[oc] The space between dream and reality (3/4)
Look over here (1/1) | The sound of waves (1/2) (2/2) | The space between dream and reality (1/4) (2/4) (3/4) (4/4)
Seth goes to his bedroom and stands in the doorway, looking inside. It's all dark and black and gray, the light coming from the bathroom down the hallway, only illuminating the corner of the door. He takes in a deep breath, and something clenches around his chest and his breath is painful in his lungs. He knows the taste of fear on his tongue, and he swallows it whole before turning on the light.
It helps, in a way, but he can't help or stop himself from glancing from his bed to his dresser, to the nightstand to the wall to the coat hanger, thinking he'll see something dark and unnamable lurking in the shadows but finding nothing hiding in them.
He swallows, and takes a step forward, and then another. JJ said he should at least try it. At the very least. If he couldn't spend the whole night in his bed, then that was fine, and he should go to Ryan if he so wanted to. But he should, at the very least, give a shot at sleeping by himself. He doesn't want to. He knows he'll get scared, end up having a nightmare and calling out for Ryan. He'd rather save what little dignity he has left and just go ahead and cut out the middle man. But he should try, JJ said, so he's trying now.
He nods to himself and looks around, and for a moment the bedroom looks alien to him, as if he has never been here before, and then in a blink it looks like the one he had back in Newport, with the wide windows, looking out to the pool house. And then he blinks and it's the first memory of a bedroom, a memory that has almost faded away with the years, and the room is smaller but a bit homier, and he knows the window this time will look out into the backyard and the tree that still stands proud at his parents' first home.
He blinks again and he's in his small bedroom in the loft in Los Angeles, and he never got to pick this one, but Ryan did it for him and that's just as well. He lets out his breath through his mouth, something going slack inside him.
He pushes past the fear for a second, and turns on the lamp on the nightstand before turning off the overhead light of the room. He sits on the edge of his bed, hands gripping the corners of the covers, and thinks about looking over his shoulder to make sure there's no one standing there.
Stupid, he tells himself. There's nothing there. There was never anything there. You imagined it all. You've kept imaging it. And he has kept imagining, even through the meds that should work and his mind that should stop playing tricks on him.
He pushes back the covers and gets in, and turns off the light, all in one breath. His breathing is ragged, as he tries to find a comfortable position on the bed. He's lying on his back and he thinks about turning to his side, because he's never been able to sleep on his back. But turning with his back to the door would mean he wouldn't see if someone walks into his bedroom. And turning with his back to the wall would mean he wouldn't know if someone was standing there. So, on his back. But he can't sleep on his back. He never could.
He turns to his side, with his eyes on the door, but barely on his side. More like with his head to the side and it's not comfortable and the darkness around him is oppressing and his breathing is ragged and he knows there's no way in hell he's going to be able to sleep like this tonight. He'll tell JJ that he tried, which he did, he just wasn't very successful and he's gotten soft around the edges -- figuratively and literally -- and way too comfortable feeling safe in Ryan's arms to give that up now, now when--
The covers start making their way down, from high around his neck to his chest, as if someone is pulling them from the bottom of the bed. Seth swallows.
I'm imagining this. They aren't real. They were never real. JJ said that and Ryan said that and whatever Ryan says--
But then the covers are being pulled down once again, and they start sliding down Seth's body, slowly, from chest to waist to mid thigh down to his feet. Seth can feel his heart thudding in his temples, in his chest, and his hands dampen with sweat and fear. He swallows again, and closes his eyes against everything he can feel inside him and around him and considers for a brief moment saying fuck it and screaming for Ryan.
He hears a soft giggle, nothing but air around the room, and his body clamps even tighter around itself and fear turns into something that he's certain has no name. His face is nothing but a grimace and he knows this is going to be like pulling off a Band-Aid -- or a bullet from a wound -- and the quicker he does it, the quicker he'll be safe.
