Adam stripped to nothing and stared at the crooked body in the mirror. His body looked misshapen, and it was. He could see his ribs, poking from beneath his skin. He saw fading bruises, scars of old and then the new ones Yenly had given him before he'd been killed. It was a strange feeling, knowing the only man he'd known for six years was dead. He felt no affection for the man, but it was still strange. A memory arose of the man giving him the bible; it was old and the leather was cracking but he had placed it in Adam's hands instead of throwing it at him.
"Now you read this. Read all of it." He'd said. Adam had read it. Perhaps sometimes it's words had helped him, but God had never shone him light in the darkness of his room. He had not spoken to Adam when he'd cried alone at night, nor had He placed comforting hands around him when he'd wanted nothing more than to fade away and no longer be. God hadn't killed the man and freed Adam from his prison. No. Adam had had to do that himself.
The mirror made a sound and a crack in the glass severed his reflection in half. Adam blinked.
"Why are you so destructive?" He whispered. His reflection gave no answer.
"You alright?" Edward was on the other side of the door, patiently waiting for him as he burned through his third cigarette for the night.
"Y-Yes. Yes, I'm fine." Adam called back. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears. He put his hands against the glass, careful not to tug too much on his injured shoulder. Adam took a long moment to wait, still, before he turned on the bathtub faucet.
Yenly had not allowed him many baths, and when he did, it was often because of some cruel abuse he'd forced him through. Like the electrical-test, or whatever that had been, and dozens others before and after that. He'd bathed him himself the day before the director and his man and woman appeared, though he didn't wash his hair because it was too difficult to mess with. He'd tried to rake a brush through it, then cursed and threw the brush aside. Adam had been thankful for that- Yenly had not brushed gently.
When the tub was half full, Adam put a foot in, then yanked it out. It was hot. No. It was warm. Comfortably so. But Yenly had always bathed him with cold water. He put his foot in, slowly, before he let himself climb in. He eased himself down until he sat, then drew up his legs and hugged them close to his chest.
The faucet dripped. And dripped. And dripped.
He thought of Elle, Edward's neighbor and his childhood friend. She'd had a strand of pink hair when he'd known her. He always thought that was so cool. His parents never let him do things like that; it was odd enough, with his bleach white hair. He didn't even have albinism, no pair of cool, reddish eyes to accompany the hair color.
Elle had been pushy, but she had talked to him. Lots of kids talked to him, he thought as he looked back. The kid who could do cool magic tricks, if you promised to keep it a secret... Of course no one had, but it had never gotten out of hand.
How, then, did Yenly find me?
He'd been careless, of course. Adam had thought this particular idea over six-thousand times; what mistake had he made, besides, of course, following Yenly that day? When had he slipped up? When had Yenly seen? Adam was careful, in a pre-teen sort of way. He liked to think he was. He got away with it with his parents, but mostly because no sane adult questioned if their child had telekinetic abilities. You could brush off anything if you reasoned with yourself enough.
He'd never seen the man at school, or anywhere in the city, but it was a big city. What if he lived on his block, and he'd just never noticed?
How? How did he find me?
Yenly had never answered that question in life, and so Adam would never know now. He hugged his legs tighter. He have never told him, either, what he was. Sure, he'd called him freak, sinner, and monster, and devil so many times Adam had taken those in for what little of an identity he had left. A monster picked things up without touching them. A monster could feel the electrical currents of everything around them, touch them and not get burned. A monster threw a man from his vehicle, ground his face into the asphalt. Yes. That was what a monster was.
The faucet continued to leak.
"Edward?" He called.
"Yeah?"
Edward always sounded two steps away from a nervous breakdown.
"Could-... Could you come in here...?"
The bathroom door wasn't locked and so almost instantly, Edward was turning the knob, stepping in.
"What's up?"
"I-... I just," Adam reached, though modesty wasn't what made him do it, and closed the shower curtain. They were both men, adults, too. And they had shared headspace. What was closer than that? "It's quiet in here."
"Oh. Oh, okay. Want me to stay?"
Adam nodded, then realized Edward couldn't see that. "Yes, please." He muttered. Edward closed the toilet lid and sat. He'd undone his tie, partiality, but he still wore his white work shirt and black pants. The only comfortable looking thing he wore was a pair of old, blue slippers.
"Yeah, yeah sure thing. You okay?" Edward's voice was soft, attempting to be comforting.
"Yes. It's warm."
"Good. We need to, uh, do something about your hair. It's nice and all-"
"I hate it."
"Oh, okay, great then. We can cut it."
"But... The scissors... The Man- Yenly never let me touch anything like that. He said I'd do something..."
Edward was silent a moment. Adam could smell the smoke by now, stale and thin.
"Do you want to do something?" He asked. Adam considered this though the answer was quite obvious.
"No." He said.
"Then you'll be fine."
Adam placed his chin on his knees, and sighed softly.
He could feel Edward watching his silhouette from the other side of the shower curtain and he felt himself become uncomfortably aware of how thin and pitiful he looked. His wrists were like branches, things that could be snapped if he so much as slipped and braced himself with them. His hair stuck to his back and floated in the water.
