than here. So in lack of
something better to do, Adam gets up and goes to the living room. Mom’s on the
couch, between Claire and dad.
For a moment, Adam thinks Claire looks unhappy. But it’s not something he
dwells on.
He puts his hand in his pocket and takes out a cigarette he bummed from a guy
in the street earlier. Just that is enough to make something flicker in dad’s
eyes, and when Adam lights it, he gets up. Polite smile, but such cold eyes.
“You can’t smoke in here, Adam.”
The evil genie smiles.
“You’re scared I’m gonna get cancer, dad?” Adam asks, cocking his head and
leans against the doorframe.
“I don’t give a damn if you’d die of AIDS or whatever it is you’d get,” dad
says, just as sweetly as Adam. “But the smell sets in the wallpaper.”
Adam smiles, even though he’s not very amused, and breathes out a cloud. Tries
not to show how the cigarette suddenly makes him feel like he’s rotting inside.
Shit, he can’t even have this little pleasure anymore?
“Claire smokes, too,” Adam says and nods towards Claire, who blushes slightly.
“You’ve seen her smoke on the porch, and she’s younger than me. Why don’t you
care about that? Why don’t you love me as much as her, dad?”
Dad’s in front of him in a heartbeat. He uses his fist this time, the world
turns white as Adam’s head pushes back. Blood is salty. Nothing is fulfilled.
“Get out of here, you little faggot.”
Adam drops the cigarette on the carpet. He doesn’t look at his dad, just turns
around and goes, slams the door so hard that he hears that stupid little
fucking painting in the hall fall down behind him.
The evil genie is happy. It’s better than the option. The problem is that Adam
still feels like nothing.
He won’t exist much longer if he doesn’t do something.
xxxxxxxxx
Adam is outside Lawrence’s door half an hour later. He’s so relieved to see him
he almost starts crying, even though Lawrence looks like his head’s going to
explode if Adam asks him to abandon his textbooks. And even though Lawrence’s
expression goes from annoyed to terrified when he sees him.
“Hey,” Adam says, hoping his voice sounds normal. “You want to take a walk?”
“I have to study,” Lawrence says, by reflex. “What the fuck happened to your
face?”
“Nothing,” Adam says, and fucks sake, pull it together.“Like… please? I really
want to be out. I… I can’t be at home right now, man.”
Lawrence rubs his hand against his forehead, glances into the apartment over
his shoulder. Then he sighs heavily.
“I’ll get my jacket. But,” he adds when he sees how happy Adam gets, “only if
you’ll tell me what the hell’s going on with you. I’m sick of you getting
bruises and shit and I’m not allowed to ask what they are.”
Adam feels his heart sink, but nods obediently. He’d probably do anything to
get Lawrence to come with him tonight.
“Are they okay?” Adam asks as Lawrence steps out and locks the front door.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” Lawrence says, zipping up his jacket. “It’s a good day. But
now, could you tell me what happened?”
Adam grins and starts walking. It’s so weird. Already, it all feels a little
easier.
“You never told me when I have to tell you.”
Lawrence stops, giving Adam a look. Adam grabs his arm.
“I’m gonnatell you, okay? But we got to get me cigarettes first, I used up my
last one trying to fuck with dad.”
Lawrence exhales through his nose, it’s remarkable how much annoyance he can
get into that one noise. Then he starts walking again.
“There’s a convenience store on the corner,” he says, pointing. “Wait.” He
stops again. “Is it your dad that’s…”
Adam smiles, even though he feels those fucking tears welling up again.
“After the smokes, Larry.”
They enter the store. The fluorescent lights are humming, floor sticky under
their feet. The store clerk is half asleep behind the counter, head in his
hand. Adam looks around for the cigarettes, and almost laughs out loud when he
sees a pack next to the register, probably the clerk’s own, so it’s probably
not full, but the nicotine isn’t that important right now. The evil genie is
twisting and growling, and he didn’t bring his wallet, anyway. He turns to
Lawrence.
“Wait here,” he mumbles and starts moving. He’s not surprised at all when he
feels Lawrence grab his sleeve. He looks terrified.
“What are you doing?” he hisses, and before Adam gets to answer: “Fuck no! I’m
going with you.”
“You out of your mind? You’ll fucking flip.”
“Adam,” Lawrence mumbles, pressing every word. “I’m coming with you.”
Adam sighs. To Lawrence, this seems to be about something totally deep and
profound rather than Adam being bored and wanting to lift.
“Fine. Come on.”
They slowly approach the checkout, Lawrence is almost stepping on his heels
because he’s so nervous. Adam want to say something mean so he’ll get back to
the door, but it’s too late. They’re already by the desk, and quick as a snake,
Adam grabs the pack and puts it in his pocket. Like it’s no big deal. Lawrence
almost gets annoyed.
There’s a completely dead moment after Adam’s taken the cigarettes. Or, it’s
been a long time since Lawrence felt this alive, blood rushing in his ears and
sweat beading on his palms. They’re invincible. Super heroes. Until they notice
that the clerk has woken back up.
“Fuck,” Adam says, in lack of something better, when the zitty twenty-something
year old blinks slowly and looks at them, probably too sluggish to get what
they’ve done, but can no doubt tell there’s a problem.
Lawrence looks like he’s going to throw up or cry. Adam looks at him and
laughs, mostly because it seems like the most painless solution at this point.
“Just go,” he says calmly and slaps Lawrence’s side gently, and that’s all the
encouragement Lawrence needs.
He’s never been able to do anything without being told to.
Lawrence starts running, and Adam follows. He’s more or less convinced that the
clerk isn’t following them, he’s probably gone back to dozing off, but it
doesn’t matter. They run anyway, just cause, and they can’t stay where they
are. The only things they have with them are a pack of stolen cigarettes, one
set of unpolluted lungs, and each other.
They stop by an intersection. At this point, there’s no doubt that there’s no
one following them, but they still look around desperately.
“Where the fuck are we going?” Adam exclaims, and can’t keep but smiling when
he sees Lawrence.
Lawrence spins around and eventually points to a poorly tended back alley,
squeezed between the buildings down the street.
“That way!” he says firmly and grabs Adam’s arm.
They make a final sprint, stops in the alley, and are finally safe on the tiny
surface between a dumpster and a sad flower bed, spooking a cat sitting between
the unidentifiable bushes, and bolts shrieking across Adam’s feet.
Adam has no breath left in his body, but still somehow finds the air to laugh.
He sits down on the fence by the flower bed, both hands on his knees, gasping
for breath, laughing hysterically, pauses for a second, throws his head back
and laughs again. Lawrence is giving him the evil eye, or at least trying to.
It’d have more weight to it if he hadn’t been out of breath, and more
importantly, tried very hard not to laugh himself.
“You fucking moron,” he hisses and punches Adam in the shoulder. “Fucking brat!
‘Well, of course I couldafford to put this shit in my lungs, but I’ll still
steal the smokes because I need some excitementbecause I’m so fucking unique
and misunderstood.’”
That makes Adam laugh even harder. Lawrence just shakes his head, but seems to
have great troubles staying serious.
“This isn’t funny!” he explodes, and the fit that sends Adam into finally
breaks him. Lawrence leans his elbow against the dumpster, puts his hand over
his forehead and starts laughing, too. Can’t stop. It’s been so long.
Adam doesn’t stop, either. They stay like that for a while, with Adam
alternating between collapsing with his hands on his knees and snickering
silently, and leaning back and laugh so that it echoes through the dark alley.
It’s almost more fun to watch than thinking of what they did, so Lawrence just
stares at Adam, shakes his head, laughs, for some stupid liberating reason.
Eventually, Adam calms down. Or, he’s not laughing as much, but adrenaline is
still pumping, fingers spasming nervously, squeezing the stolen pack in his
pocket.
Then he looks at Lawrence.
He gets stuck there. Adam feels alive for the first time in a long time, so
maybe it’s the sense of entitlement you get from that.
Maybe it’s the last thing dad told him before he left.
No matter the reason, he doesn’t wait for permission, either from himself or
Lawrence, before he stands up and gives him a, in itself pretty innocent, kiss.
Everything else goes away.
Adam looks up at him again, it’s dark, the moonlight makes Lawrence look even
paler than usual. His face is a bluish white shadow with shining eyes. Adam
manages to think it’s the first time he’s had eye contact with someone before
he’s kissed them, then he does it again.
Lawrence doesn’t respond much. At first he recoils, probably from shock. The
second and third time he just stands there, but then Adam gets closer, parts
his lips, thinking jesus, we’re actually doing this,and Lawrence lifts his
arms, that have just been hanging by his sides like dead branches, putting his
hands on Adam’s waist, hesitatingly, like he’s not sure he’s allowed.
He doesn’t know why anymore than Adam does. But for the first time in his life,
Lawrence isn’t thinking about consequences, or logic, he barely thinks at all.
He wants it, he does. He feels it.
Somewhere, beneath denial and fear and a bunch of other stuff that will
eventually have to be dealt with, he wants it. It’s already getting harder to
pull back just to catch breath, and trivialities like oxygen feels decreasingly
important. Adam steps closer, almost standing on his toes, and he tastes like
bitter tobacco and absolutely addictive.
Adam’s not sure where he is in all this. His hands wound up on Lawrence’s
shoulder, pawing at them like he wants to rip his jacket to get to naked skin,
but the little sense he has is starting to surface. This should be so weird.
Lawrence is his best friend. Hell, his onlyfriend. Practically his brother. He
rarely has to question himself before he does things like this, because
everything he’s done has been so pointless, he’s known he’ll never be held
accountable for it.
This is the first time it’s ever been important enough to have to think do I
want it, go further, how farcould we go.But it’s also the first time he’s been
so goddamn wanton that the longer he stays in it, the more impossible it feels
to stop.
Lawrence isn’t a very good kisser. He seems unsure on what to with his hands,
they’re stuck on Adam’s hips, but it doesn’t matter, at all. Just the thought
that he’s the first Lawrence does this with, and – a moment of complete
euphoria – that maybe in the future, Adam will get to be the one who trains him
on it, makes it almost unbearable, so huge and close and perfect and
frustrating. How can he be too far away when they’re pressed up like this,
chest to chest, mouth to mouth, crotch to crotch, Adam on his tippy toes,
trying to compensate for those ten inches separating them, still not close
enough.
Lawrence was pretty passive at first. He’s not sure how to move, this far out
of his comfort zone. But he’s getting back some of his characteristic need for
control. His hands have been moving skittishly across Adam’s back, along the
hem of his leather jacket, but they’re now sliding underneath, just the worn
fabric of his t-shirt separating, pressing him closer.
The cold of Lawrence’s hands, skin on his fingertips rough from abuse in that
neurotic chase for perfection, the heat off his body. Adam feels it all more
than he has with anyone else, no mist of alcohol or weed or pitch-black hatred
numbing, and never before has he done this with someone he cares this much
about.
Unfortunately, it’s with that thought that he can’t pretend any longer.
He knows that they can’t do this.
Adam’s done this so many times. And it’s always been so pointless, he hasn’t
even had to introduce himself, not even explain that nothing else could happen
between them, because they’d both known it was pointless. But he’s going to see
Lawrence tomorrow, and, even worse, if he didn’tget to see him, he’d probably
die. He’s going to have to deal with the ramifications of this, they can’t
pretend like it’s never happened. He can’t ruin them. It’s impossible.
It’s one cold drop landing in the heat of Adam’s belly, and that’s all it
takes.
He can’t lose this. He’s stopped trying to deny how important it is to him.
“Lawrence,” Adam says, finally some logic, his mind saying one thing but he
can’t pull back completely, mouth searching out his, can’t grasp that he has to
stop, that it’s already over. “Lawrence, man, quit it…”
Lawrence hears the despair in his voice, that’s probably how he finds the will
power to pull back. His hands still seem to do everything they can to press him
as close as possible, and Adam can’t blame him. His hands somehow wound up
under Lawrence’s shirt, and despite what he’s about to say, what he has to say,
he has a hard time keeping them still.
He hopes he’ll be able to forget the way Lawrence looks at him now. So openly
vulnerable, needy, almost hopeful, and Adam feels completely undeserving of
that level of trust.
But Lawrence gets it. He always does. And even if he hadn’t, the turned away
eyes and the deep blush on Adam’s cheeks would’ve been explanation enough.
The reason why Adam’s dad is hitting him is suddenly abundantly clear.
***** Leaving As a Loving Thing *****
Chapter Notes
     Hey dudes, this chapter goes pretty heavy on the homophobe stuff.
     Just as a heads up.
     Your comments are like cigarettes to my tiny Adam soul <3
It’d been a summer night, almost like the one when he and Lawrence went out
together for the first time. Adam had been alone then, a skinny and
unremarkable boy of thirteen-fourteen-ish. He’d been at his favorite place,
with a fire burning in the oil drum and people way older than him tumbling
around the car wrecks.
He’d stared blankly into the fire. He hadn’t gone there that many times, didn’t
know anyone and hadn’t really seen the magic in this place yet. He was just
thinking of leaving, and then he saw a guy standing on the other side of the
fire.
Adam doesn’t even remember what that boy looked like anymore. And he knows he
knew way before that. But he remembers seeing a face on the other side of the
fire, almost disfigured by the trembling hot air, and he remembers that feeling
like a warm wave through his chest, downward.
That’s when it became obvious.
xxxxxxxxx
Lawrence has never thought about it. It hasn’t been an option. He hasn’t even
considered the possibility that he could be homosexual, not because he’s
homophobic, but because in order to have a sexuality you needed to have some
kind of experience of it, something to be attracted to, and where the hell
would he find that?
All he knows is that the only girls in his life are his teachers, his sister,
his mom, and someone who’s basically also his sister. And he knows what
happened the only time he saw her naked.
It was fall, about a year before he started school. The water stopped working
in the apartment, and they all got dirty on a downright unhealthy level. Wendy
found an abandoned parking garage a few blocks down, where they had a hose to
clean the cars. They went in, undressed and hosed each other down. It was
blisteringly cold, Lou and Daniel had cried until it echoed between concrete
walls.
Lawrence still remembers the moment when Wendy stripped out of her filthy tee.
They probably wouldn’t be able to undress in front of each other if they hadn’t
had such a completely platonic relationship, and it’d never been more obvious
than it was right then.
He remembers the goose bumps rising on her skin in the cold and the yellow glow
from the dirty lights. Hair parting for her neck when she bent forward.
He remembers how she’d been the most beautiful thing in the world then, her
naked body had been a symbol of divinity and freedom and cutting classes and a
world where he got to think of beautiful things, something that was for him,not
anyone else. She’d been a symbol of all that, but not of sex. He couldn’t think
of her that way, and he didn’t even feel like he had to try.
It’s always like that. Still. He sees the girls in their little skirts outside
the gates of the schoolyard, and he’s read enough medical texts to know what
happens to the body when boys hit his age. He’s seen what these urges drive mom
to, even though he kind of knows that her version of sex isn’t the way it’s
supposed to be. He knows that his only ambition in life should be to make girls
laugh or cry or moan or whatever, but it’s not. He’s never asked himself why.
Feeling sexual impulses has never been an option. Being gay has been even less
of one.
Not because he’s homophobic. But because Adam means too much. Because sex
scares him. Because he doesn’t have the time.
He’s read somewhere that sex burns almost ninety-eight calories per half hour.
That’s a lot, considering how little he eats.
And he hasn’t even calculated the time it would take from his schoolwork.
xxxxxxxxx
The smoke from Adam’s stolen cigarette slithers through the air. He watches it,
in lack of better things to do. He’s sitting on the asphalt now, leaned against
the strip of brick wall between the flowerbed and the dumpster. Lawrence is
sitting on the fence, biting his nails, just a foot away, feels like a mile.
He’s not looking at Adam.
Adam’s halfway through his story. This is the stage where the words get harder
to say, lingers on his tongue. He’s never considered it to be sad, the things
he’s telling. It just is. But now he has to see Lawrence’s face as he listens,
and then he suddenly feels the pain of it.
“He didn’t say much when I told him,” he says. “He went into his study and
slammed the door, and then he came out and sent me to my room so that he and
mom could talk about what should be done.”
It wasn’t he who did so, if we’re being picky. Maria had come along with her
motherly hand on his shoulder and given some nice excuse to get him out of the
room. Like he hadn’t heard what dad said.
Get him out of here, I can’t look at him right now.
“First they wanted to talk to me about it,” Adam goes on. “Not to say out loud
that gays are gross and should either get a bullet to the head or be put in
some kind of rehab, oh no. They wanted me to know that they accepted me just
the way I was. They just wanted me to make sure that it wasn’t just a phase I
was going through. Or, even better, if I’d imagined the whole thing.”
Honey, all we’re saying is… boys can be confused at your age, okay? They can
start thinking they’re… gay, and eventually they meet a pretty girl and
understand how much nicer aheterosexual relationship is, and they change their
minds. Okay?
“I think they just wanted to pretend I’d never said anything,” Adam says. “And
I… fuck, I was just a kid, of course I wasn’t about to drag home some dude with
eyeliner and a tight shirt. I could tell they didn’t want to talk about it, so
I shut up. They probably thought I’d called the whole thing off. And I figured…
I thought they weren’t mad anymore, since they didn’t talk about it. So when I
was… twelve or something, we were by the dinner table, and I said…”
He quiets and takes a drag of his cigarette, tries to talk through the burning
knot in his throat. He played along, he remembers. How badly he wanted to play
along.
“I told them I was in love. You’d think that finding someone kinda cute is the
same as being in love at that age.” Bitter humor. “And mom was thrilled, she
asked what her name was, and I…”
The china lying shattered along the wall. And I still didn’t get what I’d done
that was so wrong.
Another drag. It gives him nothing. And it doesn’t help with the fact that
something weird and dark is welling up in his chest, from deep within.
“I guess that’s when he started hitting me.”
He hates the way his voice sounds. Like a frazzled guitar string.
Lawrence looks at him, for the first time since he started talking.
“Why haven’t you told me?”
Adam shrugs.
“You got other things on your plate, I… I don’t know, man.”
“Sure, but… you must’ve felt like shit, and kept it inside all this time. You
thought I wouldn’t want to hear? You think I have so many problems of my own
that I don’t care that the fucking asshole is hitting you?”
Adam looks away, scratches his arm awkwardly.
“But, like, it’s not like I live in fear or whatever. He doesn’t do it that
often.”
“I don’t give a shit if it’s once a goddamn year,” Lawrence hisses, sounding so
unlike himself that Adam has to look at him again. “He hits you, Adam. Do you
get it? You can’t even…”
He quiets down mid-sentence, stares in front of himself again. Adam’s glad he
does. He hates making Lawrence sound like that. He doesn’t even sound angry, he
sounds hurt,and this isn’t even really his problem. He sounds like Adam feels
when dad strikes him, except Lawrence won’t suppress it and let it out by
drinking and getting in trouble.
“You’re doing that thing you didn’t want me to do,” Lawrence says eventually.
“You told me I couldn’t start telling myself the stuff mom said to me. Your dad
doesn’t even have to hit you anymore, because you don’t think you deserve
better anyway. That’s exactly what he wants. You’re doing his job for him.”
Adam stares intently at his knees, pulling them up to his chest. He’s not sure
what to say. He knows he wants to say he’s sorry, but that doesn’t feel right
either.
He hasn’t wanted to apologize for anything, not one thing he’s done since that
day he saw that broken chine in the kitchen. Not for all the nights he’s come
home drunk, not for all of mom’s halfhearted attempts of kindness that he’s
just slapped away. But he wants to apologize for letting his dad hit him.
He can’t stand the idea of Lawrence sounding like that. Not because of
something he’s done.
Adam stays quiet. Lawrence looks at him again. He sees, even though Adam looks
away and pretends to scratch his nose.
Adam hears him sigh, and suddenly Lawrence is sitting next to him on the fence,
putting a hand on his shoulder and pulls him into him. Adam is seated on the
ground, his head his on level with Lawrence’s thigh. He’s not sure what to do,
so he halfheartedly leans his head against his leg and wipes his eyes, annoyed.
Moments like these should happen to the sound of dramatic Hollywood music, not
a dry eye in the theatre, but Adam can’t feel comfortable with this stuff, even
if it’s next to Lawrence. His shoulder is tense under his hand, hands tightly
clasped in his lap. But he doesn’t lift his head.
Lawrence feels pain that’s more on his own part than for Adam. Not because he’s
sorry for himself, quite the opposite. He wants to punch himself in the face.
He’s the one of the two that shows when he’s suffering. He’s the drama queen,
he whines and mopes and Adam just listens. Even now, Lawrence wants to break
down just from seeing Adam like this, and he knows that if he would, Adam would
drop everything he’s feeling right now and just take care of him. He’s never
realized how set in its patterns their relationship is.
Adam doesn’t open up on how he’s feeing. And it feels terrible now, but after
all these years of gritting his teeth it’s felt so great, something so
completely without counter efforts on his own part, someone not demanding
anything in return. He’s been so full of what he’s wanted to say, that once
he’s said it, he hasn’t had it in him to ask Adam how he’s feeling, even though
he should. Because of course he knows that Adam is unhappy.
Now, Lawrence has to think back of all the times Adam’s come to school with his
gaze on the floor, terrified of the cracks in the plaster that keep growing.
Every time there were new bruises, and Lawrence has assumed he’s gotten in a
fight, because it’s simpler that way, convenient. The spotless image he had of
himself is suddenly as filthy as the pieces of fabric they used to insulate the
apartment last winter.
I’m supposed to be his best friend.
Of all the things Lawrence has convinced himself that he’s supposed to be,
that’s the most important one.
They stay like that for a while. Adam relaxes eventually, snuggles into the
worn fabric of his jeans, Lawrence’s hand slides up to his cheek, and despite
the raspy scrapes on his fingertips it feels softer than fresh sheets in that
huge bed at home that Adam hates so much.
After god knows how long, Lawrence bends down and kisses Adam on the forehead.
Adam makes a face, but still doesn’t manage to ruin the moment. Lawrence looks
down at him and smiles.
“Can you promise not to let him hit you again?”
Adam smiles too, looking up.
“And how do you expect that to happen?”
Lawrence shrugs.
“I don’t know. Hit back. Go out when he’s home. You can always come by my
place, you know that.”
Adam scoffs, but regrets it the second he does it. He’d love to believe that
it’s harder than that to avoid dad, because then he would’ve done it by now.
But he doesn’t want Lawrence to think that. It feels like if Lawrence believes
something, it’s got to be true. Or, should be true. He’s definitely the more
optimistic one.
Then they’re quiet again, until Lawrence takes a deep breath, feels his face
heating up and asks the question he’s wanted to ask for a while now.
“So what do we do about… well.”
Adam looks up at him. Doesn’t answer at once.
“I don’t know,” he says thoughtfully and clears his throat. “I… I think it’s
better if we just try to forget it.”
“Seriously?”
Adam makes some kind of laugh-sobbing noise and lifts his head from Lawrence’s
thigh. He has to look him in the eye when he says this.
“Or, it’s not like I don’t… or, I don’t know,” with a smile that hurts. “It’s
just that I don’t want anything to change, because I…”
All those years before he met him. Just empty.
“I really don’t know how I would… get by… without this thing that… this.”
Lawrence nods, smiles sadly.
“I know. Fucking weird that we even made it this far, isn’t it?”
“Kinda.”
They stay quiet. Lawrence looks at him, a second of almost unbearable pain
before he moves his hand to the back of Adam’s head and kisses him again. They
don’t manage to get very far this time, but it makes Lawrence think that he’ll
carry the warmth he’s feeling now with him, no matter how cold the apartment is
when he gets home. And it becomes clear again, this thing between them, what
could’ve been so goddamn good. The thing that has to go away now.
When they’ve pulled back, they stay there for a while, until the night gets
darker and Adam starts shivering, and then they stand up and go home.
That’s it.
 
***** So Far Away *****
Chapter Notes
     OH GOD IT'S BEEN SO LONG
     I'm sorry. Stuff happened. And this chapter is really only suffering
     so
They don’t mention it past that. Adam doesn’t feel the need to. It’s infected
enough as it is, even without talking about it. It could’ve been a problem, how
he tries so hard to not look at Lawrence’s mouth too often while he talked and
that he didn’t feel it all the way down to his balls when he touched him, but
eventually it just seems stupid. He wants Lawrence, but jesus, he’s worked
through harder shit than that.
He doesn’t dare risk ruining this. And Lawrence… well. It seems like he’d just
get distracted. He doesn’t have time for nonsense.
Maybe it would’ve been fine if they’d just talked about it. They tried it once,
or, Lawrence did. A week or so after it happened, when Lawrence got sick of
Adam getting weird and distant as soon as there wasn’t at least two feet
between them.
“What’s your goddamn problem?” he asked angrily when they were out walking and
Adam almost got ran over because he took another step away from Lawrence, thus
ending up on the side of the road. “I can’t be near you at all because… because
of the…”
Adam looked at him, surprised. His first instinct was to lie.
“No, but I know nothing can happen, and it’s not so easy to fucking adjust to
that.”
Lawrence is one of the few people he knows to actually appreciate the truth.
Lawrence stopped, looked at him like he wanted more than anything for Adam to
take that back. When he didn’t, something in Lawrence’s face slammed shut, then
he nodded curtly and they kept walking, with that safe distance between them.
Just like Adam wanted. Being honest paid off this time, too. But it didn’t feel
like it. It felt like a great void getting a little bigger, and he was sure
that’s what it felt like to Lawrence, too, but he adjusted. For Adam, and
because there were no sacrifices he wouldn’t make for another person.
That’s a part of Lawrence that Adam hates intently. He’s so fucking perfect. He
makes Adam feel dirtier than the junkyard where he spends all the more time in
the summer.
That’s probably why he makes sure to have more backseat sex than he’d
personally prefer during the following months. That makes him feel dirty, too,
but he prefers to get that feeling from a scrawny fifteen year-old closet case.
They start their junior year without the only thing that made sense during the
freshman one.
There’s no better way to put it than just that it gets worse every day. Adam
goes to bed every night with the feeling that it must’ve sunken further into
the floor during the day. Why else would getting up get more difficult every
morning?
And how can he, who’s such a pessimist that it’s downright ridiculous, somehow
always manage to convince himself not even of the hope, but of the
convictionthat when he sees Lawrence today, it’ll have gone back to normal.
He’ll be able to like him the right way, Lawrence will talk to him about
important stuff because he trusts him, Adam’s important to him, he just might
be kind of loved. But then he gets back to school, sees Lawrence’s pale, pin-
stripe thin lips, gaze fluttering across the pages of the textbooks, and
remembers that no, today’s no different from the last couple of months. From
how it’ll be from now on.
Of course he can tell that Lawrence is hurting. Adam can get through anything,
he gets by on nothing but an ability to shut his heart down, both to stuff he
doesn’t want there and the things he probably needs. Lawrence can’t, and what
he’s trying to get through is killing him. Adam sees the marks under his eyes,
the nervousness, the nail biting. Exiting the school bathrooms with a shiny
upper lip.
Adam hates it. Knowing what’s happening, and not being able to do anything. He
can’t force Lawrence to calm down. And it’s not like he wants him to lower his
ambitions, Adam wants him to get out of here as much as he does.
But it’d also be nice if he could eat without throwing up.
Somewhere around mid-semester, Adam realizes that Lawrence has definitely
developed something chronic and… not good. He’s in a constant terrible mood,
hissing at Adam over nothing, which doesn’t help with the ever-present
frustration smoldering in the void. He’ll be so hungry that his stomach can be
heard from across the classroom, but when lunch break arrives, he’ll eat as if
his life depends on it (which it probably does) for a few bites, and spends the
rest of their break pushing food around on his plate. Like the few bites filled
up that achingly empty stomach.
It’s that, or he’ll eat his whole portion in thirty seconds and then purge it.
Always that goddamn throwing up.
Adam has to drag Lawrence to a doctor, but at least he gets him there. They’re
told that Lawrence has gastritis. Adam doesn’t know what that is, but of course
Lawrence does. It’s something about stomach acid and stress. Lawrence gets
pills, but the doctor tells him that the only thing that can cure him long term
is a drastic change in lifestyle.
Talk about preaching to the choir. But Adam keeps buying the pills, and
Lawrence doesn’t throw up at much for the rest of the semester. Getting him to
fucking chill would be the next step, but it doesn’t look too bright on that
point.
It takes Adam some time to get that it really doesn’t have anything to do with
school.
One night, they’re at his place. Lawrence is pretty relaxed, because it’s the
weekend, and they don’t have anything due for Monday, and Adam’s just happy
that they manage to have normal conversations, gone the whole day without any
breakdowns or fights over nothing. Lawrence’s made coffee, and they’ve gotten
stuck in a crossword puzzle in the open magazine on the kitchen table. It’s
nice. Lawrence can even lean on his shoulder, helping him, without Adam having
an abundance of annoying sex fantasies.
He rarely feels like he can like being near Lawrence just to be near him.
Adam takes a sip of his coffee and cringes. Thus ruining everything.
“Ugh.”
Lawrence, who’s been half asleep on his shoulder, straightens up.
“It’s gross?”
“Yeah,” Adam says, smiling, looking into his cup. “Three scoops, Lawrence, ever
heard of that?”
Lawrence lowers his gaze. Adam still sees it settling, that insight sinking in,
deep and cold. I’m not good at making coffee.
He immediately regrets not downing the entire cup, no matter how gross it was.
“I’m sorry,” Lawrence says, raking his hand through his hair. “It’s… mom
usually makes it. I’m not very good at it.”
“It’s fine,” Adam says. As distant as he can, since what he really wants is to
hug Lawrence until he chokes.
Lawrence nods, smiling nervously. But he doesn’t look up.
“Lawrence,” Adam says, leaning down to catch his eye. “I swear it’s fine. I can
live without this one cup.”
Why is he talking about coffee? Why is he even bringing it up when he knows
that’s not what it’s about? Why doesn’t he wrap his arms around his neck and
whispers again and again, you’re not worthless, you’re the reason I go on, no
matter how much of a pain you are, you have absolutely no reason to hate
yourself and even if you were so bad that no other person on earth could stand
you I’ll still love you, I will, always, I promise.
He doesn’t. It’s not that simple, it hasn’t been since one goddamn night
squeezed in next to a dumpster.
It has nothing to do with school. That look of sincere discontent when he gets
that rare B. The good days that are never quite as many as the bad ones. He
sinks a little lower every day, never gets up to that previous level.
Adam tries to be a good friend. And sometimes he gets sick of it and fucks
girls in the back of a car wreck. They’re less work.
Adam has a void to fill, too. It’d been one thing if he walked around in that
complete apathy he dragged around every day before he met Lawrence, because he
didn’t know anything else then. Now he was fine, just a few months, but maybe
that’s all he gets. Will ever get.
He tries. He really does. And it’s not like Lawrence doesn’t care, they bring
up Adam’s problems almost as often as they do his. The reason Adam wants him to
shut up every time he opens his mouth is that no matter what Lawrence says, he
can connect it to love, or sex, or cigarettes, or dumpsters. Because he wants
to be a good friend. Because he wants to be more than that.
He’s probably not a very good friend. He can’t really listen to Lawrence, can
only really find him annoying.
The evil genie laughs.
Getting into fights is an easier way to deal with these emotions than talking
them through. It’s what he usually did before they met, and clearly it still
works. Adam really prefers verbal confrontation, because he knows he’s good at
it, and in a physical fight, most of the idiots calling him emo fag can take
him down in ten seconds flat. But it turns out, if you’re pissed off enough,
that doesn’t matter.
The only things that matter are fists, nose bleeds. The slurs being called at
his back that should feed the genie, but that are now just feeding his hatred.
The demons under his bed don’t give him the energy to get up in the morning,
they just whisper all the things he’s ashamed of when he can’t sleep.
During an evening stroll, after Lawrence has put suture tape over Adam’s busted
eyebrow, they sit down by their docks, looking at the leaves in the water.
Eventually, Lawrence turns to him.
“Adam, you have to start studying.”
Adam rolls his eyes.
“I know.”
“I mean it,” Lawrence says. “You won’t get out if you don’t.”
Adam doesn’t reply. Lawrence wasn’t counting on it.
“It’s not like you’re not smart,” he goes on. “You’d be great at it if you just
made an effort. You’d be… I know what you’re like, but aren’t you working
against the system moreif you get away from it, rather than living off its
welfare?”
That’s the first time since they started going out together that they part
without Adam saying goodbye.
He doesn’t start studying after that. And he talks to Lawrence even less.
The most important part is that Lawrence doesn’t notice the bruises. They keep
showing up, though not as often. He’s gotten better at staying on dad’s good
side, but the only way to do that is to submit. He has to adapt to a system
he’s worked against his whole life. It’s a bitterness that burns like cigarette
ash.
Instead of smoking in front of his father, he tries to make himself invisible.
Doesn’t answer when dad politely asks if he’s gotten AIDS again this week.
Neither when he’s sitting by that fucking dinner table, the place where he’s
spent his childhood being convinced of what he is, feeling those light,
poisonous comments raining down on him, his bent head. Like an executioner’s
axe over his exposed neck.
Mom doesn’t say anything. Claire defends him most of the time, but her strong
will dies, just like everything else. There are limits to how many times you
have it in you to defend someone. Especially if all you get in return is spite.
One night, Adam enters the kitchen to get the food mom put aside for him.
They’ve had guests over, so he’s stayed in his room. Claire is leaning against
the counter, staring emptily in front of her. The glow from the streetlight
breaks through the whiskey glass in her hand. Her makeup is smeared, but in a
different way than it does when she’s been out for the night and gets home with
musty clothes and tangled hair.
She doesn’t even look at Adam as he walks in. Adam takes his plate from the
fridge. Tries to think that if she doesn’t want to talk to him, fine.
They’re quiet as the plate spins in the microwave. Adam says nothing, Claire
says nothing, still not looking at him.
“Buy Lancôme waterproof mascara. It sticks better.
He has no idea why he says that. Claire jerks her head towards him, her eyes
slits, hatefully black in a way he’s never seen them.
Claire almost looks like him. That thought is like a stab through his
conscience.
“Why don’t you go listen to your Billy fucking Talent?” she spits out in a
completely joyless laugh.
It’s so unexpected that Adam can’t even think of a good comeback. Just stand
there until the microwave beeps, and drags his feet out the kitchen, plate in
hand.
Adam and Lawrence go through junior year without anything to believe in. Not
the future, not the present. Not their families, school, society. Not music.
That’s what they used to have each other for. They’re still conjoined. Them
against the world. But more like it just turned out that way because they don’t
have anything else.
They still go out every night. They have to, it’s never been up for discussion.
Adam usually ends up looking at Lawrence, trying to find something, somethingto
show that they still belong together.
He finds tons of that. But he’s not sure if that’s enough to make it worth it.
***** Fine *****
But then they’re out walking one night, as usual, when summer is drawing to a
close. They’re about to start their senior year, after spending the break
trying to find their way back to each other. Adam knows that starting again
scares the hell out of Lawrence, but they haven’t talked about it as much as he
would’ve liked.
The way things are between them, maybe he’s not allowed to ask things like
this, and that thought hurts a bit. So he takes a drag from his smoke and asks:
“You nervous about starting?”
Lawrence smiles wearily. That alone is such a nice change that he feels
something loosening up inside; it’s not far off that he’d just shoot Adam a
sour glance and say something snarky.
“Not really,” Lawrence says. “Not for me, anyway. It’ll hit me in a week or so,
but I’ve been more worried about you.”
Maybe it’s just the fact that he’s kept down all the food he’s had today. That
they just have the one test this week. That Adam’s dad’s out of town.
Adam grins.
“Thanks a fucking lot.”
Lawrence chuckles, but quickly turns serious. Okay, so it’s one of those talks.
“It’s our senior year. You know I love your little punkscapades, but… it’s not
exactly a future. And you aresmart. Studying now won’t be half as hard as going
back to school when you’re thirty.”
He’s really saying the same things now as he did that time before. When
everything that was broken got even more ruined. Lawrence almost expects Adam
to get just as pissed this time, since he knows that despite what Adam likes to
act as, this year has been hell for him, too. And he wants Lawrence to support
him, not sound like The Rest.
But Adam just smiles. Kind of shy, almost like he’s ashamed of what he’s about
to say.
“I know,” he says, meaning it this time.
He laughs out loud when he sees the way Lawrence looks at him. It loosens up
further.
“I know,” he says again. “I won’t be a tight-ass about it like you, but like
hell I’ll get back to that place after this year. I’m going to pass, and I
expect you to help me study. But I won’t go to college unless I have to. I have
a plan.”
Lawrence raises his brows, and Adam laughs again. He feels all giddy now that
he’s telling someone about this. Like it’s really happening.
“You have a plan?”Lawrence says, like he expects Adam to crack up over him
falling for it. “Come on…”
Adam shakes his head and takes another drag.
“It’ll rock,” he says and ashes on the ground. “I’ll just get a startup loan
from my parents, buy some stuff and get going.”
Lawrence smiles and rakes his hand through his hair. He tries to look
disbelieving, but they both know he’s not good at not believing in Adam.
“How do you know it’ll work?”
“I don’t.”
They smile at each other again, and it breaks off completely, falls away. It’s
so easy to fix it when they fuck up, how could they let it go this far?
“What do you need to buy?”
Adam just throws it out, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, which
it almost is to him by now.
“A camera.”
xxxxxxxxx
Summer has been fine. It hasn’t been one long therapy session in any way,
they’ve just tried to work through it. They still have to be together, that’s
not up for discussion. Adam has been at Lawrence’s place just as often as he
used to, played with Lou, gone on walks with Lawrence and Wendy to buy milk or
shampoo or something else that Lawrence would rather work himself half to death
over rather than ask Adam for money for.
Lawrence has been fine, too. Junior year is when teachers start nagging about
SATs and college, and it’s taken effect with both of them. Lawrence has started
looking up what schools will be available after high school. He’s still not
sure if it makes him hopeful or sick with fear, but it needs to be done.
The scariest part is that there are very few good universities left in the US.
No matter how good Lawrence is at accepting terrible unavoidable circumstances,
he usually clicks away the websites of schools that seem amazing, everything
he’s ever worked for, if they’re located in Canada.
Aside from that, it’s all fine.
Adam’s not totally cool about that. He wants more than okay for Lawrence. No
way he’ll let some fooling around knock Lawrence down to “fine” after a whole
year of a life worth living. Especially not when he knows what the only thing
Lawrence needs to feel good is.
It’s so dumb. Adam realizes now that some time has passed, when it’s almost
like that night never happened. That it had to be this way. It still hurts, he
still can’t look at Lawrence without that hot jolt running through him. But
that’s nothing compared to how it feels to walk with him two feet away.
It’s not supposed to be that way. There’s no use pretending. Adam will gladly
take the heightened need for masturbation if that’s what it takes to walk right
next to him again.
Adam has been fine, too. Home is hell, and most of the time, he just has to
fold to dad, he doesn’t even risk staring daggers at him anymore. But no matter
how hard he tries, he can’t totally shut it out when the guidance councilors
talks in classes about how hard it is to get into college now days. He knows on
some level that he won’t be able to steal money from his folks for the rest of
his life. And hanging around on his sacred junkyard is fun, but not exactly a
longstanding project.
It’s weird suddenly thinking about something other than feeding the evil genie.
Suddenly, he’s more important himself. The genie has no future, it hasn’t
matured since the china was shattered in the kitchen and it settled down in his
chest. Adam has something. Maybe. It’s worth a shot.
He has the code to his mom’s bank account. When he’s low on cash, or his best
friend’s little brother is dying, Adam usually transfers money to himself.
Mom’s noticed that he does that long ago, but she’s never mentioned it. Adam is
never going to do it again after this time, he promises himself that, but this
time, he wires nine-hundred bucks to himself, finds an add on eBay, and buys
it. His camera.
He’s not sure what it is, but it makes sense somehow. When he gets the camera,
it becomes even more obvious that he’s always seen life through still frames,
single moments that could’ve been so beautiful if he’d been able to capture
them. And now he can. Because he’s got a camera.
By the time school starts, Adam’s taken more pictures than he can fit into his
room without dad noticing. Not that he spends a lot of time there, but when new
folders are turning up on his desk, later developing to a huge box under the
bed, his gaze gets even harsher, comments even dryer, but Adam doesn’t care.
He’s learned not to answer his father, no matter what he says, whatever
devastating comeback he thinks of. But he can’t get rid of that thought,
because it’s as much from himself as from the evil genie. One of these fucking
days, dad…
He’s not happy. But he’s found something he didn’t know he had in him. Or, he
knew it was there, but why would he spend time on it if life were pointless?
As some sort of emphasis of the reason to why he finally dared to start taking
pictures, Lawrence is in most of them. Lawrence is also more than happy to sit
next to him after he’s developed the pictures and discuss which ones should be
thrown out, which ones are good enough to keep and which are good enough to go
into The Folder.
The Folder is actually Adam’s portfolio, but he doesn’t like calling it that.
He pretends not to hear it when Lawrence tells him how great he is at this.
Even though Adam was the one who brought up the idea that he’d be a
photographer, it sounds too big. Like… being a photographer? As an
occupation?As if.
About a week after they go back to school, Adam sees a job ad in the paper. He
sends them some pictures and gets called in for an interview. He can’t go there
on his own, but tries holding on to some kind of independence by forcing
Lawrence to wait outside while he goes into the officeand talks to the staff
manager.
Adam answers very politely to the questions, only curses once, and it results
in a rumbling fit of laughter from the other side of the desk. When he comes
out, Adam looks like he’s seen death up close, and Lawrence drags him to a
nearby diner to get him a “calm down” coffee.
They call him a week later. Adam has a jobnow, contract and all. He gets
commission on every picture he takes for them. It’s so weird, but makes perfect
sense. Lawrence thinks so, too.
Lawrence’s way of dealing with school starts to show its downsides. He has days
when he’s fine, and other days when Adam sleeps over and wakes up from him
twisting in sleep, whining like a scared dog, and Adam can never get him to
explain why. He’s not sure if they’re woken hallucinations, or nightmares, or
just the demands of the future.
“I can’t help if I don’t know what it is,” Adam says softly. Lawrence is
sitting across from him, mussed, pale, not really there. His gaze is
flickering, not settling down, and he doesn’t even seem to notice that he’s
biting his nails.
“I don’t know what it is, man,” Lawrence mutters. He has no nails left to bite,
he’s mercilessly chewing soft flesh, scraping blood from his fingertips.
“No, but can you describe it? And fuck off from your nails.”
Lawrence reluctantly lowers his hand and bites his lip, instead. And he still
barely seems aware that Adam asked him a question. Eventually, Adam sighs,
hanging his head. Lou turns in the crib across the room.
“You know what I hate?” he then says. “The whole Somna deal. You remember
before they built all the inner city streets together? Your kind stayed away
from mine.”
Lawrence smiles, though without stop chewing on his lip.
“It must’ve been awesome for you better people.”
“It was,” Adam says. “Things were much better. If we’d met back then, it
would’ve taken me much longer to get to your place, and I probably wouldn’t
have slept here as often. And thusly get some nights off from your fucking
whining.”
Lawrence nods compassionately.
“I’m sorry.”
Adam smiles.
“You don’t have to apologize for being poor, but can you at least be sorry that
there are so many of you? Can’t me and my privileges get some space without you
having all those working class panic attacks?”
Lawrence’s bleeding hand lies between them on the bed.
He drags Lawrence to another doctor a few days later. There has to be other
pills, aside from the ones he get for his stomach. So he can sleep, because
otherwise he can’t study, and that’ll end the world, as we all know. But as it
turns out, doctors don’t prescribe sedatives to minors without parental
approval. Not if their life depended on it. Or someone else’s.
Hopelessness is a package deal when you’re friends with Lawrence. He won’t calm
down until he’s done with school, and probably not then either, but Adam can’t
help but trying to get him to stop. Lawrence swears he’s enough just by being
there, and he works just as hard on trying to fix Adam.
Adam’s broken, just as broken. Even though the ones who destroyed him are real
people, and Lawrence’s are the nonexistent ones that don’t let him sleep.
Adam still doesn’t know which ones of them are the easiest to overcome. He just
hopes that once they get to the futurethat’s supposed to be on the other side
of all this shit, the ones who broke them won’t be there, waiting.
 