So he jumps off his bed, his eyes not quite open not quite closed and rushes across the room to the door--
Only for the door to close before him. With the force of his momentum, he crashes into it, hitting his shoulder with more force that he thought possible. His hands move to the doorknob, rattling it in its place on the door, and trying to turn it but being unable to.
Seth can feel fear come over him like the darkness, and he doesn't need to look over his shoulder to know that at least Molly is there, not to mention the others. He keeps on rattling the doorknob for another second before it's too much and he starts banging on the door with his fists, as loud and as hard as he can.
"Ryan!" He screams, his throat tight and the sound barely making its way out of his lips. "Ryan, please! Ryan! Help! Ryan!!!"
He can feel the tears on his cheeks, taste them as he tries to take in a breath and comes up short, ending in a sob that chokes him even more, even tighter, and his hands shake even as he pounds on the door that doesn't give up under him.
"Ryan!" Seth screams, over and over again, and knows that Ryan should be hearing him because he was in his bedroom, with the laptop again over his knees, and he's only on the other side of the hallway. Ryan should have heard his screaming from the second the door closed. "Ryan!"
He pounds on the door, hitting his hands so hard, they start to hurt and he wonders about blood and if 'they' would like that, to see him bleed from fear alone. After a moment, after what feels like an eternity and nothing but a second, he slides down to the floor, head against the wood, palms flat as if trying to reach beyond and touch Ryan and find peace. He cries against the door, against the wood and the pain and the fear, and as he feels like he's floating away, into nothing but darkness and cold, he's falling back on his hands and when he dares open his eyes, there's Ryan standing there.
He blinks, and he fears that's 'them' making him see things, because this can't be Ryan. They wouldn't give him Ryan. They never would. They hate Ryan. They want Ryan dead.
"Ryan?" he asks, the word catching in his throat, filled with hesitation. He asks, because he doesn't know how not to.
He thinks he sees something fleeting pass through Ryan's eyes before it's fully formed, but then Ryan's kneeling before him and asking him questions and Seth can't understand them. He does the one thing he can do, he throws himself at Ryan, almost making him stumble back, and wraps his arms around Ryan's chest and back the best way he knows how and buries his face in Ryan's chest and breathes in.
There are hands on his back, rubbing soothingly, and Ryan's saying words again, words that don't make sense. He thinks he catches one, and looks at it under the light but the light must be too dim, because he can't quite see it or understand it, so he lets it go, lets it float away, and watches it evaporate instead.
He breathes in, and hears his throat crack and he thinks his hands shake as he grips Ryan's shirt, but he isn't sure.
It's okay, it's okay, Seth--
He shakes his head, and doesn't understand what Ryan's saying. He understands his name, and Ryan's touch, and the way Ryan smells and the warmth of Ryan's body against his and that Ryan will protect him, or at least try to.
Seth's being helped to his feet, and he tries to put some effort into it, not let Ryan carry him completely, but his bones are tired and he's still choked on fear and darkness, so he can only drag his feet. He's pushed to lie on the bed, and the covers are almost pulled over him, Ryan's hands over his own, trying to untangle Seth's fingers from his shirt. But Seth doesn't give up, not this time, and pulls Ryan to him, making him stumble to lie against him.
He pulls Ryan closer, as close as he can be and still be himself in his own bones, and hides his face and wraps his arms and breathes in and hears Ryan speaking to him and still he doesn't understand. His breathing is ragged and Ryan holds him almost as tightly as he's holding Ryan, and then he can breathe in and breathe out.
Shh. Shh. It's okay. I've got you. I've got you. Seth, please, try to say a word. Say something. Please. Say something. I'm right here, Seth, nothing's going to happen. Everything will be just fine.
Words and more words, and he can't understand them either, and this time he doesn't even try to catch them and watch them, only to give them up, too. He tightens his hold on Ryan.
