After Ryan had left the quiet room in a state of tumultuous emotion, Mike, Karen and Chloe just sat there for a long moment, staring at the way he had left.
Finally, Mike said, "Do you want some tea, or coffee, or anything?"
"Coffee would be nice, thank you," Karen said. "Milk, one sugar," she clarified quickly as the man got up and walked out, leaving the mother and daughter sitting quietly together.
"I'm sorry," Chloe mumbled, looking down at her knees.
"What for?"
"That he was so rude."
"It's not your fault," Karen sighed, wrapping an arm around her. "You can hardly blame him, either. Bearing a burden like that for so long, and having cancer on top of that, I guess it was all just building up, waiting to come out."
Chloe debated internally on whether to tell her mother about her brother's wish to see her purely so he could give her Hell over what she had inflicted upon him, both directly and indirectly. As much as she agreed that Karen's egregious lie was a terrible thing to do to a child that had led to the accumulation of many negative results over the years, she was still her mother, and within her clear memory, Karen had always gone out of her way to do her best by her.
That was until she had left her to go to America with her new boyfriend, Calvin, three years ago, but even then, she had promised Chloe that when the time was right, they would all be reunited and would live a wonderful life in America together. It was a dream that Chloe had held on to, that comforted her whenever she felt lonely in care. It had certainly thrown her for a loop to discover what her mother had done, that she had her own closet skeletons.
Now, here she was, confronted with a choice, and it was harder than all the troubles that came with paraplegia put together.
The door opened and Mike walked back in, holding three mugs. He placed one in front of Karen and another in front of Chloe, full of something she recognised as hot chocolate, though she really wasn't in the mood for it. Her mother, however, accepted her coffee gratefully, taking a long sip of the caffeinated drink.
"I'm sorry he was like that," Mike sighed, sipping his own coffee.
"No, it's alright," Karen replied, looking downcast. "I don't know what other reaction I could've expected, really." Then, she smiled a little. "He reminds me so much of Connor, it's almost spooky. When he was growing up, he grew to look more and more like him, and when he died, sometimes ... just looking at Ryan was enough to break my heart. I know, what a thing to say about my own son," she said, letting out a mirthless laugh.
"Who's Connor?" Chloe asked, though she had a good idea already.
"Your father," Karen replied. "Well, his full name was Constantine, but he hated that name and always insisted on being called Connor. He said he didn't want to sound like a dictator - ironic, considering he used to be a policeman."
"Tell me more about him," Chloe said.
"I'd love to, but I'd rather have Ryan hear it too," Karen said. "He deserves to know."
Meanwhile, said boy had taken a seat on his bed, breathing heavily in a poor attempt to calm himself. Every muscle in his body was as tense as a rock - even his normally weak legs were tense with spasticity. He knew he would have few spoons once the adrenaline wore off, but at this point, he hardly cared if he lost every single spoon he would've had for the rest of his life. He felt like an electric kettle that was steadily raising the temperature of the water inside of it, just moments from boiling over.
A knock on his door finally sounded, He ignored it, as he did the calls of the knocker, who turned out to be Mike. The man opened the door anyway - to reveal himself as well as Karen and Chloe behind him.
Most electric kettles automatically turn off when they reach boiling point, but people aren't like electric kettles, least of all Ryan.
"Don't you see what she's done?!" Ryan yelled immediately, before Mike could even open his mouth. "My whole life, my entire childhood, completely dashed to pieces because of her! Everyone around me treating me like I was worth less than nothing! Getting the living crap beaten out of me by the other kids in a place I didn't belong - and for what?! For something I never did!"
When his audience was left too stunned by this to react verbally, he continued. "Think about it, really think about it for a minute. You have an innocent kid accused of GBH, taken away from everyone and everything that he'd ever loved and cared about, and spending most of his growing years being treated like he was evil. You don't need a degree in psychology to realise what that can do to a kid. Don't you see? I never got the chance to have a normal childhood, filled with love and support" - he neglected to mention Owen's family as that had gone down in flames - "and instead I was left in the dust, left to somehow claw my way out - and guess what, to claw your way out of the dust with no help, you have to get your hands dirty."
He started laughing, even as his eyes filled with tears. "Now look at me - filthy, tarnished, malignant as the mass growing inside of me. I can't function properly, I have to have control, show people who's boss, make them scared of me! Even my own body hates me and is trying to destroy me. Guess what?! I didn't even have to go through all that, I didn't have to turn out like this, but here I am, corrupted beyond repair! She made me this way, don't you see what she's done to me?! Look at me!!"
