For a few days, I just lazed around the house, covering my bruised arm with my usually hoodies. Truthfully, every time I looked at it, it just reminded me of Austin, and how gentle his lips were on my skin. As a person, I'm not typically bubbly or giddy, but, lately, I had a reason to be. Usually, I was just trying to be content. For 6 whole months, I had done nothing but think positively, and work on my self-improvement. I'd been through the motions, taken all the pills, been to every therapy session, and now I was just working with myself. Of course, nothing was as good as it seemed. With my family, it felt like they didn't care whether or not I fell apart again.
But, everyday, I had to remember to love the Little Things. It was tiring, and sometimes I just wanted to cry and screw up and not care at all.
Austin really gave me a reason to keep looking forward. I wasn't over the past yet, but I had passed it, after all. And that was something to be okay about. The thing was, no matter what you do, at the end of the day you have to love yourself. You have to be able to look in the mirror and understand that every person has weakness, and be okay with that. Even if I wasn't there yet, I wanted to be there. And wanting was enough to keep me stable. For now, at least.
Every time I thought about Austin, though, I didn't even have to try; I was just automatically happy. It didn't make any sense, but I loved being friends with him, even if that was all he considered us. I didn't want to think about that; I just wanted to soak in the good moments before they were gone. It was like he'd captured and created this better world for us, just the two of us, and I knew deep down that I would hold most of those stories until I died.
The day of Sophie's grad party was 3 days after our little abandoned mansion expedition. That morning, I woke at 9:30 AM, not too sleepy, and crept upstairs. There, my mother, father, and brother were all in a flurry of preparation, setting out foods, silverware and napkins, cleaning, decorating, even. For some reason, it was difficult for me to imagine them going to this much trouble for my grad party in 3 years.
"Alan, help me set up the food?" my mom practically begged. Shrugging, I grabbed some cheese platters and helped her set them up in the dining room. There was a nice tablecloth out, and all the plastic plates and napkins said "Congrats Class of '14!" I wished solemnly that those were my plates, and that I would never have to revisit high school.
"Honey," my mom mentioned as we worked, "why don't you take your sweater off?" she suggested.
"Not ready yet," I muttered, and went to grab more food. She sighed and walked away, letting the matter go. In my mind, I tried to visualize a better sort of life that I might live in the future, and that helped me to continue. Maybe some place where I could just be, with lots of trees and clouds, and Austin. We could live in a house in a cliff, with a forest by it.
He would never want that. Sighing, I just kept cleaning, kept helping out until my mind was numb and the bad thoughts were gone. Depending on myself to be okay was probably the only goal I had, as of then.
A few hours later, around noon, people began arriving. Many of them were Sophie's classmates, some of whom I'd seen before at school. My entire extended family came, too. They all filled up the kitchen, living and family rooms, and the backyard and deck, too. Everyone was eating and drinking, congratulating my older sister for making it through school.
Her wavy blonde hair had been curled nicely, and I thought, even though she wasn't always nice, that she looked very beautiful. We had the same eyes, a lighter brown color, and today she was all smiles, accepting cards and congratulatory handshakes. I was a little proud, and hoped, one day, I could look like that: so self-assured.
My place was to take coats, and just help in any way I could. Once everything had settled down, and the steady stream of incoming guests trickled to a halt, I relaxed. Our house was fuller than it had ever been, it seemed. Earlier, I'd made Sophie a card, and I wanted to give it to her. There were $50 inside, because I wanted her to at least like it a little bit. She stood outside, socializing and mingling. Truthfully, I felt really uncomfortable with all these people, but I was trying to pretend like it wasn't bothering me. As she walked into the kitchen, I scurried over, hoping to catch her.
"Sophie, here," I said, thrusting the card out at her awkwardly. She stood a little taller than me in her heels, and examined it. A warm smile pulled at her lips, and her eyes got big.
"Alan, you should save your money, I don't need this." She began to hand it to me, but I shoved her hands back.
"I want you to have it," I said, watching her. The card was just a little letter I wrote, and some pictures, so it wasn't amazing, but it was still a little sentimental.
"I love it," she smiled, and then she hugged me. In surprise, I hugged back, smiling huge. For some reason, I thought I was going to cry.
"Congratulations," I said quickly, nervously watching her. She was acting so amiable. I wished it had always been like that.
"Thanks." She smiled. We just stood there for a moment, watching each other. "You know, I'm going to be gone for 10 months starting in August. You probably won't even miss me," she muttered. "Not like I gave you a reason to. I've been such a bitch."
"You weren't a... bitch," I whispered the last word, feeling gross. "It's okay. And I will miss you. Who else is gonna put Michael in his place?" She chuckled, staring at me.