Seth. A chuckle he hears and recognizes, and for a second he thinks it's a word too, and then, I do have to breathe, you know? You might want to--
He holds on tighter and Ryan chuckles again, and this time it sounds even more like a word he knows.
It's minutes later -- or a lifetime, he thinks, he doesn't know -- that he relaxes his hold on Ryan. Ryan, lying on the bed with him, and the covers have been pulled over his shoulders, around the both of them, and the bed is warm under him and Ryan's body is even warmer next to his.
His heart is still racing in his chest, and his hands are still damp, and his fear can still be tasted on his tongue, but Ryan's here now, and that makes it all okay. Ryan's here, and that makes him feel safe, even if he isn't.
He blinks, and for a second, he doesn't know why, he looks over Ryan's shoulder to the other side of the room. The room is bathed in darkness, and he doesn't know how he hadn't noticed before, and standing against the furthest wall, Seth can see the legs of all three. He cringes, but doesn't look a way, and in a second they are standing next to the bed, on the other side of Ryan, and this time he whimpers in the back of his throat and hides his face in Ryan's neck and holds Ryan tighter.
I won't give him up. I won't. I don't care what you do to me, I won't give him up.
He doesn't know if they hear him. He knows they know. He tries to breathe in, and stop the tears, but they keep coming, and he can't breathe, and Ryan hugs him tighter.
Tell me something, Seth, please. Something. Anything. I just want to hear your voice, know you're alright. Please.
He rubs his nose against the skin of Ryan's neck, and can almost feel the pulse beating against his lips, and nods, he thinks he nods, and says, I'm afraid, but doesn't know if the words leave his mouth at all.
Seth holds Ryan tighter, lets Ryan rub his back and run his fingers through his hair, and whispers words he wonders if he ever knew, and after hours and minutes and a lifetime, he thinks he falls asleep.
At least this time, the covers aren't pulled down.
"What happened?"
Ryan wonders how he can put what occurred two days ago into words. He goes through them, coming up with words he promised himself he would never think about again, let alone speak, words like delusional and lost and crazy, words he used to think on a daily basis three years ago. He shakes his head, and tries to think up new ones. For a moment he wonders if they even exist.
He looks up at JJ, waiting patiently for Ryan to find the words or to simply stay silent. Ryan can't help but wonder where JJ gets all that patience. He certainly doesn't have it. Then again, dealing with Seth has forced him to bring up every ounce of it he has.
dealing
That's what he does, isn't it? He deals with what happens, one day at a time. He makes sure Seth's taking his pills, worries about Seth when he holds Ryan in bed a little bit tighter. Has a heart attack when Seth has nightmares at night, dies a little when Seth locks himself up in his room.
He sighs, looking away to the high windows in the office, closes his eyes for a minute. "He's been having nightmares," he says, because he refuses to give it any other name. Night terrors, probably; he can't think of them as delusions. He pauses for a second, and JJ doesn't interrupt. JJ never interrupts. Seth used to do it all the time. Ryan would barely be able to get a word in the conversation, in the first months of their friendship, Seth was so full of things to say. Ryan clears his throat. "They are getting worse."
He falls silent after that, and minutes later, when it's obvious that Ryan won't be forthcoming, JJ leans forward on his seat and asks, "How much worse?"
Ryan thinks about Seth's small breakdown two months ago, how Seth screamed his head off and he couldn't reach him, how he had to use the Risperdal and hated every second of it. He thinks about last time, about hearing Seth's door closing even as he sat on his bed, hearing Seth scream for him. Rushing to the bedroom only to find the door locked from the inside, trying to open it and unable to, going back to his room for his keys, Seth's room key in the keychain, and trying to unlock the door and not being able to. Pushing with his shoulder until the door gives and realizing that the reason he couldn't open the door was because Seth had been sitting against it.
"Worse," he says, and when he looks up JJ's giving him a look that clearly says that that hasn't explained anything. He sighs once again, rubbing his left eyebrow with his left hand, and he thinks Seth commented on that once, how he always rubs it with his left hand. He lets his hand drop to his side.