***** Soaked to the Bone *****
Chapter Notes
     Hello babes. Just a heads up; I know Adam's dad has been an asshole
     basically throughout, but this chapter goes a bit further with the
     physical part of his abuse. You've been warned.
It’s September. School’s up and running. Adam’s powerfully motivated, probably
because they’ve only had one proper test thus far. With Lawrence’s assistance,
he managed to get a D, and for some reason, he thought someone at home would be
happy for him.
When he brought his graded test home, Adam’s face was flushed with stupid,
childish pride, and mom was actually happy, too. He saw a smile starting to
form before dad opened his mouth.
“You want a medal or something?”
That was it.
Right then, when both his and mom’s smiles fell to the ground like shot-down
birds, Adam asked himself what the hell he’d expected. But that was for a split
second, before that thought came back, for the millionth time: one of these
fucking days, dad…
It’s not even the genie. It’s his own constant humiliation.
It’s September. Adam’s saved almost every penny from his paycheckthat he gets
from his jobever since Lawrence helped him set up a budget. He gets to spend 20
bucks a month on cigarettes, 30 on other stuff, but the rest goes into savings,
and that’s important, because that’s the money that’s supposed to get him out
of here.
It’s almost as important to Lawrence as it is to Adam. Because the nights when
he wakes up all wound up and sweaty get more frequent, almost common at this
point, circles under his eyes even darker. He’s not as sure as he used to be
that he’ll manage to get away.
“We can split it,” Adam says when they’re out walking, but has to take a break.
Lawrence can’t stand up. “My pay, I mean. It makes sense. I have a job, and you
don’t. And you got the kids.”
“Cut it out,” Lawrence snaps.
They let it go.
Adam starts his days now by looking online for places to rent. It’s his new
morning ritual, since he got his budget. It’s very rarely a satisfying
replacement for a morning smoke, but today, he almost chokes on his coffee like
in a cartoon and jolts upright in his seat. He’s not sure if it’s from joy,
fear, shock.
A studio by the Boulevard. Kitchenette, close to a grocery store. Not too far
from his workplace,and pretty close to the subway, meaning close to Lawrence.
There’s no guarantee in this. No self-respecting person would rent even a
studio to an eighteen year-old with no solid income. And yet, Adam’s hands are
trembling as he bookmarks the ad and opens his mail server to write to the
landlord.
Maria walks in and starts taking care of the dishes. Adam’s sitting with his
hand tightly clasped on the table and staring at nothing, and she doesn’t ask
what’s going on with him. She probably just thinks he’s angry, as usual.
“I might move out of here soon,” Adam says, looking at her.
She straightens up, plates still in hand. Looking only a little surprised.
“Well, that’s about time,” she says after a brief pause, and goes back to
loading the dishwasher.
“Yeah,” Adam says and stands up. “Are you going to miss me really, really,
really much?”
Maria laughs so loudly she almost drops the silverware she’s holding.
“No, I really won’t,” she says. “You’ve been a whiny, ungrateful little brat
since you hit puberty.”
“But I’ve had a fair reason to be, right?”
“Definitely. And I like you a lot, and I hope you’ll be better off wherever it
is you’re going.”
Adam laughs, too.
“You’re probably the one I like the most in this house. That’s why I’ve been
such a pain in the ass, obviously.”
Maria smiles, wiping her hands on her apron. She’s only nine years older than
him. Looks so much more withered than that.
“If I’d had a maid when I were a kid, I would’ve hated her, too,” she says.
“It’s nuts, really, me running about around here, primping up your poor mama.
But some version of that is going to be there no matter where you go, so you
might as well stop bitching about it.”
“I like bitching.”
“Keep at it, then. As long as I don’t have to hear it.”
In a way, Adam would much rather stay here. No matter how much he hates it.
When she’s here, he knows that when dad starts throwing things, someone with
soft hands are there to lead him to his room.
He doesn’t know what’s out there. But then he remembers Lawrence’s hands,
gnawed up and scratchy, and feels calmer at the same as a void opens up in his
stomach.
xxxxxxxxx
Adam and Lawrence go to see the apartment. The landlord looks at them like he
knows they’re about to trash the stairway and tries to think of polite way to
prematurely send them away. Lawrence usually tries to save his one respectable
outfit for school, but he’s wearing it now, so at least one of them looks like
a responsible young man. Other applicants are walking around with very limited
interest, and Adam can’t blame it. There are two tiny windows, the floor is
trampled up, there’s a path worn in between the kitchenette and the couch. The
walls are grayish-white, and there’s a vent hood in the corner that snakes
would’ve crawled out of if it’d been a horror movie.
But from their reference level, it’s a paradise. Adam and Lawrence run around
like jacked up kindergarteners on the tiny surface they got, and Adam tries to
come to terms with the fact that it probably won’t pay off. There’s no use
raising his expectations. He’ll get more chances. Is what he tries to tell
himself.
When he hasn’t heard from the landlord in a while, Adam calls and asks if he’s
rented it yet. The landlord says no. Adam says he’s prepared to give him the
first three months’ rent upfront, without any idea on how he’ll do that.
The phone is silent for a bit. Then the landlord says he needs a day to think
about it. About a week later, Adam is standing outside Lawrence’s front door
and wants to tell him right away, but he’s been running the last mile to get
here, so he has to stand there, wheezing from his smoke-damaged lungs, before
he can get any actual words out.
The best thing about the apartment, aside from the fact that it’s hisnow, is
that it’s immediate access. Adam can move in next month. Technically he still
can’t afford to pay what he promised, so he asks mom for money, and gets it,
probably straight out of dad’s account.
Dad knows this. But two thousand bucks is a pretty low price to get rid of that
constant pain that lives in his house for some reason. That little triangle of
dirt that never goes away, no matter how hard the windshield wipers screech
against the glass.
He hasn’t said any of this out loud. But Adam doesn’t know how else to
interpret his silence. He’s barely addressed Adam since he told them he’s
moving. While mom’s hugged and kissed him more in the past week than in the
past year, dad’s been in the background, arms crossed, cold eyes pinning him
down.
Adam hates how his eyes look so much like his own.
It’s October. Adam packs the last of his stuff into his backpack, the things he
knows he’ll want the first night, when he’ll be too lazy to unpack. It’s kind
of painful having to start a new life as far away from the old one as he can,
and still have to bring most of his shit, but like hell he’ll put the last few
dollars to his name on new furniture. Even though his current bed is going to
take up almost half of the apartment.
Adam straightens up and looks at the boxes. They aren’t that many. Most of them
are for his books, one for his pictures. Clothes, two boxes. Speakers, computer
and camera, wrapped in more bubble wrap than what should be able to exist in
the world. He’ll use the rest of his money this month for food and kitchen
utensils,as Lawrence calls them, but that’s for tomorrow. He’s rented a truck,
Maria promised to drive him.
Shit. He’s organized.
The boxes contain his life. It wasn’t that hard to dismantle. And outside the
window he’ll never have to look through again, it starts to rain.
“You all packed?”
Adam flinches and turns around. Dad is in the doorway, as solid control of his
facial features as usual, lips a thin line.
The fact alone that his dad entered a room without demanding immediate
attention should worry Adam. But he’s so happy about his fresh start that he’s
not even mad at him right now.
He’ll regret this later.
“Yup,” Adam says and beckons to the boxes behind him. “The car’s outside, I
just have to get it downstairs.”
Dad nods. He looks pale. But again, Adam won’t notice this until afterwards.
“You’re really moving?” Clipped tone.
His voice is usually smooth as silk when he talks to Adam, unless they’re
fighting. Adam feels his smile stiffen.
“That’s the plan,” he says, trying to sound like he’s joking.
Curt nod. Adam gets a chilling sensation in his gut. Now. When it’s already too
late.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
He puts it so simply, just stating a fact. Adam takes a subconscious step back.
“I’m moving, dad. I paid the first rent. I’m moving.”
“You’re not,” dad says and takes a step towards him.
Adam backs further, not subconscious at all anymore. He swallows and tries to
smile, even though he feels a minor apocalypse settling in his heart.
“Why don’t you want me to leave?” he says, even though what he’s saying is
suddenly so real to him that not even the genie can be happy about it. “You’ve
fucking hated me since I came out, you’ve wanted me gone for six years, and now
I’m going! You should be happy!”
His father’s eyes don’t look at all like his own anymore. They’re black like a
snake’s, and Adam’s eyes look the way they do when you’ve just realized you’re
basically as unloved as a person can get.
“I told you to stay here!”
It explodes, and now, when it’s too late, Adam realizes that his dad would
rather have him dead than somewhere where he can’t be controlled. And he
doesn’t love him. He never will.
He ducks from the first hit and tries to get away, even though the insight that
struck him has made him numb, it’s like running in water, and dad catches him
anyway. He always does.
No one’s loved him. No one’s loved him for six years. Because of something he
can’t control anymore than they can.
Dad grabs his upper arm, spins him around, the fist hitting his face feels like
it’s made of steel. Adam manages to stay on his feet, but then it strikes him
again, and he falls to his knees without noticing. He’s pulled to his feet
again only to get kneed in the stomach, and then he hits the ground, lifeless
like a doll, breathing in dust from a home that doesn’t want him and the person
that’s supposed to be his father presses his head to the floor.
“Get off!” Adam gurgles and tries to kick him off, but dad’s knee is on his
back and he can’t move. He feels dad’s watch against the back of his neck as he
grabs his hair. Adam will remember that detail for as long as he lives.
Fingers in his hair. Snaps his head back.
No one’s loved him. No one’s loved him. Not in this house.
Dad presses his face into the carpet again. Adam feels his nose bend and creek
disturbingly, and he screams, like a wounded animal, like an evil ghoul that
doesn’t do anything except sitting in the attic of rich families and scare the
cute little children.
That’s what he is.
A lonely little ghost going from door to door, knocking without anyone
answering, because no one, no onewants him.
“Dad! What the fuck!”
Adam can’t see her, and he doesn’t want to. He knows that Claire and mom are
standing in the doorway, and he knows that mom’s been there for a while but
Claire just arrived. He won’t even look at them, because if he saw mom now he
would look pleadingly at her, like he needed her, and he won’t ask for her
help.
“Dad! Stop!”
The weight falls off his back, and it’s possible that it was Claire that
finally managed to push him away, but he won’t stop to look, he gets up right
away even though his head is spinning and his heart is blackening, fuck, why
does he get up, he keeps getting up even though it’s never been worth it, why
can’t he just lay down and die.
The only thing that gets Adam to walk past mom, through the hall and out the
door is the thought that if he’s going to die, he sure as shit won’t do it in
this house.
He slams the door open without his jacket on, or shoes, with blood dripping in
slimy strings from his nose. Adam starts walking through the rain that’s a
full-fledged downpour at this point. His already soaked-through socks splash
through the puddles on the sidewalk. He walks. He’s just going to keep walking.
Away from the enormous lovelessness that’s behind him.
He never felt just how much it hurts.
The guilt of the world. Mom and dad’s little monster.
The evil genie may have loved it, but it’s gone now. He’s all that’s left.
“Adam!”
Adam doesn’t turn around.
“Adam, wait!”
He keeps walking.
“Fucks sake, Adam, I just saved your life, you could at least talk to me!”
Adam stops abruptly and spins around. Claire is in front of him. Her hair is
already in thick, wet strands, it looks like worms. The mascara is crumbling
under her eyes, she always buys the cheapest possible, and her nipples are
pulled tight against the fabric of her shirt. This one has David Bowie on it.
All these flaws. How the fuckis she so beautiful?
“If I’m such a fucking nuisance, why didn’t you let him kill me?” he hisses. “I
get that it’ll be sad not to have me as a measuring stick in front of them so
you seem even cuter, but you really don’t have to worry, because you’ll always
be perfect and I’m…”
He doesn’t want to finish the sentence. Scared of what he would’ve said.
Claire’s eyes narrow and she wraps her arms around herself. Above them, a bolt
of lightning rips the sky in two.
“What are you talking about?” She looks back at the house behind them, and
before Adam answers, she goes on: “Yeah, they love me more than you. You think
I like that? I’ve busted my ass to make you seem better to them, in case you
didn’t notice.”
Adam laughs joylessly.
“Bullshit,”he spits out and points accusingly at her. “You’ve sat by watching
him kick my ass, for six fucking years, and haven’t done shit. Is you
occasionally laughing at my jokes what I’m supposed to be grateful for?”
He can’t stop being angry. Even though it’s not her fault.
“Come on,” Claire says. “Dad’s hitting me, too. Not because he didn’t love me,
he did it because I tried to talk to him about the way he treated you, okay?
Not as often, sure, but… you didn’t care what I did! Should I’ve just kept
nagging him when you didn’t give a shit about me anyway?”
She locks Adam’s gaze, and Adam tries to keep being pissed, but it’s hard. His
entire view of dad, and Claire, is being shaken, but he picks it back up. He’s
going to be angry. That’s the mission.
“That’s not the same,” he says, annoyed. “I didn’t know that.”
Claire’s jaw is tight, lips bit together.
“You knew,” she says, more gravely than he thought her capable.
Adam looks at her. Sees her for what she really is, for the first time in a
long time, and he wants to hold her and allow himself to feel sorry for her,
but he can’t. Of course he can’t.
The guilt of the world. Mom and dad’s little monster.
“That’s fucking adorable,” he says dully, takes a step closer, lowering his
voice. “The cute upper class girl that could’ve had the world, but throws it
away to stick up to her idiot faggot brother. Standing ovation. You’re fucking
great at that, you know that? You’re such a fucking sweetheart that it’s not
even me being an asshole, anyone would look like an asshole next to you!
Everyone knowsI’m a pig and you’re perfect, you know it, I know it, can’t we
just leave it at that?”
Claire just looks at him. It’s possible that her eyes are tearing up, or maybe
it’s the rain. She shakes her head slowly.
“No,” she says. “Youknow that. You… thinkthat. Yeah, right now I think you’re
an asshole, and pretty stupid, but aside from that, I don’t give a shit if
you’re an asshole, or a punk, or gay, or a fucking smurf. You’re my brother and
I love you.”
Adam wants to look away, but he can’t.
He’s never been able to accept other people’s concern. Whether they’re trying
to take care of his dishes, or defend him when he’s being abused by his father.
When it comes to love, Adam’s an emotional strainer. Nothing sticks, everything
runs through him. He can only keep the bad stuff, the things that stick and
chafe at the tiny bit of self-love he’s managed to build up.
Claire looks over her shoulder, towards the house. They’re a few feet away from
the front door, and it still feels like a totally different world.
“Wait here,” she says. “I’ll go get a status report. If he’s still being crazy,
we should stand back, but otherwise, we’ll get your stuff, and Maria can drive
us to the apartment.”
Adam nods. His head is still pounding like a sledgehammer, and his heart is
torn open. Not in a bad way. More like a mosquito bite that he’s tried not to
scratch, but that he’s now sick of and scratches until blood is trickling
between his fingers.
About an hour later, he and Claire are sitting on his bed, in his apartment.She
nicked the first aid kit from that place that was never his home, and Adam
grimaces as she wipes his bottom lip clean and touches his bent nose gently.
It’s not broken, the cheekbones took the worst hit. She probably just wants to
feel like she’s doing something.
Adam can’t help but think of Lawrence when he sees the sticky, green plastic
package lying opened on the bed. Has it really only been little over a year
since he was sitting n this bed, staring angrily under his bloody bangs?
He can’t wait to show Lawrence this place, when he’s finally got it set up.
Lawrence hasn’t seen his real home, because that place never was. And Lawrence
has never met his sister, because Claire couldn’t be when they were living the
way they did.
Maybe she never will be able to be. But she gets to clean Adam’s wounds now,
that’s got to be some kind of beginning.
“Why do you think he didn’t want me to go?” Adam asks as Claire puts
disinfectant on a cotton ball.
She shrugs.
“No idea.”
Maybe they’ll never know. But Adam’s got something in his life now. He’s got
Lawrence, maybe Claire. A place he’ll be able to make his home. But when
Claire’s left, later that night, the wound’s still open. Something he managed
to repress all those years by telling himself he didn’t wantto belong.
He thought he didn’t need all those things that other people do. Love,
friendship, belonging. But now he’s all alone, and he feels it.
Grief over a family he never had.
***** Eyes Long Gone *****
Chapter Notes
     There's a mention of child rape in this chappie. Lawrence's mom is a
     gem as always
Adam is sitting with his legs crossed at the head of the bed, smoking with his
camera in his lap, appearing completely oblivious to the risk that he’ll set
fire to the mattress. Lawrence isn’t sure if it’s because he doesn’t care, or
that he just forgot that he’s smoking. The cigarette has been dangling between
his lips for quite a while without him making as much as an attempt at a drag,
a pillar of ash forming. Lawrence ends up staring at him, pen still in his
hand.
The camera is more important than the cigarettes. The camera is more important
than most things. Adam stares into the tiny screen, brows furrowed in a
concentration he wouldn’t waste on anything less. Hair standing up on one side,
fingers unsentimentally stiff on the buttons.
“Any good stuff?” Lawrence asks softly. Tries to include himself in this, the
dedication he so rarely gets to feel. Especially not the schoolwork he keeps
getting riled up over without actually liking it.
“Huh?” Adam says absentmindedly without looking up. The cigarette jerks between
his lips, ashes rain on the sheets. “Yeah, I think… they’ll be okay. Once I’ve
edited them.”
He quiets down, puts the cigarette out in the ashtray next to him. Lawrence
wants him to say something else. Doesn’t want to have to go back to his
textbooks. Not when Adam is sitting there with something that means something
to him, really means something.
Adam has beautiful hands, maybe especially when he’s holding his camera. Long,
slim fingers, as pale as the rest of him, with that faint discoloring on the
right hand nails after thousands of smokes. After being in a fight, he gets
trouble straightening out his thumbs, since he still can’t make proper fists
even though he’s been fighting his entire life.
Lawrence stands up, walks over to the mattress. Adam finally lifts his gaze. He
looks kind of confused, probably because Lawrence rarely leaves his homework
voluntarily. Lawrence sits in front of him and leans back, leaning his head to
his chest, but it’s really uncomfortable, and Adam growls something when
Lawrence’s entire body weight leans on his crossed ankles. Lawrence scoots
forward a bit until he’s lying with his head in his lap. Yeah, this works.
“Which pictures are you happy with?” he asks, looking up at Adam. Even from
this angle, he can tell that Adam is blushing, swallows. He’s not used to this.
His lack of experience calms Lawrence a bit, but his heart is still beating
heavily in his chest, feeling every flow of blood through his body. Hyper
sensitive.
“Look at this one,” Adam says once he’s composed himself, swipes to a picture
and holding it in front of Lawrence. “I liked the lighting. This one, see?”
So close. It’s okay.
xxxxxxxxx
Lawrence usually goes to bed around 2AM. He has to get up four hours later.
If he can, he works at the convenience store on weekends. Then he goes home to
study some more.
He spreads his student loan as thin as he can, until it’s almost seeing-through
with all the things it’s supposed to cover. He goes to the welfare and lies,
lies, lies.
And he cleans the apartment, because it’s dusty. It’s always dusty.
It shouldn’t be a problem. Everyone he has to take care of hasn’t been a
problem until he started high school, and everything he’s doing now is harder,
but he’s been at it for two years. It’s not until recently that it’s actually
gotten difficult.
It’s worth it, he knows that. Sleepless nights, classes where he keeps trying
to keep his eyes open, but still eventually feels his head slowly fall into his
notepad, eyelids sliding shut. All that time he doesn’t get to spend with Adam,
Wendy, the kids. It’s worth it. As long as he gets to bring them out of this
afterwards.
He’s just so tired.
Lou’s growing up. There are times when Lawrence looks at her and realizes that
she’s much older than he treats her as. He still sees her as a three year-old,
and when she’s sad, he tries to put her in his lap, and doesn’t realize until
afterwards that if they’d been born somewhere else, she’d already started
school.
It’s the same with Daniel. Just like that, he’s a soft-spoken, shy boy, not a
baby anymore, doesn’t talk much but always gets his point across. Lawrence
wonders if he gets something in his eyes when they ask for something. If he
somehow makes them think they’re not supposed to want things. He tries to tone
it down, whatever it is. He doesn’t want them to think they don’t deserve the
breakfast that they ask for so unassumingly.
Daniel is about to turn six. Lawrence isn’t sure what to get him. He needs a
new pair of pants. Not to mention a new bed, he has to lay folded in halves in
his crib. Daniel probably wouldn’t accept the concept of education as a
birthday gift. It’ll take him a few years to realize how important it is.
There are so many things he wants to give Daniel. The list of things he wants
to do for other people is getting endless, too much. So heavy. The voices, the
stomach pain. The tests that seem to stare at him from his desk.
“What are they?” Adam says one night, with tussled hair and sleep-deprived
eyes, since Lawrence’s kicking and whining has woken him up again. “Describe
it. Are they nightmares, or… like, people? Voices?”
Lawrence shakes his head, rubs his hairline.
“It’s not nightmares. And not hallucinations. I don’t see things. I don’t know,
I think… I think it’s like voices. Not that they tell me to jump out a window
or something, they say stuff like…”
He quiets down. Adam waits.
“It’s hard to hear what they’re saying,” he goes on. “They… they usually say…
that I ain’t shit. That I’ll never… get to where I want.”
“You’ll never get out of here?”
Lawrence nods.
“Whose voice is it?” Adam asks quietly.
Lawrence shrugs.
Lou and Daniel at home. Still sharing beds.
“It sounds like myself,” he says eventually. “My voice.”
He and Adam always sleep in the same bed when they’re at his place. But that
night, when Adam’s finally convinced him to lay back down, Lawrence is still
only half asleep when he feels Adam scoot closer, put an arm around his waist.
The warmth is like a blanket over that cold, jittery thing inside. He actually
sleeps well that night.
Now that Adam has his own place, there are new possibilities. Lawrence is there
as often as he can and he almost always brings the kids and Wendy, especially
now that fall has settled in and the cold is getting harder to ignore. When
Adam opens the door, Lou leaps in and hugs him, and Lawrence orders her and
Daniel to hit the shower, they turn the entire bathroom into something
resembling a wet Ground Zero and Lawrence asks Adam if he wants them to stop
shamelessly using him, and Adam just rolls his eyes.
The only thing harder for Lawrence than accepting favors is accepting the idea
that Adam doesn’t even consider it a favor; he does this because he likes him.
Lawrence wakes him up again another night, the millionth fucking night
probably, hates himself and hates himself even more when he notices how Adam
still doesn’t get annoyed at all. Patiently sits up with a sigh, and doesn’t
even acknowledge Lawrence’s stuttering apologies.
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, voice giving out, and starts biting his nails,
can’t even hold it back until he’s stopped talking. “It’s… I’m fine. Go back to
sleep.”
“It’s cool,” Adam says and wraps his blanket around him like a cape.
“No, you need your sleep. Lay back down. When I keep waking you up…”
“Shut up,” Adam mutters.
Lawrence immediately obeys. He hates this. If Adam had hissed something and
pulled the covers over his head, or at least been annoyed for real, it’d been
bearable. But as it is now, he knows Adam only pretends to be bothered because
he’s worried.
Adam’s reactions are slower when he’s tired. Lawrence doesn’t dare to say
anything, so he just sits there biting his nails while Adam stares blankly,
rubbing his eyes, sighs heavily and reaches for the ashtray next to the
mattress.
“Get off your fucking nails,” he then says, finally looking a little annoyed.
Lawrence drops his hand right away. Then they’re quiet a bit longer, until Adam
sighs again.
“You cold?”
“No.”
Adam nods tiredly. It’s not until then that Lawrence gets that he indirectly
offered to share his blanket, and immediately regrets his answer.
Whatever’s still between them always gets worse during these times. When
Lawrence is desperate, so torn up that he forgets he’s not supposed to show how
much he cares about him, when Adam is there without questioning anything. And
even though Lawrence’s experience with sexual urges is limited to one night
next to a dumpster, he sees Adam, pale, cold, hair standing straight up on the
one side, and isn’t quite sure what he wants to do.
Yeah, he is. He wants to touch him.
“If you had any kind of body fat, you wouldn’t be cold, either,” he says when
he dares to talk again, and Adam scoffs, grins.
“Same thing again?” he eventually asks. Lawrence nods.
“Yeah.”
Adam nods, too, and they’re quiet again. A crease grows visible between Adam’s
brows, and he shakes his head angrily. Lawrence thinks he’s finally about to
throw a fit, but when Adam looks at him again, he just looks helpless, and it
scares him.
“They never go away?” Adam asks. “Are you ever satisfied with yourself? Do they
go away then?”
Lawrence smiles hopelessly and shakes his head.
“Not really. Sorry.”
He looks up at Adam. He’s looking so sad that Lawrence can barely stand it.
“Doesn’t anything make you feel better?” he asks.
Lawrence looks at Adam. Slim fingers around the cigarette. Somber eyes. His
mouth.
There’s a simple way for him to get through school. There’s something that’d
make him so happy and so wholethat no voices would get inside his head again.
But of course it’s not that simple, and it never will be.
xxxxxxxxx
Daniel’s birthday comes quicker than Lawrence was prepared for. Since he
refuses to ask Adam for money for this, too, he takes a fiver out of mom’s
handbag and buys him a muffin at 7 Eleven. Lou is unsuccessful at hiding her
envy, so Daniel gives her a piece. Lawrence really wonders where he learned to
be so damn sweet.
Mom has one of her bad days. It’s the only thing keeping this from being
perfect. She probably doesn’t even remember that it’s Daniel’s birthday, so
Lawrence can’t really blame her for not even pretending for him, but he still
feels his pretty much non-existent sympathy for her shrinking even further.
She’s rummaging around the kitchen. Lawrence is sitting with Daniel in his lap,
next to the one window; this’ll probably be his last chance to do so, his
little brother is getting so big. Somehow hopes they won’t notice she’s here.
“Was it good?” Lawrence asks, looking at Daniel who has chocolate crumbs all
over his mouth.
Daniel nods joyfully and drops the muffin wrapper on the table in front of him.
Lou can’t accept that the quota of good things they’ll have for the next six
months is filled thusly, so she grabs the chocolatey wrapper and starts chewing
it.
“When’s your birthday, Lawrence?” she asks, mouth full of paper. “We never
celebrate it, right? Your birthday?”
Lawrence smiles, leaning his face into Daniel’s head.
“No, we don’t. Should we?”
“Of course we should,” Daniel says, turning to him. “You didn’t get a muffin.
You should have a muffin too. You should.”
“I don’t need a muffin, honey,” Lawrence says, clasping his hands across
Daniel’s belly. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
Daniel doesn’t seem to think this is a good enough explanation. He appears to
be deep in thought, but before he has time to disagree, mom turns around, leans
against the counter with a coffee cup in one hand and a cigarette dangling from
her lip.
“Permission to interrupt the fuzzie-wuzzie moment?” she says politely.
No one answers her. She scoffs, like she’s annoyed with herself for expecting
more from these fucking kids that insist on living in her apartment.
“Why are you playing Santa Claus?” she says, taking a few steps toward
Lawrence.
Even when there are no men here, she still walks that way she does when they
come over. Her lower body moving a little bit in front of the rest of her, hips
are probably supposed to sway seductively, but move more like subway doors
opening. Sort of jittery.
“It’s Daniel’s birthday,” he answers.
She scoffs again. The coffee pot is bubbling behind her.
“How old is he?”
“Six.”
“By my sixth, I’d been raped twice.”
She smiles while saying it. Makes a point out of staring Lou and Daniel in the
faces. Lawrence isn’t as important, this stuff doesn’t scare him anymore.
“Raped. Larry hasn’t explained that word? Someone fucked me against my will.
Get it? When I was younger than Daniel.”
Daniel’s eyes are wide. Lawrence realizes that just like his and Lou’s,
Daniel’s eyes look a lot like hers. Those crazy eyes staring at them now, the
woman in the kitchen that never was their mom.
Why can’t they have their own eyes? Why did she have to have them first?
“That’s not their fault,” he says calmly. “Leave them alone.”
Her eyes narrow. Coffee cup in hand.
“The fuck’s your problem?” she says through gritted teeth. “I’m just trying to…
teachthem shit! They shouldn’t know about this just because you’re hanging with
rich fucking brats?”
Lawrence wants to hit her. But as usual, he’s good at pushing that aside.
“You mean Adam? Don’t talk that way about him.”
It’s his little sister that speaks up; that girl that he still doesn’t get is
much older than he sees her.
Mom looks at Lou. It seems to take her a few seconds to get that she’s supposed
to get angry, and when she does, she smiles, that sweet venomous grin.
“Yeah,” she says. “You like him, don’t you?”
Lawrence sees her fingers squeeze the handle of the cup. No. Not today.
Lou goes on before mom manages to say whatever she was going to.
“You’re always so mean to us,” she says soberly. “But what did we ever do to
you?”
It all happens so quickly. Before Lou has time to react and before Lawrence
should be able to, mom’s lifted the cup and struck it against her daughter’s
head, but Lawrence manages to put Daniel down, get up and stand in the way. It
cracks against his head, but doesn’t break. Lawrence closes his eyes, because
he doesn’t want to see everything retracting to a white dot, blood a thin
runnel in the corner of his eye, doesn’t want to give her the power.
He’s done with this now.
He’s not sure why that is. She’s hit him before, though not often, and probably
Lou and Daniel too, more times than he wants to remember. And maybe it’s the
knowledge that this is how Daniel’s going to remember his birthday, no matter
how good Lawrence wanted to make it. This is what’s going to stick, not the
muffin.
Maybe it’s the fact that Adam actually managed to get out, he doesn’t have to
deal with these people anymore, the ones who stole his eyes. And Lawrence has
to get way further away than this apartment, but he has to start somewhere, has
to get away from the dust, the thing that sticks under his skin and crawls into
his genes, making him the same as her. Right now, it feels like he hasn’t moved
an inch since he started school. Despite everything that was supposed to be
different after that.
Lawrence opens his mouth. Everything feels too much, every syllable across his
lips, the blood running down his temple, but he still says very
unceremoniously:
“We’re leaving.”
She raises her eyebrows with disinterest.
“Okay.”
Lawrence doesn’t acknowledge that she said something. It’s like in exorcist
movies; the monster knows all his weaknesses, and if he listens to something it
tells him, he’ll never be able to cast it out.
“We’re not coming back. We’re never coming back. Lou and Daniel are going off
to school. They’re going to get an education. They won’t be like you. They’re
going to grow up. You won’t get to see them.”
It seems to dawn on her that he’s serious. But she doesn’t look sad. More
confused.
“I’ll get them out of here,” Lawrence says. “You won’t come near them again,
ever. They’re not yours. They never were.”
They stare at each other for a moment. Lawrence looks her in the eye and sees
nothing.
“Louise and Daniel,” he then says, trying to sound mundane. “We’re going to
stay with Adam for a while. You have anything you want to bring there?”
Lou and Daniel are petrified for a second before they start gathering their
stuff. Daniel grabs his blanket, Lou her toy, the stolen little plastic pony.
Lawrence grabs a bag and shoves down some of their clothes, and his textbooks.
He feels her gaze, but doesn’t meet it, since he knows himself and knows she
can get him to change his mind.
When he’s gathered up their stuff, she’s still staring at him. Still holding
the coffee cup.
Lawrence doesn’t know what to say. What to feel.
“I’ll get in touch when I’ve started college,” he says tonelessly. “Just so
you’ll know I’m alive.”
She just stands there. Lawrence feels that it’s important for them to leave
right now.
“We’re going,” he says and grabs a child by each hand. “Say bye, guys.”
They wave halfheartedly.
“Bye,” Lou says.
Daniel says nothing. Lawrence starts walking to the front door.
He knows they have to get at least a hundred feet from the apartment before
it’s somewhat certain that he won’t go back. Until he’s come that far, it’s
important that he focuses on strictly practical thoughts. Lawrence holds the
small hands tight and tries to calculate how much of his soles will be worn
down by the walk to the subway. If it’s safe to assume that they’re worn a bit
more when he runs across the street and a little less when he stops to tie
Daniel’s shoe.
And a little more when he walks on gravel. Those thoughts are safe.
Wendy’s sitting by their car, fiddling with her phone. Her face lights up when
she sees them, before they get a little closer and she sees the bag around
Lawrence’s wrist, his absent but furious gaze.
“What happened?” she asks, standing up.
Lawrence shakes his head.
“We’re going,” he says, twisting the handle of the plastic bag tighter around
his wrist, like that’s what keeping him in reality. “Come on. We’re going.”
Wendy looks from him to the bag to the cut on his head. It takes her a few to
get what the problem is, and when she does, she scratches her shoulder
awkwardly.
“Yeah, sure,” she says hesitatingly. “But… like, what am I gonna do? I can’t… I
can’t stay there, Lawrence.”
Lawrence closes his eyes for a second. He’s not in the state to discuss this
right now and he doesn’t get why she can’t just do what he tells her. Why is
shit so complicated and why can’t it stay in that tiny sphere where he feels
he’s in control.
“I don’t fucking know,” he says. His voice sounds like someone else’s. “Can you
just come?”
He probably looks angry, because Wendy looks at him like she does when she
thinks he’s an idiot to think he can still intimidate her. She shakes her head,
but then shrugs and starts walking. Lawrence is glad she didn’t say what it was
she was thinking. Whatever it was, it was probably of the category of things
he’s not allowed to think about.
They keep walking. Lawrence somehow manages to put one foot in front of the
other, though it’s a minor miracle. The only thing he’s feeling now is an
overwhelming desire to go back.
He takes it out the wrong way. When they’ve reached the subway and it says the
next train arrives in seventeen minutes, Lou starts whining, and Daniel looks
like he could fall asleep on the spot. Lawrence hisses that they need to suck
it up until they get there, and when Wendy looks at him that way again, he
shoots back a glance twice as venomous.
He gets frustrated with them, because they don’t get how hard this is for him,
and with himself, for it being hard for him.
When they finally ring the doorbell, Lawrence’s feet are aching, not because
they’ve been walking that long, but just because it feels like they have. Adam
opens the door without looking that surprised.
“Starsky and Hutch,” he says when he sees Lawrence and Wendy. “Hey, guys,” he
then says to Daniel and Lou. “Come on, get in here.”
Lou wordlessly passes him into the apartment, Daniel follows. Usually they’d
run around, go through Adam’s old comic books, but not today. Lou grabs an
apple from the counter and huddles up on the spare mattress, and Daniel falls
asleep next to her. Adam looks at Lawrence, slightly amused, but got from the
second he opened up that this is one of those rare times when he better make an
effort to stay serious.
“Mom stuff?” he asks quietly, as if the kids would’ve missed it.
Lawrence feels his hands trembling now that they don’t have theirs to hold on
to. He’s too tired to deal with this.
“I’m not going back,” he says. “Can we stay here for a while`”
Adam gaze flickers between him and Wendy. Then he slaps Lawrence’s shoulder. It
was probably meant to be a short tap, but Lawrence is grateful that he keeps
his hand there.
“You can stay as long as you want, man.”
xxxxxxxxx
Lou and Daniel sleep piled up on each other, tangled in the other’s limbs. It’s
always been a comfort to them, and will probably stay that way for a long time,
even though they’ll never have to fall asleep with their hands covering their
ears again, blocking out the sound of someone fucking their mom. Wendy’s
collapsed in the chair next to them. Lawrence already knows where he’s sleeping
tonight.
He’s sitting with Adam on his bed. They have to be quiet not to wake up the
others. It’s a challenge, since Lawrence works with every force within to
contain a scream that’ll never stop once he lets it out.
They’re sitting on Adam’s bed. It should be familiar. But it’s all different
now.
Over now.
Everything Lawrence was scared of, he’s left in that apartment. Technically.
None of the histories that were repeated will be again, because they were all
repeated there.
He’s hated it for so long, he’s almost forgotten why.
The apartment. The dust. (It got under his skin) Somna. The parking lot where
he sat next to Wendy, the entire fucking subway line leading to it.
He should have some good memories from there. He’s had good times, with Wendy,
and even when everything’s shit, there are still days that are better than
others. But he’s hated it, constantly, from the most rotten, black depth of his
hatred. Just on reflex, because it was simpler that way. Blaming everything on
the neighborhood and hoping that it’d change once he got away from it.
It should be what happens. It’s all gone.
Never again have to guess if she has a good or bad day. Wash his clothes with a
scrub brush in the sink. The buzzing fluorescent lights in that store he used
to work. Lie to the bitch at the welfare. The burrow of filthy hair that was
the only visible part of her when she was in bed all day.
That cold feeling when he’s filled out his address in some form at school. The
fear that the teacher would yank it from his hand and screech out to the class:
“Look, everyone! The top student is a little somniac!”
He knows the voices will wake him up tonight again. Despite everything he’s
left behind. The dust is under the skin. All that stuff that never went away.
“How are you feeling?” Adam asks, lighting a cigarette.
Lawrence swallows.
“I didn’t feel much at all when… when it happened. I guess I still don’t. I
couldn’t. In front of them. Just freak out.”
“Why would you freak out? You feel… this way because you wanted to get away?”
Lawrence nods frenetically. Whatever it is, he can’t hold it back anymore, he
doesn’t even know what it is, or where it’s coming from.
“I know. I know. But what the fuck is going to happen to her now?”
From his own viewpoint, he’s pretty put together. But Adam looks more and more
worried.
“Sh-she’s my mom,”he coughs out. “Like, what’s going to happen to her now? One
of the guys can beat her to death when I’m not there, or she can starve, or
freeze to death, or start shooting up, or, fuck, and I won’t be there to help
her, bec-cause…”
He abruptly quiets down. Or his voice cracks. Adam puts a hesitant hand on his
knee.
“It’s not your job to save her from that shit,” he says.
Lawrence shakes his head.
“I could’ve done more.”
“Of course you could,” Adam says simply. “That doesn’t mean you should.It’s
like… you’re still the… kidhere, aren’t ya?”
Even in staggering panic, Lawrence starts at that word.
A kid. Him.
Per definition, he’s still a kid. And he’s been one long after he stopped
considering himself one. But still, he’s not sure he ever was one.
The way he remembers his childhood, it got lost in some sort of life consuming
state of her.Getting rid of knives, sitting in the welfare office and lie, lie,
lie before he even knew what the truth was. Not only did he have to microwave
frozen pizzas and hide pills most of the time he was with her, everything else
became about that, too.
Everything resembling a childhood disappeared. She ruined everything. Running
around kicking soda cans with Wendy, seeing her for the first time and falling
so completely, overwhelmingly in love. Shewas always in the back of his mind.
And if she weren’t, she made sure to be the only thing he could focus on when
he got home. Then he had to pay. For having fun at all.
Lawrence doesn’t know a childhood. It ended for him the second she gave birth
to him without becoming a mother.
“I know you don’t want to be,” Adam goes on. It has to show how this makes
Lawrence feel, because his voice is soft in that way it never is unless
Lawrence absolutely needs it. “And fuck knows you don’t act like one. But
that’s just because she hasn’t let you. If she’d been a real mom, she wouldn’t
have wanted you to be this way.”
Everything he’s saying is true. Lawrence still has to clasp his hand over his
mouth to keep from shouting that he doesn’t have a fucking clue.
That it’s too late for this now.
It’s such a relief. Such a relief. But it hurts. Something black and slimy
coming up from within, and suddenly, he’s collapsed on the mattress and Adam
has to wrap both arms around him to keep him from toppling down on the floor.
He knows he shouldn’t have, and if he’d done more for her, he would’ve
disappeared. But he can’t think that way. Lawrence believes in facts and
numbers. And the thought that technically, it wasn’t physically impossible for
him to do more for his mom, is something he’ll carry with him for as long as he
lives.
The next morning, Lawrence misses a day in school for the first time since
Daniel got sick. Not because he consciously skips it, but because he spends
most of the night shivering violently in Adam’s lap, eyes wide, hands clawing
themselves spasmodically until he’s gotten them striped in red.
He doesn’t fall asleep until six-ish that morning. He’s still sound asleep two
hours later, which is when Adam gets up, calls them both in sick and crawls
down next to him again.
 
