Memento Mori (MxM)

Chapter 16

Seamus scarcely slept that night. For a long while, before silence fell over the house, all he had been able to listen to was the conspiratorial whispering of his son alone in the next room, talking to himself. Talking to 'Artemus' .

If there had been any doubt in his mind that Calael was unstable, hearing that erased it, and filled him with the dread of any loving parent when faced with the prospect of danger to their child. He had to embrace the terrible possibility that Calael was very likely a danger to himself, and that killed him inside.

He knew, logically, that his son needed serious psychological help. He also knew as a father that there was no way the boy was going to agree to that. Margaret has warned him about it; that crazy people do not know they're crazy, as they have no way of being able to separate their own warped reality from the true reality.

Sluggishly, with all the willingness to face the day of one preparing to attend a funeral, Seamus dragged himself out of bed and made his way down to the kitchen, where he was greeted by Calael making two cups of tea.

He mustered up a very weak smile, so as to put him at ease, and asked, "that for me?"

Calael visibly hesitated, and then held out the mug to him. "Of course."

Seamus stared at it. There was a long, and almost unbearable silence between them as Calael's hand slowly faltered, giving his father a quizzical look. "Dad?"

"Is wasn't actually for me, was it?"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Cal, I need you to trust me, and hear me out. I have tried so bloody hard to believe that there's nothing going on with you.. I really have tried," Seamus breathed, shaking his head. "But I heard you telling those people at the gallery yesterday that the man you told me is your boyfriend is, well, someone you made up. And I heard you last night.. talking to that same imaginary man. I think-" he heaved a deep sigh, and stared off at the ceiling. "I think that you might be dealing with schizophrenia.. It runs down your mums side of the family. Or, maybe something else- I'm not a psychologist, but I've done my research.. Don't look at me like that- hear me out! You've created this character, Artemus - who I know you think is real, I know you think that - but he isn't, Calael! He's part of your mind. He's a way of coping with what's happened to you.. But he's not a healthy one. He's a figment of your imagination!"

Calael's heart pounded hard in his chest, his eyes wide in a distraught expression. "Don't you dare make me out to be insane! I'm not insane! So I lied about him being a living breathing man - all of this doesn't constitute me being insane!"

"Listen to yourself, mate! It's the textbook fucking definition! Cal, please.. I'm scared for you, can't you understand that? I love you, I'm scared of losing you; isn't it reasonable of me to fear that you could be a danger to yourself?" Seamus pleaded desperately. "I don't want you out here on your own anymore.. I want you with us, your family who love you. Or at the very least, in a comfortable ward, with some nurses who can help you-"

"Don't! Stop right there," Calael barked. That tone, that pitying and patronising tone, completely snapped the thin tether of calm which remained. "Shut the fuck up with that talk! Don't talk to me like a fucking mental patient! You're going to section me? You're going to section me with what evidence?!" he screamed, stepping forward and shoving his father hard in anger. "Get out! Get out, I want you out!"

"Calael-"

"I'm 25 years old and I'm telling you to get off my fucking property!"

Seamus tightened his jaw, and the light caught his steely eyes in such a way that they turned glassy. With not another word, he turned and fled from the house, phone already in his hand as he walked to his car.