"Last night," Ryan starts, and finds he can't tell the story without feeling something catching in his chest, remembering the way Seth had hugged him tight when they had been finally in bed together. Seth must have been so afraid, to hold him so tight it almost hurt, it squeezed his breath out. So afraid, that even an hour later, he had been whimpering and crying and barely breathed out a word that Ryan could distinguish before falling asleep.
"Last night?"
Ryan looks up, surprised he had even been looking down, and looks right at JJ. JJ nods, gives him a small smile.
You don't understand, he wants to say. I love him. You don't understand what it is to see him like that and fear I'll lose him again. I've lost him too many times now.
For a fleeting second he wonders what ever pushed Seth to go to Berkeley with him, instead of RISD. What made Seth break up with Summer after they had decided that she would go to GEORGE. He wonders, and for a second thinks about asking him, but lets that thought die, because he fears the answer. Lately, he fears so much.
He takes in a deep breath and tells the story in short, curt words. He falters in the middle, as he tells how he had tried to open the door only to find it locked from the inside. How he had feared the key wasn't working, even as Seth screamed his name raw. How he had hurt his shoulder pushing inside, and finding Seth on the floor. How he had died a little, and seen red blood where there was none.
He finishes the story with his hands shaking, and he places them under his armpits, with the excuse that his fingers hurt from the cold.
He looks up at JJ, and notices the way the other man tilts his head, seemingly to go over his words, trying to come up with something.
They could change the dosage, he knows, but for a moment Ryan wonders if they are even making a dent in the problem at hand.
At least he's not--
The thought ends ruthlessly there, because Ryan refuses to allow himself to complete that sentence, ever, at all.
"He's getting worse, isn't he?"
The words leave Ryan's mouth before he can stop himself, and he watches JJ sigh, and then nod, and Ryan remembers only feeling this helpless once before, as red blood made its way through his fingers, soaking up towels and bathroom tiles.
You push past Dora as you get to the front door, hearing her chuckle. You laugh even as you rush into the kitchen, throwing your backpack wherever it should fall.
"Seth. Backpack."
You glance at her, over your shoulder, and she shakes her head. She mutters something Spanish you can't really understand, even if she has been your nanny the past two years. "I'll get it in a minute."
"Not a minute. Now, Seth."
You grumble, but do as you're told, because you know that she'll tell on you and she might be right but that doesn't mean you like it. You're eight, you think. You should be able to leave your backpack on the floor for at least an hour. You pick up your backpack -- it has the Transformers logo on the front, and Optimus Prime on the side, and you chose it yourself and you think it's really really cool -- and place it on the couch in the den. You like it there. And you'll take it to your bedroom after you've had the snack she's making you at the moment, and she knows that, so she doesn't tell you to do it.
You make your way to the kitchen and open the fridge door and when you close it, Christopher is standing there, behind it, looking back at you with something in his eyes that you can't read. But you don't mind, and you grin at him and bounce on your feet.
"I have something to tell you!" You almost scream because you're happy and you want them to know. "I won the spelling bee! It was a very complicated word but dad had told me to practice the very long words because he was sure they were going to ask me at least one of those and I beat Marissa and Summer and Luke and even Taylor but she got second prize so it's not bad and I thought for a moment she was gonna cry but then she just gave me this very nasty look and left the room and I can't believe I won!"
Christopher smiles, an almost indulgent smile, and you know that because your mom gives you enough of those from time to time. Your dad too, but mostly your mom.
"I know Seth," he says, in that slow monotone voice of his, that's both calming and a bit weird. He's older than you, very much older than you. He's not a kid, he's a boy. You don't know how old he is, because you've never asked, but you think he might fifteen, or even sixteen. He's a big boy.
He looks down at you and you frown for a moment, confused, because how could he know when you've only now told him and all that happened at school not here.