***** Crossing *****
Chapter Notes
     DID SOMEONE SAY BANGIN
     There's a dubcon element of what we in Sweden call tjatsex which is
     basically one party nagging for the sexy times
     and yes, I'm fully aware that this isn't how scholarships work. Just
     consider this entire universe to be the cartoonishly evil way I view
     the school system.
     I also want you to know that I suck at replying to reviews, but
     seriously, they make me squee and water my crops and puts food on my
     table
Adam never thought he’d be okay with studying. But looking at the time, he
realizes it’s been almost two hours, flying by with frantic coffee chugging,
stacks of Lawrence’s notes across the table, almost half an hour of silence
until Lawrence finds something else they have to memorize and they discuss it
for a while.
They have an exam on religion coming up. Lawrence force-feeds Adam knowledge
when he’s not busy doing the same to himself. The kids are out in the park
across the street. No one can be more focused than Lawrence when he wants to
be, but Adam keeps catching him glancing at the window.
“What’s the deal with the hereditary sin?” Adam asks suddenly and puts his book
down. “Did Eve fuck that up for all girls, eating that apple?”
Lawrence looks up, sporting the “off guard but still prepared with a perfect
answer” look. His bangs are ruffled from all the times he’s run his hand
through it. Adam almost has to look away from him.
“Yeah, she did,” Lawrence says. “She ate the apple, and as a punishment, God
made it so it’d always hurt to give birth.”
“Always for her?”
“No, always for all the women. They had to be punished, too.”
“Why?”
Lawrence smiles patiently.
“You don’t have to know that for the test. It’s enough to know that Eve fucked
up, at it pissed off God.”
“Yeah, but…” Adam gestures halfheartedly to the book. “Like, I get that this is
the same dude that says it’s a sin to touch pig skins, but what’s the fucking
point of that? Women are supposed to be punished for something someone did
three thousand years ago, just cause that person also had a pussy? That tiny
thing in common is enough for them to have to go through the same shit she
did?”
“They’re paying for the sins of their predecessors. It’s religion, Adam. It’s
not supposed to be fair.”
“What’s fair. I’m just talking logic. So it doesn’t matter if all the girls
following her did everything right and knew their place? They still have to pay
for a dumb chick listening to a snake?”
“Hereditary sin doesn’t care about that. It’s about where you come from, not
what you do, or even what you wantto do.”
“Then we’re fucked from the get go.”
“Yeah. But we don’t have to give birth.”
xxxxxxxxx
“Damn it, could you focus?” Lawrence says, grabbing Adam’s sleeve and tries to
drag him back to the counter. “Lookit. I’ll do the mash, you do the… what do
they call it. Mince. Okay?”
Adam keeps giggling as Lawrence lifts his hand, putting a ladle in it. Once
he’s taken a legit hold of it and Lawrence deems it safe to let him get back to
work, it only takes a few seconds for Adam to poke his arm, voice quivering
with held-back laughter.
“Lawrence, look,” Adam says, putting the concave part of the black ladle over
his nose. “I’m a koala bear.”
Lawrence throws his head back laughing, and Adam starts giggling so hard that
the ladle falls off his nose, which of course makes it even funnier.
They were going to try their luck with the Tupperware life tonight by making
Shepherd’s pie. It’s practical, since it’s not too expensive, and if they
prepare a lot of it, they can eat half of it tonight and still have enough for
dinner tomorrow. But since Adam doesn’t like cooking, and his reaction to
everything he doesn’t like is making a game out of it, they haven’t gotten very
far. Lawrence can’t really stay serious when he isn’t.
It takes them a few minutes to calm down. Lawrence tries to regain his role as
the one who knows what he’s doing.
“Okay,” he says, leaning his forehead to Adam’s shoulder. “Okay. Focus?”
Adam nods, though he’s still chuckling, and picks the ladle off the floor.
They keep going. Lawrence works the potatoes with a fork, and Adam tries his
best to slice carrots without making dick jokes, and it goes okay, with Daniel
and Lou watching TV in the background.
But then there’s one of those moments. It’s not a big deal, all Adam does is
reach across Lawrence to get something, but Lawrence looks up, they’re
practically skin to skin and Adam feels his breath on his cheek, and he forgets
what he was going to get.
It feels like it happens more and more. These moments when they’re just so
close,and Adam has to repeat to himself that it won’t happen, they decided,
both of them, he might as well let it go.
Might as well clear his head of the images popping up. But it’s hard, it’s so
hard.
Adam pulls back before it gets too much. It takes him a few to remember that he
was reaching for the measuring cup, but no way in hell he’ll lean across
Lawrence again to get it.
They serve a passable dinner about an hour later. Wendy eats until she looks
she’s about to burst, and Lou and Daniel are ecstatic about getting real food.
Adam wonders how happy they’d be about dinner if they knew the only thing on
his mind while making it was how badly he wanted to kiss their brother.
xxxxxxxxx
Classes have come to a halt. While Adam’s never seen this many of the students,
whom he, true to his punk brat self, has always considered living dead, look so
alive.
Except for Lawrence, of course. He can’t be nervous like normal teenagers about
something like this. He doesn’t get a little giggly and excited, he’s
completely shut down, hollow-eyed, white lips, hands balled tight on his knees.
They’ve known about this for the whole semester. The teachers are handing out
the scholarships today, working through the classroom. You’ve been good, you
haven’t. You’ve been good, you’re shit.
Most of them don’t care, because most of these students don’t need a
scholarship to pursue an education. The ones getting them today will see it as
nothing but a proof of their superiority, and use it for textbooks and a flashy
college life. Their parents will pay for further education, and they won’t have
to do that until another couple of years. These students will afford to take a
stupid year to find themselves and go to Thailand and think about what they
want.
This is a fun thing to them. They run between the classrooms, yelling to their
friends: “THEY’VE STARTED THE C NAMES!” Faces flushed, because their last names
are only three letters away. The only thing making classes this unmanageable is
picture day.
Because they can afford to think like this.
Adam’s pretty sure college was a lot cheaper when their parents were young.
He’s never thought about it, always known that even a community college would
be hesitant to accept him. But still – theoretically, he does have money. He,
who didn’t pass one test in during his entire freshman year and can even afford
to play poor, could get wherever he wants.
Adam’s sitting next to Lawrence on the floor, next to the door to the teacher’s
lounge. He’s not sure why Lawrence can’t sit in the classroom like everyone
else, but he guesses it’s because if his name gets called, he won’t have to
walk far. If he did, he’d collapse. Students have been called through that door
the whole day, to sit down with their councilors. A few minutes later, they
walk out, giggling hysterically, carrying one of those lame checks the size of
a small rug.
When they sat down, little over an hour ago, Lawrence sent envious glances at
the ones passing them with that oversized piece of cardboard. Now, he barely
seems to notice when the door opens.
It’s been quiet for too long. Adam wants to say something, but he’s not sure if
he’s supposed to be supportive or try to make him think of something else.
“You wanna go out tonight?” is what he settles for. “You need a break, right?
Wendy can look after the kids.”
At first, it doesn’t seem like Lawrence is going to reply. Then he takes a
breath and seems to decide to appreciate Adam’s efforts, even though they’re
totally fucking useless, really.
“Sure,” he says. “Sounds great. Can we afford it?”
“We’ll… figure something out. I’ll cut back on the smokes. Or we’ll sneak
coffee from the teacher’s lounge in the mornings. It’ll be cool.”
Lawrence nods. Mouth still a thin line.
“You need to puke?”
“No.”
“Promise me you’ll eat lunch today.”
“Okay.”
“Lawrence…”
It’d be much easier if Lawrence would look at him. Give him some sort of hint
if what he’s saying helps at all, if it even sticks, gets through the shell of
self loathing. Adam wonders if it’d be better if he left. Knows somehow that if
he did, Lawrence wouldn’t be able to stand up at all if his name is called.
Adam looks at the white-knuckled fists on Lawrence’s jeans. The only way he
knows how to get through the shell is to touch him.
“However it’ll go…” he says, without touching him. “It’s not like… it’s not
your fault they love preps at this school. If you don’t… if you don’t get it,
it’s because they think you’re white trash, not because you’re not smart. And
Peters loves you, he’s probably put a word in with the board. And you can redo
some classes, that’s always an option. And then you’ll get the scholarship next
year.”
Lawrence’s lips tighten further. Adam knows that the tiniest insinuation that
he wouldn’t get the scholarship starts a flood of negativity over that tiny,
tiny piece of hope he does have, but he’s convinced he needs to hear this. That
it’s not the end of the world if things don’t go according to plan.
“And I’ll be here,” he adds, feels his cheeks heating up. “Whatever… whatever
happens.”
A moment when Adam just wants to sink through the floor, hates saying this
stuff. Then Lawrence actually looks at him. Through the corner of his eye,
still like he’s staring death in the face, but it at least makes Adam hopeful.
He hopes for all he’s worth that it has the same effect on Lawrence.
They sit there for a while. Don’t talk again, because Adam’s drained his
account as far as terms of endearment. In the few romcoms he’s seen, it’s a
standing element that they don’t have to talk, because the one person knows
what the other one is thinking. Lawrence probably has no idea what he’s
thinking, he’s too nervous to reach someone else, but Adam wishes he had. Then
he wouldn’t have to feel bad that he’s not saying it.
Adam’s been as scared of this day as Lawrence has. How do you tell your best
friend that your insides freeze at the idea that his biggest dream would come
true?
Then Lawrence’s name is called, he looks like he’s going to faint, and Adam
thinks that no matter what happens over the next few months, he better make
damn sure to pretend to be happy.
xxxxxxxxx
A few hours later, they’re sitting on their bed. It’s late. Lawrence managed to
stay somewhat calm as he walked out of the teacher’s lounge, because he knew
that if he even tried to describe to Adam how happy he was he’d start crying
and cling to him like he couldn’t stand up without him, and it seemed
unnecessary. There are enough gay rumors about them circling around school.
When they got home, he told Wendy. That felt easier. He cried, she cried, Adam
just grinned and hugged him, probably because he thought that if he did that,
Lawrence wouldn’t notice that his smile didn’t reach his eyes.
Then he locked himself in the bathroom a while. Not long enough for it to seem
suspicious. Adam’s so good at lying that Lawrence has picked up on his methods.
The kids are asleep. The check Lawrence got is leaned against the wall of the
kitchenette, it feels like it’s staring judgingly at them. Wendy’s gone to work
Lawrence’s night shift at the sticky convenience store, Adam and Lawrence are
sitting on the bed and are officially out of excuses, now they’re actually
going to have to talk to each other, but Adam can’t look him in the eye. He
feels equal levels of pissed off and rotten to the core.
He’s so happy for Lawrence. In the meantime as he’s prepared to tie him to the
bed to keep him here.
Once he gets up, Adam won’t know where he’s headed.
“I’m going to have to take a student loan,” Lawrence says, looking at his
hands. “I won’t have to work, and be able to get an apartment. I’ll bring Lou
and Daniel, they can start school wherever we’ll end up.”
Adam nods. Now he’s the one who can’t stop biting his nails. He wants a smoke
so bad…
“Have you decided where to apply?” he asks, looking around for his packet of
cigarettes. He knows he’s on a budget, but jesus…
Lawrence doesn’t answer right away. He was hoping they could skip this part.
“There’s only one program in north America that’s focused on surgery,” he says
quietly. “And it’s in Canada, but there might be others, like, here, I’ll look
into it, or I don’t know, if not…”
He quiets down, realizing he’s not making any sense and that Adam’s not
listening anyway. He froze when he said the Canada part, a second too long for
it to go unnoticed, and then nods. Trying to pretend that he hasn’t dreaded
this since he actually started to care about Lawrence. Then he nods.
“What’s Wendy going to do?” Like she’s the important one.
Lawrence shrugs.
“It’s up to her. Of course she can come if she wants to. But I don’t see her
affording it.”
Adam nods again. Fuck. Does it have to be so hard?
“And me?”
Lawrence finally looks up. He looks so tormented that Adam feels bad for
asking. He looks Lawrence in the eye, even though he feels himself blushing.
Lawrence shakes his head, impatiently now.
“What do you want me to say?”
Adam sighs and lights his cigarette, mostly to have something else to look at.
“I want you to say you’re not going anywhere, you’ll stay with me in this
apartment for the rest of your life… or at least that you’ll take me with you.”
Lawrence shakes his head again. A tiny crease appears between his brows, and
Adam finally sees what’s been luring beneath the surface the whole night.
If his anxiety makes him hear voices normally, it’ll be twice as hard now.
“Can’t you come with?”
Adam should get moved, but just gets pissed.
“With what fucking money?” he hisses and almost crumbles the cigarette when he
shoves it back in the ashtray. “I’ll do whatever the fuck it takes, but I’m
broke,and I’mnot the fucking one going off…”
He quiets down, a bit too late. Lawrence looks at him, annoyed. Eyes dark, jaw
tight, a tsunami of things he’s not going to say. Almost gets lost in it until
he sees the two kids lying piled up on the mattress on the other end of the
room, and remembers that even though it feels like it sometimes, Adam’s not the
most important thing in his life.
“Man, I don’t know…” he says desperately, scratches his arm. “Cause, like, I’ll
miss you like hell, but I can’t not do this just because it’s scary… it’ll
never be a second chance, you know? And the kids… I gotta… I can’t stay just…”
I can’t stay here just for you.
He doesn’t say it, but Adam hears it anyway, Lawrence sees the moment the words
hit him. He actually flinches, like he’s been slapped, and stands up.
Everything Lawrence said was true, but for some reason, it feels important that
he feels as shitty about this as Adam does.
Lawrence doesn’t have time to speak up before the front door slams.
xxxxxxxxx
Lawrence is afraid of the dark. Not when Adam is with him, but the rest of the
time. He’s scared of the dark, and of waters where he can’t see the bottom.
When he was younger, he thought there were crocodiles in it. And sharks.
Anything could be down there, really, since he couldn’t see what it was.
When Adam was really young, he wasn’t afraid of anything. There was nothing mom
and dad couldn’t protect him from, and since Claire thought he hung the moon,
he must’ve been able to defend himself from most things, even if it didn’t
always feel like it. But when he got older, after the broken china in the
kitchen, he got terrified of dad going away.
He’d be quiet and sad for the whole day after dad left on his trips. Because he
always did, something always drove him off. And it was even worse when it was
Adam who was going away. Once when he was nine or something and was supposed to
take the flight by himself to visit his grandparents in Missouri, he sat at the
airport crying until the nice stewardess called mom.
Mom came to fly with him in the end, but it didn’t help. Adam wasn’t scared of
being alone. He was scared of not getting home again. Being alone was fine as
long as he knew he had somewhere to go when he couldn’t do it anymore.
He’s not afraid of that anymore. It’s already happened.
xxxxxxxxx
They’ve been through so much. It shouldn’t have to end like this.
Even though Lawrence knows he’ll live here until he leaves, because that’s the
way it has to be, he knows that if Adam doesn’t come home tonight, this’ll be
the end. It’ll be ten months like that dark period, when they kept walking one
foot away from each other.
Lawrence hasn’t been able to move since Adam left. He’s not crying. Kind of
weird, he usually at least tears up when they fight. Despite a life of
conflicts, he can’t stand arguing with Adam.
But Adam does come back. When the door opens and Lawrence looks up at him, he
wants to hug him and cry until he’s dried up and say that he’ll stay, anything,
just don’t hate me, but even from below, Adam looks terrifying. It’s the first
time that Lawrence doesn’t dare to touch him.
“Where have you been?” Such a normal question seems completely out of place.
Lawrence stands up.
“Out. Walking. Then I sat in the hallway. For a while. Lawrence…”
Adam’s eyes are red-rimmed and he doesn’t seem sure what to do with his hands.
He hugs himself, scraping his nails over the elbows of his jacket. When he
finally sticks his fingers in his hair and holds them there, giving himself a
facelift but looks just as miserable, Lawrence sees that his knuckles are
bloody.
“What’d you do to your hand?”
“I punched the wall a little. Get off.” Adam yanks the hand out of his grasp.
It probably hurts Lawrence more than it does him. “I don’t get your deal, you
know that? You’re so goddamn selfless and giving and blah blah with everyone
else, but not me. It feels like it’s all about you. Our entire thing. I’ve no
problem with you talking to me about everything. That’s not it. But do you even
get how often I think about that fucking night? Next to the dumpster?”
Lawrence can barely process what he’s saying, even though he already knew all
of it. He sees Adam like this maybe once a year. When his dad has done
something particularly terrible, when he’s worried about Lawrence. It takes a
lot to make him like this rather than pissed off, this brokenly nervous.
“I know,” is all he can think to say. “I know it’s… it’s been hard.”
God, he’s terrible at this.
“I think about it too, Adam. Not all the time, but, like, a lot. It’s not that
I don’t want…”
Voice dies out. Adam looks at Lawrence with panic, eyes empty and staring and
demanding,and even though Lawrence knows that that’s probably the case, he
hopes that Adam doesn’t feel this way when Lawrence has his episodes. When that
pleading gaze is his.
“I… I want to go,” Lawrence says, takes a step back. Just as pleading. “I’m
goingto go. It… you can’t keep me here, not even you can, but…”
Adam’s stopped twisting his hands, they’ve frozen on his elbows. The look he
gives Lawrence is like he doesn’t understand how he can speak these words.
“…I’d really like you with me.”
Adam just stares. It feels like Lawrence reaches his scraped fingertips through
his chest, touching the heavy, bleeding thing that he never lets anyone else
even know that it’s there. They’ve always been close, in this exact way, but
this night, when it’s needed the most, it’s like they only say half of what
they should.
Adam grabs Lawrence’s shirt. They meet in a pretty messy kiss, teeth clacking
together, Adam knows he can do better but doesn’t care. Despite thinking of
little else during the past year, he’s not that interested in having sex with
Lawrence right now. His thoughts stretch to how it hurts and he wants to feel
something else, Lawrence is going to leave him and he wants him to stay, and
whatever they do tonight won’t make it easier, but who the hell cares, what
does anything fucking matter anymore.
It feels so empty. Even though they’re pressed together with every available
inch of their bodies, it feels empty.
Adam’s sure it feels the same to Lawrence; like they never stopped, like
they’ve been doing this the whole time, hands never stopped moving. It takes
him a while to realize that he’s pressed up against the wall, with Lawrence’s
entire weight on him. He forces himself to stop enjoying it, grabs him and
flips them around, so that when they land on the bed, he’s on top. Mostly for
his own sake, and so that Lawrence can blame him afterwards. He leaves
Lawrence’s mouth for a second to get his jacket off, but when he leans back
down, Lawrence turns his head away.
“Adam…” he says solemnly.
Adam presses his lips together. They’re swollen, tasting of warm, sweet saliva.
He’s sitting on top of the only person in the world that he loves.
When that thought hits him, along with Lawrence’s turned-away gaze, it hurts
too goddamn much again, he slaps Lawrence’s hands away and kisses him, begging,
please, stay, knows that Lawrence feels it, doesn’t care.
He doesn’t care that he’s openly vulnerable for the first time in forever. He
doesn’t care that if Lawrence got a say in this, he’d start whining about how
this would “just ruin everything,” because this is their last time. Together,
like this.
After this, Adam is going to pull back. He won’t let himself get too close.
That’s the way it has to be. This was always the way it was supposed to go.
Lawrence isn’t sure what he’s allowed to do with his hands. He’s not sure what
people allow, and even less what Adam allows. When they fight, when one of them
is sad, regularstuff, he just gets annoyed when Lawrence tries to touch him,
but that doesn’t seem to apply now. When he grips his shoulder, Adam pulls back
a second, breathing quivering air. Lawrence doesn’t know what that means until
Adam’s hand is in his shirt and it’s like a hot pulse beat, all new and
foreign, and still like they’ve been heading for this the entire time, which
they probably have. Somewhere in the back of his mind, there’s mom, slathering
noises from filthy sheets, and Lawrence wants to pull back, but just as much as
he wants, wants, without knowing what he’s longing for.
Adam does his best to keep calm, because Lawrence is nervous, because he
doesn’t want to ruin more than he has to. When he accidentally looks Lawrence
in the eye, Lawrence looks away again. His cheeks are bright red, his gaze
everywhere in the room except for on Adam.
“It’ll make it harder for me to go,” he mumbles, seems to be talking to
himself.
Adam sighs. Tries to get annoyed, but instincts take over, as always. He
halfheartedly runs his hand through Lawrence’s hair.
“I know.”
Lawrence takes his hand off Adam’s back and starts biting his nails. Adam wants
to punch him, but settles for pushing his hand from his mouth.
“You can’t leave without us doing it. That’llbe hard.”
“We won’t know what we’re missing.”
“Exactly.”
Lawrence opens his mouth, closes it again. Adam can’t wait for him to argue,
he’d just say something stupid, something lame and super intelligent, so he
puts his hand on his chin, tilts his head back and remembers he’s always loved
kissing, even with girls, even though it was never like this. He didn’t really
want to sleep with them, the act itself was mostly tiring, hollow, the second
he came he had no interest in it.
Adam doesn’t really expect this to make him feel better. But he’s not going to
let Lawrence get away with something as stupid as this bringing them closer
together. He’s let worse excuses than that get under his radar and he’s sick of
it. Lawrence has been the only thing in his life that’s clean and untainted.
Or, he’s probably every bit as broken as he is, really, but to Adam, he’s
perfect, and he hasn’t wanted to dirty him up with what he has inside himself,
that ugly, twisted thing that’s driven everyone else away. Whatever’s making
him so impossible to love.
Damn near a year of abstinence in the hope that that would make him stay… it
feels kind of pointless now. Especially after a whole life excluded from all
the things that normal people deserve. Now everything he’s struggled for has
gone to shit, so why shouldn’t he have this, which is his,just once, and then
never again?
Adam doesn’t know why he keeps going when it hurts more the further they go,
every piece of clothing shed is a layer deeper into that hot, searing, fragile
that he’s going to shut off. Towards the end, Lawrence’s mouth tastes of grey
ashes, and salt from the tears held back.
Lawrence is slipping away. He’s going to leave him. Adam would peel his skin
off piece by piece of it brought them closer together.
Lawrence isn’t afraid anymore. Or, yeah, he’s afraid, he’s absolutely fucking
terrified in fact, but for once, it doesn’t matter. Their legs are tangled,
just thin cotton as a final layer separating them, Adam’s lips are sliding
across his, sloppily and messy and completely without friction, Lawrence’s
hands climb down his body, his ribs, he’s too thin, way too thin,and somewhere
around there, Lawrence realizes that shit, he wants to have sex. This what it
feels like.
He’s not sure how it’s meant to be done, what’s expected of him, and is more
aware than ever that it’d be a terrible idea, but he doesn’t care, barely has a
choice. It feels like when he hasn’t eaten in a whole day and realizes that
there’s food at home. Like when his brain shuts down and everything is just
want,kind of stupid that he can’t control himself, that something as biological
and simple as Adam’s hand on his thigh gets him all hot and vibrating inside
out, in a way that’d make him embarrassed if he hadn’t known that Adam felt the
same way, looking at him with black eyes, like when he’s angry.
It must show on his face. Adam pulls back, swallows.
“You nervous?” he mumbles. Lawrence nods.
“Yeah.”
“You want to wait?”
“No.”
Adam sighs, almost sounds dejected, and gets up. Lawrence stares at him with
horror. For a brief second thinks he did something really wrong, like you’re
actually supposed to say yes to that last question to act hard to get or
whatever the hell they call it. Adam smiles, but doesn’t look happy at all.
“Just need to get some stuff,” he says, clearing his throat awkwardly. “It…
doesn’t really work like in porn, sadly.”
Lawrence nods. He barely gets whether that last part was a joke. Adam goes into
the bathroom and rummages around for something, before getting back with a box
of condoms, and a tube of something that Lawrence doesn’t recognize. Adam
wriggles back between his legs, Lawrence feels his erection against his stomach
and presses his lips together to keep from moaning that way he’s heard mom do
it, jesus, let’s hold on to some dignity. He didn’t realize how much colder the
bed was without Adam until now that he’s back.
Adam puts a hand on his chest. Lawrence’s heart beats like he’s escaped from a
crime scene and is finally safe.
“We’ll take it slow,” Adam says, can’t quite look at him but can’t really keep
himself from it either. “Okay? It’ll be good. I promise.”
Lawrence nods. Total trust. Adam wants to die.
He’s on autopilot after that. Most responsibility is on him, after all, Adam
doesn’t have it in him to teach Lawrence anything right now. In the back of his
mind, the same voice he heard every time he was with a girl: this is for the
wrong reasons, it’s not supposed to be like this, it won’t help.He ignores it
just as much now as he did then.
Either way, this is all they’re going to get. It won’t be anything more after
this.
Adam cuddles up with his head on Lawrence’s chest afterwards, in a way he never
would’ve allowed himself if Lawrence hadn’t already been pretty much asleep.
This is almost more intimate, the moments afterwards, and Adam really tries not
to fall asleep, must keep this, this time he gets in Lawrence’s arms. The one
fucking moment.
It’s going to be gone soon. Lawrence, his warmth. That weird softness in Adam’s
chest that only he can bring out.
He looks up at Lawrence. His eyelids are half-closed.
He doesn’t say it.
This’ll make it hard enough as it is. Even now, when they’ve just said a
fraction of what they should’ve said, Adam feels tears seeping out as he closes
his eyes.
He tries to stay awake for as long as he can. A long, but way too short moment
with his best friend and so much more. Slow, even breaths and a new day being
painted along the horizon. He’s going to hold on to it as long as he can. It
still won’t be enough.
 