"I miss my mother." Adam said suddenly, mostly to himself. Edward was silent, perhaps unsure what to say. "I didn't get to say much to them the last day I saw them. My dad was at work. So I didn't get to tell him bye. I don't remember what I said to him the night before. My mom, however, she was home. Making my lunch. She was pregnant. Did you know that? I don't know what happened to the baby. I imagine she miscarried. I brought a lot of stress, going missing. That's not good for a pregnancy." He shifted in the water. It sloshed against the white walls of the tub. "The last thing I said to her was, bye, love you. At least I told her I love you, before everything. I don't remember if she responded. Of course she did, you know? But I never heard it. I shut the door as soon as 'you' came out of my mouth. I bet she hated that. Wondering if I heard her say I love you or not. The last thing I said was love you. Living with- or, I guess, living under Yenly, that was what I thought of a lot. That, and getting to say I love you to my dad. I should have said more that morning or- or maybe the night before. I should've left a note on the table for both of them or something. Sometimes my mom would leave notes in my lunch boxes as a kid. I never did stuff like that back. I never- I never-" He choked off, hiding his face with one hand. His mind hurt, suddenly, and he felt heat and water rise in his eyes. Tears dripped on his knees. Edward was still silent. He was not sure why he was telling Edward any of this, although so long had spent without anyone to talk to at all. The chance to go on about any of the thoughts that haunted him felt so relieving, it made him shake. Adam allowed himself to reach, and he felt the heat of the ashes fall from Edward's cigarette, unsmoked. "A... A teacher in my school told me to, live each day like the last. I never did, I should have but- I, I never did. I was fourteen! I thought there was time..!" He felt himself shudder, and he chewed his bottom lip, rubbed his eyes to draw the tears away. He did not want to cry. He'd spent so much time crying the last six years. He hated it. Finally, Edward spoke.
"The last thing I told my dad before he died was go to hell."
Adam dropped his hand and reached for the shower curtain. Then, he took his hand away, didn't pull it back.
"I'm sorry." He said. "Does it hurt?"
"No," said Edward. "And I hate that it doesn't. I don't care one bit that that's what I told him but I hate that I don't. It was the day I moved out, so it was several years before he actually died but..." Adam waited but Edward did not finish. He took a little white bar of soap that sat on the ledge of the tub, and began to scrub, gently.
"You hated him."
"Yes."
"I see." He was careful around his injured shoulder; he did not imagine soap would make it feel good. "That's okay... I'm sure I'm the last person you'd like to- to hear comfort for. But... But that happens. I've heard of kids with bad parents. It's better to hate them, I think, than to love them."
"It's the easier route."
"Sure." Adam shrugged. "Like it's easy for rain to fall downwards. That's what's meant to happen. It does not seem like he set things up to be loved." Edward was silent again and he scrubbed at his skin until it began to redden. The water in the tub turned a foggy shade of white and grey, and Adam wrinkled his nose. He dunked his head in until all his hair, long and messy was drenched. Edward had various, half empty soap bottles sitting around. Adam found the shampoo and began the laborious task of washing his hair.
"So Yenly never let you cut your hair?"
"No. He was afraid I'd kill him with whatever he used to cut it with. So he wouldn't come near me with scissors or knives, or anything." He scrubbed his nails and fingers into his scalp, wincing at the few sores and cuts he found up there.
"Would you have?" Edward lowered his voice.
"I could have killed Yenly without them." Said Adam simply. "But I think I was afraid to kill him. I didn't... Want to, necessarily. I just wanted to be away from him, I-I've never wanted to hurt anyone..." Yet it'd felt like something akin to triumph, watching Yenly die.
The water had become a darker grey, dappled with soap bubbles. Adam sighed, rinsed his hair, then tugged on the bath plug and watched the water drain away. He rose, dripping, and peeked around the curtain. "May I have a towel?"
A tiny pile of ash had begun on the floor. Edward was staring off into space when he glanced at Adam, blinked and stood. He brought him a white towel that might not have been the cleanest. He dried off, and Edward bought him another, oversized t-shirt. This one had a cracking, ironed on image of the Golden Gate Bridge over the front of it.
"So, do you want me to cut your hair? Or you can do it, if you'd rather." He sat again on the toilet lid. A pair of scissors sat on the counter, by the sink.
"I'll ruin it if I do it..." Said Adam.
"Well, so will I." Edward sighed. "I- I can try. I've done my hair before, but like, only little snips here or there." He ran a hand through his black hair. It was curly and nice, and soft looking. It looked fine enough to Adam. He smiled.
"I'm sure you'll do fine."
It took a moment to find a comfortable, not-awkward way to sit so that Edward could begin. Finally, they settled on the bathroom floor.
Edward was quiet aside from the occasional muttering of shit when he made a misstep. But as long as Adam was not being stabbed with the scissors, he did not care either way. Strands of white hair, thick and tangled fell around them. Edward had not bothered to brush it. It took a long time, and the sun was beginning to set by the time he finished. Adam closed his eyes, content with just sitting and waiting.
"OK, it looks- uh. It's... Well, it's short." Edward ran a brush through his newly cut hair a few times, snipping once more, before he pulled away.
It felt like weight had been tugged away from him. Adam shook out his shirt for any remaining strands of hair. Edward raked fingers through his new cut, to let more strands fall away. When Adam looked in the mirror he'd cracked, he saw that his hair had been cut as close as it could be for someone lacking skills. In the back, it was about an inch and a half to two inches in length. Six years feeling depraved and like nothing had stripped Adam of any dignity and pride he might have; but somehow, the haircut looked good. And he didn't smell like shit.
"I don't hate it." He said. "Better than what I could do." He smiled at Edward, who seemed unsure of how to smile back at first; but when he did, it was sweet, endearing.