"I know," he says, with something of a smile on his lips, almost as if answering the question you haven't asked, "because I was there." His eyes darken for a second, or so you think, but then they return back to normal, very dark brown eyes. "We're never far away from you. You might not see us," he says, glancing over his shoulder.
You follow his gaze, and he's looking at Dora making you a tuna sandwich with a bit of mayo and one very small piece of lettuce, just the way you like it. You turn back to look at him, and Christopher is already looking at you. You think he smiles, but you're not sure.
"But," he continues, as if he hasn't stopped, as if he hasn't turned to look at Dora who doesn't pay too much attention to you, if she hasn't seen Christopher, or heard you talking to him, "we see everything."
You look at him, and he looks back at you, and there's a breeze coming from the French doors, even though they are closed, because you can feel goosebumps on your arms. He looks back at you and you nod, because you believe him.
Seth glances down at his shopping cart, filled with toilet paper and the shampoo Ryan likes, and three bars of soap, and remembers that he still needs to get the cereals and milk. Ryan usually does the shopping, but they left early from Theories of Composition and Jennifer said she was going to visit a friend and the store was on her way, so Seth thought he could do the shopping before meeting Ryan for lunch.
He turns right at the next aisle, seeing box upon box of the cereals. He catches sight of Cornflakes and Captain Crunch, his hand reaches for those two boxes, and thinks CocoPuffs once in a while--
He hears Molly before seeing her, her soft giggle, and out of the corner of his eyes he can see her dark hair pulled back in two ponytails, the tip of her pink ribbons, before closing his eyes, his fingers tightening around the corner of the box. He hears her giggle again, and pulls his hand back, turning the cart around. He makes his way down the aisle, in the opposite direction from where he's certain he heard her, thinking milk, milk, milk.
He finds the large dairy section easily, consciously not looking over his shoulder, afraid of what he might see, or not see. A gallon, he thinks, since he's taking a cab back to UCLA, he might as well buy it. His hand reaches for the handle of the jug, picking it up slowly, when another hand covers his own. A small hand, a child's hand. The hand tightens and holding on, hurting him, and he can't help but cringe and want to pull away. The hold doesn't give, only tightening even more so, and he whimpers in the back of his throat, and for a fleeting second he thinks that it doesn't make sense. The milk is on the second shelf, Molly is too small--
He closes his eyes and takes in a shallow breath, tells himself he's not seeing this, and then the hand crushes his own even more, and he whimpers, and his mind goes quiet. When he opens his eyes, the child's hand is gone, only his own around the handle and his fingers go slack on their own accord, and the jug falls down and crashes onto the linoleum floor.
Seth blinks down at it, at the white milk expanding from the mashed side of the jug, covering the cream floor, and when he blinks again. For a second, he sees red instead of white. He looks down at his hands and they are covered in blood -- Ryan's blood -- and he shakes his head and takes a step back and bumps into someone, cursing under their breath. He turns around and people are looking at him and he shakes his head once again and glances down at his hands but they are clean this time, not a drop of blood on them. He gasps, drawing air desperately into his lungs, and pushes his way through the crowd of people doing their shopping and looking at him and reaches the wide front doors and he lets in a breath.
He leans forward, hands on his knees, his chest tight and the darkness behind his eyelids taunting him with the things they want to show him and the things they want him to see. He opens his eyes wide, looking around, at the bright sunlight hitting the parked cars, the people coming and going, a child crying somewhere. A child that is not Molly.
He swallows, and pushes himself to stand up straight, and not look over his shoulder. He takes a step forward, then another one, and another one, making his way to the corner, to take a cab back to school. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest still, and his hands damp and clammy, and his eyes clogged as if filled with water, but he pays no attention. He can only think about the sunlight hitting his face, and putting one foot in front of the other, and maybe having a cup of coffee as he waits for Ryan to pick him up for lunch.