***** Regressing *****
Chapter Notes
     Sorry about the wait my dudes, but this is a Long One
Lawrence wakes up the next morning with a feeling similar to a smashing
hangover, from Lou poking his cheek.
“Lawrence?” she says impatiently, and Lawrence blinks sleepily at the pale
morning light. Not that there’s a lot of it. It’s been a while since the
mornings started getting darker.
Lawrence puts a hand over his eyes. His brain feels like half-melted butter,
the sound of Wendy handling the coffee maker sounds like two pot lids banging
together. The events of last night should be permanently engraved into his
mind, but he’s slept way too little, they slowly swim around in circles and
he’s too tired to catch them.
What the fuck happened? Adam was mad… did he get him drunk? Did they fight? Or…
“Yeah?” he says, out of habit, when he realizes that Lou is still staring
accusingly at him.
“Breakfast,” she says. Daniel’s standing next to her, saying nothing. He’s even
less talkative than usual in the mornings.
“Right…” Lawrence grunts, rubbing his eyes.
He begins unwrapping himself from the covers, before realizing that he’s naked
and pulling it back up, blushing all the way down his neck. Lou smiles
ruefully.
“Why are you naked?”
Lawrence opens his mouth, scrambling his still half-melted brain for a good
emergency lie, but he’s too busy trying to grasp what really happened yesterday
too think of a fake version of it.
Adam was angry… and he pulled his hand away when Lawrence tried to touch him.
Then…
Lawrence blushes even more when he remembers. It hits him like a slap in the
face, even though it’s stupid, he should’ve gotten it right away.
Adam and he always sleep together, but never like this. Even if they hadn’t
both been naked, something had been obviously different.
He still hasn’t said a word, much less moved, a few seconds later, when the
coffee maker starts slurping and Wendy walks up to them. She’s only slept a few
hours, looks more of a skeleton now than when she lived on the street. Lawrence
feels guilty in that terrible way, even though he knows she’ll go to sleep when
they’ve left for school, and despite that that’s a fraction of all the things
he’s feeling right now.
“Sorry I didn’t wake you up sooner,” Wendy says, putting a hand on Lou’s
shoulder. “I figured you needed a sleep-in, with the exams and…”
Then she sees Lawrence’s naked chest, his scarlet face. Adam’s arm around his
waist and that other connection between them, the one that’s without touch.
“…Oh,” is all Wendy says. “So you really…”
Lawrence nods. For some reason, he just wants to cry.
“Yeah.”
Wendy nods, too. Even she blushes a little. They haven’t talked about sex much.
It hasn’t been relevant.
Lawrence untangles from the covers, spots his boxers further away and reaches
as far as he can without getting up. When they’re in place, he stands up. Adam
moans softly and reaches his arm across Lawrence’s empty side of the bed. Lou
looks between him and Lawrence, very frustrated, like always when things are
kept secret from her.
“Lawrence, what did you do?” she asks angrily and follows him to the kitchen
table. “What’d you do to Adam?”
Lawrence pretends not to hear her. Even if he wanted to, there’s no way in hell
he could explain to her what happened.
Wendy smiles at Lou’s curiosity, but when she sees Lawrence’s face, she waits
for the kids to start eating, and then pulls him aside. Lawrence can’t even
look at her.
“What’s the matter?”
Lawrence looks at the ceiling, wrapping his arms around himself. His throat is
burning, he feels the corners of his mouth being pulled down. If he’d known a
childhood, he would’ve considered these tears to be childish, but now, they
just feel stupid in general.
“Didn’t you want it?”
Lawrence usually appreciates her lilting patience, but things are too miserable
for her to help. He nods frantically.
“Yeah, yeah, of course I did. But… like…”
He swallows hard, looking at his hands.
“I told him it’d make it harder for me to leave,” he mumbles. “I toldhim.”
He can’t look at her. Knows that Wendy’s huge eyes are so full of sympathy that
he couldn’t stand it, so he keeps looking at his scraped-up, stinging hands.
xxxxxxxxx
Adam isn’t sure what he expected. If the only downfall they’ve had happened
after they’d kissed, of course it’d get worse after they fucked.
They talk about it later in the day. Lou and Daniel are sitting with a library
textbook, and as they stutter through words, Lawrence says that leaving Adam
will be hell as it is. What they did (that’s how he says it) won’t make it
easier, they need to get better at controlling themselves. When Adam says that
him leaving will be hell no matter what they do, Lawrence tears up, and Adam
gives up, holds Lawrence tight and rocks him back and forth like a baby because
he knows that he needs it. So goddamn supportive even though there’s a part of
him that hates him right now.
As much as he hates himself. Because that thought won’t leave him, no matter
how bad he wants Lawrence to succeed.
Well, you don’thave to go,do you?
He knows that’s not true. But he can’t think like that anymore. He was so
comfortable in being happy for once, and it’s going away.
He eventually realizes that Lawrence is looking at him, almost accusingly. As
per usual, he’s in desperate need of something that Adam doesn’t even have
enough of to last himself, but that Lawrence still needs it more than he does.
“We’ll figure this out,” he eventually says and puts an awkward hand on
Lawrence’s arm. “Don’t worry about it.”
His brain feels like a wringed-out sponge. He barely has the energy to lie even
though it’s all he’s ever done.
Lawrence can’t tell that he’s pretending, or he doesn’t want to hear. He
smiles, relieved, wiping his eyes again.
“Thanks.”
Adam smiles back. Then he turns to the TV, mostly because he doesn’t want to
keep talking, but doesn’t want to leave either. If the time they have left is
limited, he’ll gladly sit here watching kid’s shows for the rest of the day as
long as Lawrence is sitting next to him.
It shouldn’t be a problem. Now that it’s happening. He should’ve known better
than hoping that this would last.
He spends the day pretending, even though he doesn’t have it in him. He
pretends to want to help Lawrence study. He pretends that he still wants to be
near him even though he wants to punch him in the face, and then realizes that
he still wants that, too, and then he wants to hit himself in the head with the
heavy textbook on the kitchen table.
He rarely gets to say no to stuff, even if he doesn’t want them. It’s really
only a question of weather or not they make him physically collapse pr not.
But no way he’s going to be the only one missing the other. Not when Lawrence
runs off being happy somewhere else.
xxxxxxxxx
It’s so much easier this way. He’s missed it. Lawrence turned him into
something he wasn’t, and the real him is on the up and up.
Adam regresses. The evil genie returns. He thought it went away when he left
home, but now it’s back and it’s not just stationed in his belly, giggling when
he does something bad; it’s under his skin. It’s controlling his actions and he
makes no effort to stop it.
Not even for Lawrence. Especially not for Lawrence.
Adam cuts classes. He hasn’t missed a day in school since Lawrence moved in
with him, but why would he go there when it’s so much more fun to get plastered
and spend the next day sleeping it off?
Why would he stay home and take care of Lawrence when he can huff in the car of
someone he doesn’t know and then fall asleep on top of a girl he knows even
less?
Why did he ever stop doing this at all? It’s the best thing he knows, the only
thing he’s good at.
“You’re throwing away everything we worked for,” Lawrence says.
“Break that stupid fucking check he got,” the genie says.
“I’m not leaving you,”Lawrence says.
“Bring some hammered girl over when he’s home,” the genie says.
Then it cackles.
Lawrence already has a sleeping disorder, and he’s spent nights up with Adam to
study. He wants Adam to make it almost as bad as he wants himself to. Adam
knows all this. It’s half the reason he does it.
Lawrence’s disappointment feeds him. That unhappy look he gets before the
classroom door closes when Adam gets sent to Mr. Peters’ office again. That
bitter rush it gives him is the closest thing to joy he gets after their night
together.
And if he let some real emotions in, there’s a risk of him banging his head
through a wall or put his hand in a blender.
xxxxxxxxx
Adam still has bruises on his knuckles since he punched the wall that night,
and they’ve gotten this weird, smushed-flat shaped. It hurts when he makes a
fist. But he still yanks his hand away when Lawrence tries to look at it.
“If something’s broken, it needs to be taken care of right away,” Lawrence
says. He sounds a little hysterical in the meantime as he’s all factual, it’s a
kind of funny. “It’ll heal wrong.”
Adam doesn’t mind him.
“If you don’t get it fixed, it’ll stay that way,” Lawrence says. “You won’t be
able to make a fist again.”
“You wouldn’t know any of this if I hadn’t bought you that fucking medical
book,” Adam says.
Lawrence doesn’t bring it up again.
xxxxxxxxx
The leaves are changing color one of the many days Adam is late for school.
Lunch has just gotten started. Adam’s head is throbbing, tongue like sandpaper
from last night at the junkyard. The place that used to be sacred to him is now
just another spot he goes to feeling nothing and leaves feeling exactly the
same.
He enters the cafeteria with a cigarette dangling from his upper lip,
subconsciously scanning for Lawrence and eventually finds him. He’s sitting
with some of the Ambitious Children, and he looks up when Adam walks in, but
quickly down again. He’s probably pissed at Adam for being out late last night,
but Adam doesn’t care, because he still got to sleep with him when he came
home.
The fact that no matter how disappointed Lawrence is, and no matter how drunk
Adam is when he gets home, he still gets to crawl down next to him, fall asleep
tired and beat up, engulfed in his warmth, is one of the few good things he’s
got left.
Adam lights his cigarette and looks through the cafeteria again. He’s not sure
what it is, maybe it’s Lawrence’s turned-away gaze, maybe the unbearable itch
under his skin, but when he sees The Cool Ones, he walks straight up at them,
swaying his hips, eyes wide. He probably looks like most teenage girls do in
their instagram pictures.
The Cool Ones look up when he’s in front of him. The important part of this
table is that there’s diversity; despite what high school movies like to
pretend, it’s been long since all the popular kids were supposed to be the
same. The group Adam’s facing consists of two jocks, two nice rich boys, a good
rich girl, a slutty rich girl, a poetic girl wearing Doc Martens and a hat, and
a freshman who’s so incredibly grateful that he gets to sit with them.
They hate each other, but feeds off each other. When you can’t stand your own
company, you have to hang out with other people you can’t stand. Adam knows; he
does it himself when he’s not with Lawrence.
The jocks flex their biceps, probably not even aware of it, and Adam grins.
They’ve known each other a long time. Their necks are about as wide as his
waist, and they’ve both beat him up before. The others smile politely.
“Hi, Adam,” the loose rich girl says. “What’s up?”
“Great. Or, the AIDS hasn’t killed me yet.”
He tilts his head and eyes one of the jocks.
“You wanna change that, pretty boy?”
The jock looks at his friends, they both laugh in that knowing way, and looks
at Adam again.
“Dude, we worked out this morning,” one of them says. His name is possibly
Luke. “We don’t need to kicks your ass right now, but when we’re in the mood,
you’ll be the first to know.”
Adam keeps smiling, puckers his lips a bit and leans against a chair in front
of him. Stretches so that his tee tightens around his chest. On display.
Luke looks amused at first, then he gets pale. He looks at his friend, then at
Adam. The loose girl laughs. She sounds panicked.
“Like, do you even get how pathetic you are?” she says. “Can’t you just crawl
back to your fucking hole? You really gotta come here and kill everyone’s
vibe?”
Adam doesn’t mind her. He has to go for someone stronger. Luke doesn’t seem to
want to start anything at all, he and the other jock are looking at each other
like they’re trying to telepathically decide what to do.
They’re not used to this. Adam’s made fun of them before, but that’s when
they’ve already grabbed him by the collar and pushed him up against the
bathroom wall. He hasn’t gone up to them to start a fight, because he knows how
that’d end.
Eventually, they get up anyway. They have to. Luke walks up to Adam, standing
that way with his arms hanging far away from his sides, trying to make himself
look as big as possible.
“Watch your fuckingmouth,” he hisses. Adam keeps grinning.
“Don’t worry, you’re not going to hurt me. I’m pretty loose by now.”
The fist hits his face, Adam’s cigarette spins through the air. Because he is
one of those people. Luke has to hit him, but judging by the little Adam
manages to see of his face, he doesn’t seem to get what it is he’s doing, and
Adam can’t blame him.
He usually fights back, even if it’s against someone twice his size. Now he
just stands there, taking it.
The buzz in the cafeteria doesn’t die down at the first blow. Not the second
one either, but the third time Adam’s head jerks back and he still makes no
sign of defense, the room goes quiet. The only sound is the sickly, dull noise
of flesh against flesh.
Hot pain spreads through Adam’s face, he swears he can hear his nose creak when
Luke strikes him again, his head snaps to the left and he sees The Cool Ones in
a weird angle, like he’s laying on his side.
Another blow, blood starts gushing from his nose. Adam closes his eyes, white
stars dancing. Genie laughing.
Keep it up,Adam thinks, Luke hits him in the eye, it feels like it’s being
pressed into his head. Hit me. You want it. I’m a little fag fuck, fucking
little monster, you hate me, hit me.
Cold knowledge.
I’m so fucking useless. You hate me and I deserve it.
Just when it feels like his head is about to split in halves, in the middle of
the deafening silence, someone cries out.
“Stop!”
The whole world seems to have gone crooked, Adam’s not sure which way he should
lean in order to straighten up. When he finally manages to open his eyes,
everything’s swaying, only a few things discernable. Staring faces from the
cafeteria chairs. Luke in front of him with blood on his shirt, still not sure
what he’s doing and why. Even more blood, Adam’s blood, sprayed on the floor.
And Lawrence, in the middle of it all. Wide eyes, clutching to the book he’s
bringing to the next class. Adam wants to keep thinking like this, a little too
real for you now, isn’t it?But he can’t.
He’s not sure what happens right afterwards. He probably doesn’t pass out, it’s
more like watching a movie rewind, sort of getting the plot, but not the
context. Something about Lawrence grabbing his hand and leading him somewhere.
Hard floor under his feet. Everything spinning.
All he knows is that Lawrence is worried about him. It makes all of this worth
it.
When the world slows down and everything falls into place, Adam’s in the men’s
room, sitting on a closed lid. The smell of urine pricks at his nose, keeping
him here, and Lawrence is kneeling in front of him. He seems to have gotten
supplies from the nurse’s office, bandages and tape lay scattered across the
floor next to him, like Lawrence was in a hurry.
He’s tending to his wounds. His hands on Adam’s face, so close that he feels
his breath on his skin, and it’s one of those moments that Adam would consider
so close,but not even he can think of it like that when he sees Lawrence, the
look on his face.
He doesn’t even look disappointed. Just sad.
Adam sighs theatrically to show that he’s alive. Lawrence doesn’t look up. He
wipes the blood from Adam’s nose, his movements stiff, almost rough, and not
even when he grazes a bruise on Adam’s chin and makes him curse softly with
pain, does he look him in the eye.
Adam tries to wait it out, knows that Lawrence’s anger will fade eventually, it
always does, but the evil genie doesn’t want that.
“Am I a good guinea pig?”
Lawrence looks up.
“What?”
“I assume this is just practice,” Adam says. “For doctoring and whatnot.
Because everything we do is for practice, right? Like, rehearsal until
something more important comes along?”
The little sense he has left wonders what the fuck he’s doing, but it’s too
late. Lawrence’s eyes narrow, and he tosses the cotton ball hard to the side.
Adam expects him to storm out, but he immediately picks a new one off the
floor, soaks it with alcohol to clean a small cut, probably from Luke’s thumb
nail, above Adam’s eye.
Adam struggles to stay quiet until Lawrence is finished and puts the last
bloody cotton ball aside. Who knows what the genie would make him say if he
opened his mouth again. Lawrence doesn’t seem to appreciate his efforts. He
won’t even look at him.
“We’ll have to chill your eye later,” he says. “We’ve got ice at home?”
“I think so,” Adam says quietly.
Lawrence nods, seems to do his best to stay rationalbut gives up, putting a
hand over his eyes. Adam’s hands lie in his lap, completely useless. Not even
the genie in his chest anymore. Just the stupid fucking guilt.
Lawrence removes his hand and looks at him again.
“Adam,” he says, leaning forward. “You know how… Adam,” he repeats when Adam
looks at the floor. “You really think that… if this is how you’ll act once I’m
gone, you really think I’ll be ableto go?”
Adam looks down again. Doesn’t even try to think of an answer.
“You’re not giving me a choice,”Lawrence says, borderline desperately. “If
you’re going to… okay, you know what, fuck it. I’m not going anywhere, I’m
staying right here.”
He gets up. Adam keeps looking at the floor.
He’s wanted Lawrence to say that ever since he got that stupid scholarship. He
didn’t think it’d feel like this once he actually did.
Adam remains there, staring blankly for a few minutes. Then he gets up and
walks out.
Okay, he got what he wanted. Why does it feel like this? Adam swings the doors
to the school open and hauls his last cigarettes out of his pocket.
Fucking Lawrence. He’s the only one that can do this. Even if Adam can’t be
happy about what he said, at least the genie should be. That profusely
frustrated look on Lawrence’s face is the stuff it usually likes. Especially if
it’s topped off with some genuine sorrow.
No one’s giggling in his chest. It hasn’t felt this empty for a long time,
even.
Adam stops in his tracks across the schoolyard, collapses on a bench and rubs
his hands over his face with a sigh. The wounds on his face sting. There are no
other students around him, classes have started, but even if there were, he
couldn’t hold this back.
Lawrenceis leaving him.That’s the case, no matter what he says. It shouldn’t
feel this way for Adam.It shouldn’t matter that they happen to have fucked.
He drops his hands in his lap, sighing again. Then he takes out his phone,
checking his bank account. He’s going to have to cut back on the smokes this
month, and probably the food, too, but what the hell. Priorities.
He starts walking towards the gates again, but then he turns around and goes
back to school. He still has math before the day is up.
He doesn’t want to piss Lawrence off even more. And Lawrence wouldn’t care if
Adam had just gone on a killing spree with a semi automatic; he’d still get
disappointed if he cut.
xxxxxxxxx
They’ve walked home together for two years. This is the first day in that
entire time that Lawrence slings his bag over his shoulder walking out of the
classroom, without even checking if Adam follows.
He hates him. He managed to take his mind off of it during class, but it’s
there now, a heavy, grey stone where his happiness should be.
It doesn’t seem like Adam follows. And even though Lawrence doesn’t wantto be
with him right now, his eyes start to sting, kept it under a lid for the whole
class, but he should be able to keep it up until he gets back home. It feels
like he’s done nothing but bawl lately, and let’s keep some fucking boundaries,
he can’t be crying all the time when he’s a…
Right. He’s not going to be a doctor anymore.
He actually managed to stay calm for the entire walk home, but the second he
enters the apartment, Lou tears her eyes off the TV and asks him why he’s sad.
Lawrence says it’s nothing, because that’s what he has to say, but then he
lifts her onto his lap and cries in front of some stupid kid’s show, and
ignores her every time she asks why.
When Adam gets home, around dinnertime, Lawrence has tried so hard not to think
about him through the afternoon that he almost forgot he exists. He’s also told
Wendy that they’ve had a fight and what about, so she gives Adam a dark glance
when he walks in. Adam’s face is flushed, heavy breaths, like he ran the whole
way. It looks like he’s hiding something behind his back.
“Hey,” he pants, puts his Something down behind his legs and takes his jacket
off. “There any food left?”
Lawrence shakes his head.
“I didn’t know if you were coming. Sorry.”
Adam nods.
“It’s fine. I’ll fix something up. But…”
He quiets, looks down. Opens his mouth, but Lou beats him to it.
“What’d you do to your face?” she asks, visibly shaken. Adam smiles patiently.
“I got in a fight with a bear. But guys,” he says, leaning against the back of
Lou’s chair, “you wanna watch something that Lawrence doesn’t want you to while
we have a chat?”
Daniel glances Lawrence uncertainly. Lou’s eyes widen.
“Like what?” she asks breathlessly. Adam pretends to ponder it.
“The Simpsons?” he then says, Lou squeaks and rushes to the mattress in front
of the tiny TV. Daniel follows after Lawrence’s nodded approval.
Adam smiles warmly aft them for a moment before he turns to Lawrence. He loves
them, he always has, and saved both their lives. The tears that were running
out are welling up again, Lawrence swallows.
“Wendy,” Adam says. “Could you… give us a moment?”
“Cause that usually ends fucking fantastic,” Wendy hisses.
Lawrence stares at the table, hates when they fight, but can still see how Adam
meets her gaze with the one he usually saved for Claire, back when he hated
her.
“Yeah, it’s great how you support him all the way and are all around
fuckingbetter than I am,” Adam says. “But I’m trying to do something right
here. So could you let us talk?”
Wendy keeps glaring at him for a bit, before getting up and sitting down with
the kids. Adam takes a breath and looks at Lawrence, almost imploringly, like
he’s asking for permission. Lawrence says nothing, and Adam sits down on
Wendy’s chair, leans forward, looking him in the eye. But he doesn’t seem sure
of what he should say.
“It’s not like… I don’t… support you, and I don’t want you to think… shit, this
sounded much better when I practiced on the way over. I don’t want you to…”
He quiets down again, lowers the hand he had raised in some kind of
undetermined gesture, rolls his eyes at his own nervousness and takes out the
paper bag he kept hidden under the table.
“Here,” he says, almost throwing it at Lawrence. “Open the damn thing.”
Lawrence looks from him to the bag, before Adam beckons to it impatiently, and
Lawrence opens it, looking inside. In the bag are two pairs of new, faded
jeans, five or six pairs of socks, and in the bottom, so small that Lawrence
almost misses it, a pair of nail clippers.
He looks at Adam. Then back into the bag. Adam waits for a reaction, looks
uncomfortable, almost ashamed, but Lawrence isn’t sure what he’s supposed to
do.
“For me?” he finally gets out.
“Yeah,” Adam says. “You know when we first met, and you didn’t have any nail
clippers so you wore them down and shit… and you don’t have any nails anymore
cause you keep biting them, but I figured… and-and you only have one pair of
good pants, and they’re all shredded because you got them when you were
thirteen or something, so I figured you needed new ones. And you keep losing
your socks, and… now that you’re leaving for Canada you have to look like a
respectable young man,and I won’t be there to buy you shit, so I figured it was
better if you got them now. So they won’t send you home for looking like white
trash.”
Lawrence smiles, looking at Adam, who’s looking at his hands, twisting
nervously in his lap. He talks like he’s scared of what Lawrence will say if he
gets a word in.
“I planned to give you one of them surgical textbooks, because I guess you need
that more than the medical thing you got junior year, but I ran all across the
goddamn town looking for a place where you don’t have to order it like a month
ahead, and didn’t find it. Then I thought of the jeans thing, but I didn’t know
your size… I even called Claire asking her to help.”
Lawrence squeezes the bag in his hands. He’s not sure what to do with all this
subtext.
There’s a break as Adam gather courage. When he speaks up again, it’s softer.
“You know what I’m like,” he mumbles. “Between now and you leaving, I’ll have
like a thousand breakdowns and whine about you abandoning me and whatnot. And I
want you to stay, I really do, but when… when I’m having those phases, could
you try to remember that no matter what stupid shit I do… I want you to be
happy. You know? Deep down.”
Lawrence smiles again.
“Way deep down.”
“The deepest down, like, you can’t even see it.”
They’re quiet for a bit. Then Adam looks up again, and Lawrence gets warm
inside in that aching way that he’s going to get more and more often looking at
him from now on.
They’re going to do what they always do, because they have to. When Lawrence
feels how much that thought hurts, he smiles miserably and shakes his head.
“Adam, I told you it’d make it harder for me to go,” he says quietly.
Adam nods, biting his lip.
“You’re always right. You wish we hadn’t… you know…”
Lawrence thinks for a moment. Then he shakes his head with the smallest motion
possible.
“No,” he says. “I mean… no, I don’t wish we hadn’t… I don’t regret it.”
Adam nods. It seems like it was the only thing he needed to hear in order to
live with this.
“Good.”
Then they grin stupidly at each other, Lawrence puts an arm around his neck and
hugs him tight, inhaling leather and sweat.
***** Becoming a Believer *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“Joey and Chandler seem super gay, don’t they?” Adam says one night, watching
reruns of Friends after spending the day looking for Christmas decorations that
won’t completely fuck their budget.
“What’s a gay?” Daniel asks, and Lawrence smiles, blushing slightly.
“That’s a different discussion. And Joey sleeps around like nobody’s business,
but just with girls,” he adds, when Adam seems about to explain the concept of
sexuality to his six year old brother.
“He’s overcompensating,” Adam says doubtlessly. “Seriously, look at them.”
Wendy shakes her head, pursing her lips.
“They’re not gay. I mean, they totally bang when Monica’s not around, but that
doesn’t mean they’re gay. They just love each other so much that it’s like… on
every level. Like, deeper than friendship. But that doesn’t make them gay.”
Lawrence scowls and shifts in his seat.
“You know Chandler marries Monica, right? They even move away from Joey in the
final season.”
Adam hasn’t commented on anything Wendy’s said. She probably notices how
uncomfortable he is, and that’s probably why she keeps talking.
“Doesn’t mean they’re not totally in love,” she says, looking at Lawrence. “Any
idiot could tell. They just know that the time they got together was awesome
enough as it is. Even though they don’t want it to end, they already got so
much together, and no one can take that away from them.”
Lawrence doesn’t answer. Even Lou’s started looking back and forth between him
and Adam, at his now scarlet face and Adam’s stubbornly turned-away eyes. But
no one says a word.
xxxxxxxxx
Christmas comes along, like every year before, and still totally different.
Adam wouldn’t have minded just skipping the whole thing, but he doesn’t even
mention that to Lawrence. There’s no point. Lawrence has lived a life without
traditions, and now that he’s stable enough to keep them, he wouldn’t let them
go no matter who asked him.
Adam plays along. He buys everyone gifts. They can’t afford a Christmas ham,
and even if they did they wouldn’t know how to make it, but a rotisserie
chicken works just fine. When Adam gets home, the place is toasty, and even
though there’s a part of him that’d rather be anywhere but here, that part gets
brutally down-voted when he sees Lawrence’s smile and Lou running around with
bows in her hair.
“Food!”Lawrence exclaims, walks up to Adam and yanks the paper bag from his
hands. “Oh, and hi, Adam.”
“You only want me for my chicken,” Adam says, taking his jacket off, snowflakes
on the fabric melt to beads of water.
“Yeah, or, you’re okay, too,” Lawrence says, sticking his face into the bag.
“God, this is gonna be great…”
Then he runs off to find a clean plate, reaching across Wendy trying to show
Lou and Daniel how to put the mini muffins they bought in concentric circles.
It should be all he needs for a perfect night. Adam’s surrounded with people he
loves, the onlyones he loves, and they’re overjoyed. Lawrence, who usually
looks thirty-five instead of seventeen, laughs as if he’s an actual teenager.
And Lou is happy. Adam literally gets warm inside when he sees her grab
Daniel’s hand and bounce around, spin in dance. When they open their presents,
and Daniel is so grateful for the book Matilda that he wraps his slim little
arms around Adam’s neck, Adam has to work not to break down bawling into his
ash-blond hair.
The night’s perfect, beginning to end. It feels like the apartment is their own
little bubble, everything bad stays outside, it can’t reach them here. That’s
what makes it even harder.
He can’t do this. It hurts too much. But he does it anyway.
If it made Lawrence happy, he’d grab his camera and chuck it out the window.
Eventually, the kids are asleep, Wendy’s left for work and Adam and Lawrence
remain, as usual, around the kitchen table, too beat to take care of the
dishes. Usually this’d be when they had one of those Talks, but those are rare
these days, and Lawrence doesn’t really seem to be in the mood. He’s too happy,
and Adam’s the opposite. He won’t be able to open his mouth without tearing up.
Adam’s put his feet up on Wendy’s empty chair, and Lawrence picks his teeth
with the little that’s left of his thumbnail. The food settles comfortably in
Adam’s stomach, even though he usually doesn’t like eating. The anxiety’s on
the outside tonight.
“Remember…” he eventually says. “That first Christmas we were together?”
Lawrence smiles wearily and looks at the table surface.
“That was the one with the egg cartons, right?”
“Yeah,” Adam says, smiling also. “And your mom got fucked off with me.”
Lawrence cracks up.
“I still have that textbook. I don’t get most of what it says, but....”
“Of course you don’t,” Adam says. “The important thing is that you hold on to
it, because it was expensive.”
The breath forming a white cloud in front of their faces as they sat on the
step in the hallway. One hand frozen solid, the other warm as they shared
Adam’s gloves. And the simple fact that this was his first Christmas feeling
like Christmas.
That night. And how they won’t be together by this time next year.
When Lawrence notices Adam’s nervous fidgeting with his sleeves, he leans
across the table and puts a hand over Adam’s closed fist, the one still bearing
scars from the night when all this shit got started. Adam’s first reaction is
to pull it back, but he can’t, of course he can’t, so he just sits there.
xxxxxxxxx
Adam almost longs for school to start again. If it weren’t for Lawrence, he
wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between the days following Christmas
and the other ones.
Even Lawrence relaxes over the rest of their break, his sudden calm makes him
an even more obvious center of the family than usual. The fake smile he usually
uses to cover up an inner chaos turns into genuine happiness. Instead of
helping Lou and Daniel with their studies because he has to, he does so because
he wants to, pushes them harder with their work but still always finds time to
play with them.
“You remember the pills today?” Adam asks as they’re having breakfast the day
before New Years Eve. For someone so organized, Lawrence is very forgetful when
it comes to his own health.
“I don’t need them now,” Lawrence says, smiling.
Adam smiles back, even though the answer shoots a heavy, black bead of self-
hatred through his chest.
Lawrence has started planning for the transfer now, it takes almost as much of
his time as school used to. It probably wouldn’t be that consuming if he didn’t
make it that way, he doesn’t stop planning for stupid stuff like eating, Adam
has to put a plate down next to him while he goes through the fucking documents
he printed at the fucking library and fucking travel agencies and how much do
you even have to think about when school pays for the whole thing?
“The student loan covers an apartment on campus,” Lawrence says with his mouth
full of ham sandwich. Adam’s pretty certain he’s talking to himself, but still
sits down on the other side of the table, to make Lawrence look less schizo.
“So I don’t have to worry about that. Peters said that when they see my grades
and hear about my situation, they’ll probably pay for Lou and Daniel’s flight
tickets, but I should put money away for that, too, just in case, and if they
do cover them, I’ll have more money to spend when I get there, and I’ll need
that, jesus… and the textbooks, but I think they have a fund for that. Or, do
they? They’re conservative in Canada now, aren’t they? I’ll have to call and
ask. Maybe Peters knows. And I won’t have to buy the medical journal.”
At that last statement, he actually looks up, at Adam, a smile at the corner of
his mouth. Adam can sincerely smile back, for a change.
Lawrence knows he’ll get a complete list of the textbooks required at the end
of the semester, but he’s enjoying himself. This makes him happy. This planning
gives him a kind of perverse kick, like criminals who’ve thought of a foolproof
escape plan, and Adam does his best not to ruin it.
He doesn’t even use the same pacifier-like defense mechanisms that he did when
Lawrence first told him about the scholarship. He doesn’t stay out all night,
he doesn’t get hammered. Lawrence would get disappointed, and probably unable
to go, so Adam doesn’t. He behaves. Outwards, at least.
Lawrence really knows him well enough to hear how he’s doing from the way he
slams the door. Adam doesn’t blame him if he’s faking it. He has to start
pushing Lawrence away sooner or later, might as well start now. He was never
the center of his world, not the way Lawrence is to him. And if he pretends
enough, he can see even Lawrence’s love as the kind he can just shrug off.
Adam goes out one night, alone. He doesn’t want Lawrence with him right now. He
can usually push it away, all the annoying, incoherent anxiety buzzing through
his head, but not tonight, and he wants to be alone until he’s figured it out.
Or at least calmed down enough to repress it again.
He’s sitting in his holy junkyard. There are not a lot of people here now, no
matter how much you hate your family, they’re usually better than being outside
when it’s this cold. Adam’s sitting alone on a blue car hood, and there’s a
faint but angry conversation in the car next to him. He still loves being here,
even though he’s got a warm place to sleep now. No one’s going to kick his ass
when he gets home.
He hasn’t talked to anyone in his family since he left, except Claire. Mom
tried calling him a few weeks afterwards, but he hadn’t been able to say
anything. Didn’t really get what she expected from him. He heard her excuses
from the phone, but all he could think was well, you had six fucking years to
say this, didn’t you.But what the hell. He was mostly grateful that dad hadn’t
tried to track him down.
Adam hasn’t thought much about what his life was before he moved out. He hopes
it’ll all turn out to be a bad dream, something he can wake up from with
Lawrence’s arm around his waist.
He doesn’t hope it’ll turn out he has a different family, though. No one else
would’ve handled him better than his parents did.
Now, that Adam’s sitting on the rusty wreck of a car and doesn’t have anything
to distract him, he remembers what it was like. Not before he left, but before
everything.
His sexuality is such a stupid hang-up. It shouldn’t matter to anyone but
himself. But he remembers the years before, mom shaking her head at him and
Claire playing video games, Claire getting so angry when he won again that her
face turned scarlet.
Dad picking him up, spinning him around. He remembers looking down at dad’s
face, and he knows, he knowsthat the creases were fewer, silver patches of his
hair thinner, and his eyes not nearly as… tormentedas they were after he told
them.
The thought is like a fist in his gut, Adam feels his hands clenching in his
pockets. There’s a sting in the knuckles he used to hit the wall.
Lawrence is so eager to get out. Leave it all. His entire life here.
It’s happening again. That bad thing inside him ruins everything, everything he
managed to build up. The tiny, tiny element of joy after not having a home in
six years. Adam slides off the hood, collapsing on the ground. His hands are
shaking. He’s frozen inside.
The thought that initially struck the breath out of him now slowly sinks in,
makes a home inside. In Adam’s self-loathing heart, which is about to get a big
chunk of itself torn off, it makes total sense.
He would’ve stayed if it weren’t for you.
Chapter End Notes
     If you think this chapter is a reflection of my real thoughts on
     Friends, you are absolutely fucking right.
***** When ET Gets Sick *****
Chapter Notes
     Can I just say that the fact that I've gotten these nice comments
     recently is the writer's equivalence of drinking a perfectly tempered
     hot chocolate under a blanket on a snowy winter day
     I love the hell out of you all <3
Adam’s too thin. His tees are always hanging too loose on his frame. Now that
he’s doing the dishes, head bent, the collar hangs low.
Lawrence is sitting on the mattress, a few feet away, can still discern his
spine on the back of his neck, little bumps under the skin.
He should be worried. Adam eats too little, he knows that, has always been
worried that he does it because he thinks it’s more important that the food
they can afford goes to Lawrence and the kids. But there are times like these.
Lawrence sees the gap of pale skin between his t-shirt and the ruffled, soft
hair. Adam.
He knows what this can lead to. Everything’s different now. There was a time
when he could touch Adam, and Adam wasn’t a fan of it, but it was fine. They
were so used to balancing on the edge between just friends and not just
friends.
Lawrence gets up, walks up to him. Either Adam doesn’t notice or he pretends
not to. Lawrence isn’t sure which one of those options he likes the least.
He puts his hand on the back of Adam’s neck, stroking his thumb over the skin.
A brief second of intense heat until Adam growls something, shoots him a
glance. Lawrence takes his hand away.
xxxxxxxxx
Lawrence doesn’t get what’s wrong with them, with himself. Normal people
wouldn’t have noted these things. People who have normal relationships to each
other don’t take note of the other one sitting on the couch differently.
It would’ve been much easier to be happy about college that way. But they are
the way they are, and he can’t be happy when Adam isn’t. That look when
Lawrence touches him.
“You’ve seen ET, right?” Lawrence says. “You know when they synch up with each
other? The kid gets sick when ET gets sick?”
Adam smiles thinly.
“We’re a bit like that.”
Lawrence smiles back.
“We are.”
If Adam got what he implied with that, he doesn’t show it. Not that night, or
any of the other nights they could’ve talked about what was going on. Lawrence
is usually the one to start those talks, but he’s busy. He expands his
scholarship, he saves up for flight tickets, sends emails to Canada from Adam’s
computer. Adam doesn’t bring it up, of course. It annoys Lawrence even more. He
wants to pick him up and shake him.
Or kiss him. Hug him until his goddamn ribs crack, if that’s the only way to
make him get it.
This stupid fucking connection between them. Like a rubber band pulling him
back, no matter how much he tries to walk the other way. It might’ve been what
kept him alive thus far, but it’s going to kill him soon. He wants to kill
himself every time he sees Adam have that expression on his face, the one he
shouldn’t have to have anymore.
Like he’s still that unloved little kid without any home to go to.
xxxxxxxxx
The snow is melting when Lawrence and Wendy are out walking.
It’s been a while since they did. In a way, it feels familiar, in another way,
totally new. This is how they grew up, side by side across the factory yards,
or along the boardwalk, if they had it in them to walk there, or sneak onboard
the subway. But that was before they had nice neighborhoods to walk in, and
before Lawrence had Adam to walk with.
It’s like coming back to your childhood home and find that someone’s painted
the front door in a weird color.
“How you holding up?” Wendy asks, when they’ve walked so far that they’re
actually back in their old blocks, now walking across a bridge.
There’s a canal running beneath them, filthy water and old plastic cups
floating around sleepily. Lawrence remembers what it was like walking across
this bridge when he was ten and he and Wendy had just started hanging out. This
brown, slow-moving water had been the wildest thing he’d ever seen, the bridge
an enormous arch. And they shouldn’t be up here, absolutely not, they could
fall in and drown. But they went here anyway.
“I’m good,” Lawrence says. “I don’t think it’s… come to me yet. I just try to
keep everything up so I don’t have to think about it.”
They stop at the top of the bridge, looking down at the water.
“I thought you’da gotten a breakdown at this point,” she says, dangling her
arms over the rusty railing.
Lawrence smiles. He already feels it stiffening, more plastic.
“Me too. It’ll probably all crash down once I’m on the plane.”
“Probably. But Lou and Daniel seem cool about it.”
“Yeah,” Lawrence says, leaning his arms against the rail. “They’re really hyped
on starting school… but I don’t think they’ve gotten yet that Adam’s not coming
with us.”
Wendy turns to him.
“You told them?”
“Of course I have,” Lawrence says, looking firmly at the water. “I’ve tried to.
Bunch of times. Lou nods along and says okay, Daniel looks kinda sad… then I
try talking to them about moving, and they ask where Adam’s going to stay in
Canada and if he’s going to my school, too.”
Wendy keeps her gaze on him for a bit, before turning back to the water. Then
she sighs.
“They’ll be fine as long as you’re there,” she says, determined. “But it’ll
probably be harder for them to not have Adam there than not having me.”
Her last words are like a punch to the gut. Lawrence jerks his head to her. He
shouldn’t be upset. She must’ve said something other than what he heard.
“What?”
Wendy turns to him, wide-eyed, like she doesn’t get how he’s this surprised.
“What?” she echoes.
Lawrence can’t really formulate himself. She should get what he’s saying. She
should get how absurd the idea is that he’s moving, to another fucking
country,and that she’s not coming with him.
“Y-you’re not coming?” he stammers, doesn’t notice how tight he’s suddenly
holding the rail. “You’re staying? Here?”
Wendy tilts her head, looking at him from under furrowed brows. She usually
accepts his emotions, even if she doesn’t understand them, but this seems to be
something they can’t meet halfway over. She sees no possibility of her going
with him, and he can’t even imagine being there without her.
“I can’tcome,” she says, putting an uncertain hand on his arm. “Lawrence,
you’ve stretched the scholarship as much as you can to get the kidsto come, and
it’s not like we have fucking savings to…”
Her voice fades when she sees the way Lawrence looks at her. Like she’s someone
else. Her role as the constant safe space is shaken to him, even though she’s
saying something he already knew.
It’s now that it actually reaches him, a cold hand around his heart, and
Lawrence is spasmodically holding to the railing to even stay on his feet.
He knew Wendy couldn’t come with him. Somewhere, he knew, but he can’t go
without her. Just the thought makes the cold hand clutch harder to his chest.
And the thought of going without Adam can’t be considered. It’s too much.
“But you… you have to come!” he cries out, he doesn’t even want to know how he
looks right now, her face reflects his own so well that he’d rather forget even
seeing it. “I’m going to Canada!How am I supposed to… without you and-and Ada…”
He shuts up abruptly, can’t even say the fucking name, turns away. Forces his
eyes open to see. But nothing seems real.
His hands ball up on the rail, trembling, scraping old paint from cold steel.
He doesn’t want to cry in front of her, even though he’s done it thousands of
times, it’s bad enough as it is. Seeing those huge brown eyes look at him with
concern and know that they’re only going to be with him a few more months.
She’s never going to have to deal with this, the feeling of your entire life
uprooting because of a stupid fucking check you get from your principal. A
childhood you never got, but you got something else, with her, that was almost
as well.
Everything you leave behind. It’s not until now that Lawrence realizes that it
won’t necessarily be better where he’s headed. Not better than this, all the
time he got with her, all the time they could’ve had.
“Lawrence,” Wendy says, moving closer. “You’ve wanted to get out of here… since
you were, like, twelve.And you knew that when you left you’d have to leave it
all. Why… I really don’t get how it can be so hard now.”
Lawrence can’t answer her. Wendy stays arm’s length away for a moment, before
walking up to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in
his collar, Lawrence realizes that he’s shaking, fingertips scratching across
his scalp. No fingernails left. Cold outside, cold inside.
He looks into the water. He tries to feel the same thing now that he did when
they went here as kids, the brown swirls, twisting mercilessly with latte-
colored foam floating on the waves.
All he sees is pollution.
xxxxxxxxx
He has no idea how long they stay there. Wendy doesn’t say a word about going
home, even when it gets dark, cold creeps in under thin jackets. Lawrence keeps
staring at the water. Now that it’s dark, it looks pitch black.
Eventually, Wendy lifts her head. Her face is right next to his, nose grazing
his cheek. It feels very distant that he once was so terribly in love with her.
“Lawrence,” she says. She suddenly sounds determined, almost annoyed, but still
somehow manages to maintain a tone like they’re lying in each other’s arms in
the back of that car wreck a thousand years ago. “You can’t think like this
when you leave.”
Lawrence swallows.
“I know.”
“Seriously,” Wendy says. “Now, being sad nowis fine, but like… you’ve been
working too hard for this for you to…”
She sighs. Lawrence wants her to stop talking.
“You get so fucking sentimental,” she then says. “You’re going to go away and
all of us who… love you are going to want you to go, but you’re going to sit on
that plane and think you’re letting us down.”
Lawrence draws a pretty rough hand across his cheek. Wendy seems to be about to
say something else, but settles for wrapping her arms around him again.
“You’re going to think you miss all this,” she says eventually. “Even though
you’ve wanted out of here all along.”
Lawrence sniffles.
“Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
For a brief moment, he’s happy that she knows him so well to know things like
that. Then he remembers that it won’t matter how well she knows him, since he’s
going to leave her anyway, and then everything gets hard again.
Wendy questions nothing. Doesn’t ask for anything in return, since this is the
least she can do for him. For the longest time, he was the only thing that kept
her alive. She’s been on this very bridge so many nights, struggling for
breath, strings of mucus hanging from her lips. She wanted to jump so badly,
but she doesn’t tell him that. He’ll never be able to go.
She just stands there with him until he’s calmed down, and then they go back
home.
Leave the rushing water behind.
***** Alcohol and Need *****
At some point, their class is on a fieldtrip. By coincidence, the bus passes
the hospital they took Daniel to. Grey and red concrete and windows flashing in
the sun.
Lawrence glances at Adam. It’s almost exactly two years ago now, that winter
that they stumbled inside with Daniel wrapped in Adam’s jacket and Lou, who
barely had the energy to keep her teeth chattering. That late evening in the
waiting room, when they were finally safe. For the first time in months,
Lawrence could be certain that no one he loved was hungry or cold.
I wish you were my brother.
Adam meets his gaze when they pass the building. He smiles. It feels like the
first time in forever that they actually understand each other.
Later, when they’re home, Lawrence asks Daniel if he remembers the winter he
got so sick that they had to take him to the hospital. Daniel shakes his head,
wide-eyed, and Adam smiles slyly as he sits down next to them.
“That was the first time we met,” he says, warming his hands on his coffee cup.
“It was?” Daniel asks, furrowing his brows in deep contemplation, before
shaking his head again. “I don’t remember it at all.”
“Or, if we’re being technical,” Lawrence says, exchanging a secretive look with
Adam, “the first time you and Adam met, he helped me taping egg cartons to the
walls back in Somna.”
Adam’s grin grows wider, and Daniel looks between them like he’s trying to
determine whether or not they’re serious.
“What?” he says eventually, and Adam and Lawrence burst out in laughter, when
they hear how absurd it sounds, how absurd it all was back then.
Lawrence is so happy that Daniel doesn’t remember it. He hopes that when he
grows up, Daniel’s old life won’t be more than a story Lawrence tells him
sometimes. Real, and huge, but far away.
xxxxxxxxx
Spring’s on its way back, shy little buds are forming in the flower beds that
Adam passes on the way to work.
Winter passed way too quickly. Somehow, he never wanted it to end, this new
Lawrence he got to meet, carefree and happy as he planned his getaway, in the
meantime as he hated that Lawrence so intensely that he’d prefer the hollow-
eyed, sleep deprived version any day.
Adam stops and picks up the camera hanging around his neck. In the part across
the street, there are two little girls, probably sisters, sitting across from
each other in the grass. The older one is holding a pink umbrella over her head
even though it’s not raining, and the little one is holding a smaller, pink
umbrella over her head even though it’s not raining. They both glow from the
greyish green background, and he has to take a picture.
Lawrence hasn’t gone back to his old ways since school started. He has to take
his pills again, but he can study without that minor panic on his features, he
falls asleep at a reasonable hour without waking up in cold sweat in the middle
of the night. It’s probably less scary, now that he knows he’ll get there,
where he worked so hard to make it to. Adam secretly hopes his anxiety will
return, and then he hates himself so much for wishing that that he can barely
stand it.
But even if you take the newfound calm out of the equation, something is off
about Lawrence. It started when Lawrence and Wendy came home one night. It was
late, the kids were asleep and Adam was tired as shit, should’ve been in bed an
hour ago because they had a test the next day, but Lawrence wasn’t home, so
there was no point. He couldn’t go to sleep without him if he tried.
He heard keys in the lock and Wendy walked in, face calculatedly turned down,
and Adam felt the usual rush of bitter jealousy when he saw that she had
Lawrence’s arm around her shoulders, even though it mostly seemed to be because
he was too tired to walk on his own, head hanging and squinting at the already
low light. He didn’t speak. Adam guessed they’d already talked way too much
that night.
“Hey,” Wendy said, her voice sounded off, and gently pushed Lawrence onto the
mattress. “Sorry it’s late, we…”
She didn’t finish the sentence, didn’t even try to think of a lie. Adam looked
from her still partially hidden face to Lawrence, who’d already dozed off,
rolled over.
“You okay?” Adam asked, almost whispered, as Wendy pretended to be really
focused on her shoes.
“Yeah,” she mumbled, fingers trembling as she took her jacket off. “I mean… I
tried talking to him about how things’ll be when he leaves. He didn’t take it
well.”
Adam opened his mouth to keep asking stuff, but she’d already sat down on her
mattress and started undressing, because she knew he couldn’t look at her, much
less talk to her, when she was half naked. And either way, Lawrence’s breaths
had gotten heavy and slow, and even though Adam wanted to wake him up and
somehow force him to talk, there was that other thing.
Just wanting to crawl down next to him.
It was hard to do anything but changing to his pj’s, take Lawrence’s pants and
shoes off, then crawl under the blanket. He still hasn’t gotten Wendy to tell
him what happened that night, and he has no idea what he’d even ask Lawrence.
But no one can say it’s not his business, considering how different Lawrence
has been since then. After that night, it’s like they’re not two separate
people. They’re tethered to each other.
Sort of like when they were younger, and hated each other at times, because of
one night that somehow broke everything, but still had to be together, because
that’s the way it was, nothing worked otherwise.
Even if Adam leaves Lawrence to go to work or because they have different
classes, Lawrence gets something in his eyes when they see each other again,
like he’s happy Adam is even alive. When he walks up to him, there’s a less
subtle brush of hand against hand, and Adam gets too warm inside to ask.
Adam takes a few pictures of the girls in the park, tries to work from
different angles. But then their dad gets up from a bench a few feet away, and
Adam lowers his camera. He’s gotten chewed out before from taking shots of
unsupervised kids.
There was a relief at first. That Lawrence couldn’t sit next to him without
touching him, smiled widely every time he saw him. Then he saw the undertone of
grief, almost fear, in those smiles, and that made it even more difficult.
Adam keeps walking, with one hand on his camera. Taking pictures has always
cleared his head. And he has time before he has to be at the meeting at work,
he can walk around for a bit. The longer he’s away, the happier Lawrence will
be when he gets home.
He knows why Lawrence acts the way he does. He just prefers not to think about
it. That’s how he handled everything before Lawrence got him to be in touch
with his emotions and shit, and it always worked.
Adam swings his camera around by its strap more recklessly than he dared, as he
keeps walking.
He’ll be fine without Lawrence. He’s going to survive. He usually doesn’t doubt
that. Lawrence makes it harder when he acts this way, but even now, it’s not
impossible.
xxxxxxxxx
Adam gets home late one night, alcohol and tobacco and weed a cloud around him.
Most of it’s just set in his clothes after being at the junkyard. He’s not out
of his mind in any way, but he isdrunk, and he expected Lawrence to at least be
in bed, but of course he’s not.
Adam’s not the only one who can’t sleep without the other. That in itself is
not weird. The weird part is that Lawrence is also drunk, so obviouslydrunk
that Adam can tell right away, even though his mind is sluggish.
“Hey,” Lawrence says, a touch too slow, careful not to slur, as Adam closes the
front door.
It wouldn’t have been clear to anyone. Lawrence isn’t on his feet, but even
where he’s sitting on the mattress, he’s swaying. Bangs are loose in his eyes,
and he’s leaning his head against his knees. Looks up at Adam with a stupid
grin that makes his eyes glimmer in the dark.
“Hey,” Adam says, trying to be quiet not to wake up the kids as he takes his
jacket off. He doesn’t try one bit to seem sober. He’s not drunk enough to be
irresponsible, but enough for it to affect his judgment, and just like Adam,
Lawrence seems to have caught on to that in the rough five seconds Adam’s been
here. Why else would he look at him like that?
“Where you been?” Lawrence asks as he hoists his head up with the one hand.
This fucking bond between them. How could ET and Elliot have so much fun with
it?
“The yard.”
“You had fun?”
“Yeah,” Adam says, walking up to him. “You seem to have had some fun on your
own.”
Lawrence grins again. It looks even more distorted when it’s dark. Adam’s
careful not to sit down next to him. He knows what’ll happen if he does.
“Yeah…” Lawrence says, closing his eyes with a sigh. “Yeah, like… we had some
beer, so I…”
The sentence stretches thin, and he sighs again. Then he looks up at Adam.
Ruffled hair, willing, open, so fucking hard not to.
“Can’t you… Adam, come here.”
Adam feels it. His eyes darken.
“No.”
“Come on.”
“No, Lawrence, I’m staying right here.”
Lawrence’s smile fades. Not even alcohol can make this fun, Adam senses it,
too. Something pricks him, cold running into the warm, fuzzy in his belly, and
the look Lawrence gives him doesn’t help.
“Please,” Lawrence says. When Adam doesn’t move, he goes on: “But… you’ll sleep
here? Right?”
Adam looks at him. Then at the bed. Lawrence’s shirt, wrinkled at the collar,
shows a strip of skin on his chest.
“Of course,” he says.
Lawrence’s stupid sad face cracks in a smile so sincere he almost doesn’t look
drunk at all. But it’s a good thing he is, otherwise he would’ve seen that
Adam’s about to break.
“Come here then,” Lawrence says, beckoning tiredly with his arm. “Come on and
we’ll… sleep.”
Adam doesn’t take any clothes off, it’d just make it harder, and at this point,
he has to hide his face from Lawrence soon, or it’ll lead to drunken comfort, a
pale imitation of what he’ll miss.
Lawrence takes his shirt off and crawls under the blanket. He always sleeps on
the side closest to the wall, it makes him feel more safe if he wakes up by
whatever it is that scares him, with the wall behind him and Adam in the front.
Adam kicks his shoes off and lies down next to him, Lawrence’s arm around his
waist.
“I can’t sleep without you here.”
Mumbles against Adam’s ear, tickling the thin hairs on the back of his neck.
Lawrence won’t remember saying this tomorrow, Adam’s not even sure he’s aware
of it now. It shouldn’t hurt this much.
He has to slap Lawrence’s hands away more than once through the night.
Demanding lips, open mouth, hands searching places Adam allowed them just one
night that right now seems to be one night too much. Has to hiss at Lawrence
again and again that he’s not doing this, it’s over. And even though it’s true,
it doesn’t feel like it.
So many things they never got to say, so many ways in which they never got to
show that they need each other.
Adam’s tired, but he barely sleeps that night. About four hours later, he logs
onto the school web to give himself a sick day, and when he turns around, he
sees Lawrence’s arm stretched over his side of the bed.
***** Final Night *****
Adam likes putting things off. It wasn’t a problem when he was younger; he
didn’t have a whole lot to put off. Homework was disposable back then. Things
could still get better, even for weird little kids like him.
Every homework are potential college degrees now, and he still lets them pass
unfinished because there’s no room for improvement. The things settling in his
body now won’t be able to change.
His mind is settling, capabilities settling, he’ll never be good at anything
besides taking pictures.
He’s stopped growing, he’ll always be scrawny and short. And somehow, in the
midst of it all, Adam’s supposed to be an adult now.
But he can’t change. When Lawrence told him about the scholarship, he thought,
once the initial panic calmed down, well, we still got ten months left, and
that’s what he kept thinking for five of those months. They still had time. It
was running out way too fast, but they always had time.
In junior year, when Lawrence needed straight A’s, and every woken second was
spent either studying or make sure mom didn’t drown his siblings in the tub,
they still had time to hang out. That cold winter when Daniel almost died, they
still had time to take him to the hospital.
They’ve been broken to pieces so many times they’d become indestructible. But
time is running out.
Adam doesn’t care. Of course. He always stops caring when he notices he’s
caring too much.
“It’s not like we can’t keep in touch,” Lawrence says, looking up from his
textbooks. He sounds like he’s wanted to say this for the past hour. Adam nods
absentmindedly and writes a date down.
“Right.”
Lawrence keeps looking at him, he can feel it. He says nothing, and after a few
seconds, Adam hears his pencil scratching again. He thinks that means he’s
safe, but of course not.
“Cause, like, what else can we do?” Lawrence says as he’s writing. “We don’t
have any options. Other than staying I touch, I mean. At least that’s how I see
it.”
Adam sighs.
“Could you not?”
Lawrence actually does what he asks, that alone is reason for worry. But he
doesn’t go back to studying.
“It’ll be twice as hard over there. You’re the only thing keeping me somewhat
normal.”
“Lawrence, would you shut the fuck up?”
He tries looking Lawrence in the eye, knows that’d give him some leverage, but
he can only do it for a few seconds. Lawrence doesn’t give up, though. He
raises his brows, slightly offended, but not having it in him to start
fighting.
“I can’t even tell you I’m going to miss you?”
“No, you can’t,” Adam says. “I don’t want to hear it.”
He doesn’t want Lawrence’s love. It just gets him thinking that way again. You
don’thaveto go, do you?
“You’re the reason I’m alive today,” Lawrence says. “But fine. Whatever.”
Adam doesn’t mind him.
xxxxxxxxx
They were out walking one night, junior year. Adam had nabbed a bottle of fancy
beer from his dad, even though he’d personally prefer the stuff for two bucks
you can get at the convenience store. They passed it between them as they
passed through a playground, that kind of playground that’s not even cute
anymore but just creepy, with mud and empty cans and dusty swings squeaking.
Lawrence sat down on one of them, and Adam sat next to him, without pointing
out what a baby he was, because there was no point. Lawrence’s role as the big
one of the two of them was clear even then, no matter how many swings he sat
on.
“It’s your life,” Adam said, when their previous discussion had laid still for
a bit. “That’s all I’m saying. I get that it’s super important that your
siblings get an okay life. But what the shit is life worth if you’re doing it
all for someone else? Isn’t it time you do you?”
Lawrence shrugged. It seemed like he’d used to ask himself that question, but
eventually given up on it.
“Maybe. Yeah, maybe it is. But… I love them a little too much for that to be
all that important.”
Adam glanced at him. His look made it clear that he really had no idea what
Lawrence was talking about. Lawrence smiled, ashamed.
“It’s like… when someone means that much, it doesn’t matter how I feel. I love
them so much that it’s unhealthy, for real. I’d be better off if I stopped
doing it. I wouldn’t have to study or do anything at all. But it is what it is.
I can’t do anything about it.”
Adam kept staring into space for a moment. He had no idea how to answer
something like that.
“Fucking rom-com moment,” he mumbled and took a sip of the beer.
Lawrence kept smiling.
xxxxxxxxx
Adam suddenly remembers that evening, after not thinking about it for years, a
few days after they studied. Then he walks out of the apartment, slams the door
shut and doesn’t come back for the whole night. When Lawrence asks about it the
next day, he pretends not to hear him. Still doesn’t have the energy.
He knows he’s not the most important thing in Lawrence’s life. That he probably
never was. But it hurts, remembering it so clearly. He wants to at least
pretend that they care equally about each other.
If the rest of the world went away, Adam would still be fine as long as he had
Lawrence with him. But it’s getting more obvious every day that if Lawrence
left him, and everything else was the same, his life will be over.
Even though he’s what keeps Lawrence mentally sound, Adam will never mean as
much to him as he does to Adam.
Like a fucking heartbeat.
xxxxxxxxx
 School ends. It felt like it never would, but it does.
Lawrence graduates with the highest marks in their grade. The only reason Adam
even passes his classes is many sleepless nights through their last semester.
He worked his ass off and it gave results, and well, it’s always nice when that
happens.
Their principal holds a speech as they’re standing in their schoolyard, just
wanting to get out. She actually looks a tiny bit moved.
“I know it doesn’t feel like it now,” the principal says, on the stairway of
the building, “now that you’re all headed off to your future… but it’s my
sincere belief and conviction that everyone in this grade will go on to do
great things. You’ll all have plenty of things to brag about in your class
reunion, twenty-five years from now.”
Adam looks at Claire, her grey eyes sparkle from under the graduation cap. She
smiles at him, rolling her eyes, probably thinking his dark gaze stems from
annoyance over this pretentious speech, instead of a total panic. Adam manages
to smile back. She looks beautiful. And right then, he feels that he’s her big
brother, that he wants to protect her from all the stuff out there, the things
that are probably worse than anything that can happen to them in this school.
Even though he’s probably the worst fit in the world for that task.
Then he turns to Lawrence. He still kind of hates him, but when he sees his
face under that stupid cap, he can’t help but being happy for him. Lawrence
shines like a kid on Christmas.
Adam hassled Lawrence a little for prompting that they’d get graduation caps.
They don’t have the money for it, really. But right now, he’s happy he they
bought them. He’s never been a fan of these kind of symbolics, but this cap
really does represent something. Lawrence has accomplished everything he was
hoping for when Adam first met him. It’s nice. And scary.
Lawrence has always had a drive, and even though that drive gave him aggressive
gastritis, at least he had something to fight for. Adam doesn’t. He has no
reason to move to Canada.
Lawrence looks at him the second before they throw their caps in the air. He
smiles, Adam smiles back, they’re equally terrified and it shows. But they
cheer as loud as everyone else when they finally mark their return to freedom,
free of the place that’s ruined their lives but at least was a safe place.
Adam and Lawrence graduate a sunny day in the first week of June. And even
though their days as a unit and in safety are over, it’s a day they can both be
proud of making it to.
xxxxxxxxx
Lawrence’s nightmares, or whatever they are, went away for a while, but they
return over the summer. Adam knows that now would be a good time to pull back,
the way he did back when he really shouldn’t have, but he can’t.
He’d like to see the time when he fled from Lawrence as in the past. That he’d
learned something from these years. That he’ll be able to cherish the time they
had together, instead of resenting it for being over. But it doesn’t work like
that, of course. He has to sleep with Lawrence. That won’t change just because
change is what a normal person would aim for.
No matter how warm it gets through the night, skin on skin, slippery with
sweat, Adam’s going to be there to grab Lawrence’s flailing arms when he wakes
up from his own shouting. It’s all he’s good for. And that’s fine.
He knows exactly what Lawrence is so scared of now. If he tried, he could
probably figure out exactly what his nightmares are about. But what’s the
point. They won’t sleep in the same bed long enough to do anything about it.
One night, Lawrence dreams that he’s on the plane to Canada, and discovers that
he accidentally brought one of Adam’s books. He runs up to the cockpit and
tells the pilot that they have to go back, and when the plane turns around,
they fly low enough for him to see Adam’s apartment.
Lawrence can see through the windows that he’s not there. He walks up to the
pilot again and says that they have to look elsewhere; he guides them to the
junkyard, the school, the places Adam likes to shoot.
They look everywhere. Adam’s nowhere to be found.
xxxxxxxxx
How could it be three years? Adam knows how long three years are.
Three years crawl by. Three years are a certain amount of nights spent walking
in circles all across town so he doesn’t have to be at home, and he could
usually avoid it, but sometimes dad could think of a reason to keep him there.
He didn’t even have to use force. The way he looked at Adam was enough.
Three years are a certain amount of days praying to God that dad wouldn’t be
home. A certain amount of disgusted looks from his teachers.
How many days are there in three years? Adam tries to calculate in his head as
Lawrence looks at him. He sucks at math, but he’d gladly count the grains of
dust on the floor if it kept his mind off of Lawrence’s suitcase, packed
neatly, next to the bed.
He hopes that Lawrence will just give up and walk away. But he wouldn’t be
Lawrence if he gave up anything.
“You got your stuff?” he asks when he realizes Lawrence won’t budge until Adam
acknowledges his existence.
“Yeah,” Lawrence says, raking fingers through his hair. “Or, I gotta pack… my
pajamas, the kids’ toothbrushes and stuff, but I’ll get that in the morning,
before…”
He quiets down. Knows Adam’s not paying attention anyway.
“You sure you’re not coming?”
There’s something new, desperate in his voice. Adam looks at him again. 
“I have to go through the last of my photos,” he says halfheartedly. “They’re…
the deadline for the magazine is tomorrow.”
Lawrence meets his gaze. It’s there too; whatever’s made him almost manic about
having Adam near him during these months. But then he looks away, nods.
“Okay. So it’s cool that I’ll leave them here?”
He nods towards Lou and Daniel, they’re piled up on the mattress in front of
the TV. 
“Yeah, sure,” Adam says. “Go out and... sin.”
He’s not even sure if that was supposed to be a joke. Lawrence nods and grabs
his jacket. Wendy gets off her bed and follows him to the door.
She’s been worse than Adam at pretending she’s okay with all this. Sure, he’s
not subtle either, but at least he doesn’t lock himself in the bathroom crying
every five minutes.
He hasn’t even talked to her about whether or not she wants to live here when
Lawrence is gone. He already knows the answer. Adam hasn’t been the best
support for her over the past few weeks, when he crying has become more
frequent. Turns his face away when she has those red, puffy eyes. He’s as bad
at handling her loss as he is his own, and it’s ruined whatever measly amity
has been between them.
But despite this, Wendy’s the one going out with Lawrence tonight, one last
hurrah before he goes. And Adam’s the one who’s been offered to go with them,
more than once, but still stays home.
Lawrence opens the front door and waves goodbye to Lou and Daniel. Adam raises
his hand in a meaningless gesture before the door closes. After that, he falls
back, fucks his economy, opens the window and chain smokes until Lou tells him
she can’t find her pajamas.
He has no idea how many days there are in three years. It doesn’t matter
anymore.
When the kids are tucked in, he sneaks down to the convenience store and buys
two six packs. He sits in front of them by the kitchen table for almost half an
hour before putting them in the fridge. Instead he prepares a whole pot of that
stupid herbal tea that Lawrence claims helps him sleep, drinking cup upon cup
as he’s reading one of Daniel’s old comics.   
He doesn’t know how late it is when he hears a thud against the front door,
followed by a sound like someone drags a towel across it. He gets up, opens the
door, and it takes him a few seconds to make out Lawrence’s run-down, smelly
silhouette against the stairway wall.
“Lawrence?” he asks needlessly and looks around. “Where’s Wendy?”
“She…” Lawrence throws his hand out aimlessly. “She… dropped me off here, cause
she thought… she said we needed to talk.”
Adam leans against the doorframe.
“How much have you had?”
Lawrence leans his head back to look at him. He seems to have forgotten how to
normally aim your eyes.
“I don’t know, I… I thought you might… you might not want me to come home, so
I…”
He clears his throat. Doesn’t really explain why Adam would rather want him
home after he got hammered. Adam doesn’t need to hear it.
Lawrence probably does his best, it’s hard to tell in the dark, but Adam hears
the exact hitch in his voice when the mask slips, the strung-up, thin shell of
a face beneath, just barely thick enough not to crack and leak blood.
“Could you help me up?” Lawrence says eventually. His voice is so tiny.
Adam looks at his friend, brother, lover, his whatever-he-is. He’s not sure
what to do, but he still has no choice, it’s been a long time since he did.
He grabs Lawrence’s arm, hauls him to his feet and into the apartment. He hopes
that Wendy’s more sober than this, otherwise she’ll wake up in a ditch
somewhere, and Adam won’t be able to look for her. The small amount of sympathy
he’s capable of is booked for the night.
There’s nothing to say. Adam doesn’t want to talk. He puts Lawrence to bed,
with minimal help from him, slow movements. Tucks him in when he balls up and
shivers. Wants to hold him. No point.
He gets water, leans Lawrence’s head back, because he seems to have forgotten
how to swallow. Adam takes care of him, because it’s his last chance to do so.
He strokes bangs out of Lawrence’s eyes when he pukes in the trash can,
caresses his pale cheek when he huddles up in bed again. Lawrence mumbles
incoherently. Adam catches a few words, but doesn’t say anything back. Just
like Lawrence, he has no way to explain how this makes him feel. The packed
suitcase next to their bed.
It’s almost five AM when Lawrence starts to speak. His teeth have been
chattering in drunken ague all night, but he’s been quiet for so long that Adam
almost thought he was asleep. His voice is frail, hoarse, but clear.
“Adam,” Lawrence says, and Adam turns around next to the mattress. “I’m leaving
tomorrow.”
Adam nods.
“You are.”
Lawrence looks at him. The morning light makes his blue eyes look almost
transparent.
“I’m going to Canada, to a nice school,” he goes on.
Adam nods again.
“Yeah, you are. Just like you always wanted.”
Lawrence almost hunches, his hands shaking where they lie on the pillow.
“I don’t want to go.”
His entire face retracts, mouth quivering like on a baby, that’s all Adam
catches before how covers his face but can’t hold back a thin, hollow scream.
Adam shuffles off the floor and sits next to him on the mattress, Lawrence is
already in fetal position. Adam pulls him into his arms, tries to hold him,
breathe warmly into his hair so he’ll remember that he’s here, that’s all
that’s real, it usually calms him down no matter how bad it gets. But the shell
of fear covering Lawrence is impenetrable, Adam can’t reach him, really touch
him and say that he knows, he knows he doesn’t want to go.
He can’t do shit. Just hold Lawrence, shaking, gasping, barely any air left in
him but still repeats it.
“I don’t want to go I don’t want to go I do-ho-ho-ho…”
It fades into shattered sob, Adam holds him tighter. He doesn’t try to talk to
him, there’s no point. But he knows.
Even Adam thinks this is scary, and he gets to stay in the life he’s gotten
used to. He doesn’t leave anything behind, and even though he’s never been able
to see it that way, he knows that in this case, it’s better to stay than being
the one who goes.
Lawrence is headed off into the future. He leaves something he knows is good
for something that could be great. It can be everything he’s dreamed of those
mornings he woke up from Lou crying.
But the future could also be this. The future could be terrifying, cold, and
sour with the smell from the trash can.
Adam shuts it in, thinks that one of them should stay calm. He’s not sure how
he does it.
This night is a transition. Adam wishes they could skip it and just… be in the
future, without having to step into it. It’d be easier if it were all dealt
with instead of something they have to handle now.
They’d make it through if they got to be together. But they can’t reach each
other now, and tomorrow, they lose any possibility to do it. 
***** Bookends *****
Chapter Notes
     Can you tell I have too much free time lol
Lawrence has no memory of falling asleep that night. It probably happened the
second that he thought he might as well stay up, because it’d just be a bitch
to have to wake up on two hours of sleep. But he opens his eyes at the sound of
the alarm, and it’s like he hasn’t slept at all. His head doesn’t feel attached
to his body, brain sort of floating around.
He must’ve slept. The last thing he remembers is Adam sitting next to him on
the bed, holding him through his breakdown, as usual. He’s not here now.
Lawrence knows he’s on a tight schedule. He’s spent every available second the
past week repeating this day in his head, he’s calculated and shortened down
and cut his time up into smaller and smaller pieces. He knows he has to get up
and prepare breakfast this second to keep to the plan, and he does, after a
slight hesitation. He can’t really pretend to be stable. His head is throbbing
from the booze, his mouth feels dry like dust. 
He does his best. Gets up, starts handling everything that needs to be handled.
But he can’t focus, gaze flickering across the apartment, out the window, Adam
could be in the bathroom, he could’ve gotten out to buy coffee, maybe they were
low on it. There’s still a chance he’ll come back to say goodbye, and Lawrence
is going to wait for him. Even though he knows that’s not the case. Adam’s
gone, and he’s not going to come back until he’s sure Lawrence has left for the
airport.
Lawrence doesn’t break, no panic attacks. But he stares blankly out the window
for a few minutes. No nails left to bite. After a while, he gets himself back
together, wakes Lou and Daniel up, handing them their sandwiches. He doesn’t
have time for this shit. He’s going to Canada. To college. He has baggage he
needs to double check.
And since Adam’s moved the trash can standing next to their bed last night, he
doesn’t have to think about how that really makes him feel.
xxxxxxxxx
Adam sits down on a bench with his legs spread wide once he’s certain he’s far
enough away from home. His stomach rumbles angrily, he didn’t dare having
breakfast before he left. Didn’t want Lawrence to wake up.
It’s that time of day when most dog owners take their first walk, the dew is
fading from the leaves. He tries to appreciate this as much as he used to as he
rakes a hand through his hair, trying to get back to himself.
When he was younger, before high school, Adam used to sneak out of his nice
house and his nice blocks before anyone else was awake. He had to get up early,
because it took some time to get to those neighborhoods he really wanted to see
come back to life in the mornings. Those places that were really beautiful,
with frost-covered beer cans lined up on the window sills in the winter, and
when it rained, brown, dirty water ran through the gutters, slurped down
through the crates.
He spent a lot of time in Somna. He liked it. He doesn’t mention it to Lawrence
much, he knows it’d just annoy him, since the whole reason Adam liked it was
that he wasn’t tied to it. It was probably all about the possibility of escape,
even if the escape wasn’t necessarily a better option.
Adam hasn’t been there since they met. Lawrence wouldn’t spend a second more in
Somna than he had to, and Adam’s quota for beautiful, broken things was filled
in other ways since then.
He’s not going with Lawrence to the airport. Wendy can do it. She’s the one
who’s cool with all this, Adam will never even pretend to be. He doesn’t care
if Lawrence never gets anywhere in life, if his dreams never come true, as long
as he stays inside the borders. It makes him a much worse friend than Lawrence
deserves, but who cares. Adam’s never been as much of a good guy as Lawrence
makes him out to be, anyway.
Adam lights a cigarette and watches the dog walkers. There’s a barred window in
the building next to him, and someone’s shattered one of the panes and tied a
red scarf around one of the bars, like a calling card. He wishes he’d brought
his camera.
Maybe it’s the thought of beauty and filth that brings the association, but he
suddenly remembers an evening when they were together. It must’ve been sometime
junior year, before Adam left home, possibly when they got back to being
friends after that goddamn night when the lines got blurred. They’d been
sitting on Adam’s bed, Lawrence had been tired and his hair mussed, Adam had
been happy, even though dad was coming back home the next day.
He’d filled his entire bed with books, totally unintentional, it’d started with
one quote he’d wanted to recite to Lawrence, but that was an hour ago, and
since then he’d thought of so many things he wanted to read to him. He hadn’t
even stopped when he saw that Lawrence was getting bored, because this was a
part of him, and Lawrence had to know it all, every boring, geeky, clingy part
of him.
“Oh, listen to this,” he said and slapped Lawrence’s knee, making him lift his
head. “This is so you. ‘The real tragedy of the poor is that they can afford
nothing but self-denial. Beautiful sins, like beautiful things, are a privilege
of the rich.’”
Lawrence chuckled wearily and sat up. He leaned over to see the page Adam was
reading from, all warm and close.
“He got that right,” he said and ran a finger across the page. “But why’d you
doodle in the book?”
Adam looked at the paragraphs he’d underlined in ballpoint pen, and shrugged.
“It’s the parts I like the most. And it’s not like I’m going to give it to
someone else.”
Lawrence frowned. They’re each other’s polar opposite on this. Lawrence doesn’t
even want to highlight important parts of textbooks, he wants everything to be
clean, untouched, and preferably in alphabetical order.
“It’s even more mine if I’m the one botching it,” Adam tried to explain,
careful not to turn to Lawrence. His face was barely an inch from his.
Lawrence shook his head and laid back down. Adam grinned at his unawareness and
crossed his legs. This was probably his favorite of all the times they were
that close; when he was so conscious of it, but Lawrence barely seemed to
notice it at all.
“You will always care for me,” he said, smile widening. “I represent to you all
the sins you do not have the courage to commit.”
Lawrence gave him a fake scowl.
“You read that in a damn book.”
“Yeah.”
Lawrence smiled. His eyes probably flickered across Adam’s mouth before he sat
up again, but it was nothing to get worked up about. It was one of many times.
Adam thinks back of that night now, as the cigarette turns to ash between his
fingers, and realizes that he was always prepared for this, even back then. He
knew Lawrence would leave him before he got his scholarship. He just didn’t
dare thinking about it, because if he did, it’d be so typical of him to think
that what they had, whatever it was, wasn’t enough to keep Lawrence here. That
Adam was just a representation of sins. The little devil on his shoulder whose
only job was to even out the weight of the angel, who’d always win in the end.
xxxxxxxxx
Lawrence gets a huge, unexplainable lump in his belly as he closes the door to
the apartment for the last time, and he has to rush down the stairs not to get
swallowed whole by it. They have thirty-eight minutes exactly to find Wendy,
and even though he’s calculated the trip to Forest Park as an hour even though
it takes less than half of that time, his head will explode if he breaks
schedule.
“I brought everyone?” he says, pretending to check that both Lou and Daniel are
with him. “I didn’t leave anyone under the bed?” They giggle, even though
they’re beat. “You guys sure you didn’t forget anything?”
“You asked us a thousand times,” Lou moans and rolls her eyes theatrically.
“Can we go now? What if the airplane leaves without us?”
“It won’t,” Lawrence says, opening the front door. “We’ll take the L right to
the airport. It’s designed especially for poor people.”
“What about Adam?” Daniel asks gently. “Isn’t he going with us?”
Lawrence tries to pretend this is a question like the previous once as they
start walking.
“We talked about this,” he says. “Adam’s staying here. My school doesn’t want
him, and he doesn’t want it.”
They don’t talk for a few minutes. When Lawrence finds Wendy in the park, the
last time he’ll go there, it feels good to have an excuse to let the tears flow
freely.
xxxxxxxxx
Adam looks at his watch. The train Lawrence planned to catch leaves in three
hours, but he’s probably started making his way there already. Finding your way
at Forest Park is hard, especially with two little kids. Even if he’d want to
make things right with Lawrence, it’s too late. And what’d be the point? No
matter what he does now, everything will turn out the way it was always meant
to turn out. And it won’t make him any surer of what that is. Whatever happens
in the future, he’s pretty certain he’s going to hate it with intensity.
Adam sighs, lighting another cigarette. He’s already feeling sick and he’s
busted his smoking budget for this week, but who cares. Living will be cheaper
now. And no one’s going to whine about how he’ll get cancer.
No one waking him up in the middle of the night. No one making him so heart-
wrenchingly worried.
Oscar Wilde could’ve written a book about him and Lawrence. He used to like
those love stories that were nothing but everything at the same time, like that
scarf tied around the bars next to him, like that feeling Adam gets when
Lawrence lies down next to him every night, no matter how pissed they are with
each other.
Lovers always die in those realistic romantic novels. Adam never got why.
xxxxxxxxx
Lawrence feels panic welling up, the only thing keeping him from a complete
meltdown is his stubbornness. This is not possible. How many fucking flights
can there be? Do they really need an airport the size of a small town?
“Aren’t we going in?” Lou asks.
“I don’t know.”
“I think we are. Can I see the ticket?”
“No,” Lawrence says, looking at the paper he printed from the school computer.
“It says terminal five. The fuck’s terminal five? Am I supposed to know that?”
Lou sighs.
“We’ll have to go in and check. There’s probably somebody we can ask.”
“Louise, be quiet. We’re going to terminal five. It says ‘five’ above this
door. But the entire goddamn airport looks the same. And we’re going to
terminal five.”
He’s only half aware that he’s saying this out loud. There’s no one around him
that can assist him in this, no matter how adult Lou tries to act. And he’s
never flown, or been to an airport, barely seen one in the movies. At first he
didn’t even know there were different terminals, it wasn’t until a few days
ago, when Adam asked him where he was going from, Lawrence broke out in cold
sweat when he realized that no one had made it clear to him where that there
were different terminals, and that it was pretty crucial that he went to the
right one. Adam had to google it for him, and “terminal five” is now scribbled
on top of his ticket in partially smeared pen. It’s right there, clear as day.
It still takes him roughly fifteen minutes of standing outside, looking from
the paper to the sign above the gate, before he dares going inside.
They’ve said a heartbreaking goodbye to Wendy. When Lawrence was finally
sitting on the train, it felt like he had nothing left in him, but when he
enters the airport, he realizes how much of himself he leaves behind.
There are too many people here. Everyone seems so sure of where they’re going,
and even though there are signs everywhere showing where everything is and how
to get there, Lawrence has no fucking clue of the way, information doesn’t
stick. Eventually, he dares walking up to the board saying which counter is for
them.
The woman behind the counter looks nice. It doesn’t make him feel one bit
better.
“Hello,” she says, glancing across Lou and Daniel. Probably observing how they
look like they’ve just landed on Mars.
“Hello,” Lawrence says. “We’re going to Canada.”
“Which flight?”
“Huh?”
Lawrence has repeated exactly what to say. There is no room for her to say
things he hasn’t counted on.
“What time is your flight?” She smiles patiently.
“Oh,” he says, looking at the paper again. “Three thirty.”
“Okay,” the woman says. “Can I see some ID?”
Lawrence starts digging through his bag. The social security cards are the
things he’s checked on most frequently, and probably the most expensive thing
in his entire luggage. The scholarship covered them, too, but only because he
made sure they did.
It’s pure luck that he managed to turn eighteen, so he could serve as legal
guardian for Lou and Daniel, in time for them to get their cards. No way mom
had saved their birth certificates, she barely saw their birth as proof that
they were real.
Lawrence feels his stomach retracting as the woman behind the counter looks
through their cards, it burns right in that spot where the ribs split over his
stomach.
She’s going to send him home. She won’t let him get away. She can tell on their
social security cards. She’ll laugh at the fact that he’s even trying. Look
right through his nice clothes. Somniac.
The voice waking him up at night.
“How many bags are you checking in?”
“Checking in?” Lawrence echoes stupidly. “Well…”
“Meaning, how many would you like to bring onto the plane? And how many do you
wish to leave now and get back when you’ve reached your destination."
She’s thinking they haven’t been on a plane on their own before, mom probably
dealt with all this. She’s going to help this young man and the cute little
kids, it’s her job. And he’s so polite, you don’t really expect that from
someone his age.
Lawrence sees his reflection in her smile. He looks the exact way she sees him,
just the way he wants to be seen, and thus he only sees a big fat lie.
“Oh! It’s just this.” He shows her the bag containing all their possessions.
“Great!” she says. “You can place it right here.”
Lawrence hauls the bag onto the conveyer belt. She types something.
“You’re going to gate six,” she says, sticking something onto his bag, before
handing him some strips of paper. “These are your boarding cards, you’ll have
to present them before boarding.”
Lawrence paws the cards up from the counter. She smiles. He smiles back.
He’s so scared of getting caught now. He doesn’t even want to think about how
bad it’ll be at a nice college. He’s not going to, either. He’s going to look
at the signs in the ceiling. They’re going to gate six. 
Lawrence grabs Lou and Daniel, one by each hand. He’s focusing on everything
pointless right now, he wouldn’t be surprised if he accidentally left them
somewhere.
“Let’s go,” he says. “Look out for a number six.”
He follows the signs in the ceiling, always the same ones. They don’t seem to
lead them anywhere except up identical escalators, more flashy stores, or
boutiques, as they're apparently called. Overpriced food and enormous bags of
candy. Lawrence is at an airport for the first time in eighteen years of life,
and he sees kids younger than Daniel run past them.
The dust stays under his skin.
Lawrence doesn’t know how to live in the normal world. He never knew the
reality he had with Adam was off, because it was more normal than what he was
used to. And truth is, it could’ve been totally off the rails; it still
would’ve made more sense than this.
The airport shouldn’t be this huge. The ceiling’s going to collapse over them.
Eventually, they get to a spot where people put their bags on conveyer belts
and guards ask people to take their jackets off. Adam had told him that this
would happen; a safety check before they board the plane. Lawrence halts. A man
in a uniform is standing in a booth in front of the belt, blipping everyone’s
tickets. Lou looks up at him.
“What are they doing?”
“They’re making sure we don’t bring anything dangerous onto the plane,”
Lawrence says. “But we don’t have to go through yet, we have hours before the
plane leaves. We can sit out here a bit.”
“Why?” Lou asks, skeptically.
Lawrence pretends not to hear her, finding a bench by the nearest wall, sits
down, gratefully, uncertain of what it is he’s hoping for. Lou and Daniel sits
down, starts doodling in their notebooks.
xxxxxxxxx
Adam steps into a cab, about an hour away. His voice probably sounds almost
normal when he asks the driver to go to O’Hare, but he’s sweating profusely
when he’s checking for his wallet in his pocket. When the car starts moving, he
gets a sudden insight in how dumb it is that he’s spending the majority of the
money he has this week to go to the airport to say something he’s yet to figure
out what it is, to someone he knows won’t stay, anyway. But he’s still doing
it, gladly. How sad is that?
He gets his phone out of his pocket. The songs he listens to during the drive
will forever be associated with nausea, sweaty palms, such enormous anxiety
that he’d almost prefer opening the car door and run all the way to the
airport. When he finally gets there and says that he wants to pay cash, his
voice sounds weird and gravelly. Fuck. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Adam almost runs to the nearest entrance. The cabbie asked him what terminal he
was going to, but Adam had no clue, he’s already forgotten what he scribbled
onto Lawrence’s booking info, and when he gets into the maze of white, sleek
floors, he feels even more lost.
“’Scuse me,” he says, jogging up to the nearest counter labeled ‘information.’
“How do I get to the three-thirty plane to Ontario?”
The lady behind the counter smiles, overseeing at his slightly hysterical
expression, types something on her keyboard.
“Gate six,” she says. “Terminal five.”
Adam nods, without really registering what she says. Then he starts walking. He
has to work to read the signs, and not just run around, hoping he’ll find
Lawrence sooner or later.
He doesn’t know what terminal he’s at now. He definitely doesn’t know how long
it’ll take him to get to Lawrence. And somehow, even though he hasn’t been on a
plane since he got old enough to stay home by himself when his family went
away, he knows that if Lawrence has boarded, it won’t be like in romantic
comedies, he can’t make the plane to around by telling the TSA staff that he
has to tell someone he loves him and he won’t be whole again until he gets
back.
If Lawrence is gone, he’s gone.
Adam tries not to look at the time too much as he’s walking. It makes no
difference whether he knows how much time he’s lost or not. It’s lost either
way. That’s what he needs to focus on. It’s over.
xxxxxxxxx
When Lawrence sees Adam, he’s sweaty, out of breath, powerwalking towards
Lawrence like he’ll disappear if he doesn’t reach him right away. Lawrence
isn’t surprised at all. When he gets up and starts jogging, it’s like he’s been
waiting for this since he sat down. Getting up and running towards his best
friend.
To say goodbye.
Smoking hasn’t been kind on Adam’s lungs, he’s breathing like he ran a
marathon, but still manages to smile before they meet in a hug that’s almost
violent. The smell of leather and sweat and tobacco engulfs Lawrence like a
cloud, and he realizes that he’s crying, but also that he has no intention of
stopping.
When they let go of each other, they don’t do it all the way. Adam maintains a
firm grip on Lawrence’s shoulders, and Lawrence’s hands move across Adam’s
hands, arms, face, wants it all.
“Adam-Adam, I knew you’d come,” Lawrence say, can’t really make sense of the
way he’s talking. He tries to convey how happy he is that Adam’s here, but his
breaths are jagged, hands shaking as usual. “I-I knew you wouldn’t - knew you
wouldn’t let me…”
Breathing becomes hard. Adam looks kind of annoyed. Maybe he imagined this as a
happy reunion, with a dramatic string quartet in the background, but everything
he has to bottle up in front of others wells back up when Adam’s with him, how
tiny he really is, how he’s not ready for this at all, how he needs Adam with
him, he’ll die without him.
“Dude, stop,” Adam mumbles, carefully prying Lawrence’s hands off his arms.
“You knew I wouldn’t let you go without saying goodbye, right? You knew that. I
just couldn’t… fucks sake, Lawrence, relax…”
Lawrence nods. He’s about to crack, and Adam shouldn’t have to feel like the
last thing he does with him is taking care of him.
“You okay?”
“No. No, it’s…”
Lawrence can’t think of a word for it.
“Hey,” Adam says, putting a gentle hand on the back of Lawrence’s neck. “I know
it’s scary. Okay? It’s fucking terrifying. Even I think it is, and I’m staying
put. But, you know… you gotta do this. You know that?”
Lawrence nods again.
“How can you be so goddamn cool about it?” he mutters, rubbing one hand against
his eye. Adam smiles, almost entirely without bitterness.
“Somebody should be.”
Lawrence tries to take a breath. It turns into more of a quivering sob.
It shouldn’t have to hurt this much. It’s not fair.
“I love you,” Lawrence says.
Adam nods impatiently, looking at the floor.
“I know, I know. But like…” he says, shoving his hands in his pocket, like this
is just any other talk. “I kind of think that we… even if we maybe… put a lot
of shit aside, that we maybe should’ve… talked about or something… they weren’t
totally shitty years, right?”
Lawrence shakes his head.
“No. No, they weren’t.” Stay. Please.
Adam smiles that way again.
“Adam, I’m sorry I…”
“Don’t be fucking sorry.”
He swallows. Lawrence tries to think that it’s good that he doesn’t start
crying, too. Mostly feels lonely, though.
“I… I kind of feel like I did a good job with you, you know.”
Lawrence nods.
“You did. Thanks.”
Nods again. Adam has to look away when he sees Lawrence’s gaze. Like something
he’s spent three years trying to build up in there gets brutally trampled.
Then Lawrence leans forward and kisses him gently, Adam gets that feeling
again, that “oh god why did we ever stop” feeling, lacing his fingers into
Lawrence’s hair. It’s stupid, it doesn’t solve anything. It won’t make it
easier.
Adam doesn’t let him go. Leans his forehead against Lawrence’s, sweat-shiny,
tussled bangs against his perfect ones. Then he stands up on his toes and hugs
Lawrence as tight as he can. Tries locking this in his memory, Lawrence’s body,
the warmth, even the bottomless despair.
“I’m going,” he mumbles against Lawrence’s ear. “Is that cool?”
He lets him go. Lawrence nods.
“Sure.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
Adam sighs.
“Good. I can’t do it. I’ll tie you to this bench if that’s what it takes to…”
He quiets down. Lawrence nods again.
“I get it. It’s fine.”
Adam takes a step back. Lawrence holds his gaze for as long as he can, as he
starts walking away, waves halfheartedly at Lou and Daniel. They wave back,
kind of confused, probably expecting him to say a proper goodbye to them, too.
But there wouldn’t be any point.
Adam starts walking.
Lawrence never thought he’d have to think that. Not really. That Adam’s walking
away from him.
Not without knowing he’d come back.
He sits down. It’s still quite a while until their plane leaves, so he just
sits there, actually staying calm, until they’re through the screening and it’s
time to board. Then he sees a kid with a Sex Pistols shirt boarding with him,
and he cries quietly all the way across the border.
Adam’s never felt this lonely with this many people around him. His legs aren’t
attached to the rest of his body, they somehow bring him to the chairs out by
the terminal even though his upper body is floppy, like a ragdoll. A completely
airtight lid over it all, while something is being torn off of him, something
else settling in.
He hoists his knees up, burying his face in them. After a while, a guard walks
up to him and says that if he doesn’t calm down, they’ll have to escort him off
the premises.
Adam squeezes his lips together, even though he has no memory of making the
slightest sound. It feels very important that they don’t make him go home.
He stays there, trembling with spasms and his knees pressed to his chest for a
while, because he can’t cry, because he’s terrified, he can’t go home because
he has no money, and right now, he’s not sure he has a home, either.
He knows what it’s like to go home to a place where no one wants him. He wanted
to believe that he wouldn’t have to do that anymore.
Eventually, he gets up. He digs some bills out of his pocket and starts walking
to the exit. And he’s just going home in lack of anything else, and because he
wants to end this here, leave the airport and declare it the end, of whatever
it was they had and this stupid fucking childhood that never really started.  
***** Dear Adam *****
Adam,
Yup, I’m writing a letter. Super lame, I know. But I won’t get my computer
until my classes get started, and since I’ve barely put my bags down and
already started bawling, I figured it wasn’t really the time to be practical.
You probably won’t get this until a week or so, so I’ll send all this via mail
when I get my computer. So you don’t think I’ve forgotten about you.
Apparently I’m in Canada. You’d love it here. (No, you wouldn’t.) You’d hate
every minute of it. They showed us the school building before driving us to
campus. We just passed it on the bus, and I still got terrified. The whole
place looks like your old house, except twenty times bigger and with a park.
Then they dropped us off and showed us the dorm, so we could drop off our
luggage and siblings, then we were going out to eat with all the other exchange
students. They talked about the cultural relationships we were forming, and how
amazing it was all going to be. I just wanted to cry. I couldn’t let it out
until I was home and locked myself in the bathroom. I felt so goddamn lonely. I
almost wished for some annoying little punk to walk up to me and start up some
shit, so I’d get in a fight and get sent home.
You might like the dorms. It looks like your new place, just… ten times
smaller. I have space for the bed that comes with the room, the desk that comes
with the room, the kitchenette, and the mattress that I – oh god it hurt inside
– had to buy myself. Lou and Daniel are sharing it, she’s already bitching
about it. She probably hoped it’ll all get better now that we’re in this fancy
new country.
That's it, really. It was probably just as well that you didn’t come with me, I
couldn’t fit you anywhere. (And don’t ever think we’d share the bed, hint hint)
But I want you here anyway.
I hope things are okay at home. And that you can make rent. And that you can
keep your job and that you stay in touch with Wendy. (Say hi from me) But more
than anything, I want you here. Just so you know, because I know I’d never get
to say it face to face. I cried all the way to Canada because I couldn’t even
imagine how hard it’d be to stay here without you, but it’s much worse than I
could’ve thought.
I miss you.
 