Seeing Ryan in the midst of uncontrollable hysteria was easily the most disturbing and heartbreaking thing Mike and Chloe had ever seen (for Karen, it came tied with seeing her daughter lying broken on the pavement with a shattered spine). His shoulders were convulsing with violent sobs, which were coming out sounding like each one had the potential to clog up his trachea. Each shake caused waves of pain to flow down his back and legs and he could practically feel the spoons falling from him during his rants and breakdown, but he almost wanted to run out, if for no other reason than to have an excuse to crawl into a hole and never get up again (You're thinking of a grave there, said his inner monologue).
He felt a hand placed awkwardly on his shoulder, presumably Mike's, but he pushed it back almost immediately and turned away from the doorway, manually manoeuvring his spastic legs the way Chloe did with her paralysed ones and pulling them to his chest. "L-leave me."
"Ry-"
"Leave me!"
With a sigh, Mike closed the door on the shattered boy, before turning around to see that his company had increased. In addition to Karen and Chloe, all the other young people, as well as May-Li, had come up the stairs to see what all the commotion was.
"Guys, go back downstairs, or wherever you want to go," he instructed wearily. "He needs to be alone for a bit, alright? Just ... leave this matter to us."
There were no protests from the group as they dispersed, which wasn't surprising as they all looked just as stricken as he felt. They all knew that Ryan's relationship with his mother was far from stable considering what happened, but this ...
***
It wasn't until around an hour and a half later that Ryan finally emerged from his room, having cried himself to sleep earlier, with five spoons to use. He didn't want to look in the mirror for fear of what he might see, but he knew he probably looked like a mess, his eyes still stinging and probably bloodshot.
Preferably, he would've stayed holed up in his room, but the whole building felt stifling to him, the air heavy with unease - or was that just him? Ryan didn't know, but he needed to get away, lack of sufficient spoons be damned.
He took out his phone and texted:
Can I come over?
The reply was fast, thankfully. The other boy must've been waiting to hear from him, knowing he was going through a difficult time - well, more difficult than usual.
F: Sure, when?
R: Later today
Locking his phone, he cautiously made his way downstairs. The foyer was empty, but the voices coming from the kitchen were clear.
"... a good mother to Chloe, he doesn't have to go with them," Mo said.
"Yeah but what about the rule about not splitting up siblings?" Finn pointed out.
"That didn't stop them taking me away," Sasha commented, rather resentfully.
"Yeah, and these would probably be 'exceptional circumstances'," agreed Kazima. "I mean, they don't have the best relationship and he's sick."
"Sick is right," Bailey agreed. "Sick in the head. Did you see him back there?"
"We all did, and heard him," Floss said.
An icy waterfall plunged over Ryan, making him tremble alarmingly. They had all seen him at his lowest and he'd been too out of it to even notice. What was happening to him? Had the cancer already affected his brain?
Stumbling over to the office, he pushed the door open to find Mike and May-Li sitting with his mother and Chloe. They all noticed his pallor and the fact that he was shakier than normal.
"I need to go. Sorry, I just can't be here right now."
***
Only half an hour later, Mike had dropped him off outside Finley's house, agreeing that the boy needed some space and the support of a friend. As Ryan had found out from a text conversation with Finley to tell him he was coming, it wasn't safe for Finley to come to the DG due to leukaemia and chemotherapy rendering him immunocompromised and vulnerable to any infections that could easily spread in a house full of children and teens.
"Give us a ring when you're ready, yeah?" Mike said. Ryan nodded, making his way to the house and knocking on the door.
It wasn't Rosemary that greeted him at the door this time, but Finley himself. He'd been expecting Ryan's arrival, but his eyes still widened when his eyes fell on the state of the other boy.
"You okay?" Finley asked, despite knowing the answer.
"Not really," Ryan admitted.
"Come in, please," Finley said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and leading him into the sitting room, where Rosemary was sat on the armchair staring at her phone.
"Hey Rosemary, give us some space?" Finley said, sitting down on the sofa with Ryan.
"Can't, my sciatica is playing up," the girl said, not looking up.
"Your sciatica is bad?" Ryan replied incredulously.
Hearing his voice diverted her attention from her phone and she locked it and sat up straighter. "Hey, didn't know you were coming."
"Yeah, he's going through something rough, so can you give us some space?" Finley urged.
"What if I could help?" she said back, cocking her head slightly.
"Doubt it," Ryan scoffed.
A knock on the living room door sounded, even though it was already open, and Cynthia poked her head through the doorway. "Perhaps I could?"
Ryan sighed. "Look, I appreciate you trying, but you can't solve this. Not all of it anyway. It's a lot."
Cynthia took in the Scouse boy's still noticeable pallor - on par with her son's sickly one - and his slumped shoulders. He looked drained, physically and emotionally, and her much-exercised maternal instincts kicked in. "It might help to talk about it," she said, walking over and sitting down next to him.
