All American Boys

36. Bread and Circuses

All American Boys

Chapter 36: Bread and Circuses

I noticed on our drive back to Bethlehem that Cyril seemed a bit agitated – his hands trembling as he held onto the steering wheel, and he seemed to be needing to make some deliberate effort just to breathe. There was a bruise on his left cheekbone, turning a patch of skin a faint reddish purple. I had to admit, it kind of looked good on him.

I didn't bother asking him if he was alright. I had my own problems to worry about. I felt drained after all that had happened, so I just resigned to just sitting there, staring at the road ahead of us. With the adrenaline rush gone, I had time to process everything that had happened. I don't know what happened to those two men back there. And I don't particularly care either. I did what I did, it's not like I could change anything. If they're injured, great. If they're dead, great. Who gives a shit.

Instead I thought about Isaac. He was still unconscious in that hospital bed, being gone in limbo, unsure if he would ever return. I felt bad for leaving his side. I'd do anything for him to wake up.

We parked at the beach house, and Cyril's hands trembled as he fumbled around in his pocket to fish out his keys. His fingers were shaking so badly that he dropped them onto the porch. I had to pick them up for him.

"Thanks," he managed to muster under his breath.

The moment his keys unlocked the door he flung it open, before immediately rushing inside. I was the one who had to lock the door behind us as he scrambled to the coffee table and grabbed a remote control from underneath it. He was hyper ventilating, the sound of his heavy breathing filling the entire room. He pressed a button on the remote, and the blinds slowly came down, covering the windows. He held onto the chair for support as he let out loud, shaky breaths – one after another. It almost felt like he didn't even have time to exhale properly before he quickly took in the next one.

I was thirsty, so I walked over to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water while Cyril struggled to get himself into the seat. I brought the glass to my lips, feeling the cool liquid go down my throat.

Cyril cupped his palms around his mouth, trying to slow his breathing down. By the time I sat down on the sofa beside him, he had calmed down a bit, and his breathing had begun returning to a more normal pace.

"Sorry," he said, shaking his head. "I'm sorry you have to see me like this."

I only smiled at him, not really knowing what to say.

"I just - " he shrugged. "I just don't know how to feel about what happened. I feel so. . . overwhelmed."

I wrapped my arm around his shoulders, and he instantly collapsed onto my chest. I could feel his body trembling as he clung to my chest. We just stayed like that for a while, the boy clutching onto my sweater as I held him close, his grip tight and desperate. I nuzzled up against him. As distant and far-removed as I felt from everything that happened that day, Cyril here feeling so vulnerable in my arms hit close to home.

It reminded me of the time when Isaac held me as I cried. I missed him, I really did. He was the only one who made me feel safe. Some days I wished he'd hold me again, tight and snug in his arms.

Cyril finally let go after a while, taking a deep breath as he sank, exhausted in his seat..

"I'm sorry," he apologized again. "I should've listened to you. We should've just left there at the first sign of trouble."

I almost replied with an 'I told you so', but held my tongue.

"It's fine," I replied. "It's a. . . learning experience."