Aug 26 2010 23:18:34
From: Adam Faulkner (justfckingadam@hotmail.com)
To: Lawrence Gordon (lawrenceg@hotmail.com)
Re: let’s try this email thing I guess
Hey. (That’s as close to cute openings I’ll ever get, but you probably knew
that.)
No, that place doesn’t sound like a lot of fun for people who are not nerds.
But it’s cool, I’m having the best time over here with my camera and my… empty
apartment. Yeah, Wendy moved out. We didn’t get along very well towards the
end, as you probably noticed. She was too broken up about you leaving. I guess
I was too, but unlike her, I took it out on everyone else, including her and
you. I’m probably not a lot of fun to be around when my best friend is moving
to Canada.
But now I get to have all my beers to myself! And I don’t have to watch all
these stupid fucking cartoons that you propped the kids up in front of when you
were studying. And best of all, I get to sleep through the night without some
asshole tossing and turning next to me.
Sarcasm doesn’t really come through in Email, does it? Sorry, I’ll try to stop.
You said you missed me, I hope that means you also miss what a dumbass I am.
Are things better over there? And are the nightmares okay? Promise you won’t
let this shit drag you down, Lawrence. I know that’s easy for me to say, but
seriously, you worked so hard just to get there, away from all this. Don’t
bring it to Canada. Leave it here, I’ll store it for you.
Leave your panic attacks with Adam, he’ll keep it stored and as good as new for
when you get back from your lame college, ready to be used again! (sounds like
a good business plan, doesn’t it? I’ll keep it in mind if the pictures never
take off…)
Things are pretty much the same here. Except that I (wait for it) got coffee
with Claire yesterday. It was kind of nice, especially considering how such a
healthy behavior should’ve made my head explode.
Don’t be like that. It sucks enough as it is, knowing you’re this far away.
Just remember that if it gets too hard, you can call in the middle of the…
whenever the hell nighttime is over there, send a weird email, move back here,
whatever you want. I’m here. It’ll be like you never left. But try to power
through.
Oh, right, not to be insensitive or something, but… when are you coming back?
Wrong thing to ask? Fine.
Keep calm. Promise me that.
 
