𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐧, young royals

Chapter 21: Simon

All Eyes On Me,  Bo Burnham

21: Simon

Stockholm was gray today.

I cowered in the bathroom on the far end of Hillerska's west wing, slumped on a windowsill and staring out at the campus ground under the sky's hoary hue.

I picked this bathroom for the simple reason that no one ever came here, except for first-years trying to sneak off campus and boring losers like me. It was the only section of the school that hadn't been renovated yet.

My father had sent me a couple of texts, apologizing for what had happened at his apartment, but I hadn't answered any of them.

It's sort of odd, how blood works.

For those like Wilhelm, who grew up eating next to his mother at the dinner table, it's not uncommon to pick up on a parent's mannerisms, even the ones they despise the most. The mind's a very shapeable thing, and it seeks to reflect.

But what about me? What about the boy who grew up without a father at the dinner table? Why should I find bits of him in myself when he'd never cared to teach me anything about anything?

Perhaps it was that I learned a thing or two from him, growing up, like that life is never white and pink and that, sometimes, loving someone isn't enough.

I must admit, I'd never dwelled much upon the thought of my own death, though it plagued me now more than ever.

I hated how intimate death and I had been these past weeks.  I loathed how its poison-tipped hands lumbered over my mind and how its persistent and eager tugs seemed to slowly tip me over into my grave.

There were deep, dark and angry waters rising above my neckline, lapping at my jaw, drawing me in their undertow.

And I was still scared of the dark.

I was just as scared as I was at 9 years old, the feeble and crimson hue of my Iron Man night lamp illuminating my bedroom at night.

But there was another fear.

Static tempests hissing and roaring to life above my head, pure white lighting piercing the clouds. And suddenly, the abyss weren't as threatening to me.

Everything was dull.  Even sunny days were submerged in nostalgia, reminiscent of kisses blooming in the morning sun and the smell of his cologne on fawn bedsheets.

And I couldn't fathom why my reflection suddenly felt so faraway, or why my favorite foods turned bitter in my mouth.  There was no explanation other than that the chemicals in my head weren't functioning properly.

I felt sick in my brain.

The bathroom door creaked open, shaking me from my thoughts, and I turned away from the window.

My gaze met Aleksander's, who froze awkwardly in the doorway.

"Oh," he said, "hey."

"Hi," I replied consistently.

He cleared his throat and stepped inside, the door falling and clicking shut behind him. "People aren't usually in here," he stated.

I didn't say anything, and without another word, he disappeared in one of the stalls, and I turned back to the window.

My phone buzzed in my pocket then, and I half-expected another text from my father, but Wilhelm's name popped up on my screen.

Meet me in the music room at 16:00?

Two weeks and zero texts. Two entire weeks of ignoring me, and this was what he had to say now? Where the hell had he been when I needed him the most?  Seething anger rose from gut into my throat until I tasted embers on my tongue.

Asshole, I thought.  But I'd still go regardless, wouldn't I? Maybe he'll find something smart to say to my face.

I heard a toilet flush as the lock on Aleksander's stall clicked, and he walked out, heading toward the sinks. Without looking in my direction, he turned the faucet on and splashed his hands.

"Sorry I turned in your dad's pills," he told me suddenly.

I considered him. "It's whatever."

Aleksander glanced at me. "I was angry at Wilhelm," he admitted, running hot water washing the foam off his hands. "I wanted to hurt him to feel in control, and that wasn't fair to you; I'm sorry."

I nodded. "Okay. Thank you."

He turned the sink off and wiped his hands on his tighs. And for a moment, he just stood there, facing me, looking like he didn't know what to do with himself.

His gaze wandered, brushing on every inch of the room, before he spoke again:

"The truth is... I never had many friends," he confessed, and I began to wonder since when we were on friendly terms and why he thought I cared. "It wasn't the expulsion that hurt; it's that every person I thought actually liked me turned on me in the blink of an eye. Like I was nothing," he continued, and only then did his eyes meet mine again. "I understand why Wilhelm did what he did. I think I just wish someone fought for me the way that he fights for you."

For a few seconds, I said nothing and pondered on his last sentence.

I guess it stung when I started to wonder if Wilhelm was still willing to fight for us the way he used to.

"Wilhelm's not a bad person," I replied, "and neither are you. I'm sorry you took the fall for me."

He nodded. "I know. Thanks."

I nodded back, and he inhaled.

"Well," said Aleksander, "I better get to class then. Sorry again for... well, everything."

"Sure," I replied plainly.

"Okay. See you around."

"Bye."