"I'll see you around," she mumbled, walking away to greet a few latecomers. As strange as it was, I enjoyed not fighting with my sister, even though I thought she'd probably never be that nice again.
•••
As the hours dragged on, more people arrived. Sophie's friends were playing video games, and a lot of people were getting kind of drunk. I just wanted to hide, but my mom said to stay upstairs and help. Austin hadn't shown up yet, to my dismay, and I was feeling pretty lonely. They just got louder and louder, turning up music and laughing, telling stories. It might've been a good time if anyone there really cared about me, but that wasn't the case. I felt like a speck, and tried desperately to make myself as invisible.
At around 8 o'clock, I was ready to go downstairs and just sleep, for a really long time, even. I missed him really deeply, like a part of me was missing. Why did I have to be here? Of course, I was happy for my sister, but her friends and classmates were obnoxious, and tipsy, and loud. As I scurried around the kitchen, directing people to the bathroom, I saw Austin wander in from the backyard, looking lost. His eyes met mine with a smile, and my heart fluttered against the inside of my ribcage. He waved, and walked over.
"Some guy almost puked on my shoes," he laughed, speaking loudly over the chatter.
"That was probably my uncle Dan," I muttered.
"Is there somewhere else we can go? I'm not really into the crowd thing," he said, shrugging. Scoping the area for my mom or Michael, I came up short, and tried to think of somewhere quiet. My room had pretty thick walls, and most people were upstairs.
Tugging on his sleeve, I led him back downstairs, to my bedroom.
Surprisingly, there was no one in the game room. I had no idea how there wasn't anyone down here, because every other place in the house was filled. Opening the door, I flicked a switch, filling the room with soft light, and sat down on my bed. He closed the door behind him, and, suddenly, we were alone together. I could feel my palms sweating, and I watched him. He stood posed, his back against the door. We froze there, just kind of listening to the muffled laughter and music, chuckling at the sound of people throwing things. I knew my parents hadn't intended for the party to get so wild.
"Michael asked me to sleep over." He words were swallowed by the buzz in my ears, and I shook it away. You know when, sometimes, it's so quiet that you can hear the blood rushing against your ears? I felt that, and it was dizzyingly overwhelming at the moment. He stared at me, a little smile pulling on those lips.
"Are we thinking the same thing?" he wondered.
"I hope so," I sighed, sitting on the mattress. He joined me, leaning against the footboard across from me.
"Let's do something fun," he said, and I nodded eagerly, instantly more comfortable.
"We'll have to wait a while," I observed, listening to my own voice bounce around the room.
"That's okay. We'll find something to do. Maybe you can kick my ass in another round of cards," he said, and I smiled, thinking of last time.
"Deal." I grinned, trying not to meet his eyes. Those eyes of Austin's were so addictive to me; I knew if I stared too long, we'd have a problem. Scooting off the bed, I grabbed one of those huge books with all the animals in it, purely for a playing surface, and the deck of cards. Sitting down again, I found him messing around with my hundred-year-old laptop, smiling at its desperate wheezing. I grabbed a pillow and set it between us, placing the book on top like a little table, and handed Austin the cards; he was a much better shuffler than me.
"Dude, this thing is like a little heater," he mumbled.
"What're you looking at?" I asked. He was so touchy and interested in everything; he may have been a person who, at times, lacked boundaries. I didn't mind; it wasn't like I had anything to hide.
"Trying to uncover your porn stash," he muttered, laughing and clicking on something.
"Let me know when you find something," I mumbled in amusement, taking back the cards that he was obviously less interested in now. His eyes were bright with computer light, eager. Really, though, I couldn't think of anything on there that I was ashamed of.
"Wow, that's disgusting," he chuckled.
"What is?" I demanded, peering over at the screen. He was just staring at the desktop, laughing at me.
"I wouldn't go through your personal stuff unless you okay'd it." He smiled.
"I have nothing to hide," I said, handing him the deck and putting my laptop away.
"That's silly. Everyone has something to hide," he said adamantly, shuffling the cards and dealing. Looking away, I realized that he was definitely right. As always.
"Well, on the computer, at least," I said softly, looking at my hand. They were crap cards, and I knew I'd lose the first couple rounds.
"I danced when I was 7," he said randomly, meeting my eyes with humor.
"What?"
"I thought if I shared something, then you'd feel better. I took a dance class when I was 7 years old for a few months," he said.
"What kind of dance?" I giggled. He shook his head.
"You gotta tell me something first," he said. Deciding that I would try and avoid all the painful, raw things, I joined his game.
"I have two bellybuttons," I said.
"What? No way." He grinned.
