EDITED.
His face was hurting as he woke.
Sideways, eyes blurred and head pounding, Adrian was covered with a blanket with his body curled up on Martin’s bed. His back was stiff and his ankles weren’t covered, and there was a cold draught coming in from the open window which was letting a stream of chatter and male sounds, but there was a spreading warmth in his chest that made him sigh.
“You’re awake.”
Adrian moved his head a little, suddenly feeling a thick arm under his weight- gripping his hips and gently stroking the tender skin with a thumb- and turned to see Martin behind him, face buried in his own pillow and his school blazer covering his torso. His mouth was pushed into a smile and his hair was messy, covering his forehead.
“Yes.”
“I’m glad. Want to get up?”
Adrian shook his head, turning so that he was facing Martin. He shuffled closer so that their stomach’s were nearly touching, and Adrian put his arm around Martin’s waist.
“Why does this feel good?” Adrian’s voice was small and almost incoherent, and Martin had to move closer to hear him.
“I’m not sure.” he replied; he was then silent in thought, unsure of what to say. Adrian pushed his head into his friend's chest so that nearly every part of their bodies were touching, and he felt a small tingling sensation spread over him. “Adrian, I’m not sure that this is a good idea.”
Adrian’s hair ruffled as he looked up at Martin. He wasn’t sure what his facial expression told- his brow was furrowed and his mouth was straight, yet Martin’s eyes were full of something that Adrian couldn’t decipher, yet it wasn’t a sad emotion, he didn’t think.
“What?”
“This isn’t a good idea.”
Adrian moved away, his muscles tensing and his breathing becoming deeper. He tried to calm himself. What could he say? He sat up.
“Why?”
“It’s… it’s not right, Adrian.”
“It’s legal.”
“Adrian, stop it.”
“Should I go?”
Martin gulped.
“Yeah, I think so.” Martin’s voice wavered, but Adrian didn’t notice. He was getting up and heading towards the door, face red and body shaking, when Martin sat up, putting his glasses on. “Adrian?”
Adrian paused before opening the door, his hand outstretched.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.”
Adrian didn’t reply.
II
He’d taken two pinches before going down to breakfast, feeling his body slowly come alive with a hot, feverish electricity which he knew would soon fade. His heart was palpitating under his chest and his face and neck were flushed from the heat of his emotions: he was shocked that he felt so much. The emotion he felt- unknown to him by name- was painful, but it was almost a delight to feel something so strong, so definite, flowing through his body.
He walked down the corridor with his head down and his hands in his pockets, his teeth gritted as his feet hit the solid wooden floor. He came to the doors of the dining hall and opened them; sounds of laughter echoed around the room, mixed with a low hum of chatting and the sound of crunching food. Adrian sat down in his usual place by the side door, near his friends, and dragged the bowl that was set in the middle of table towards him, and filled it with cereal. The ceiling was high and vaulted, causing everything to seem louder; the walls were made of tudor plaster with paintings hanging from it, and large arched windows were set deeply within it, letting in huge amounts of strong, yellowish light.
Adrian saw Martin, Andy, Craig, Tenton and Christopher nearby, happily eating and chatting animatedly to each other. He felt a pang of jealousy flare up in his chest before he turned his head away, looking down at the floor instead of at his friends. They hadn’t really been his friends for a while now, he supposed, but he still liked to think of them as friends.
“Adrian!” It was Christopher, with his muddy brown hair swept off his face with jell. “Come over and eat with us.”
Adrian shrugged and slide over on the bench, settling next to Tenton, who looked a little uncomfortable. Andy kept talking to Craig, and Martin was pointedly not looking at Adrian, his face pale and his hands busying themselves at any opportunity. The chemistry pointed to anxiety, Adrian noticed, but kept his thoughts to himself.
“So, Marty, have you seen Anna again?”
Marty. Anna. Marty? Anna… Anna?
“Nah, not yet.” was Martin’s response, looking up from his lap and smiling awkwardly at Craig. There was something twinkling in his eyes now, and it made Adrian’s stomach twist. Craig had called Martin ‘Marty’, showing that they were informal with each other and were good friends, whatever that meant, and then there was ‘Anna’... who was she? “Might meet up with her in half term, though. What d’you think?”
“I think it sounds like a great idea!” Andy chuckled, pushing some toast into his mouth.
“We should all meet her too.” suggested Christopher. Craig nodded, his smarmy smile making a shiver crawl down Adrian’s back. He could feel the fizz in his veins build up- there was going to be a glorious, blazingly white height of clarity and pleasure soon- and it’d all be gone. As the day was going, he’d have to go to upstairs and sniff a little more of the cocaine just to feel as though he could move throughout the day without crumbling.
“... and Marty can take pictures of her! Is she pretty, Marty?” Andy seemed alive with excitement. Adrian didn’t understand wanting to know everything about someone’s relative or someone’s muse. He could understand wanting to know everything about something- Adrian had several obsessions, including the effects of dopamine, serial killers, harmonics, maths and the structure of words, and he often wanted to know everything about them all at once, learning so much detail that he could talk for hours about each of his obsessions in turn- but knowing everything about someone else? Adrian wasn’t too sure.
But didn’t he want to know everything about Martin?
Didn’t he want to know what Martin looked like in the morning? Didn’t he want to know what he smelt like after his shower that he had every night? What did he smell like at midnight? Did he smell always smell good? Why did it smell good? How bad was his eyesight? Did he like being left handed? What did he think about Adrian?
