Discoveries

-Chapter 19: Untold Stories-

-Kris-

After walking a few more blocks, Zeke and I finally arrived at the orphanage. With the wagon in tow, we carefully made our way to my window, hoping to go unnoticed by the caretakers. Sneaking through the front doors, we breathed a sigh of relief, feeling victorious.

"Welcome to my temporary home, Zeke Slater!" I exclaimed as we both entered my room.

"Glad I'm welcomed," he replied with a smirk. "So, how does this work? Do you have your own rooms or something?"

I explained, "The older kids get their own rooms, but the little kids don't. Normally, a room like this holds two people, but since the caretakers like to split the kids up by age, I get a room to myself. Each room has a number."

Curiosity sparked in Zeke's eyes. "What's your room number?" he asked.

"Room 534," I said. "It's a bit blank, but with your help and mine, we can hopefully spice up the place."

Zeke grabbed a red can of spray paint, his eagerness evident. "So, what's the plan?" he asked.

"Well, my dear Red, we are going to paint a rainbow flag on the wall," I said happily. "Maybe some other things if we have time. Now, open up the windows, and let's get to work!"

"Don't ever repeat that," Zeke cringed, a hint of playfulness in his voice.

I scoffed playfully. "Oh, don't worry. I won't tell a soul," I teased, opening the window to gather the supplies we needed.

---

As we began painting, I couldn't help but notice Zeke's skill with a spray can. He seemed to know what he was doing, effortlessly creating vibrant patterns on the wall. I wondered if he had worked with spray paint before.

"You're good with spray paint?" I asked, intrigued.

He didn't take his eyes off his work as he replied, "Yeah, Celeste and I used to go out and use it back in her life."

Curiosity burned within me. "What did you guys paint?" I asked cautiously, aware that I shouldn't pry too much.

"I don't remember exactly, but Celeste took pictures, and I have her phone. I'll show you later," Zeke answered, sounding surprisingly composed. "And trust me, they look better than you think."

Nodding, I continued to stare at him for a few seconds before gathering my thoughts.

"Okay, I have a question for you," I finally mustered up the courage to say.

"What's up?" Zeke responded, going through the bag of paint.

It was something I had always wanted to know, but I could never find the right time to ask. I was probably going to regret it, but I had to know.

"Can you tell me what happened that night? Like a timeline of the events?" I asked tentatively. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"Okay, then," Zeke replied, pausing for a moment. "Where do you want me to start?"

"The beginning?" I suggested uncertainly, not quite sure what the beginning even was.

"What else is there to tell?" he asked. "You know everything she wanted you to know."

I averted my gaze, feeling a mix of sadness and frustration. "I know. I just wanted to know how she died. The letter never said that."

Zeke took a deep breath. "She blew her brains out," he said bluntly.

"Oh," I uttered, taken aback by his frankness.

"It was brutal," Zeke stated, the weight of those words hanging  heavily in the air.

A tense silence settled between us as we absorbed the gravity of the situation.

"Suicide carries in its wake a level of confusion and destruction that is beyond description," I said softly, my voice filled with empathy.

"That sounds like a quote from somewhere," Zeke remarked, breaking the silence.

"It is," I replied, looking at him with a sympathetic smile. "It's a quote by someone named Kay Jamison."

"Well, whoever that is, they're correct," Zeke acknowledged, his voice tinged with sorrow.

I smiled in agreement, appreciating the connection we shared in that moment.

"I never got a chance to say goodbye," Zeke whispered, his voice barely audible.

"What would you say to her if you had the chance?" I asked gently, realizing how cliché my question sounded.

He sighed, his eyes filled with longing. "I'd ask questions. I'd ask her why she did it. Why she never told me what was going on. I would just want answers."

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, feeling a surge of empathy for his pain.

"I wasn't prepared to lose her," he admitted, his voice heavy with regret.

I offered him a reassuring smile, silently promising to be there for him whenever he needed it. I may never fully comprehend what he went through, but I would do my best to support him.

"That oddly felt good to say out loud," Zeke said with a sigh. "That's the main reason I'm so hostile to most people."

I let out a small laugh, understanding him better now.

"Sometimes recounting memories helps," I said, more as a question than a statement.

Zeke wiped his own eyes and picked up the paint can. "Come on, we can't sit down all day," he said, resuming his work.

I could sense that he wasn't entirely over the pain, despite his attempts to mask it. Healing from such a traumatic loss takes time. My heart ached for him, knowing that some wounds never fully heal.

---

"Ta-Da!" I exclaimed triumphantly as I completed my masterpiece—a rainbow heart adorning the wall. "What do you think, Red?"

Zeke, who had been meticulously working on what appeared to be a red rectangle with black stripes, walked over to me and examined my artwork.

"I like it," he said, trying to infuse enthusiasm into his voice. "It fits you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I raised an eyebrow at him playfully.

"You're a caring person," he said, his eyes softening. "You're also gay."

I burst into laughter and playfully shoved him. He joined in, laughing alongside me.

"I'm getting a bit hungry," I said as my stomach grumbled. "Wanna go raid the pantry in the kitchen?"

"But won't we get caught?" he asked, concern etched on his face.

"Pfft. No," I replied, nonchalant. "Just don't move anything too far out of place, and the caretakers won't notice."

He pondered for a moment before coming to a conclusion. "Let's do it."