Rue opened his eyes slowly and realised the room was dark. What time was it? It took a while for his eyes and mind to adjust to the dark room. He wasn't quite awake and didn't remember falling asleep or what he had been doing prior to that. When his eyes adjusted, he lit the bedside lamp and looked down at his clothes, and when he did, it all returned to him. He was still wearing his clothes from the day, and he remembered going to the restaurant in the morning, going back to the apartment with the guys to pick up his designs, and he also clearly remembered the moment when it had all gone wrong.
Part of him wished it had been a dream so that he could wake up, and then everything would be okay again, but he knew it wasn't. He still felt the sad twinge in his chest, the remnants of remembering things he'd rather forgotten.
Realising nothing good would come out of sitting there just feeling sorry for himself, he went into the bathroom and showered. Doing so always seemed to cleanse his mind and rejuvenate him. In a way, it was meditative for him. But this time, it didn't work. Neither the cold nor the hot water could tear his mind away from the day he'd had.
He got out of the shower and wrapped himself in a warm, soft robe. If he was going to get his mind out of this slump, he needed to be comfortable. Rue eventually decided to go downstairs, as there was no point putting it off any longer. He needed to know what they had or hadn't done and what had happened after he had fallen asleep. He couldn't remember anything after his friend had walked back downstairs, so he guessed he had exhausted himself enough to fall asleep soon after.
Feeling relieved and, at the same time, guilty, he observed that they had done exactly what he asked them to. The boxes were all gone.
Rue took deep breaths and tried to ignore the guilt that was threatening to eat him alive. They had done all that for him, and he couldn't even have them over or converse with them without breaking down like this. He knew, or rather he hoped, that his crush hadn't meant what he said in the way Rue's mind had interpreted it. If only he had been feeling better, more confident, stronger even, maybe he could've told Arlo how he felt, and they could've talked about it. But to Rue, that felt nothing short of impossible. The thought of Arlo knowing about his past, about the damage it had done to his mental health, and how much he still struggled... it terrified him. No one likes to feel like damaged goods, and having his person of interest realise that he was would break Rue's heart.
Even if Arlo didn't know of his feelings toward him, this way, Rue could at least avoid getting hurt, or as hurt as he would be when Arlo rejected him. By holding on to the unrequited love, Rue figured he could protect his heart from breaking.
But Rue didn't realise that by deciding not to share his heart with anyone, he was not only depriving himself of a chance at real love and a genuine connection, but he was doing the same to Arlo.
Rue's thoughts suddenly went to a halt as he looked over to his studio. Something was wrong; he could feel it. Something was different. Well, of course, it was; all the boxes were gone. But no, that wasn't it. Something else was missing.
Then he saw it. His precious one. It was gone.
Rue jumped off the bar stool so quickly it fell to the floor, and he ran to where his most precious design had once stood. He kneeled there and squinted his eyes as he looked to the floor. To anyone else, the messy floor would've passed off as just being messy with the remnants of the creation process, as it was indeed a messy process. But not to Rue. He knew better. He dragged his fingers across the floor and flinched when a tiny chard pricked his finger. He didn't care about his injury but instead took the chard and looked at it. As he did, his heart sank, and he leaned back against the wall, defeated. It was gone. The air just went right out of him.
In the midst of moving the boxes, his design must've fallen to the floor and broken. He imagined they hadn't wanted him to find out, to get hurt, or perhaps they had thought they had done him a favour by disposing of the broken pieces for him. They were kind. He knew that. It must've been an accident. But it still hurt.
Rue cared for all his designs but usually had no trouble parting with them when sold. But this one was different. It was special.