Adrian didn’t think that Martin particularly liked him anymore. He might be able to put up with him, but he’d have kept lying there next to him this morning if he actually liked him… It made Adrian’s insides hurt. He just wanted Martin to stay. What was he thinking? Martin liked him! He did like him-
“... then, you can shag her!”
Adrian paused.
“Haha, that’s not on the agenda yet!” Martin joked, chuckling a little, but Adrian could feel heat rising in his chest. His lungs were starting to hurt and he could feel the back of his neck sweating.
“Excuse me,” Adrian said, his voice monotonous. “I have to go do some work.”
“Adrian? Where are you-”
“Work.” he snapped, and Adrian left the room.
III
It was ten fifty two in the evening and Adrian was picking at the edges of a fresh cut on his wrist. A pair of scissors were lying on the covers of his bed next to a book that he had been reading before his mind had dived into a deep, thick darkness that had been coming more and more recently.
He’d been trying to cover his darker thoughts with the thoughts of his mother, happier ones which often came into his head at dizzying speeds, but recently, he’d become more and more obsessed with his mother; more so his mother’s death than anything else, and his obsession hadn’t kept the darker thoughts away, either.
Adrian hadn’t resorted to his scissors for nearly a month, but that night he couldn’t resist. There was a nagging urge in the back of his head that had been creeping forward, blinding all emotions until he could take it no longer! He’d reached for his scissors, which were under his bed near the small bag of cocaine, and cut along the thin, white skin near that was already littered with marks. He repeated the motion again and again until his anger had subsided, and then put the scissors down.
He’d wiped the blood with a sleeve of his jumper and then reached for a book.
Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
- Langston Hughes
He hadn’t been too sure whether he liked the poem, but the words, focusing on the structure, helped calm him. He reached for his bedclothes and pulled them around himself, wanting more comfort than he had.
IV
Morton was bent over the sink, vomiting. His hair was pushed back from his face and his arms were shaking; small whimpers escaped his mouth as he took breaths, his chest hurting like a thousand tiny knives being stabbed-
Knock.
“Hello?”
It was Adrian’s voice, sounding reserved and quiet as always. Morton shook his head, and reached into the sink violently.
“Morton?”
“Hold on.” he croaked in reply, spitting into the porcelain and wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. He sniffed and staggered over to his door, wrenching it open with force. His brother was standing in front of him; Adrian’s hair, thick and black, was messy and damp, and around his eyes grey circles clung, his pupils dilated and eyes wide. He looked a little feverish and unbalanced, his arms being held awkwardly and his feet were close together.
“Morton… you look ill.”
“Um, I haven’t been very well.” Morton replied, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He’d forgotten that his brother would notice that he was ill, however hard he tried to hide it.
“Clearly. H-have you got a minute?”
“Minute? What for?” Morton looked at his brother.
“To… spend some time t-together.”
Morton stood in silence and wiped his mouth again, still shaking.
“Fine.” he replied. “Do me a favour?”
“What is it?” Adrian asked.
“Come smoke with me.”
The air was bitter outside, a sharp chill that bit both of the boys to the bone, cutting through their school uniform and coats. Smoke was rising up into the air as Adrian took a puff.
“Smoking’s not good for us.” Morton said duly, tapping the hand rolled cigarette and watching the ash fall to the ground like tiny beads from a broken necklace. Morton liked to think of smoking as beautiful, even though it rotted his lungs and made him cough sometimes.
It wasn’t his original plan to get Adrian smoking; he hadn’t thought about it, but he knew that Adrian probably needed a vice like he did. Morton had taken up smoking about four months ago when a friend had suggested it to calm him down. Panic attacks had become frequent and he’d withdrew from his school life and social life, and his friends, Syril, had noticed. He’d produced a packet of cigarettes and given them to him after class, saying, “Just have a puff and see if it helps.” and Morton had did so. He found that the swirling smoke circling his lungs and throat had calmed him, given him something to think about, when the stress had become too much. When his father refused to phone him back, Morton had smoked. When Marvin had been rude and uncooperative, Morton had gone for a smoke. When he’d seen Adrian on his own, holding himself and reading a book in the grounds, sneaking glances at his friends far away, Morton had smoked.
“I like it.” Adrian replied. He’d coughed once or twice when he’d first put the cigarette to his lips, but within a few minutes he’d managed to regulate his breathing and he looked rather comfortable blowing out the smoke. “I like the smell in particular.”
“It’s more so the taste for me, I must say.” Morton almost chuckled, finishing his cigarette and stamping it out on the damp ground. He rummaged into his pocket and produced a packet of cigarettes and handed them to Adrian.
“Take them. Use them, I probably shouldn’t smoke as much as I do so if you have them, I won’t keep puffing away.”
“Thank you, Morey.”
“Shall we go back in? I’m cold.”
“Sure.”
V
“Go on! Text her!”
“Just ask her out already!”
“Go on! It’s not hard, Marty.”
“Just do it.”
Adrian felt a little sick as he listened to his friends talk of ‘Anna’. He supposed that he’d hear much more about her as the time dragged on, but for now, he couldn’t take it. Adrian curled up into a ball on the chair and rested his head on his own chest, not listening to the chatter around him as he drifted into a light and fitful sleep.