Ryan pulls over at the front door of UCLA, glancing at Seth, who sits with his hands on his lap. He doesn't say anything, and he tells himself -- naively, probably -- that he doesn't because he doesn't need to, not because he doesn't know what to say.
His chest feels cold, but he's used to this, in a way. He worries that the cold will turn into something horrible -- gaping and empty and the memory of then, back then, of a boy lying on a bed drooling on the sheets and Ryan watching without knowing what to do to bring him back. Ryan gasps, soundlessly, and closes his eyes, as if by doing so he could shut down the memory. His face falls into a grimace and then he opens his eyes, and the memory is still there -- it won't ever leave, he knows, but pretends he doesn't -- but he can glance at Seth from the corner of his eyes this time around.
Seth's still sitting there, not quite looking out through the windshield, at the rest of the students making their way to class. Ryan wants to reach out and take Seth's hand, but doesn't want to break the spell, wanting to see something in Seth's eyes and afraid of what he might see at the same time.
He watches Seth, the way he nibbles at his lower lip -- he used to do that, a long time ago, and Seth picked it up from him -- and stares at one point in particular, as if seeing--
Ryan shakes his head, reaching a hand out to touch Seth's shoulder, trying his best not to startle him. And to his surprise, he doesn't. Seth turns around to his left, to look at Ryan, almost like he was waiting for Ryan to do so. Seth blinks himself out of his stupor almost, before trying to give him a smile and failing miserably.
There are words on his lips that stay there, caught between one breath and the next, and Ryan reaches forward one more time, fingers curled, knuckles caressing Seth's cheek.
Ryan smiles, and tries to breath, and wonders if there's something he can do and finds himself with no jock to fight, no person to defend Seth against. It's far too difficult for Ryan to defend Seth against himself, against his mind. He would, he knows. He would go in and fight and bring Seth back -- Seth, the boy he met who did nothing more than sit on a carpet and look back at him -- if he only knew how.
Ryan swallows, and then Seth's looking at him, right at him, and picks up his backpack from the back seat and jumps out of the car.
He watches Seth close the door behind him, and hesitate for a second, hand still on the door handle. Seth stands there, unmoving, looking at something -- someone? -- before shaking his head and making his way to class.
Ryan watches Seth walk away from him, until he can see him no more.
You sit on the floor of your bedroom, your back against the side of your bed, your legs folded. The latest Batman is opened before you, and you keep going over the pages idly, not really reading it, not paying attention to the words or the graphics or what happens. You've seen the ending twice, but you can't remember what happens. It was rumor it'd be a cliffhanger. You knew you'd like it, but you haven't. Or you will. You're not sure.
Molly is sitting beside you, her legs folded underneath her, poking your forearm with her finger every other minute. You should be annoyed at her for doing that, but you're not. You know she only wants to pull you out of your sullen mood. You've been like this since your bar mitzvah.
"Seth?" she asks again, as she did fifteen minutes ago, and pokes you again just for good measure.
You pretend you can't hear her, even though you know, if she really wanted to, she'd make you pay attention to her.
You're sad, you know. No one went to your party. You're sad and sulking and you're happy to be that person right now. You don't want anyone to bother you.
She pokes you again, but you keep on flipping the pages of the comic. When you reach the end and again, haven't read it, you go back to the cover and start over. You hear her huff. You're pretty sure she's pouting.
"You shouldn't ignore her."
You look up, and Christopher is leaning against the side of the window, arms folded over his chest. He's not smiling, he doesn't really smile, but he's looking right at you.
They know why you're like this. They all know. You didn't need to tell them. They've always known. They were there with you during the party. They are always with you.
You swallow and blink and rub your eyes with the back of your hand. You think you see blurry for a second, but then it's gone, and you're seeing right again. You sniff.
You turn to look at her, after remembering what it was Christopher said, and Molly is looking back at you. She gives you a big toothy grin, her hair bobbing, and even though you want to smile at her, you can't. You sniff again.