Jan 10 2011 21:42:02
From: Lawrence Gordon (lawrenceg@hotmail.com)
To: Adam Faulkner (justfckingadam@hotmail.com) 
Re: let’s try this email thing I guess
You know what? I got to watch a guy dissect a dead body today! And I was
totally cool about it, not one bit nervous. No, I’m kidding. But I thought I’d
be more freaked out than I was. And I won’t have to be around a bunch of dead
people once I start med school. Unless I really fuck up, knock on wood. I hope
people with a pulse are less scary than the ones without it.
I really wish I could’ve visited you over Christmas. Or that you could get over
that stupid self-respect you have for once and nicked money off your parents,
so you could’ve come here. Lou misses you a lot. Daniel’s getting kind of
bummed out, but I don’t think he can put the reason into words. He probably
hasn’t grasped that we won’t see you until we go back to the states. And to be
honest, I don’t think I have, either…
Thanks for the Christmas card, though! You should’ve seen how happy it made me.
Even though I look like shit in that picture. That’s pretty much the only
picture you have of us together, isn’t it? I’ll never get why you spend so much
time behind the camera and insist on putting me in front of it. God knows
you’re the prettier one of the two of us.
I’m so sorry you didn’t get that job. There’ll be other shots, considering how
goddamn talented you are. And I know you want to develop and whatnot (even
though you’d never admit it) but try to keep in mind that you actually have a
place of your own now. When we first met, you’d gladly have turned tricks to
get there, remember?
It shouldn’t be physically possible to miss anyone as much as I miss you, but
if I push myself I swear that my missing will break the laws of physics. Then
I’ll have proven all the scientists wrong, and I won’t need a stupid degree,
so… let’s get to work?
 
Jan 11 2011 12:13:57
From: Adam Faulkner (justfckingadam@hotmail.com)
To: Lawrence Gordon (lawrenceg@hotmail.com)
Re: let’s try this email thing I guess
Seriously, Lawrence. I haven’t seen you in five months, and you feel that’s the
best way to start your goddamn email? Fuck. I’m starting to think it was just
as well that I didn’t go with you. But, good to hear that you didn’t crack. I
never thought you would, though. Despite all the times I watched you
hyperventilate over a C, I didn’t doubt for a second that you’d have a stone
face while carving up a dead person. (Whether that’s actually a good thing,
I’ll leave to interpretation)
It would’ve been awesome to see you, I know. But good that you liked the card.
I thought about using the one I took after you passed out on the boardwalk
after I forced you to try tequila, but I’ll save that for later. I’m thinking
of release it to the press once you’ve gotten famous. And thanks for your card,
even though it was late. I’ll hide it somewhere so no one knows how soft and
squishy I get inside when looking at it.
Yeah, I’m trying to stay positive. It’s gross, but whatever. It just would’ve
been fun to get some approval, you know? (Or, who am I kidding, of course you
know) But you’re right. I’ve gone far. Now we just have to make sure you do,
too, because no way I’ll let you be a housewife when you get back.
I actually called mom last night, believe it or not. Even weirder was that she
actually seemed glad that I did. She told me dad was leaving for a business
trip in a week, so I can come over for dinner if I want. Apparently she tried
mentioning my name around him about a month after I left, and he told her that
her behavior was tearing the family apart, and to emphasize that, he spent the
rest of the evening passionately eye-fucking Maria.
Bitch, please. My missing could kick your missing’s ass.
 
Nov 15 04:38:17
From: Adam Faulkner (justfckingadam@hotmail.com)
To: Lawrence Gordon (lawrenceg@hotmail.com)
Re: ska vi testa det här med mail eller?
I cant do this. I dont know why i thought i could. I cant do it. I want to go
home. I want you to be here.
Adam can i please come back? Are you still mad at me? If you are i understand.
Im so bad. I ruined everything. Im srory.
 
The morning he sees this is the first time Adam calls Lawrence. He has no idea
how to reach him, so he finds the number to his school, tells the woman
answering that she has to find Lawrence Gordon, it’s an emergency, and he’s
probably in class, that’s where he usually is during emergencies.
Initially, Lawrence doesn’t want to come when a teacher walks in and tells him
he has a call, partly because he knows that it’s Adam and he’ll break if he
talks to him, and partly because it just feels wrong being called to the
teacher’s lounge without a four years younger, pissed off Adam following him.
Adam barely greets him when he picks up the phone.
“What happened?” he almost yells, Lawrence can visualize him holding his phone
with both hands, he does that when he’s under stress.
Lawrence tries to explain. He’d been in class, and the teacher had asked a
question. He’d raised his hands, but so had the girl sitting in the desk in
front of him. She got to answer the question, and when she was done talking,
the teacher had looked at him, smiled and said: “what do you know, Lawrence
didn’t answer this one! That’s got to be a first for this semester.”
Adam waits for a continuation, but there is none. He doesn’t really see the
connection between Lawrence’s story and the fact that twelve hours later, he
was so panicked that he actually sent a mail confessing to it. Lawrence is
silent. His silence even sounds wrong. Tears undermine his breaths, they’re
about to crack. Adam wants to hold him.
Eventually, he opens his mouth. Runs fingers through his hair.
“Lawrence, you have to…” he says. That’s all he gets out. There’s nothing else
to say.
Lawrence can’t cry. He has to get back to class soon. There are still miles of
phone line between him and the only one who could get him to stop, so he cries
quietly over the phone, Adam says nothing, eventually his breathing gets wrong,
too.
 
