The silence that lingers between us is almost too much to bear. We both want to say something, but it's the most stressful game of chicken.
My knuckles tense and my jaw locks. I can feel my blood boiling slowly but surely. It's terrifying and enlightening at the same time. Every breath that I took came like an inhale of sulfur—always burning and never quite leaving me. My lungs wanted to break free from my rib-cage. And at the same time, my brain was scurrying, trying to find out why this was getting to me so much. Even in the moonlit darkness, I can see the white heat in my fists as they squeeze tighter by the second.
This was the norm for a boy like Garth. He'd said so the first time I'd spoken to him. His body was used to bruising and bleeding, and it showed. Unlike the teary fury that was brimming down inside myself, Garth seemed a little complacent. Sure, his movements and expression were moody, but not more so than usual. The state of his body didn't even match his almost calm and cool persona.
In that moment I kind of understood him.
It was like he was daring the world to do its worst. Garth was a boy in the middle of a hurricane, standing his ground and waiting for the next wave to hit him. It didn't matter if he wanted to escape; when he was faced with the trials that stood ahead of him, he took it on the chin.
And I was pissed at him for that. Kids like us—the broken ones—we were supposed to fight back, show the world that we were truly made of tougher stuff. It hurts that he probably thinks so little of himself that he's willing to stand in the face of a speeding train.
But what pisses me off more than anything else is my own reaction. I want to say that I think I know Garth, but I don't. Every time I think I have this side of him figured out, he reveals another edge of him that proposes two more sides. He's a friend, or rather I wish he was a friend. The heat that burns in me feels different though.
It's not like that white-hot anger I felt back when Eric Castillo knocked out my best friend Tommy's front tooth. It burns twice as hot and it's choking my breaths. I'm starting to think that the only reason I've not said anything is because my mouth feels so dry from the heat of my body.
I needed to know why this was coming to me in waves. But I already knew the answer to that.
Like that day all those weeks before, I wanted to step in the way of confrontation. I wanted to make the world stop spinning for a moment, and I wanted to stand for something that made me feel proud of myself.
It's only when I reach the crux of this anger that I find myself thinking a bit more logically. There are questions that I need answered, and they all crop up at the same time.
What happened to you? Who did this? Tell me where they are so I can smash there face into the curb.
None of that comes out though. In fact I actually manage to surprise myself with the question I ask.
"Are you okay?" My body shifts on the front of the car, sitting leg crossed with aggression painting my every expression. Everything in me feels live, like it's coursing with enough electricity to power LA.
Garth turns to face me, bruised eye meeting my own. It hurts to see him like this, just imagining how he got in such a state. I'm straight up angry at him though because part of me knows for a fact that he didn't bother putting up a fight.
His smile is weak, and reserved. I can tell it's a smile he's been saving for a special occasion, because the corners of his lips are just managing to hold themselves up. It's a smile made for his best friend, for the person that he trusts most in this world.
With an unsteady hand, he props himself up before slowly twisting his whole body to face me. I wish he would turn back round so I didn't need to see him like this.
"Do I look okay?" he spouts back. But it's not snarky or aggressive. It genuinely feels like he is asking if he looks okay, like he hasn't just seen the jaws of infinity. "Because I could always spruce myself up if you want."
Even now, in this turbulent moment, he can still crack jokes. He makes me feel as if it hasn't been weeks since I last spoke to him. There's a hesitance in his steps that makes me aware that he's all too familiar with the uncomfortable distance that has come between us. It makes him seem lost, which is more than a little fun to see.
None of that matters though. I am a stone wall, ready to become a battering ram at the first notion of conflict.
"You know what I mean," I respond, scooting a little closer to him as he still struggles to hold himself up.
"Yeah," he pauses, "I guess I do."
A few more moments pass before either of us says anything.
"So?"
"I'm fine Xavier," he responds, almost wincing out the words. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to find out that he can't bullshit his way out of this one. However, even I'll admit that it's kind of charming that he's going to try anyway. "Nothing that I can't walk off."
I bite my lip and he looks at me with shimmering hazel eyes, pleading with me not to press further. My brain can't help it though. It's overthinking, and it's pushing and it needs some form of closure on this. As much as it may sting him to talk about, I'm not just going to let it go.
And by now he should know that by me.
"You walk off a bruised leg, a sprained ankle." My words are colder than I intend them to be, sort of ironic considering my current state of being. "You do not walk off whatever the hell happened to you," I say, my arms sweeping to the state of disarray he is in.