You look back at Christopher, and he looks at you like he knows what you're thinking.
I want to have friends, you think childishly. I want someone to listen to me. I want someone to be able to tell me that they like me and meant it.
You want to say those things, but they get stuck in your throat because you're thirteen and you're not a kid anymore, you're a man. You had the party to prove it.
I just want a friend, you want to tell Christopher, as pathetic as that sounds. I want--
And the thought ends there, and you look at Christopher and he looks back at you like he knows what you're thinking, like you don't have to say it. You wish you could meet someone like that.
He looks back at you and he nods, and he knows, and you know that he knows. You smile, even though you're seeing blurry all over again. You sniff and you smile, and then turn to look at Molly grinning back at you, and then turn to look at the corner of the room and Murray is standing right there, head ducked. You sniff again and for a moment you think you don't need anyone else.
"Seth!"
"Just one second," Seth calls over his shoulder, turning around to the hallway and then toward his bedroom. He pulls open the closet and grabs his blue jacket, before closing the closet door. He sees something out of the corner of his eyes, something on the edge of the mirror, but when he looks at it, there's nothing there.
you're not real
He closes his eyes for a second, tries to breathe in deep, but the darkness is oppressing, feels like nothing, like oblivion and emptiness and it smells putrid and is acrid on his tongue. He opens his eyes with a start, his heart racing in his chest, pulse rapid in his temples.
"Seth!"
"I'm coming!" Seth yells after a second, and his voice sounds confident and certain. He turns around and walks out of the bedroom, not looking once looking over his shoulder, focused on reaching the kitchen and smiling at Ryan once he catches sight of him.
"Hey," Seth says, standing before Ryan. Ryan smiles back at him, nothing but a ghost of a smile, the curl of his lips.
Seth can still feel his heart in his throat, his pulse quick in his temples, but being with Ryan relaxes him. He feels protected, even though he knows it's a lie, but the lie seems to allow him to breathe.
"Come on," Ryan says, walking to the door and opening it for them both. "We should try to be back for lunch. You have that paper--"
Seth waves it off with one hand, trying to put on the jacket at the same time. "For the Workshop, yeah. Don't worry about it. I can have it done in two hours."
Ryan chuckles, the sound full of implications. The sound of home and happiness and the rest of what Seth lets fill him. It feels like the sun on his skin, and Seth can't stop himself from leaning closer to it.
"You always say so," Ryan finishes as Seth walks down the hallway, smile on his lips. "And then it takes you three hours longer than you said it would."
"I do not!"
Ryan chuckles again, and Seth punches the number for the lobby, leaning against the wall next to the elevator doors. They stand there for a moment, not saying anything.
Something catches Seth's attention from the corner of his eyes, but when he blinks once again, it's gone. He swallows thickly, feeling his throat closing up on him, his hands itching.
"Seth?"
Seth looks at up Ryan, blue eyes staring right into him. Into him. Ryan had that very nasty habit of looking at him like he knew what he was thinking. Like he knew what he was afraid of. Seth gives him a tentative smile, a shrug of his shoulder.
Idly, Seth scratches his left forearm with his right hand. It feels like ants, for a second, and he's reminded of how it used to feel, years ago, three years ago, when this whole thing started. He swallows and walks into the elevator the moment the doors slide open.
Ryan doesn't say anything to him, and Seth, for once doesn't break the silence. Instead, he gnaws on his lower lip, on the inside of his cheek. He thinks he feels cold, but tells himself he's imagining things because
you're not real
It's barely the beginning of December, not even ten in the morning on a Saturday, and the sun is high in the sky and this is LA after all. He scratches his left forearm, and when he notices, forces himself to stop. He wants to look over his shoulder, in the rearview mirror, but stops himself from doing that as well.