"Yep. I couldn't eat when I was born so they put a tube through my stomach. And now there're two holes," I chuckled. It was completely true. The second was a few inches above the original, and way more like a divot now, but still noticeable. I didn't think it was ugly, but I knew it was weird.
"Let me see," he demanded.
"What kind of dance did you take?" I shot back. His cheeks went a little pink.
"Ballet. My mom shoved me into it," he said quickly.
"Cute," I teased.
"I wanna see the second bellybutton," he said adamantly. There was no way I was taking my clothes off.
"No," I said stubbornly.
"Please?" he begged, smiling at me like this was the most fun he'd ever had. Oddly, Austin always looked like that.
"Fine," I sighed, standing up and lifting my shirt up to my chest. He stared, fascinated and laughing in disbelief.
"You're like the coolest person I know." His breathe tickled my stomach, and I felt his fingers trail across me. That was enough, I'd decided, and pulled it back down, promptly settling back into my earlier position.
"Your turn," I said, picking up a few cards. He was wiping me out at this game already.
"Once I peed my pants in front of my entire kindergarten class," he said.
"Loser," I laughed, earning a shove. It was my turn then, so I tried to think of something good. "I was Tinkerbell in the 5th grade school play." He snorted. And although it was an unorganized, breathless, silly laugh, I found it to be beautiful.
"Jesus Christ, Alan," he sighed, giggling and trying to get ahold of himself. "I really don't think I've got anything funnier than that," he said. I looked down at our cards, seeing I hadn't been dealt a suit card all match.
"How about something unfunny?" I suggested, internally groaning at the next hand I had. An 8 and a 3. How does one person get such a crappy deal?
"A regular secret? Hm," he pondered, winning the hand. "I'm not sure if this is a secret, but I got into a car accident when I was 7." He shrugged.
"Woah. Was anyone hurt?" I asked, hoping he hadn't suffered any long term injuries.
"Nope. I did get this scar, though." He pulled his sleeve up, showing me his forearm. Near the elbow was an inch-long, white scar. Subconsciously, I touched it, inspecting. I wondered what it felt like, in that moment in his life, to feel the metal body around him shudder and crunch. For a second, I felt the raised skin of his scar, wishing I could kiss it, but knowing that would be completely inappropriate. It reminded me a lot things I didn't want to think about, so I took a deep breath and moved away.
"Now you tell me one," he requested. His smile made me so nervous, I couldn't even begin to explain.
"My grandpa Joe survived the Holocaust in a camp," I offered softly, think of how much I loved him. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to tell Austin this, but we were so close, and I knew he wouldn't do anything stupid with the information. I trusted him.
"Can I meet him?" he asked quickly. "Is he upstairs?" I nodded. It made my heart smile a little, how much he cared. He was so different from everyone else.
"Don't ask him about the bad stuff!" I said, and he nodded. We ditched the cards and walked upstairs. The music was quieter now, and people were mostly chatting warmly with each other. My grandpa Joe was sitting outside on the deck, alone, petting one of the stray cats that come around our house sometimes. He always seemed to be like that: off in his own little world. Austin wasn't even phased that he was a stranger; he just walked right up to him and said hello. Our family was always proud of him, more than words could say, and he was humble.
I tried not to think about the things that went on where he was, because it ended up making me sick each time. I stayed by the door, watching my friend sit down and pet the stray kitties, too, speaking animatedly with my grandfather. He looked pleased that someone of Austin's age still cared, and shook his hand. It made me jealous; I wished I could be that good at speaking to strangers.
"That was one of the coolest things I've ever done," he said, practically running back downstairs. I grabbed some cake and followed him, perplexed by his quickness.
"Why're we running?" I wondered.
"I literally have no interest in anyone here besides you. And now your grandfather," he said in a deadpan way. I handed him some cake.
"For you," I smiled, and he smiled back, sitting on my mattress again.
"I love cake so much," he sighed, taking a ridiculously huge bite of chocolate cake with vanilla icing. "I love anything that's really bad for me."
"Me too." We high-fived, and he picked back up his cards.
"I can bend my fingers back all the way," he said. "Try it. Bend my fingers," he dared. His palm lay flat in the air, and I pushed his fingers back. They literally folded back to touch the outside of his wrist.
"That's a super power," I mumbled, amazed. "I can't think of anything else cool about me," I sighed, staring at my cards. It was becoming uncanny how sucky they were.
"Tell me something you've never told anyone before," he said.
"Usually there's a reason we don't tell people those things," I retorted. He shrugged.
"You don't have to. I'll tell you one, though. I stole from a church once," he said. I stared at him judgmentally until a grin cracked on my face.
"What kind of person does that?" I laughed.
"I went through this kleptomaniac stage when I was like 10. Guess what I stole," he said.