A few weeks ago, he had woken up at 3.33 in the morning, which, at the time, he had thought was odd. But he hadn't had time to think about that as he had been overcome with the desire, no the need to create. He hadn't even bothered getting dressed; there wasn't any time. He had run downstairs, almost tripping over his feet in the process, fetched the clay and started making it. The design was clear in his mind, clearer than he had ever experienced before. Creating it wasn't a choice but a compelling need. It was as if he wouldn't be able to breathe, to go on living unless he created it then and there. As if in a trance, he sat there for hours and hours, and even now, he didn't remember much of it. He just remembered the need to create and the feeling that this piece was important. The most important creation he had made. When it was finished, he had walked back upstairs, collapsed on the bed, and the second his body hit the mattress, he had fallen asleep.
When he saw the large pot the next day, he remembered everything. The energy coming from it was different from all of his other creations. He couldn't decide what to do with it, how to finish it or what the next step was because he needed it to be perfect. It was special.
Rue sighed, suddenly feeling very lonely. He wished he had kept it somewhere else. That he had protected it better, he wished he at least had the broken pieces. Maybe he could've done something, put it back together or mended it somehow. Perhaps it was impossible, but he would've liked to try.
Suddenly, all he wanted to do was go back to sleep, but he knew neglecting his health would hardly make him feel better. He needed to eat something and rehydrate, maybe take a shower, too. Then he could go back to wallowing in bed with good conscience.
Rue remembered Rick saying he would leave some food for him, so he went to the refrigerator to check. He smiled happily when he opened the fridge and saw the full containers full of deliciousness waiting for him inside. Rick had been true to his word, as always. Seeing Rick care for him like that made him happy and sad. It was bittersweet. He wanted to be cared for, but he didn't feel right. He felt Rick had more important people in his life now and that Rue shouldn't be taking up so much of his time anymore.
Rue unpacked some of the food, put it in a bowl, and ate it cold. He didn't mind.
According to Rue, that was the measure of good food. Only excellent food can be eaten cold and taste just as good as when it has just been prepared, and Rick's food? It was the best. He enjoyed every bite with a sorrowful smile. Deserving or not, right or wrong, his friend loved him. He considered him part of his family. And Rue loved him for that.
***
After another long, lukewarm shower, he put on the most comfortable clothes he could find. As content as he could feel with the state of his mind, he wrapped himself up in his warm duvet and let the Sandman take over the reins.
It was a peaceful, dreamless sleep until a shrill tune resounded throughout the apartment. Rue was deeply asleep, but the tune was loud enough that a dream started to build around it. The sound stopped momentarily and then came back with a vengeance.
The dream was full of colours, shapes and some flickering flashes of light—a lot of red, black and blue.
A scream echoed through his tired mind. It was full of terror. Somewhere near, a young child was crying fiercely.
"Um! Um-a!" The child cried.
In the distance, there was shouting. The loud, frantic voices moved closer and closer as the colours grew darker. Before long, everything had turned pitch black.
"Is she...?" a deep voice asked. Rue still couldn't see anything.
It was quiet for a moment. Then another person spoke. "Yes, but the child isn't." The voice was cold and detached.
"Shit. She won't like that. This is all your fault. I should never have listened to you. My plan would've taken them both out. And a lot less conspicuously, I might add." The deep voice growled.
She? Who was she?
Suddenly, a loud noise made Rue fly out of bed, his heart pounding out of his chest. He stood there in a crouched pose, breathless and panicking. The shrill tune played once before growing quiet, but the sound was muffled this time. Rue was still caught up in the strange dream he had just been lost in. It took him a moment or two to find his bearings and determine where the sound had come from.
He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and forced himself to forget about the strange dream, at least for now. He realised the sound had been his phone vibrating off the kitchen counter downstairs. Just as he realised that, the tune picked up once more.
As the tune played for the third time, Rue rushed down the stairs, tripping over his feet twice. He made it to the phone, out of breath and somewhat disoriented. He paid no mind to his no doubt bruised knees and feet. Instead, he stared at the phone. He knew he ought to pick up, but not knowing who would be on the other side or why they would call him made him cautious.
