CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
PLUMMET
—
For once, Dmitri didn't get stared down when he was in church.
Maybe it was because he had actually shaved for once and he looked semi-decent, or maybe it was because it was Easter, also known as the only time of the year where the people at church gave more of a shit about Jesus than his queerness— he didn't know.
It was a pleasant change though, being able to pray without feeling the judgement of the entire church, without wondering if he even belonged in a church that was so unbelievably narrow-minded.
The literal only reason he hadn't found a new church was because this one was the closest to home, and he didn't want to spend extra money on gas by driving too far.
It always came back to his fucking lack of money, and his inability to make said money.
Kneeling down on the pews, Dmitri folded his hands, resting his forehead on them as he closed his eyes, the familiar warmth of the morning sun washing over him, the smell of musty prayer books which the old lady sitting beside him was carrying wafting into his nose, mixed with her perfume, sandalwood.
When the pastor was done with the prayers, and had given them the instruction to stand up, Dmitri opened his eyes, adjusting to the sunlight striking the stained glass windows, blues, reds, pinks reflecting onto the pews lined up one behind the other.
The church could be the most beautiful, yet the most toxic place Dmitri had ever visited.
"Happy Easter," he murmured once the mass was done, saying it to the person on his left first and ignoring the stab of pain that shot through his chest when they gave him a look of pure disgust. Then, he turned to the old lady on his right and wished her the same.
Luckily for him, not everyone in the church was racist and homophobic, and she gave him a soft smile, wishing him the same, her tone so unnaturally warm for someone from the church.
"You're— are you Mr. West?" she asked him, limping out of the church, probably expecting him to follow her. This is fucking weird.
Dmitri nodded, albeit confusedly, helping her down the stairs outside the church. "Uh— Dmitri West. Not Mr. West."
Shushing him, she adjusted the strap of her purse such that it wasn't falling off her shoulder, as she said, "My grandson is in your class! He has told me so much about you, about your teaching, the amount you care about your students— just... everything. It's wonderful to hear him talk so passionately about a subject that he never used to have any interest in."
Fuck, was the only thing that was repeating in Dmitri's head, over and over, and then, in the background, Sorry for swearing in church, Jesus. Even if it's in my head.
"Actually..." Dmitri began, unsure of how exactly to break the news that he was fucking fired from his job to this nice old lady. "I don't teach at the school anymore, I got fired. But I'm glad I could—"
"Oh dear," she tutted, craning her head up to peer at Dmitri. "Just know that you made a difference in a person's life. He's hellbent on studying History after high school now. I hope you get your job back. Happy Easter, again, dear," she chirped, walking away before he could even wish her back.
Holy fuck, did he miss his job.
Teaching was the only thing he was passionate about. Even when he had absolutely no motivation, he would think about his students and would want to get out of bed to teach them something new.
It was weird, not being that invested in something anymore. Sure, the freelance writing was nice, at least he was in touch with the subject that way, but it wasn't something that he was passionate about. Eager to do each— well, almost each morning.
His roommate from college had always told him that he was being absolutely ridiculous every time he mentioned that he wanted to become a teacher, because no sane person would want to go back to high school as soon as they finished college.
And Dmitri would always tell him that it wasn't high school that he wanted to go back to, it was doing something that helped someone.
Of course, his roommate just called him a fucking pussy and nothing else.
Don't think about college. Don't think about it.
Wiping his face down with his hand, Dmitri sighed, making his way back into his car and beginning to drive, his mind already going over the list of things that he had to do by the end of the day.
One: pick up food for Eden's get-together.
Two: shower again, because it's a good day and we shower twice on good days.
Three: text Tariq and remind him to come to the gathering.
Four: give Juno extra love because she slept through the night without bothering me too much.
Five: write an article for the magazine by tonight.
Six: pay my fucking phone bill.
Seven: text Claire.
There were too many things to do. Way too many things to do.
Good day. You can do normal things, because it's a normal fucking day.
As he drove, he began to hum along to the music that was playing through the aux cord, an artist that Tariq had told him to listen to two days ago, after his parents had left and gone back home.
After the whole crying fest that he had had in the back room of the coffee shop, everything was fine. More than fine, actually.
Tariq's dad had cracked jokes with him, and Tariq's mom had chastised him and Tariq for cracking their knuckles. And when they were leaving, they had hugged him so tight that he could barely breathe, and had told him that if he needed anything, he could ask them, or he could just ask Tariq to ask them.
God, he loved Tariq's family so much.
Once he was done picking up the vegetables from the supermarket, making sure that they were fresh because the last time he had bought vegetables, he had ended up buying stale ones and Eden had yelled at him for a good half an hour.
"Okay, okay," he whispered to himself when he was back in the car, crossing the first thing off his list. Now, all he had to do was go back home and shower.
And that was what he did. He completed everything on the list, up until number four, making sure to give Juno all the fucking love in the world.
But by the time it got slightly darker, when the sun was starting to go down, by about five in the evening, he couldn't do it anymore.
Everything was going fine. He was talking, laughing with Tariq and Zoya as they played with Juno, he had helped Eden cook lunch, he had socialised, he was socialising.
Then, in the blink of an eye, his mood plummeted.
There was no logical explanation, no reasoning that made sense. One moment he was fine, and the next moment the smile had dropped from his face, that sinking feeling in his chest returning with a vengeance.
And he didn't even know why.
All he knew was that he was tired.