"Bible." He shook his head. "What was it?"
"The priest's bottle of anointing oil." He bit his lip but let out a chuckle anyways. "Okay, now you."
There were things I didn't want to tell him, but I felt like I owed him something now. There were things I was dying to relieve from my shoulders, and hated keeping them inside me, like a festering, boiling pot. I couldn't even stop the words from coming out of my mouth.
"My cousin died when he was 13 and I didn't cry at his funeral because I thought he was lucky."
Austin looked at me for so long that I thought I was going to cry. His eyes held something in them that I couldn't understand, and I instantly regretted speaking. He looked closer, then put his arms around me. Nestling his face in the crook of my neck, he just held me, even at the awkward angle with the makeshift table between us. His cards spilled on the bed, and I stiffened under his touch. There was no way I'd deserved any form of love after what I had just said. His breathing hitched, and I said nothing, just felt his embrace, and his shallow breathing on my neck.
"Alan, no," he said softly, squeezing me. "Please tell me you don't think that anymore." His voice was breaking, and it made me feel like I was breaking, too.
"I don't," I said honestly.
"Do you promise?" He let go and sat up straight. "You have to promise me."
"I promise," I said weakly, holding out my pinky. He locked his with it, sighing in relief. The air was heavy and awkward, and I wished he was gone so I could just curl up and stare at the wall. My cousin Brett was the same age as me. We weren't ever close, but our entire family went to his funeral. It was snowy, and quiet, and all I could think about was how much I wished it was me instead of him. He drowned in the ocean on a vacation with his parents. They were hysterical at the funeral, his mother weeping and his father patting her shoulder. I wished that my parents would look like that if it had been me. I wondered what Sophie would do, if Michael would care, if they would cry. For 2 days after the funeral, I couldn't look at myself in the mirror, out of utter disgust.
"I'm sorry," I said quickly, looking away and feeling guilty for having ever said anything.
"Don't be, Alan. I wanna hear about the bad stuff, too," he said in a comforting tone. His voice made me feel so at home.
"Why?" I asked, furrowing my eyebrows.
"Because its a part of you," he shrugged. My stomach felt warm and light around him. "No gory means no glory." He smiled.
"Did you just quote Watsky?" I stared at him, disbelieving that he'd just repeated something from my mixed tape.
"Mhm," he smirked.
"God, you're my favorite person," I sighed, sitting back and looking at my cards. "I can't even play this right now. My cards suck so bad."
"Oh, yeah, I've been cheating," he said casually.
"Cheating? You can't do that." I frowned. "I've been sitting here for like 2 hours thinking that I have the worst luck in the world."
"You do. For getting stuck with me!" he allowed. "You should've cheated, too, though. The game would've been so much better."
"That doesn't even make sense," I sighed. He grinned, brushing his thumb over my nose. There was sadness in my heart, because there were things I wanted to tell him, but didn't know how. I smiled weakly, wishing for answers to come to me.
"That's cool," He got up and walked to my dresser, picking up my Polaroid camera. "Do you ever use this?" he asked.
"No." I responded. His face was hilarious, like I'd just told him I only brush my teeth twice a year: incredulous.
"Why not? Who are you?!" he cried in a ridiculous manner.
"I never knew what to take pictures of." I shrugged. He looked at it for a moment, just examining the thing. Holding it up, Austin looked through the focus, aimed it at me, and snapped a picture.
"There." He smiled triumphantly. Scrambling off the bed, I grabbed the picture from the slot as it popped out. Austin leaned over to watch as the image showed up. It was just me, holding playing cards and sitting crossed-legged in bed. My face held a small smile, one which I wasn't even aware existed. I liked it. I'd never liked a picture of myself before. They always looked wrong, and overly posed, and alien. This was different, though. There was an aura to it, like he'd somehow managed to capture our summer air in the photograph. We were both silent for a moment, just staring at it in my hands.
"We should take more," I said quietly.
"You read my mind." He smiled. Standing against the wall, Austin made a serious, smoldering look, like a model. I felt my heart thud as I snapped the picture. He pranced over, and we both giggled as the instant picture popped out with a ding. Of course it looked like him, but, somehow, it also didn't. In a good way, though.
"This is so cool," he mumbled. "Let's take it with us tonight," he suggested. I raise my hand for a high five, but he just took it in his own hand instead. There we stood, staring at our photographs side by side, holding hands in the middle of my room. And for all the strangeness, the butterflies and the warm summery feeling, for the way I'd never felt anything quite like this before, it all seemed very normal.
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I would like to clarify that this story is PURELY fiction, NOTHING else. It is 100% from my life and/or **imagination**. Do not assume otherwise. Thank you.