To most people, receiving a phone call wasn't odd but simply part of their day. But Rue wasn't like most people. He had bought his phone years ago. He knew it was outdated and couldn't do what most phones today could, but he didn't care. He didn't use it much. Rick made him keep it, though. He wanted to be able to get a hold of him if need be. And clients had to be able to call him if they needed to confirm details. However, most clients respected his dislike for phones and reached out through Rick instead.
He looked at the phone, wondering if Rick was checking up on him, but the phone stated it was an 'Unknown caller'.
He usually wouldn't have bothered to answer, but something in him urged him to, so he did. They had called more than once, after all.
"Hello?"
It was a soft voice on the other side. "Hello there. My name is Raven Hansen, and I'm calling from the law firm Defenders of Aphelion. Is this Rue Spring I'm speaking with?"
Rue was starting to feel uneasy. "It is. What is this pertaining?"
"That's great. I'm calling regarding the will and testament of Walter and Rose Wry."
Rue's body went cold. He hadn't heard those names in years. He knew the day would come. He knew he couldn't stay hidden forever. Rue felt like he was falling into a deep, dark hole that threatened to drown him in the memories of the past. Suddenly, he could barely breathe. He remembered everything so vividly; it was like he was a teenager again, helpless.
"Hello? Are you still there? Is everything alright?" Raven was beginning to worry when the other man suddenly grew quiet. The phone call was ongoing, so he knew Mr Spring was still there. Then Raven realised what he had said. What did the handbook say? Stupid, stupid, stupid. He knew better than this. He had to fix this, or he could lose his job.
"Mr Spring? I'm so sorry for being so insensitive. It was incredibly insensitive and unprofessional of me to merely assume that you knew of their passing. Mr and Mrs Wry were found in their home on the 7th of last month. They had both been suffering from health issues for some time, according to their GP, and it was determined that their deaths were indeed natural. They had passed in their sleep." Raven fidgeted, praying silently that he had somehow managed to rectify his inexcusable mistake. It was his first case, but still. He knew better.
"I... I hadn't spoken to them in many years. We-we didn't get along." That was the understatement of the century, but Rue didn't feel the need to go into details with this stranger.
Raven was beyond relieved that the other man seemed to forgive his mistake and tried not to let his voice sound too happy about that as he replied. "I see. Again, I apologise for assuming you knew about their passing, and I'm sorry for your loss. Given your relationship, you may not want to hear this, but there is the matter of their will and testament that we will need to address."
Rue swallowed and closed his eyes. "It's alright. What of it?"
"I understand it would be simpler if I could tell you here over the phone, but I'm afraid it must be done in person. Proper procedure and all. Could we arrange a meeting? My office is a few buildings down from the restaurant Ruby's. Would you happen to know it? I can email you the details, and once you've checked your schedule, you can give me a call."
Rue felt torn between his reluctance to engage himself in anything related to the Wrys and his curiosity. "I do. I didn't know that place still existed, but I do know it." he finally replied. He had worked there for a while in his teens, and seeing him there, serving the popular crowd had been utterly amusing to his classmates. But needs must.
They exchanged a few more pleasantries, and Mr Hansen apologised a few more times before they ended the call. Rue put his phone away and took a deep breath.
Mr and Mrs Wry... He tried to picture their faces, but all he could recall was their voices and the look in their eyes that day all those years ago. It was a look he had grown used to—a cold look of disgust and disdain.
He couldn't imagine why he would need to sign anything related to their deaths, especially considering how everything had ended. He was sure they would've excluded him from any will. That is if he'd ever been part of any in the first place.
Mr Hansen emailed Rue the directions to the law firm soon after the call had ended, and it turned out it was pretty close from his-their house. Rue was told to bring his passport or ID and be prepared to sign some papers. He had hoped the lawyer would be able to reveal something else, but it would seem that he would have to wait until the actual meeting to find out more.
One way or another, he would have his closure. For the first time ever, he found himself feeling a sense of relief. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that they would not be able to hurt him again.
For them, this had been an ending. The ending. But for Rue, it was the opposite. With this, he was finally free.