It's fine. It'll be fine, he tried to tell himself, repeating those three words as if they were some sort of prayer, because maybe his prayers in church hadn't worked, his prayer to be okay for the week, go without falling into a spiral.
This month was hard enough without his crippling depressive episodes.
Unfortunately, his little prayers didn't work, and the longer he sat there trying to focus on what Tariq was saying, the worse he felt. The more tired he felt, a deep-seated exhaustion seeping into his bones, making them heavier than they already were, making his entire body heavier than it already was.
"Dmitri?" Tariq asked, stopping his own flow of conversation. "Are you okay?"
He didn't know how to answer that.
Did he feel okay? Yes. But did he know that if he went back to bed instead of forcing himself to sit with Tariq, he would spiral? Also, yes.
Claire, when he still went to her, always told him that he had to take advantage of the company. Not wallow in silence, because the quiet was the worst part of it all. The quiet sent a chill down his spine because of how harrowing his thoughts could get.
"Yeah," he mumbled softly, probably replying to Tariq's question a little too late. "I just have to go upstairs for a second."
Thick eyebrows pinching together, Tariq frowned. "Are you sure?" he asked, he knew him too well, because as awful as it was, this happened more often than Dmitri liked to admit.
The sadness— no, numbness that came out of nowhere for absolutely no reason, the laughs switching from real to fake, so quick that nobody (except Tariq) could even tell anything was wrong, the smile on his face when someone told a joke dropping as soon as he assumed that no one was looking at him.
This was easily the worst part of it all. Because it was supposed to be a good day, it was a good day, until his brain decided that it wasn't.
It was always his brain in the driver's seat, calling the shots, deciding what music to play for the ride, and the rest of his body in the back, complying because it was too tired to do much of anything else, let alone fight back.
And he was tired of it, but he didn't know what to do about it.
"Yeah," Dmitri repeated, nodding and pushing himself off the couch, ignoring the stares that he got from Eden, from everyone, it felt like. Just wash your face and come back.
He didn't do it, though. Didn't wash his face, definitely didn't go back to everyone else. He just unbuttoned his shirt, hands moving mechanically as they worked at all the buttons, throwing it on the ground and crashing into bed, the bed creaking under his force.
I need everything to shut the fuck up.
Right as he was about to grab his phone and earphones, blast music in his ears to suppress the noise of his thoughts from overwhelming him, a soft knock was heard on his door, followed by an even softer, "Dmitri?"
Tariq always did the most. "Yeah."
"Can I come in?" he asked, voice so, so soft that if Dmitri had started his music, he wouldn't have been able to hear him.
At first, he wanted to say no. There was no logical explanation for him to even say anything other than that, other than the fact that this was Tariq, and Tariq wouldn't pretend to understand.
"Yeah," he got out, the third one that day. "You can come in."
Door clicking open, Tariq walked in, the warm yellow from the hall rushing into his room, but disappearing as soon as he closed the door behind him.
Then, he said, "Is everything okay? Did something happen, or—"
"I'm tired," Dmitri mumbled, a breathy, bitter laugh bubbling out of his mouth, as he continued, "I'm fuckin' exhausted, and I don't even know why. It's not like I'm gonna fall into a depressive episode though, so... You can leave."
Tariq hummed softly, not in understanding, but in acknowledgement. "I don't— Tri, I don't think I should leave just yet. Okay?" he asked, still standing by the door. "I just want to make sure you're okay. Are you just tired?"
Just tired. Dmitri knew what that question meant. Are you tired in the sense that you don't want to move because of your brain, or are you tired like the normal tired? Like your body is just exhausted?
The answer was both, probably.
"I'm going to sleep," he muttered, eyes briefly flickering to the clock above the door, the harsh 7:22 p.m. staring at him, waiting for him to do something. "Hopefully, tomorrow'll be better. Hopefully. Tell Eden I felt sick or something, please."
Flipping over so that he was flat on his stomach, the warm bedsheets feeling cold against his even warmer skin, his whole body just aching from how worn out he was.
"Okay," Tariq relented, eyes soft. Not with pity, he didn't do that anymore. Just soft. They always were these days. "Can I— uh, if you don't mind, can I stay with you? Just to make sure you're good."
It was so fucking terrifying how well Tariq knew him.
Nodding came easily to Dmitri, he didn't even want to say no. Tariq wouldn't talk if he didn't want him to. He would just stay.
So, he closed his eyes, letting the darkness engulf him, when suddenly, he felt a body brush against his own, a small, "Ouch," coming from his left.
"What're you doin'?" he slurred, opening his eyes despite just having closed them, and turning his head around, only to find Tariq sitting next to him, just mindlessly scrolling through his phone. "Tariq, what are you doing?"
"Sitting with you," he said, as if that wasn't obvious. "If you want me to leave, tell me. I'll go back downstairs. But I just—" He stopped, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. "Do you want me to leave?"
Dmitri didn't even have to think about it before he said, "No."
Clearly, that wasn't the answer that Tariq had expected. "You don't want me to leave?" he questioned, voice hesitant.
"No," Dmitri repeated, closing his eyes again and letting the tiredness ebb out of him, letting himself recharge his social battery, his every day battery. "Please stay."
Letting out a soft hum, Tariq nodded in the darkness. "Okay. I'll stay."
—
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AN: i would like to announce that this book will have exactly 40 chapters! i may or may not publish all the chapters by the end of this year 👁️👁️ we'll see
so. thank u all for readinggg !! it's a friday here, so i'm happy today (: i hope you have/had a good day !!💓