"It's fine."
"No, it's fucking not," I say, letting anger slip out.
He bounces on his heels away from me, as if expecting me to let the hammer drop. The words have made him recoil, and part of me is understanding and yet so confused at the same time.
I am not like most people to Garth Vega. I am someone he cannot choose to bear the punches against. He'd much rather hide from me than accept that there's something to stand up against.
It's tragic, and yet it gives me hope in this boy.
A sigh allows me to relieve some of the tension that's been building up inside me. The fire is still there, but at least for now it isn't making y every word feel like a poisonous threat.
"I'm sorry," I respond.
"Don't be," he replies, shuffling a little closer to the car again.
I clear my throat. "Do you mind if I ask?"
Just like that, his eyes drift away. It's an invitation to pry in on his world, but it's such a reluctant one. He's making sure that I know that he's not happy about any of this, but that he also has nothing to hide.
Before I can comprehend movement, I find my legs dangling over the edge of the car. My hands are placed firmly in my lap, unfolded for the first time in what feels like forever. They still ache with the longing to wail on someone, and they would soon get that, however now was not really the time.
"What happened?"
Garth bounces from foot to foot as best he can considering how he looks. Every few bounces, he will dig the toe of his boot into the ground, kicking up dirt as he goes. Eyes that I wish would look at me are trained on the ground.
I can tell he's considering his response, because his whole body stiffened just the slightest bit when I posed my question. As much as he might have been expecting me to say something, giving him that carefully worded question seemed to be enough to overwhelm him. It was almost strange seeing him like this. I never supposed that the boy who had an answer to everything would be stumped so easily.
He sighs too, but it isn't like mines. His feels like the walls surrounding him and me might just be blown down if he responds.
I want this to be a safe space for both of us. I want for us both to feel comfortable talking to each other. Trusting each other was the most difficult hurdle we would ever have to cross, but once we did it, then there would be nothing left.
"He gets angry sometimes."
With this, he bounces one last time, and I swear he bounces just a little higher. It's almost like he's weightless in that moment. That's not how it works, I know, but there's just something about it that makes sense.
"Your dad," I say bluntly, cutting through everything. It's not so much a question as it is a response. I don't need to know who he is because truthfully, I already know.
"Yup."
"He hit's you."
"Yup."
"And you just stand there and take it?" Maybe this is the wrong thing to say because I've never been in this situation. But the logical side of my brain thinks that fighting back should be an option. Hell, even running away would be a valid response to everything. I'm annoyed and he can feel it come off of me in waves.
This time he doesn't respond. Instead he remains motionless, the only signs of life being the slow heaving of his chest as it inhales and exhales.
It takes me a few moments to realize what's going on; he's shutting down on me.
The only reason I know is because the only other time I've seen anyone like this is when my father just found out that my mom, his wife, had just passed on. The way his eyes just went dead, and all emotion seemed to just obliterate from his face. How he couldn't even function properly in that moment. You could tell he wanted to cry out but that his brain had just locked him out. The way he had become so cold and stiff, not unlike the corpses sitting a few floors down.
It's the complete stillness that is a shock to me because now I'm worried about him, and that makes me want to shut down. Because honestly, I shouldn't care this much about him. And it's the fact that I do that terrifies me.
I am inches from his face in a matter of moments. My entire body feels heavy, as if mimicking every ounce of physical and emotional pain he must be feeling right now. The rage that burned for him before now burns for myself and his father. Every motion feels like it's underwater; in slow motion and almost too sluggish to be real. In spite of this, I feel my arms go around his shoulders and draw him in.
Neither of us are expecting the embrace, but once Garth figures out what has happened, he has his own arms wrapped around me, face bunched into my chest. It's tight, and I can tell that he doesn't want to let go. To be fair to him, neither do I. I want to just stay like this and assure him that everything is okay. I want so badly to wash away all the rain in his life, become something much more than a star. I want the black hole of my heart to become one with him and swallow the pain he feels.
Garth is crying a little into me, and I can tell he is holding back. He's trying to be strong and show me that he can tough it out.
Right now, I would not think any less of him if he broke down in front of me.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled between soft gasps of air.
"Don't be."
Garth pulled his face to the side, resting it against me but looking out to the scenery. The moon was now hung high in the sky, never daring to falter too much. Too many the night may have been young, but this was not the case for us. The night had already been so long, and carried itself with so much weight.
"Xavier," Garth softly said into the darkness.
"Yeah?"
"I don't want to go home tonight."