All American Boys

37. Lust for Life

All American Boys

Chapter 37: Lust for Life

The next morning, I realised I had nothing to wear but my dirty clothes – the sweater that had a bit of dried blood on it. I tossed them into the washing machine, but they would be nowhere near ready by the time I had to go to school. Cyril lent me some of his clothes instead – a T-shirt and a pair of faded skinny jeans. While I was putting on my shoes I felt him wrap something around my shoulders.

"Just in case you get cold," he said.

It was his spare football jacket, with its dark blue body and white sleeves.

"Thanks," I muttered.

I took it off and tossed it into my bag.

We had a light breakfast before we headed out. Cyril took out a small box from the kitchen cabinet before popping two pills into his mouth and downing them all with a glass of water. I suppose now that I knew about it he was comfortable with just taking his meds in front of me. I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel bad for him. It was so horrible, what he had to go through. And for him to force himself to pretend that he was alright just for appearances. . . I could somewhat understand him. It's what I've been doing for the past year. Except, in his case, he had been maintaining that façade for six years.

Maybe that was why Shoshana was so concerned about him. Maybe that was why she didn't want him to get hurt – she made me promise her. It's not like I could back out of everything now, now that I've become entangled in this mess.

But promises are just words.

Cyril's. . . condition was very useful information, especially in the hands of someone who was very interested in destroying the Crawfords. I very much prefer if it wasn't the way to get to him, but if I had no other choice, then so be it. I already told myself once, but I'll just remind myself once again. Cyril was collateral damage. Between him and I, I'd rather he get hurt than I did.

I felt sad for him for a while, sure. But then I realised there are other people hurting out there. Other people like Isaac. Other people like myself. I stopped pitying him after that. It was exhausting anyway.

Pitying and caring about other people is honestly tiring and draining. I'd rather spend my energy on people who truly meant something to me. It was more economical that way, and I wouldn't feel drained as easily. Pity was a resource.

Everything in life is a resource, to be bought and spent. Only idiots would spend unwisely. It always pays to be smart with your management.

Once we were done getting ready, Cyril brought me to his car. He was wearing a sweater and jeans. His hair was perfect as usual. It was his usual façade. I knew there as something about his picture-perfect appearance, but now that I knew what he hid beneath that sweet smile, his front wasn't as flawless as it had seemed to me a while ago. All I could see now was a broken boy trying to keep the shattered pieces of whatever he had left together.

He dropped me off at the hospital, like I asked. My car was there after all, I told him. I wished him a safe journey, and promised him I'd see him later for lunch.

As I walked to the parking lot where my car was parked, I couldn't help but think about Isaac. He was cooped up in one of the rooms of the hospital. The windows faced the carpark, and I stood there for awhile, trying to peer into the hospital windows from afar, wondering which one of those were Isaac's room. I just hoped he'd finally wake up.

School went on as usual. I sat with Cyril during English, and together at lunch. A few of the football players joined us today but they didn't seem to mind me. I suppose I was already a usual sight to see around Cyril. Nobody really ever asked why I was suddenly around Cyril so much, but I'd rather take speculative silence than nosy questions. Cyril did tell me he wasn't ready to come out to everyone after all.