Nov 28 2012 22:41:09
From: Lawrence Gordon (lawrenceg@hotmail.com) 
To: Adam Faulkner (justfckingadam@hotmail.com)
Re: let’s try this email thing I guess
Hey, Adam, I’m sososo sorry it’s taken me this long to reply. I’ve done nothing
(and I mean nothing) but study these past few weeks. I’d probably collapse in a
corner if it didn’t mean I’d miss out on valuable study time. It doesn’t
exactly help with the nightmares or whatever the fuck they are. But don’t
worry. It’s just two and a half years left.
And I’m sorry about that last Email. I understand how worried you must’ve been,
and how stupid you probably felt when you called. Truth is, you can’t do a
whole lot when I get like that. It helped when I knew you were always nearby,
but now, it basically passes when it wants to pass. But I’m still glad you
called. Thanks.
Right now, I’m doing a paper on how abnormal cell development affects patients
mentally. And yeah, I know you think everything I do here is boring, but
believe me, you’d find this crazy interesting. Wilde would’ve loved it. (You
know, if he hadn’t been dead, and if he in life could’ve focused on anything
besides banging anything with a pulse.) Lou’s kind of adjusted to school, even
though she’d probably prefer to keep studying at home with me. It’s just
barely, though. Her teacher had a talk with me earlier to tell me she’d given
another student a bloody nose for calling her white trash. It made me think of
you.
It’s easier for Daniel. He doesn’t even try to socialize with other kids, he
just dives into the textbooks. It gets me worried sometimes, but I think he’ll
be alright. As long as he doesn’t turn out like me.
How’s your new apartment working out? Are you making ends meet? Is it true what
people say about Brooklyn, with all the hipsters and stuff? You should fit
right in if it is. Please try not to drink all your money and get chlamydia
from some skinny teenage poet. And occasionally do something besides work. If
it gets too expensive, move to some other town. I know you get paid for way
more time than you actually spend on your pictures, but you know… one of us
acting this way is enough.
 
Dec 1 2012 17:29:38
From: Adam Faulkner (justfckingadam@hotmail.com)
To: Lawrence Gordon (lawrenceg@hotmail.com)
Re: let’s try this email thing I guess
For fucks sake, I’ve told you a billion time to go to the health clinic and
talk to the councilor. You’ve got one on campus, USE IT. I’m not trying to dump
you on someone else or whatever, but you need more help than I can give you via
email. Do you get how fucking hard it is to know that you feel like shit and
not being able to do anything about it? The least you can do if you want to do
something for me is to take care of yourself.
You don’t have to be polite with me, dumbass. You should write to me when you
don’t feel well, that’s not what bugs me. It’s that you need someone who’s
actually there. I’ll call you every day if you want to, but I don’t think you
do.
I know this makes me suck as an adult, but I laughed my ass off when I read the
part about Lou. Tell her to keep it up. Yeah, I know there are “more
constructive” ways to deal with assholes, but she shouldn’t let anyone put her
down. She’s too cool for that. It’s Daniel I’m worried about. If he starts
bawling when he gets a B on an assignment or fling around through the night,
promise me you’ll hide his textbooks for a bit?
Brooklyn is the best. You should’ve seen me when I first got off the Greyhound,
I looked like those little girls from the countryside when they first see the
big city. “Oh my, the houses are as tall as the sky!” But yeah, everyone living
her is a pretentious douche.
Getting by as a student isn’t that bad, actually. We were pretty good at
turning pennies, and honestly, I wouldn’t move from here if they kicked me to
the curb. I’m having the time of my life. I get to do something I think is fun,
and on these blocks, photography is suddenly a highly respected line of
profession. Also, the fact that I’m young and pale with a leather jacket and
sunken eyes apparently only adds to it. Who would’ve thought that’d be of use
one day?
I don’t give a shit if you’re writing a paper on how to be a better fuck;
unless you want me to get over there and tell your cute classmates that your
best friends doesn’t eat his vegetables every day (I assume that’s something
deeply shameful in those circles), you better write a little more often.
Brooklyn is a ride, but you’d like it here, too. And I’ve got a queen bed now.
 
Oct 20 2013 04:07:31
From: Lawrence Gordon (lawrenceg@hotmail.com) 
To: Adam Faulkner (justfckingadam@hotmail.com)
Re: let’s try this email thing I guess
Hey, Adam. I’ve been slow as shit again, sorry about that. How are things?
I have little under two years left here. I don’t even understand how I made it
this far. Or, I wouldn’t have if it weren’t for the therapy. And the pills, of
course. But when I’m done here, I can start med school in the states. I already
looked it up.
That’s great news, that you got hired by that magazine! I wish I knew more of
what your pictures look like now days, I can only assume you’ve developed
plenty. Can you send some of them?
Lou says hi, btw. She says that upper cut you showed her came of use last week.
I’m going to pretend I don’t get what she means… 
 
Oct 25 2013 22:31:48
From: Adam Faulkner (justfckingadam@hotmail.com)
To: Lawrence Gordon (lawrenceg@hotmail.com)
Re: let’s try this email thing I guess
Well, what do you know. Doctor Gordon is still alive. He hasn’t died from some
freaky infection he caught from a body he dissected, searching for a cure for a
virus that wreaks a tribe of cannibals in Papua New Guinea. Then I can only
assume you’re writing a paper on said virus? No? Then I’m at a loss.
Things are cool here. The editorial staff at this magazine has begun to adjust
to my presence, but you should’ve seen the first couple of days. I was
constantly terrified and walked around looking like I was tripping for two
weeks until they warmed up to me. I think the girls are just happy there’s a
dude here who’s below fifty and doesn’t have a beer gut.
You’ll get your ass across that border the second you’re done there, that’s all
there is to it. You haven’t started to like Canada, have you? You don’t want to
stay over there with their queens and hockey and their weird money and shit?
Come ooon, I know you miss the expensive fucking health care and massive
outbreak of drug related crimes up in this bitch. And me, obviously.
Lou’s growing up to be… me. That’s not good. Tell her to cut it out. Then
again, if the option is to be like you… fuck, that girl needs more male role
models.
I’m in Chicago for Claire’s birthday, so I took a tour around our old blocks. I
went to that store where we could get beer without getting ID’d. Thought about
going inside, but I don’t think they’d like that… they probably haven’t
forgotten the time we went there shit-faced, I pointed to the clerk and yelled
that he was an outlaw, and you had to drag me outside.
 
Apr 5 2014 15:49:15
From: Adam Faulkner (justfckingadam@hotmail.com)
To: Lawrence Gordon (lawrenceg@hotmail.com)
Re: let’s try this email thing I guess
Dude, seriously. If you don’t get back to me soon, I’ll have to spend a bunch
of money on a steak knife and a plane ticket just to get up there and cut you.
And that seems kind of unnecessary.
 
Apr 21 2014 18:17:42
From: Adam Faulkner (justfckingadam@hotmail.com)
To: Lawrence Gordon (lawrenceg@hotmail.com)
Re: !
LAWRENCE.
 
Jun 8 2014 17:54:27
From: Adam Faulkner (justfckingadam@hotmail.com)
To: Lawrence Gordon (lawrenceg@hotmail.com)
Re: !
Can I at least know that you’re alive? This is exactly what I was scared would
happen when you left.
***** Through the Years *****
Chapter Notes
     Can I just take a minute to say that I launched this story on FF.Net
     as the first fic I'd ever write where Adam and Lawrence weren't
     romantically involved
     and it's so weird to think of now because I can't for the life of me
     remember what I even originally planned to be the endgame like what
     would the plot be
When he’s twenty-five, Adam tries fucking a girl for the first time since
Lawrence left.
He gets drunk to even be able to follow through, plus do it from behind, and to
highest extent possible, avoid looking at her. At first, it goes okay. Then she
starts whining and moaning, sort of like Lawrence used to do at night, and then
Adam gets up, gathers his clothes and stumbles out the door. He’s flaccid again
before he’s down the stairs.
xxxxxxxxx
A few years later, when he moves again, he finds the only picture he has of him
and Lawrence together. He’s young in it. He looks happy, and has no idea how
his life is going to be.
Adam throws the picture out, entirely unfeeling.
xxxxxxxxx
About seven years after Lawrence gets married, he has to start taking sedatives
again. Not because he wants to, he argues against it with all he’s got and it’s
dangerously close to becoming their first fight since Alison told him she was
pregnant. But she gives him an ultimatum. He has to be available to be a good
father. He has to think about how this affects them. He has to stop being
selfish.
Lawrence gets the impression that all this is a way for her to not have to say
that she just doesn’t want to see him this way.
He visits his psychiatrist and asks for a renewed prescription. When asked why,
he unravels the whole thing, doesn’t have the energy to hold back. Sits in the
IKEA chair and reveals his ulcer, his sleep deprivation, his daughter whom he
can go days without seeing even though they’re both in the same apartment, and
while he’s at it, the hallucinations, anxiety, panic, panic ever present.
In the end, he gets a prescription for a sedative, antidepressants, and a
pamphlet about breathing exercises that are supposed to help with panic
attacks. Lawrence gets it filled, puts the pill bottles in the back of the
medicine cabinet so Diana won’t find them. Alison gives him a look, he rolls
his eyes and puts them in his briefcase, instead. Realizes that he’s not home
enough for pill bottles in his medicine cabinet to really mean anything.
Alison is with him every morning, dinnertime and night, visits the hospital if
he’s not at home when it’s time for him to take his pills, because she doesn’t
trust him to do it, which is kind of called for. Sometimes she forces him to
stick his tongue out after taking them to make sure he swallowed.
Lawrence very rarely loses his temper. Especially not with her, and he doesn’t
do it now, either. But Alison has never seen as much hatred in his eyes as he
has when looking at the pills, the yellow and the brown bottle, has to be in
his briefcase every day, or he’ll explode.
xxxxxxxxx
“It was like, you know, like, a revelation,” Lou says. She’s had her gigantic
teacup in front of her lips for the past five minutes, but too much to tell
them to even have time to drink. She managed to be the last one among the
siblings to start college, she waited out them both to think of something she
actually wanted to do instead of something she felt like she had to. Lawrence
forces himself to think of that as something positive, and Daniel’s too kind to
really be jealous, but the more Lou tells them, the more his gaze starts
flickering onto the table, the stiffer his hands get on his muffin.
“Cause I’ve still had my doubts,” Lou goes on. “I really had. Like, I did. But
I got it, right then. That this is what I want to do. It really is.”
She slows down a bit, and finally takes a sip of her tea. Lawrence and Daniel
exchange a glance across the table. None of them know why this feels so wrong.
“You’re not nervous at all?” Daniel finally asks. His gaze is stuck in his
coffee. Lou shakes her head.
“I’m not. Really. Just happy.”
Lawrence nods. He wants to think of something to say, something to convey that
he’s absolutely thrilled that she’s doing something she finds meaningful, but
can’t think of anything. He realizes that he’d actually prefer if she was a
wreck, like he was when he started med school, and wants to splash his face
with his scolding hot tea.
Lou looks between him and Daniel. She doesn’t feel anything slight, which is
why her bubbly joy has turned into icy cold rage in less than a second.
“Sorry, did I say happy?” she says, every word dripping with venom. “I’m about
to crack. I’m totally fucking terrified. I’m about to call Lawrence and whine
that I can’t do this. Better?”
Daniel meets her gaze with one equally dark.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he hisses. “Just cause I don’t… I…”
He stutters, quiets, looks down, his face scarlet. Lou immediately looks less
angry, but she’d never apologize, so they sit in silence. Lou puts her teacup
down, there’s blood red lipstick on the rim.
“I didn’t turn out like you guys,” she says. “Does that have to be a problem?
That I’m not a train wreck? Do I only count as one of you if I can’t handle
pressure?”
Lawrence doesn’t know what to say. Daniel keeps staring into his cup. There are
tears in his eyes.
“It’s just hard to get used to,” Lawrence finally says.
He looks around her apartment. It looks exactly like her. Disorganized and
loved to bits. And the only reason he thinks she looks so small in the light
from the tall kitchen window is that it’s the way he’ll always see her, not
because that’s what she’s really like.
It’s not even true that it’s hard for him to accept that she’s doing well.
It shouldn’t be true. This was what he always wanted for her.
Lou rolls her eyes and reaches into her pocket for her cigarettes.
“Look, I love you guys,” she says wearily and puts a cigarette between her
lips. “You know that. But am I the only one who’s getting sick of this
discussion? The whole… ‘we have to let mom fuck up our lives or we’re doing
something wrong?’ Isn’t that fucking stupid when you think about it?”
Lawrence looks into the table, too. Ashamed.
“Yeah. Yeah, it’s really stupid.”
Lou shakes her head, lighting her smoke. They’re quiet for a while longer.
Daniel’s breathing has gone back to normal. When he looks up, Lou smiles at him
that way, that thing they have that not even Lawrence understands.
“You ever wish mom could’ve been a properly shitty mom?” she then says.
Lawrence raises his eyebrows.
“No. What do you mean?”
“I mean…” Lou says, throwing her hand out. “Everyone in those whiny
autobiographies are always like ‘my mom was a drunk who burned me with
cigarettes,’ or ‘my mom was a religious fanatic who whipped me when I got my
period.’ Like, how was our mom really that bad?”
“She did hit us,” Lawrence says with a small smile. “And she liked her beer.”
“Yeah…” Lou says absentmindedly and turns to the window. Her face gets almost
white in the sunlight, slim fingers around her cigarette.
The association to Adam hits Lawrence like a punch to the gut. He hasn’t
thought about him in almost a decade.
“But that wasn’t what really hurt, you know?” she then says.
xxxxxxxxx
Diana’s teacher calls Lawrence at work when she’s in second grade. She tells
him that Diana’s reading skills are on the level of a five year old. That she
has no problems interacting with other kids, but she has troubles focusing.
That they need to talk about this at home.
“Or maybe home is part of the problem?” the teacher says. Her compassion feels
hollow and sticky. Lawrence hangs up.
He tries talking to Diana when he picks her up from school. She shuts down
completely. Arms crossed, glaring out the window.
“You have to tell us when you don’t understand something,” Lawrence says,
putting a hand on her knee. “There’s nothing we can’t work out, okay? You can
learn anything, you’re so smart. But mommy and I have to know what to help you
with.”
Diana still won’t look at him. The helplessness he feels as a father sometimes
overpowers the many times that she makes him incredibly happy.
“Honey. Is it so bad to ask for help?”
“No.” She seems to disagree with him just to disagree with him.
“Then what is it?”
“I just don’t want to.” Her voice is creaking.
“Why not?”
Diana almost dislocates her neck with her efforts to hide her face from him.
“Di? What is it?”
“You-you’d just get mad at me…”
Then she starts crying, still turned to the window, in the corner of his eye,
Lawrence sees her angrily rubbing her hand against her cheeks. He doesn’t want
to ask why she thinks he’d get mad. She probably has a list of things he’s made
her think are his opinions on her, just by having them about himself.
“Honey…”
He puts his hand on her knee again, trying to comfort her while keeping one eye
on the road ahead. 
xxxxxxxxx
“Lawrence, get up. Car crash.”
Lawrence moans and rolls out of bed. His limbs wake up before he does, flails
to his feet and out the door of the on call room before everything’s in place
in his head.
Night shifts aren’t a problem to him. His sleeping schedule has never been
healthy, and there’s no point in trying to fix it anymore. Why would he sleep
like a normal person if he earns more money sleeping in half hour cycles?
“What’s the story?” he asks Stephanie as they stride through the hallway to the
OR. She’s tiny, almost has to run to keep up.
“Twenty-six year old female,” she says. “Six months pregnant. Lost a lot of
blood. Her leg was stuck under the car for half an hour before the paramedics
got her out, you might have to amputate.
Lawrence shakes his head as they enter the prep room. Stephanie rolls her eyes.
“Could you for once look past your weird fucking obsessions?” she hisses as
they wash their hands.
“No,” Lawrence says.
Lawrence sees the patient through the window. When he was younger, he could
barely do surgeries if the patient’s face wasn’t covered up. This would’ve been
a luxury, working on someone’s leg. But now days, it just feels stupid with
that green fabric stretched out by the woman’s waist. As if enough of them
haven’t died for him to know exactly how human the person on that table is.
Lawrence scrubs his hands for ten minutes before entering the OR. All according
to the protocol, so much so that the skin on his hands is red and flaky and
he’s withering, but you can’t see it when he’s wearing the gloves.
“Blood pressure 120 by 80,” the assisting nurse says. “Deteriorating pulse,
heavy bleeding from right femoral artery.”
“Kelly clamps,” Lawrence says and puts his mask on.
He walks up to the table, standing in front of the patient’s leg. It looks like
it’s been torn open by one of the monsters he sees when he has an anxiety
attack.
Lawrence doesn’t notice it, but he takes a deep, sort of quivering breath
before putting the clamp on the ripped artery. But he’s not nervous, just
determined.
He and Stephanie have argued about this in the past, more than once. She’s the
only one who knows that he’s refusing to amputate this woman’s leg, and that he
probably would do it, if she hadn’t been pregnant.
With moms, he’d rather see them dead than incapacitated. 
xxxxxxxx
Stephanie comes to find him afterwards. He’s sitting in the cafeteria, staring
at the clock on the wall.
“Have you considered therapy?” she asks.
It could’ve been a joke, but it’s not.
“Seems kind of dull,” Lawrence says.
She’s not satisfied with that. She walks up to the chair across from him, leans
against it like she wants to mark her distance.
“Just because it’s worked this far doesn’t mean it’s going to keep working. She
could’ve died. The kid, too.”
“You could see it as further proof that I’m amazingly talented,” Lawrence says,
looking at her firmly.
Stephanie stares back. Lawrence gives up and looks at his coffee cup.
“Like you said, it’s worked this far. This isn’t my first emergency case.”
“You keep saying that,” she says, annoyed. “You’ll get by on being a great
surgeon for a while, but there are limits to that, too. What happens when you
have an off day? Or when you get nearsighted? That’s coming sooner than you
think. Will you learn then? Or just keep doing what you’re doing out of
stubbornness?”
Lawrence smiles bitterly and looks at her again. She’s always been the only
nurse that dares talking to him like this, even when she was new at the job.
And they still worked together for three months until he managed to learn her
name.
“That sounds like something I could do,” he says. “When you’ve been at this for
a while, you’ll learn how much old shit still affects you at the worst of
times. Stuff you thought you could handle, and that you should be able to
handle.”
Stephanie shakes her head. Finally smiles slightly.
“God, that’s depressing.”
“I know,” Lawrence says, taking a sip of his coffee. “And how much do you think
I have in my baggage? Being a hundred and fifty years old?”
Her smile widens. He was hoping she’d sit down with him, but eventually,
Stephanie turns around and leaves. Lawrence is left with his gross coffee and
thought of what he just said.
When he was an intern, and hadn’t talked to his mom in five years, he used to
dream of the day he finally counted as a Real Doctor. There’d be a huge
disaster, maybe a terrorist attack or something, and everyone would stand
there, completely dumbfounded, and some hysterical nurse would say: “what
should we do?” and someone would answer: “we need doctor Gordon.”
He’s had an emergency like that during his time here. There’d been a pile-up
somewhere, and he found out afterwards that the assisting surgeon had asked for
him specifically. But standing at the table, saw the woman in front of him,
someone had said that they’d managed to save her kid, and then Lawrence had
said something about how he felt a little dizzy and didn’t want to risk such an
important procedure.
He’d been a practicing surgeon for three years, and actually managed to become
the big name he’s always wanted. But he couldn’t do this.
It’s been seventeen years since he talked to his mom by now. And she still has
that grip on him.
He tried talking to Alison about this at some point. That was long after he’d
told her everything; his childhood, the panic attacks, the nail biting. She
said that it doesn’t really have to be that way, even if he’d paralyze someone
from the waist down, it wouldn’t necessarily mean that the patient became
completely incapacitated, it’d just put them in a wheelchair, and prosthetics
are available. She said it in a tone like she was glad to pass this knowledge
on, since he clearly hadn’t gotten this, and now he could finally relax.
She’s never really understood how little logic there is in Lawrence’s fear. The
absolute absurdity that they even had to have this discussion.
It’s every bit as depressing as Stephanie said, and he’ll still have to drag it
around for god knows how long. All of mom’s shit, that he had no choice but to
carry back then.
He doesn’t even know where he’d be without it.
How would he have gotten anywhere without all the anger? All the resentment
towards her? If he hadn’t had anything to run from, getting Lou and Daniel away
from, would he have had any motivation at all? Isn’t there a huge risk that
he’d still be stuck in Somna?
There’s no point in discussing this with Lou or Daniel. They barely remember
it, all those years, and thus don’t see it as a part of who they are. Not even
Daniel, who’s always been the more analytical one, thinks about it, and if he
does, he doesn’t talk about it.
Lawrence brought it up with him a while back. Daniel had just finished his
first day at university, and called Lawrence right afterwards to tell him he
was dropping out. For the first time in his career, Lawrence asked to get his
shift covered to go there, sit with Daniel outside the school, hold him as he
cried and then take him to get coffee.
It took him a while to get Daniel to talk. Once he got started, it was all
about how this wasn’t for him, he wasn’t good enough, he didn’t know why he
ever thought he was.
“No one else in there even needs the degree,” Daniel muttered and glared at the
people moving past their table. “It’s just for the resume. Like ‘look, I’m not
only super smart and amazing and know everything, I also have a degree in
journalism!’ They started writing novels when they were fifteen. And they have
nice clothes and they… they know this. I don’t.”
Lawrence sighed. It was kind of sad that the only times Daniel talked this much
was when he was in the middle of a breakdown.
“Have you even talked to any of the other students?” he asked gently. “Or do
you just look at them and then think of their back story yourself?”
Daniel didn’t answer him. Lawrence leaned forward.
“You wouldn’t have thought any of this if it weren’t for mom. You know that?
You’re going to let her ruin this for you?”
Daniel glanced at him. Then he looked into his coffee cup, smiling emptily.
“I still can’t eat ice cream,” he finally said. It didn’t even sound like he
was talking to Lawrence. “Really. It’s impossible. I don’t even remember what
it was like to live with her, but whenever I eat something cold, it’s like… I’m
back there. In Somna.” 
Lawrence hadn’t heard him say the name of the town before. He wasn’t sure why
it felt so definite. Combined with the way Daniel was staring into his coffee
cup. Like they’d never gotten out of there.
“We were cold a lot when we lived there,” Lawrence eventually said. “It almost
killed you once. It’s not weird that you’re still scared of cold things, and
it’s not a huge problem, either. You probably won’t be in a situation where
it’s crucial that you eat an ice cream cone. I just don’t want someone haven’t
seen in twelve years to make you think you can’t write on a professional level,
because you can.You really do.”
Daniel sighed, looking up again.
“I can write in my bedroom,” he said, trying to sound angry, but mostly just
sounded desperate. “Not at a university. Not with teachers and group
discussions and shit. It’s not me.”
Lou’s a bit too cool to talk about this stuff, even though she remembers more
of it than Daniel. Probably more than Lawrence, too, since it’s remarkable how
much you can forget when you don’t want to remember. He can still sometimes see
the traces it left with her, like her general suspicion towards men, her
neuroticism about money, her almost uncontrollable anger when she feels
ignored. But it hasn’t ruined her the way it did her brothers. There actually
is a chance she’ll be the only one in their family who turns into something
more than a self-destructive mess.
“Come ooon,”she moaned when he dropped her off on her first day of law school
and suddenly got so sentimental that she had to wriggle out of his arms.
Then she saw the way he looked at her, and hugged him tight. When she finally
let him go, she looked up at him, smiling encouragingly. She knew exactly why
this was so big to him.
“Someone has to take care of the women in this fucking country,” she said.
To Lou, it really is that simple. To Lawrence, it never will be. He could’ve
kept her there for an hour, explaining how she only thought that way because
they grew up the way they did. But even if he had, she wouldn’t have wanted to
hear it.
The only times Lou brings up their old life is when she asks about Adam. And
when she does, Lawrence just wants her to shut up.
She asks if Lawrence ever sees him. If he misses him. If Lawrence even gets how
much of their current life they owe to him.
Lawrence can’t think of one time he’s given a straight answer to any of those
questions. All he knows is that when he hears them, he feels so bad and all
together rotten that he’d gladly rip out any vital organ if it ridded him of
the feeling.
When he was in college, he used to like thinking about Adam. The thought that
no matter how terrible things were now, even though darkness felt like it was
pressing in on him from every angle at night, cornered him to find the
slightest crack in his armor, and even though he had to study for every
available second to avoid it, it’d be okay later on. He’d finish this goddamn
course, and then finally go back home. He’d find Adam and tell him all those
things he never said, the things he never had the time for. He’d make things
good again.
Then he stopped writing. Then he stopped thinking of Adam, because he couldn’t
stand the idea of failing. Not with something as important as him.
Lawrence sighs and looks at the time. It’s almost eight o’clock. He gets up,
takes his cell phone out, leaving the cold coffee on the table, and during the
walk back to the on call room for another couple hours of sleep, he talks to
his daughter. A few minutes of sweet talking nonsense before she goes to
school, and he knows he’ll get through the rest of the day. He forgets
sometimes that other people can make him feel that way.
Lawrence can sleep until lunchtime, then he’s due at the free clinic. They
always need more people on weekends. Bar fights, DUIs. Men who are nice
sometimes, but not when they’ve been drinking. All those things happening in a
totally different universe.
Lawrence is happy to assist. He doesn’t even have to see his daughter as long
as he gets to do this.
He walks up to the nurse’s station, putting his hands on the counter. One of
the nurses looks up with lazy wonder.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” Lawrence says. “You got any good patients?”
The nurse slides a chart across the counter.
“He’s already in the exam room,” he says. “Stabbed in the arm.”
Lawrence thanks him and goes to the examination room. Skims through the papers
while walking, and keeps doing it while entering the room. He hasn’t made eye
contact with a patient in a decade or so, why should this one be any different?
“Okay,” he says as the door falls shut behind him, still with his face in the
chart. Thirty-five year old male, no extended previous hospital stays… “Looks
like you need some stitches?”
“All these years and you couldn’t even be bothered to get a new hair cut?”
That’s the first thing Adam says to Lawrence in sixteen years.
***** Paper Cups *****
Lawrence remains staring into his papers a few seconds too long. Part of him
wants to look up, because no, it’s impossible… and he still knows that it’s
exactly the way he thinks it is, and what the hell is he supposed to do when
Adam’s here, physically, in front of him?
Adam scoffs.
“Good to see you, too.”
Lawrence slowly closes the clipboard. That’s the biggest change of
circumstances he can handle at the moment. When he looks up, he does so bit by
bit, up the length of Adam’s legs, worn jeans, holes at the knees, hasn’t
changed at all since… then.
He looks at the hem of the leather jacket. It’s the same one, he’s sure of it,
even though it’s even more tattered now. He could’ve picked out the leather
jacket Adam wore when they were young from a lineup of a thousand, all the
times they were out walking, Adam pointed at something and it creaked wearily
at his joints. That thought scares him so much that he almost can’t look at
Adam’s face, but does it anyway, is met with a gaze that’s excited and pissed
off.
He used to tell Adam that he’d have to inject testosterone in order to get
facial hair, but he does have some stubble. Hair’s longer, curling by his
temples. He’s barely grown any taller. It’s still him. Lawrence isn’t sure why
he’s struck with such heavy anxiety that he almost feels faint.
Or, yeah, he knows what it is. It’s the little wrinkles by Adam’s eyes. It’s
all wrong. Lawrence wants to smooth them out, rip them off his skin.
Adam’s almost twenty years older than the last time he saw him. It’s a totally
logical turn of events. And yet he’d feel so much better if he were facing a
nineteen year-old punk who looked at Lawrence like they stood and fell
together. Lawrence wants to puke.
When he sees the way Adam looks at him now, he knows it’s not the time.
“You haven’t changed all that much yourself,” he says, smiling.
Adam seems unsure if he should be angry that that’s all Lawrence has to say.
Eventually, he can’t help but smiling back, and then, not even Lawrence can be
scared, which surprises him. He’d forgotten that someone could calm him down so
swiftly.
They remain like that for a bit. It’s Adam that eventually gives up, turns his
right side to him, showing an ugly, glistening wound, like a mouth grinning
through the leather. Lawrence’s stomach tightens again. It’s hard to stay in
the doctor role sometimes. Even though he can’t remember the last time he could
step out of it when he actually needed to.
“You’re just going to stand there?” Adam sighs and gestures to the cut. “It
might not look right if I bleed out with you staring at it.”
Lawrence flinches and starts looking around for supplies.
“Right,” he says absentmindedly and takes a cotton ball from the cart next to
him. “If you’ll take off your jacket…”
Adam wrestles out of it. Lawrence sits on the stool with wheels, leans forward
and starts cleaning the edges of the wound. He’d prefer having to do it without
looking at it. He’s always struggled with seeing Adam hurt, despite all the
glimpses he caught of bruises that Adam tried hiding under his sleeves. Even
though he hasn’t seen him in years, seeing Adam’s knife wound hurts more than
seeing anyone else on the brink of death.
“How’d you even get this?” he asks, reaching for the alcohol bottle. “This is
going to sting…”
Adam sucks breath through his teeth as he starts cleaning the cut. Lawrence
tries to tune out.
“Bar beef,” Adam says, his voice shaking slightly. “I spilled my drink on this
dude. Turned out he had a knife, and, well…”
Lawrence gives him a glance, putting a hand on his shoulder to keep him still.
“It’s just past noon,” he says. “You got this today?”
He straightens his back, throwing the cotton ball in the trash, doesn’t take
his eyes off Adam. Adam won’t look back. He tightens his jaw in a way that
Lawrence suddenly remembers used to worry him.
“There was a four hour wait,” Adam says with a shrug, an undertone slightly too
shrill to come off as calm as he tries to. “But… yeah.”
He quiets down. For a moment, he looks tired of pretending.
“I don’t have a whole lot going on,” he eventually mutters, cautious about
looking into the floor.
That infliction used to worry him, too.
They’re quiet for a bit. Then Adam looks at Lawrence again, Lawrence is
reminded that he’s still working, and goes to get the needle and dissolvent
thread.
“This is going to hurt a little, too,” he says, threading the needle.
“Worse than getting slashed by a fucking biker?” Adam says, in a tone like
Lawrence’s idiocy is kind of adorable.
Then Lawrence puts the needle through his skin, and Adam grits his teeth again,
but an annoyed moan slips out. Lawrence wants to say something comforting, but
as he opens his mouth, he realizes that he has no idea what that would be.
He hasn’t cared about his patients for so long that his entire soothing
vocabulary is gone the second he puts his coat on. When Diana has nightmares or
is worried that he won’t come home, he can be the sweetest dad. But the notion
that he’s not allowed to get emotional when he’s here runs deep, and now he
can’t get rid of it.
But while stitching Adam up, holding his arm to keep him from wriggling away,
he doesn’t feel the way he usually does in these situations. Not just because
it’s Adam, but because his coat suddenly feels too big. Like he put it on when
he was sixteen and is still waiting to grow into it.
“Aren’t you done yet?” Adam growls. His hand is clenching next to him. The fine
scars on his knuckles stand out from the skin.
“One second,” Lawrence mumbles.
It doesn’t take long before he can straighten up and put the needle aside. He
glances across Adam’s pained expression and hates himself tremendously.
“You want a lollipop?” he teases while picking up gauze, wraps them over the
stitches.
“Fuck you,” Adam says. “It hurt.”
“I know. Sorry. But we’re done now.”
You can go now.That’s what he’d usually say. He’s probably saying it with his
eyes now, too, because Adam looks at him, and his face, which was starting to
look calmer, suddenly has a shadow cast across it.
“Awesome,” he says. “Thanks.”
His voice is completely flat. When he stands up, Lawrence is struck with sudden
and inexplicable panic.
“You know what?” he almost shouts as Adam’s putting his jacket on, “you look
kind of frazzled. I should probably set you up with a room and an IV, just to
get your energy back.”
“You think?” Adam says.
He’s definitely happy, but for some reason, doesn’t really seem to believe him.
“Sure,” Lawrence babbles on and takes his gloves off. “My shift is done in
three hours, I could… I could come by to check on you. We could get coffee.
From the cafeteria. It tastes like shit, but…”
Adam grins. It’s the first untainted smile Lawrence has seen since he got here.
“We’ve probably had worse,” he says as he gets up.
Instant coffee they basically rationed out when they lived together. Drank in
the middle of the night, on the mattress they shared.
“I’d say,” Lawrence says as they walk out.
xxxxxxxxx
Lawrence knows that most doctors and nurses, no matter how jaded they are when
they’ve gone on as long as he is, entered their field with good intentions.
They walked through the hallways like it was their first time, completely blown
away by themselves and all the amazing prospects.
It’s the same hallways they run through now without looking up, sure. But in
the beginning, they walked around thinking they’d make a difference.
They’d make the patients feel better, not just physically, but on every level.
They’d make them love themselves again, no matter what else was going on in
their lives. The patients were supposed to get their lives back, it’d be like
in the movies.
It’s kind of funny, Lawrence thinks, that all the doctors and nurses passing
them now without a second glance, have no idea that everything they tried to
accomplish is happening right now, at this table, where Adam and he are
sitting, drinking gross coffee out of paper cups.
Adam’s still nervous. Lawrence isn’t sure what he expected to happen when he
came here, but this obviously wasn’t it. He twists in his seat, pauses
regularly to sweep invisible dirt off the table. Lawrence doesn’t mind. He has
no idea why this was so scary before, but it’s calmed down now, and he can
watch Adam’s anxious habits and feel like it’s sixteen years ago.
“How about the family?” he asks. “Did you stay in touch with parts of it?”
“The old fucker’s gone,” Adam says, not a trace of remorse in his voice, eyes
steady on his cup. “I think they got divorced, but couldn’t be fucked to care.
Mom and I talk on the phone sometimes, see each other on birthdays… and believe
it or not, but Claire actually turned out to be kind of cool when she finally
got out of the house. Maybe because she didn’t get her ass kick quite as
often.”
The last sentence is the first sincere thing out of his mouth since they sat
down. Lawrence nods slowly. He barely remembers Claire, he remembers light grey
eyes that looked like Adam’s, but happier. But now that he hears it again, he
remembers the tone Adam’s voice got when he talked about her, at least after he
stopped hating her. Kind of bitter, but mostly proud.
“You used to say you were gonna be chief of surgery or something before you
turned thirty-five,” Adam then says, with a small smile. “Did you pull it off?
You only got a couple of months left, right?”
Lawrence smiles, too, blushing.
“Not quite,” he says. “But I’m what they call a candidate of interest.”
Adam nods. When he dares to look up, Lawrence is met with a smile that’s almost
overwhelmingly proud.
“I counted on that,” he says softly, like he doesn’t want anyone else to hear.
Lawrence hoped he wouldn’t blush further, but it definitely feels like it.
“But hey,” Adam says after a break, “we need to have a talk about you not
managing to get married.”
Lawrence looks at his left hand, rubs his thumb across the spot where the
wedding ring used to be. That intense heat he felt from the previous thing Adam
said is turned into something else. Not necessarily something bad.
“Well…” he says absentmindedly. “I used to be. Now I just have a cute girl
waiting for me to pick her up from school.”
“School? Figures you’d get a younger girl after getting divorced, but please
tell me she’s at least in college.”
Lawrence laughs.
“Just twelve, actually. The only one I can make things work with. Diana.”
“Preppy ass name,” Adam says, finishing his coffee. “You’ll fuck her up
permanently. Got any pictures?”
Lawrence shows him some of the pictures in his phone. He hasn’t managed to get
one of just him and Diana, so he still has the ones with all three of them. He
immediately notices the shift in Adam’s eyes when seeing Alison with Lawrence’s
arms around her.
“Why didn’t it work out?” he asks as Lawrence puts his phone back in his
pocket.
“I fuck everything up,” Lawrence says. “Especially relationships. Or just
especially with her. I’d probably do better with someone who didn’t expect
anything from me.”
Adam smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Get a hooker.”
Pause.
“You don’t seem to have found anyone, either.”
Lawrence knows it was the wrong thing to say the second it comes out. Jaw
muscles shift by Adam’s temples, but he does his best to play along.
“Did you think I would?” He tries, but just sounds pissed. “If you fuck
everything up, I take everything, run it through a blender and throw the
blender out the window.”
Lawrence doesn’t even try to act like it’s a joke. If he did, it wouldn’t
matter. Adam doesn’t look at him when he says it.
They’re quiet for a bit. It’s up to Adam to restart the conversation; Lawrence
has no idea when he’s allowed to talk.
“What’s up with Lou and Daniel?” Adam finally asks, almost sounds dejected,
leans his head in his hand. “You didn’t bring them up.”
There’s an attempt. Doesn’t reach all the way. But not even when they were
young and barely had it in them to try, was that a reason to give up.
“Yeah…” Lawrence says. “Daniel’s got two years left until he gets a degree in
journalistic writing. He’s still not a talker, but he doesn’t need to be. You
should see what he gets onto paper. And Lou’s looking for work as a lawyer.”
No matter how angry Adam was with Lawrence, it melts away when he hears that.
His face opens up in one of those untainted smiles. Lawrence hadn’t really
grasped until now that Adam had no idea what’s become of his siblings over the
past years. He was one of the most important people in their lives when they
were kids, and he doesn’t know the amazing grownups they turned into.
“Now that you say it, it makes total sense,” Adam says.
“Right?” Lawrence says, smiling. “Specialized in women’s rights.”
Adam raises his eyebrows tiredly.
“Of course.”
“All the dudes in her college were terrified of her,” Lawrence goes on. “I
think she’s one of the few students who seriously didn’t consider it up to men
to defend women who they didn’t give a shit about until the election year.”
Adam chuckles. They’re quiet for a bit. He fidgets with his empty paper cup,
apparently deep in thought.
“What about Daniel,” he asks in a different tone. “Is he okay?”
Lawrence doesn’t answer right away.
“He’s fine,” he settles for. “I guess he’s kind of… troubled. And sometimes,
when he feels ignored… when he tries to get his point across, and people don’t
get it or want to listen, he gets… he almost panics, the way I used to.”
The last part just slips out, and he silences abruptly. Fuck. They shouldn’t
talk about this stuff. It goes too far back. A seeking hand reaching inside his
white coat.
Adam stares at him through the entire monologue, like he’s trying to look
straight through him. Or like he already has and doesn’t like what he sees.
That look scares Lawrence, so he doesn’t say anything else. It still takes Adam
a few seconds to start talking.
“You know what happened to your mom?” he asks.
Lawrence takes a deep breath.
“Yes. Yeah, I know.”
“Right,” Adam says sharply and leans across the table. “And you know what
happened to Wendy?”
He’s not holding anything back anymore. Lawrence really sees what he’s done,
what he discarded, and is suddenly twenty again, in his dorm room, nightmares-
or-whatever-it-was are back, but it’s the first time he’s had to suffer through
them alone, trying to keep his panic attacks silent so he doesn’t wake up the
kids.
There again, wanted nothing more than having Adam there with him. In the
meantime as his fear actually had a reason then. Whatever woke up him up in the
nights had a theme, and it was always about his old life.
Kept waking up with the paralyzing fear of being sent back. Getting caught.
Like with that woman behind the counter at the airport.
Lawrence remembers when he found out about Wendy’s death. He doesn’t remember
who told him, but he remembers it was pointless. That things had been okay, she
had a job, rented a room somewhere. And then she got caught between two dealers
settling a feud.
Lawrence likes to believe he remembers the time when this information reached
him, but it’s not true. All he remembers is sleepless nights, every light in
the apartment was on and he screamed at the slightest sound. He remembers Diana
running away if he even tried to approach her, and he remembers Alison sleeping
at her mom’s place for a week, since she couldn’t stand seeing him like this.
And that thought, over and over, until it felt like his head was cracking open.
I left her behind.
Just like he left mom.
Left Adam.
Adam’s sitting across from him looking like he’s wanted to say this for years,
which he probably has. Lawrence suddenly wishes he’d go away. He’s gone to so
many therapists to make it easier to suppress this feeling.
“They’re all dead,” Adam says, calmly, it’d feel better if he yelled at him.
“Everyone from back then is dead. But not me.”
Lawrence wants to cover his ears. Crawl into a corner. Away.
Why does Adam do this to him? He was fine. He was happy.
“I know you’ve got the nicest fucking life now,” Adam goes on, spitting out
every word, “and that I’m a fucking lowlife and you’re so ashamed of me, but am
I so fucking far below you that I don’t deserve an answer on a goddamn email?”
Lawrence can’t answer him. Adam’s bringing him back there. Didn’t want to be
there, wanted to be here.
Have to get out.
Eventually, Adam seems to abandon all hope to get an answer. Sixteen years of
resentment has risen to the surface, and still, he just feels empty. The
hopelessness he got from talking to Lawrence every day apparently doesn’t
disappear even when they haven’t talked since the last time of all the thousand
times they walked away from each other.
Adam gets up, takes his jacket from the chair. He stares at Lawrence for a few
seconds, either waiting for an answer or trying to think of one himself. But
eventually, he gives up, turns around and leaves.
Lawrence can’t move. His fingers clutch to the table without him realizing it,
one thought, the only thing that was bigger than what they had, put him on that
plane all those years ago.
I have to get out.
It’s not until a few moments after Adam’s gone that he notices that he must’ve
succeeded, because no one from his past is here. He’s in a hospital cafeteria,
all alone.
 