"Mum, don't be so nosy," Finley said. "He might not want to relive it."
"No, it's alright, " Ryan said quietly, even as his eyes started pricking with tears at the reminder. "I need to talk about it, otherwise I think I might break something."
Twenty minutes filled with hugs, sympathetic looks and gentle encouragement later, all had been spilled and Ryan was slumped heavily against the back of the sofa, looking like he was miles away as his three supporters processed everything he had told them, their expressions a mixture of concern and horror.
Finally, Cynthia spoke up. "You're right, Ryan, this is a lot to handle, especially for someone your age. I appreciate you needing emotional support during this time. But I think it's best that you talk to your carers about this. They most likely know more about the matter than we do, they'll be able to do more to help."
"What, so he comes to us for help, you offer help, and then you say you can't help?" Rosemary said hotly.
"Yeah, you're a teacher, mum," Finley added. "This can't be the first time someone has come to you about a bad home life."
"Yes, but as Ryan isn't my student, I'm not in the position to get him the necessary help," Cynthia explained, regretfully. "All I can offer is advice, and my advice for him is to leave this to the professionals."
"What? Mum, I'm not leaving a friend in need!" Finley protested.
Cynthia narrowed her eyes. "Finley Benjamin Albaston, don't you take that tone with me, you're not the only one who's had to help other people with very difficult problems."
Her own tone of voice was like sharp icicles. They all knew exactly what she meant. "I'm sorry, Mum," Finley said, looking down sheepishly.
"It's alright," Cynthia sighed. "Look, just don't bite off more than you can chew," she said simply, before leaving.
"... Is she saying I'm a burden?" Ryan asked, after a long, awkward silence.
"No, of course not," Rosemary said hastily. "Sorry if she came off like that. It's just ... you know we can't do much about the root of the problem, right?"
"Can't argue there," Ryan said with a dry chuckle. "I'm not asking you to solve my problems, I guess I just need a break, spend some time away from everything."
"Always happy to provide," Finley smiled, wrapping an arm around Ryan's slender shoulders, letting the younger boy nuzzle into him.
"Thanks," Ryan mumbled in response, resting his slightly aching head on Finley's bony shoulder, closing his eyes momentarily (and therefore missing the knowing smirk Rosemary threw at Finley) before changing the subject. "Your middle name is Benjamin?"
"Well, yeah, that's what Mum said," Rosemary said.
"I know," Finley said. "I think it was the name of one of my great-uncles. We're silver spoon children, I know."
"Whatever, my middle name is even worse," Ryan said, before immediately regretting it. Now, he was more or less condemned to tell them.
"Let's hear it then," said Rosemary, sitting up straighter.
"No way, you'll just laugh."
"Ry, my middle name is freaking Diantha," Rosemary said. "We're not judging here."
"Fine," Ryan sighed. "If you must know ... it's Constantine."
Much to his disappointment - though not to his surprise - both Rosemary and Finley struggled to hold back their snickers. "Yeah, I hate it too."
"Constantine, like the emperor?" Rosemary giggled.
"Constantine, like my father," Ryan said, a shadow passing over his expression. "He died when I was three, from the same thing I have now."
"Damn," Rosemary said quietly, looking rather stricken. "Is that why you're so determined to not die from this?"
"Rose, that's enough," Finley mitigated, squeezing Ryan's shoulder. "Don't remind him of that, this is tough enough for him."
Rosemary narrowed her eyes. "It's Rosemary, not Rose," she ordered, as firmly as a thirteen-year-old could muster when making a trivial demand. "A rose is a flower, rosemary is a perennial herb. There's a difference, alabaster boy."
"What type of alabaster am I then, since you're so pedantic about semantics?" Finley retorted. "The gypsum or the calcite variety*?"
Rosemary stared at him blankly. "... I'm thirteen."
"Point taken."
"It doesn't matter," Rosemary said finally. "I mean, what's in a name anyway?"
"Got that right," Ryan agreed. "A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet after all," he added, smirking.
Rosemary facepalmed. "I walked right into that one, didn't I?"
*Chemically speaking, the mineral known as "alabaster" has two chemical forms. Geologists refer to only gypsum type (gypsum being the common name for hydrated calcium sulphate) as "alabaster", but modern alabaster (which, ironically, is also ancient alabaster) is more likely to be the calcite type (aka calcium carbonate). This is due to their differing hardness - gypsum alabaster is softer and more fragile than calcite alabaster, being so soft that it can be scratched by a fingernail, so if Finley Benjamin Albaston really were made of alabaster, it makes sense that he'd be the gypsum type.
I'd be lying if I said parts of this wasn't inspired heavily by the story reluctant heroes by handoverthe_tea, specifically Chloe's chapter. Give that a read if you haven't already, though I'm sure a lot of you already have.