***** Long Time Gone *****
Chapter Notes
     Okay so this is actually the last chapter? Which is kind of weird, I
     wrote the first draft to this nonsense in 2009, but I'm pretty sure
     I'm done tweaking with it now.
     But wait, you cry. It says 31 of 32 chapters. AND BY GOLLY IT DOES.
     I'm going to post an add-on chapter in a bit, taking place a few
     years after this one. Just as a treat because you guys are so great
     anyway here's Wonderwall
Lawrence sits there for a few minutes after Adam left. Staring into the
jarringly red table doesn’t feel more or less meaningless than anything else.
When he finally gets up and walks out, he has no idea what he hopes to
accomplish with that. He doesn’t know where Adam went, he doesn’t know if he
lives in Washington now or if he does, where. Maybe he just went here to see
him, which wouldn’t be the weirdest thing, but Lawrence can’t really imagine he
would. He doesn’t get how Adam can even stand looking at him.
He goes outside, then stops. The parking lot doesn’t look any different than
the last time he saw it. He somehow expected it to either be lit up with the
glow of a million fairies, or at least even more empty and gray than usual, but
no. It’s the same fucking parking lot. Adam’s not even on it.
Not even he can make asphalt magical, despite what it felt like earlier, back
in the cafeteria. Awkward, nervous, so much broken. But they were there, it was
real.
This isn’t real. It doesn’t feel.If this parking lot disappeared in front of
him, it’d make no difference to Lawrence. He keeps telling himself that he
loves the hospital, every part of it, including this fucking place, but who’s
he kidding? He hates it, and he’s always hated it.
And standing here, it’s the same shit. The only thing he’s feeling is a minor
annoyance with himself, a slimy burn in his stomach as his ulcer reacts to the
coffee he had, and he’s tired, because he hasn’t slept right. As usual. As it’s
always been.
Lawrence looks around the parking lot. Sighs.
Then he shoves his hands in his pockets, and starts walking to his car.
xxxxxxxxx
Lawrence is at his apartment fifteen minutes later. He should walk home, he
knows that. He’s far from peak shape.
He always walks to work when he brings Diana. Tries to be a Good Role Model.
But for some reason, she never believes him when he says he takes that walk
even when she’s not with him.
Lawrence walks up the stairs, steps heavier than usual, even though he barely
feels any sorrow. He realizes now that he has no real reason to go home, and
the thought is… or, it’s not that bad. He’s just not used to it.
He lives for the days he gets to spend with Diana. Walking home to an empty
apartment usually isn’t that hard; he’s usually too tired to think of it. But
now he’s walking home with the feeling. It’s new.
When he’s almost at his floor, Lawrence’s foot stops mid-step. Seeing Adam
sitting cross-legged, leaned against his front door, camera in his lap, makes
him terrified and ecstatic.
Adam doesn’t look up until he puts his foot down. He probably notices him
standing there, but he’s staring at his camera, brows furrowed, more memories
flood back and Lawrence sinks in them completely. He looks up, and by then,
Lawrence is just terrified. He wishes Adam could give him a look he could
interpret.
“Hey,” Lawrence says.
He’s grateful Adam doesn’t answer.
Adam doesn’t take his eyes off him. Looks at him that way again, tries to get a
read. After a last glance at his camera, he gets up, scratches the back of his
neck awkwardly. He takes a step towards Lawrence.
“Can we go inside?” he mutters.
He sounds like he means something else. Lawrence doesn’t get what, it’s
frustrating.
“Yeah,” Lawrence says, bristles after staring at Adam, so close so fast, and
takes his keys out of his pocket. “Sure, just a sec…”
He walks past Adam, unlocks the door, opens and stretches his arm in some kind
of ‘after you’-gesture. Even though now is really not the time, he can’t help
but act this way. Polite,but that’s it.
Adam walks past him, kicks his shoes off. He turns to Lawrence. The sight of
him used to be the band-aid after walking in a pair of ill-fitting shoes his
entire life.
“Don’t think you’re off the hook just because I got too pissed off to look at
you,” Adam says. “I don’t want us to part ways until we’ve settled this thing,
or, like, made it slightly less shitty. That’s why I came.”
Lawrence nods jittery, while being completely awash in that feeling he had to
leave Adam in order to avoid. Adam deserves answers, he really does. Lawrence
should be able to give him them. How the hell is he supposed to do that?
“Yeah, of course you do,” doesn’t even notice how shrill his voice gets. “It
got… I sort of…”
“Lawrence,” Adam cuts through, patiently. “Breathe.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Lawrence goes on, twisting his hands, they haven’t shaken like
this in years. “I’m sorry, I… I sort of… I was - I was - I wasn’t…”
“Lawrence,” Adam says, suddenly right in front of him, a beat of hesitation
before putting his hands on his shoulders. “Relax. I didn’t want to… fucks
sake, don’t look at me like that…”
Lawrence watches him, unsure of why Adam’s upset. He’s fine, or, not worse than
he usually is. But he wants to stop doing whatever it is that worries Adam.
Adam rubs his hairline. When his eyes meet Lawrence’s again, he looks awfully
tired.
“We don’t have to talk about it, okay?” he says, dropping his hand dejectedly.
“There’s no point talking to you when you’re like this.”
“Like what?” Lawrence asks. Adam shakes his head.
“Fuck it. I…” Adam lifts his camera, hesitating motion. “I snapped some
pictures on the bus ride. Wanna see?”
Lawrence looks at him, then the camera. For some reason, it takes him a while
to catch up to the situation, and his hands are still shaking. In the middle of
all the things he’s feeling right now, the things buzzing frantically and crash
like frightened fireflies, he realizes that even though Adam’s getting thin
wrinkles by his eyes, he’s still roughly ten inches shorter than him.
“Sure,” Lawrence says. “Sounds great.”
Adam nods curtly, but still looks like he’s scared Lawrence is going to crack
if he lets him go.
“Good,” he says, turning around, facing the corridor leading to the living
room. “But you’ll have to get me a fucking tour guide to get me to the nearest
couch, because this place is a goddamn maze. You couldn’t think of a better way
to waste your money?”
Lawrence smiles uncertainly as they walk down the hall.
“I don’t have your creativity,” he says. “I could get some hookers over if it
makes you feel at home.”
Adam scoffs.
“Now would be when we kick each others’ asses,” he mutters as they reach the
living room. Lawrence turns to him.
“Huh?”
Adam swallows, sits down on the couch and considers just letting it go.
Lawrence doesn’t seem ready to handle memories, even though they’re happy. Some
of them.
“When we met the first day,” he ends up saying anyway. “At school, and I said
something about how your dad must’ve bought you that outfit. You said something
about hookers. Because I looked like white trash, I guess.”
Lawrence sits next to him, seemingly unbothered that they’re actually touching,
thigh grazing thigh, not a lot, but the fucking universe should implode because
it’s so great, smiling, still nervous.
“I really wanted to kill you,” he says softly.
Adam smiles, too. He’s not all that present in the moment. Even though he
barely remembers it, he’s back there, the memory of it. The air was dusty and
dry, he’d only been there for a few minutes but still felt like he had bugs
under his skin. Greasy, blond hair in front of him, by the foot of the stairs.
It makes it even weirder, seeing the man in front of him now. His hair is
perfect.
“You were entitled to,” Adam says. “I was an annoying little shit.”
“You sure were.”
“You weren’t much better,” Adam grins, picking up his camera, and starts
swiping through the pictures. The moment’s past, but they’re still there,
touching. “Look at this, I took it through the bus window. There was a kid
outside when we stopped in Queens…”
“Right, I have to ask,” Lawrence cuts through. “Why did you come here? And…
where from?”
Adam quiets for a moment, before looking down, blushing.
“I still live in Brooklyn,” he says. “But I got a shoot in Garrett Park, and I
wasn’t going to stop by at first, but then I got in that fight, so…”
Lawrence isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.
“You got on a half-hour commute with that wound?”
Adam smiles stupidly and grazes the bandage on his arm.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“You’re an idiot,” Lawrence says in a nervous chuckle. “There weren’t any
hospitals nearby?”
He hears that it’s a stupid question a few seconds too late. Adam doesn’t even
answer him, just gives him an undetermined look before picking the camera back
up. If Lawrence wants to pretend that he’s been accessible enough for Adam to
show up without an excuse, he doesn’t want to be the one to take that fantasy
from him.
“Check this out,” he says, leaning closer for Lawrence to see the small screen.
“This is just the seat in front of me. But the fucking bus was so shaky that it
turned out kind of cool on picture. Sort of melted ice cream-ish. What do you
think?”
Of course Adam does this at his pace. It’s who he is.
Even though he’s been waiting sixteen years for a goddamn Email.
The camera is another thing Lawrence instinctively knew from when they were
kids. This is definitely not the same one. Or, all nice cameras look more or
less the same, but just the way Adam holds it. Lawrence remembers what it was
like with his first one; fingers on the buttons, how he straightened the
shoulder strap if it got twisted. Even if he could be careless with it, he
always held it like it was his way out of the place he hated so.
Adam’s hands are used to this camera. He barely dared touching the old one
because it meant so much, but this one is melted into his hands, they’re a
unit. He knows every inch of it, flips it over, fidgets with the objective,
like it’s all he’s ever done.
The same eagerness over something as pointless as photos,as he had when he was
eighteen.
It doesn’t matter how much his face has changed. Lawrence’s gaze sticks on
Adam’s hands more frequently through the night, and he gets more convinced by
the second that Adam hasn’t aged a minute since that day at the airport.
He’s not sure how long they sit there; his grasp on time sort of disappears in
the fact that Adam’s next to him, and the black, slimy grief that suddenly
comes back to life. But after a while, he grabs Adam’s hand, he quiets mid-
sentence and bristles, looks at Lawrence like he didn’t know this would happen,
but he did, he must’ve.
Lawrence takes a shaky breath, forces himself to maintain eye contact. Tries to
focus on what he wants to say, instead of the panic. He’s going to do what he
should’ve done all along. They’re close now, so close.
“Adam,” he says. Voice almost steady. “I… I couldn’t keep in touch with you.
You get it? I was scared. I was scared of everything that made me… feel stuff,
at college and stuff, and there wasn’t… there was no roomfor…”
He’s not sure how to go on. Adam looks at him, wide-eyed, maybe a little
hopeful, before his eyes narrow.
“For what?” he asks. He tries to sound composed, but isn’t quite there.
“I…” Lawrence sighs. It sounds so stupid when he has to say it out loud. “I
don’t know. I don’t know how it turned out like this. During the first year,
you were the only thing getting me through, and then I got… I got scared. I…”
He silences abruptly when he sees that Adam looks at him like he’s been struck.
They’re still sitting next to each other, touching, how can it feel like Adam’s
a mile away?
“Scared?”Adam echoes sharply. “Of me?”
Lawrence swallows. Says nothing, anything he says from now on will just make it
worse. Adam glares at him, searching his face for something making it
worthwhile to stay.
“I used to be the only thing you weren’t scared of.”
Lawrence wants to punch himself in the face when he hears the way Adam says it.
It must be more obvious than he thought, because Adam’s suddenly ripped his
hand from his grasp and punches him in the arm, it doesn’t hurt, he probably
just wants to show that he’s frustrated, and you can’t really blame him.
“Fuckssake, Lawrence,” Adam growls. “You can’t get a heart attack every time I
try to say you’ve fucked up! Is it so hard to get that you occasionallyfail at
shit?”
Lawrence rubs his hand against his face, trying to remember to breathe. Doesn’t
want to get Adam worried again. Tries to think of what Adam’s saying, actually
think,not just use it as an excuse to panic.
“I don’t want to fail with you,” he says. “With this. I think that’s it.”
Hurting Adam is the only thing that still shakes him. And he’s still been doing
it, nonstop, for all these years, and he hasn’t even realized that he’s doing
it.
Somehow, he knows it can’t be fixed. It’s broke, and they’re the ones who broke
it. The most beautiful thing they’ll ever have, but it won’t survive this.
Lawrence sees it now. All the times they left each other.
And all the times they stayed.
Adam punches his arm a few more times, but eventually leans back, as swiftly as
he started. Eventually, he puts the camera on the coffee table, with a
carefulness that looks almost funny compared to how violent he was a second
ago. Lawrence looks at his hands. Adam’s leaving. Panic. Again.
“I haven’t done anything right,” he says. “I can’t. It’s like a roadblock in my
brain. I married a… an amazing woman that I couldn’t love, because… I couldn’t.
It was impossible. I scored a job that I’d been dreaming of my entire life, and
I made it another add-on to my nightmares. I don’t know why, it’s just the way
it is. But seriously, if I fuck up marriages and work and shit I can always get
more of… just imagine how badly I have to fuck up something like… this.”
Adam doesn’t even look at him while he’s talking, and doesn’t answer him when
he’s done. When they’ve been quiet for so long that Lawrence tries to think of
something else to say, Adam turns to him again. The way he looks at him is like
a fresh, open wound, and Lawrence is so terribly scared that it’s going to end
there.
“You’re an idiot,” Adam says through gritted teeth.
Then he kisses him.
Just like the first time, by that dumpster a hundred years ago, Lawrence is so
taken aback that he initially pulls back. He almost expected Adam to hit him
again. He would’ve deserved it, he definitely doesn’t deserve this, but still
wants more, opens his mouth and puts his arms around Adam, not sure of how far
he can go. Adam doesn’t seem to mind, but takes the upper hand completely
effortlessly, pushes Lawrence onto his back and holds himself upright with a
hand on the couch armrest.
They’re not teenagers anymore. They don’t have their lives in front of them,
they used to, even though it didn’t feel like it at the time, and everything,
including this, is more of a hassle than it used to be. Lawrence hasn’t let
anyone top since they had sex that first time, also a hundred years ago, but
with Adam, he won’t even try.
Even though so much has changed, everything is exactly the same as it was back
then. Lawrence is terrified that Adam’s going to hate him, and Adam feels
betrayed. He hopes to god it won’t stay that way.
Adam at least stays with him afterwards. Lawrence almost expected him to leave
him there, drained and warm and tired, because they haven’t solved anything.
But Adam lays down, head on his chest and one arm haphazardly draped across his
stomach. Lawrence rakes his hand through his hair.
He doesn’t care that this is a couch mainly meant for sitting, or even better,
just to look at, rather than lying in, or that Adam’s sweat is more cold and
clammy than sexy at this point. Everything’s easier now than it ever was since
he left. Probably easier than the time before, too, or he wouldn’t have put all
that energy into repressing into.
Or he couldn’t think of it because it was just too good.
Adam leaves it for a few minutes. Then he sits up, sighs heavily and turns to
him.
“You’re not getting away that easy,” he says gravely. “We could’ve done this
whenever, whenever you wanted, you could’ve… it would’ve been like you never
left. You knew that. But you never came back. I… I fucking waitedfor you.”
That tone in his voice again.
“Is that really it?” Adam goes on. Not even accusingly, just genuinely
wondering. “It was so fucking good that you couldn’t handle it? Was that why
you never got in touch?”
Lawrence puts a hand on top of his.
“I was heading for something I’d worked my entire life for,” he says.
“And there was no place for me in it?” Adam cuts through, venomously.
Lawrence sighs.
“Yeah, there was. Or, I don’t know… I wasn’t thinking like that. I was
eighteen, damn it. I was dumb. You remember what it was like, right?”
Adam gives him a look. Like Lawrence will never get it, which he probably
won’t. He’s been gone too long.
“Yeah,” he says, turning away. “I remember.”
Lawrence has to hold his hand even tighter, because it feels like he’s
disappearing again. Adam will never understand how important he is. He’ll never
understand, and it’s all Lawrence’s fault, because he was the one who kept him
away when it all happened.
Adam would know how badly Lawrence needed him if he’d seen him through all
those sleepless nights in college, when the darkness closed in on him. Or when
he was an adult and should’ve gotten past it, and were writing a rapport on a
surgery that had gone wrong and had to lock himself in the bathroom, sat there
with his hands over his ears to close out all those goddamn voices.
Those voices that were so much like his own.
Lawrence hopes Adam will give him a chance to tell him all of that. Time never
used to move this fast. It won’t slow back down.
“I’ve loved you since I was sixteen, Adam,” Lawrence says. “I just couldn’t
show it, not even the way you did. I… I’m not sure I’ve gotten better at it at
all.”
Adam turns to him. Searches his face again.
“If I may say so myself, I’ve been pretty good at patching you back up,” he
says gently. “But maybe you’re past that at this point.”
Lawrence nods slowly.
“I think so, too.”
Adam keeps staring at him. Lawrence is convinced he’s going to get up and
leave, but then he feels slim fingers intertwine with his own. Fits perfectly.
Some things don’t change.
Lawrence pulls Adam back down to him. He wants to be patient, moments have to
last and whatnot, but it doesn’t feel like they have the time. He has to be as
close to Adam as he can, they’ve lost enough time as it is.
Adam puts his head on his chest again. He doesn’t think the way Lawrence does.
He doesn’t have to make the most of it. Considering all the time they’ve
wasted, they might as well waste some more. Since they are the way they are,
they’ll probably spend half of the time they have left clearing out all the
shit they’re dragging around, and right now, he just wants to sleep.
He closes his eyes. Lawrence won’t sleep for hours, because he has to cherish
every second. And no matter how long it takes for him to give up, he’ll beat
himself up tomorrow for sleeping at all.
That’s the way he is, it’s the way he’ll always be.
Their hands hold on. Adam drifts off, and tomorrow, they’ll start the search.
He hasn’t found it yet, because he needs Lawrence to find it. But he’s certain
there are dumpsters with stolen cigarettes where they can stay forever,
apartment in sleeper cities where you don’t get beat up by your mom.
A promised land they never got when they were kids.
***** Bonus: Coming Back *****
Hey dudes. This... isn't part of my original version of the story, and honestly
most of it is a result of being horny as hell a few weeks back. It's not really
an epilogue; more of a treat for you because you're the cutest. It feels kinda
weird because unlike most of the fic, it's previously unpublished, so please be
gentle
I really want to thank you guys. The ones who stuck with this long-ass stupid
thing have been super kind to me and legit every single comment has made me
squee (which was occasionally awkward because I usually read my email on public
transport)
If you want to chat elsewhere I have a tumblr: bump-into-things.tumblr.com/
(also this chapter made me have to raise the rating. whoops.)
_______________________
The traffic is an absolute nightmare. Lawrence rubs his sleeve against the
inside of the windshield. His fellow travelers only appear as glowing
headlights in the darkness outside. He knows he’s not the only one in a hurry
to get home, but he can’t help but feeling more entitled to being stressed than
whatever it is they’re rushing to.
Adam’s probably going to hold this against him, too. Even though he doesn’t
drive, he hates the traffic here, but it’s all part of the bigger picture,
which he also hates.
Lawrence felt bad about Adam having to leave Brooklyn. He loved it there, a lot
more than Lawrence ever even liked Washington. Brooklyn was his fresh start,
the place where he actually proved to himself that he could make it on his own.
Washington was just another place Lawrence went to be miserable, but in the
end, there was really no question which one of them would have to adjust to the
other. Lawrence is the one with the kid, and though he knows there was an
honest attempt, Adam loves Diana too much to want to move away from her, too.
This morning was one of the many times now days that Lawrence could barely
fathom how lucky he is. These Saturday mornings with Adam’s feet on the chair
across from him, laughing at something Diana says, almost spilling his cereal.
Diana watched Netflix afterwards as Lawrence dragged Adam back to bed, made
love in slow languor with the thunder rumbling outside.
That morning will be far away when he finally gets home tonight, he knows that.
But he tries to keep its warmth with him, even though it will be the last thing
on Adam’s mind.
xxxxxxxxx
Adam’s eyes are cold and wild when Lawrence comes home, hands trembling as he
hugs himself. He practically leaps off the couch when Lawrence walks in,
backing away from him like he’s scared of getting hit.
Lawrence knew this would happen. It’s not the first time. He likes to think
he’s done an okay job at mending the wounds he left on Adam’s trust that first
time he left, but then there are times like these. He forgets time at work,
there’s an emergency patient, phone battery dies. These tings happen. Adam
knows this. The question is if he will ever accept it.
“Adam,” Lawrence says, one hand reached out, an attempt at calming. “There was
an emergency transplant. The backup call had gotten drunk, he wasn’t fit for…”
Adam starts shaking his head before he’s even finished the sentence. Lawrence
stops talking when he covers his ears.
“Shut up, shut up, you fuckingasshole,” Adam hisses. The whole scene would be
childish if it weren’t for that tone in Adam’s voice, the quiver of underlying,
very adult sorrow. “You could’ve called! One goddamn textis all I need, you
knowthat, you fucking…”
Lawrence strides up to him, putting both hands on his face.
“I know, Adam, I know, I’m sorry, I…”
Adam pushes his hands away, tugs desperately at his own hair. Lawrence hates
these times. Hates how his first thought is that Adam’s unreasonable, these
things happen,he’s a doctor, a father, and Adam still expects him to live his
entire life available to him. Every time Lawrence leaves his phone unanswered,
he breaks, and it’s an unfair reaction. But then he remembers.
Adam would’ve been fine with it, if he trusted Lawrence to come back.
Lawrence waits for Adam’s breathing to slow down, his hands to unclench from
his scalp. Then he steps up to him, slowly wrapping him in his arms. Adam’s
still taut, trembling.
“I’m sorry,” Lawrence repeats softly. “Okay? I’m sorry.”
Adam’s breath is fast and hard on his shoulder. Lawrence almost expects him to
push him away again, but then, too fast for him to even register, Adam slips
one hand to the back of his neck and pulls him into a bruising kiss, all teeth
and desperation, and Lawrence almost trips across his feet. He was prepared on
pretty much anything but this.
Adam starts tugging at his coat lapels, damp with the misty rain, stepping up
on his toes to make up for those ten inches of height difference. He shudders
when Lawrence’s hands slip under his tee; he’s still cold from outside, but
there’s no way Lawrence is going to stop touching him.
“Bedroom,” Adam says hoarsely when he manages to break away. Lawrence nods into
his hair, wraps an arm around his waist and pushes him back. When the back of
Adam’s legs hit the bed, he collapses, Lawrence’s weight on top of him, the
familiarity, the comfort. A sudden pang of it hits him, how lucky he is, that
he gets to have it after being without it for so long.
He undoes Lawrence’s belt buckle, feels Lawrence groan against his neck.
Frustration builds as Adam wrestles out of his t-shirt, but before long, like
so many times before, they’re naked in each other’s arms. Adam digs his nails
into Lawrence’s neck, as if to remind him of why they’re doing this.
“Don’t make me wait for you again,” he mumbles against Lawrence’s mouth,
tugging slightly at his hair both to break their kisses and because he knows
that drives Lawrence out of his mind.
Lawrence gently draws the back of his fingers against Adam’s cheek. The way he
looks at him makes Adam want to hide, he’s toonaked like this, so needing and
so obvious with it.
“It’s going to happen again, Adam,” Lawrence says softly. “We’re adults, we
have jobs. Mine’s more important than yours, but still…”
Adam shakes his head at his terrible joke. All this suddenly feels like a
goddamn miracle, how he fell in love with an unhappy teenage boy with scraped-
up fingertips and the person on top of him now is a middle-aged man, talking
about how to line their schedules up.
“I’ve waited enough for a goddamn lifetime. Especially for you.”
Lawrence kisses his neck again, and Adam almost forgets what they were talking
about. When Lawrence speaks up, his words are soft and slurred, like he’s drunk
on Adam’s skin.
“I know I can’t make up for what I did… but I think I can at least… take your
mind off it…”
He trails kisses down Adam’s chest, nips across his navel. It’d be so easy just
to get lost in it. Lawrence feels bad enough to do whatever he wants. And Adam
knows how talented his tongue can be.
Adam laces his fingers into Lawrence’s hair just as he plants a kiss on his
hipbone, pulling his head back. Then he puts a hand on his shoulder, turning
him over, before reaching into the nightstand for the lube. Lawrence looks at
him, eyes wide, as Adam coats two fingers with lube and slips them inside
himself.
“You didn’t do any other guys when you were away, did you?” Adam murmurs as he
works his fingers deep inside, seeking. Lawrence shakes his head, transfixed at
Adam’s hand.
“You know I didn’t. I didn’t want anyone else. Just you.”
Adam groans as his fingers brush across his prostate.
“All those years… without this. Must’ve gotten lonely.”
Lawrence gets an almost pained expression as Adam straddles him. His wrist
brushes Lawrence’s stomach as he grinds down on his hand.
“Adam, let me…”
“Sssh,” Adam says, leaning his forehead against Lawrence’s. He’s starting to
pant. “Tell me. What did you think of? With Alison, all those goddamn nurses,
when you really wanted me. How did you manage? You must’ve had fantasies.”
Their cocks brush together, Lawrence puts a hand on Adam’s neck, leans in for a
kiss. Adam pulls back.
“Tell me. You can fuck me after you told me.”
Lawrence releases a shaky breath. When he strokes Adam’s hair off his forehead
to look him in the eye, Adam feels naked again, open completely.
“I thought of you. That one time we had together, and how angry you were. You
kept kissing me like you really wanted to bite my lips off.”
He puts his hands on Adam’s hips, grinds them together just once, like he knows
he’ll lose it otherwise.
“I kept imagining finding someone… who tasted like you did, the same disgusting
instant coffee and cigarettes.” He’s talking directly into Adam’s ear now, like
he’s telling a secret. “But I didn’t find them. I just had the memory, while
jerking off in the shower… there’s no one else like you, I should’ve known…”
Adam moans just at the image of it. Lawrence, crammed in the shower cubicle in
his dorm, impatient teenage hand on his dick and Adam’s voice in his head.
“Keep talking,” he says, voice trembling, as he poises himself onto Lawrence’s
cock, sinking down slowly, the familiar stretch. Lawrence seems to hold his
breath at first, but eventually finds his words.
“The first time we fucked after you found me…” he says, almost growling the
words out, and takes hold of Adam’s hair. “I knew right away. I couldn’t be
without this again. Without you… it was the only thing that made sense.”
He cranes Adam’s head back, locking his lips on his exposed jugular. Adam’s
eyes fall shut.
“I was pissed at you that time, too.” Lawrence’s stupid leather couch, Adam’s
camera forgotten on the coffee table. Lawrence’s fear, how hesitant he was when
he took Adam’s hand, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed.
“I know,” Lawrence says into the hollow of his throat. “I thought it was the
last time, I tried to remember… lock everything in, how you tasted, the sounds
you made…”
His teeth are on Adam’s earlobe. Adam loses the rhythm of his thrusts but it
doesn’t matter, it’s something he knows, it’s all he really needs. Lawrence
wraps his hand around his cock, drawing out a gasp.
“I thought you’d leave right after, so I… I kept wanting to draw it out but I
couldn’t, I just wanted to see you come, I couldn’t, I’d wanted it for so long
that I…”
Adam comes with a strangled cry, spilling himself over Lawrence’s hand. He’s
still loose and limp as Lawrence flips them over, keeping one hand pinned over
Adam’s head as he thrusts frantically. He grazes Adam’s prostate and pants
hotly against his ear. If Adam could’ve gotten hard again already, he would’ve.
“I already knew,” he says. Lawrence hitches his knees up, thrusting
frantically. “Right then. I couldn’t leave you again, knowing… I’d be without
this, I couldn’t…”
Lawrence fingertips dig into Adam’s thigh when he comes. He probably would’ve
drawn blood if he had any nails to speak of. Adam draws loose strands of hair
out of his eyes, it’s damp with sweat. It’s possible he dozes off afterwards.
xxxxxxxxx
When he comes back to himself, Lawrence is still next to him. He’s fidgeting
near his chin, and Adam’s about to tell him to stop biting his nails, before he
realizes Lawrence is wiping away tears.
“What is it?” he says, hauling himself up to sitting position.
Lawrence glances at him, then turns away. His voice is off when he answers.
“It’s my fault that you’re like this. I fucked up, and it’s irrevocable. I
forget about it sometimes.”
Adam is about to feel guilty. Then he remembers; this isn’t his thing to feel
guilty about. He puts his hand on top of Lawrence’s.
“We both did. You’re just… better dealing with it than I am.”
“It’s not that,” Lawrence says, turning to him again. “I can deal with it
because I know that I got you. You don’t know that… with me. It’s my fault.”
“It is. I don’t care, though.”
Adam squeezes his hand until Lawrence turns to look at him.
“You don’t need to tell me you fucked up. I know you did. It doesn’t change the
fact that I love you. Like, tons.”
Lawrence shakes his head, wiping his eyes again. Adam smiles.
“I took you back, you know?” he says. “I had every opportunity not to. I
could’ve stayed in Brooklyn, made a living, been miserable. It’d been simple. I
didn’t want it. I wanted you.”
Lawrence runs his hand through Adam’s hair, leans down and presses desperate
kisses tasting like tears onto his mouth. Adam lies back, complying.
He’s not worried about the future. They’ve already survived one.
 
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