They reach the mall, garlands filling the windowpanes and the corners, all red and green. They walk inside in a strained silence that Seth never liked and for a second wishes he could break. But what would he say? There's something wrong in the air? I can almost smell it, and it smells acrid, like something that has gone to waste, and like nothing at all, at the same time? No, because that's not right. Because there's nothing out there for him to smell. It's probably another weird side effect of the pills, or just him being weird and fucked up and broken.
They walk down the wide hallway, people passing them by. Couples with young kids running in front of them, teenagers talking loudly over the other voices, young girls giggling over stuff Seth can't quite catch as he walks past them. They are supposed to get a couple of shirts for Ryan for work, maybe a jacket and few shirts for Seth, then the groceries and then go back home.
Instead, Seth pauses before a music store, looking through the windows at the new albums out, the few names of bands he recognizes.
A hand on his shoulder, warm instead of cold, and Seth smiles though his heart rate picks up.
"We should--"
"I wanna check it out." Seth says, head tilted to the side, looking at the album covers instead of the reflections on the windowpane, afraid of what he might see even as he tells himself he's not.
Ryan doesn't say anything for a second, but then Seth hears him sighing, and the hand on his shoulder tightens for a second. "Sure," Ryan says, and Seth nods, wanting to look at their reflection in the mirror. When Ryan's hand drops from his shoulder, Seth follows him inside.
He makes his way down the aisle, flipping the CD plastic covers, looking for something that will catch his eye and finding very little. He makes his way deeper into the store, noticing that Ryan is at the end of the aisle, that Ryan doesn't let him get too far away from him. It feels stupid and unnecessary in a way, and oddly reassuring in another.
He turns around the corner at the end of the aisle, picking up a Beatles anthology CD, turning it around to see the songs listed on the back. He knows Ryan has a weird appreciation for the old group, and can't help but smile at the songs he recognizes. Paperback Writer, All My Loving, Michelle, Norwegian Wood, Nowhere Man--
-- eyes and I'll kiss you, tomorrow I'll miss you, remember I'll always be --
Seth looks over his shoulder at the childish voice, the soft giggle as she falters in the middle of the lyrics. He can see her standing there, not even ten feet from him, reaching for one of the albums on the very back of the display. She stands on her toes, trying to reach and coming up short.
She giggles again, singing under her breath -- while I'm away, I'll write home every day, and I'll send all my loving to y--
She turns around, looking at Seth and her eyes are hollow and empty and dark, and Seth takes in a breath. He shakes his head, turning away from her, closing his eyes, but he can still hear her -- pretend I am kissing, the lips I am missing -- and can feel the chill around his shoulders, down his spine.
No, no, he thinks he mutters, closing his eyes, hiding his face. He turns around and stumbles away from her, hitting his shoulder hard in a corner. He looks up and to his left, there's Murray, leaning against the counter, head ducked down, dark blond hair falling into his eyes. No, no, no, please.
They are all here. They are all-- Christopher can't be far behind.
-- hope that my dreams will come true --
He turns away from him as well, hearing her voice
-- while I'm away, I'll write home every day --
as he tries to put as much space between him and them. He looks to his right and sees the door and stumbles his way out of the store, to his right once again, palm flat against the wall, as if it's the one thing holding him up.
The voices in the packed corridor shut out Molly's singing, and he doesn't dare to look over his shoulder to see Murray lurking in the shadows. Christopher can't be far away. If there are the two of them, then Christopher is close. His eyes stay on the linoleum floor, on the tip of his sneakers. He can't hear her anymore, and he certainly can't see Murray, but when he looks up, Christopher is standing at the end of the corridor, head tilted to the side, small smirk on his lips.
Seth gasps, stumbling back, trying to put one foot behind the other without having to turn around. Christopher's smirk widens.
"Hello there, Seth."
Seth shakes his head. No, no, no, you're not real. Neither of you are. He told me so. Ryan and JJ and mom and dad and this is nothing but--
Christopher snorts, a nasty sound coming from his lips, "What? Nothing but a figment of your imagination? Is that what you think?"
Seth doesn't blink but then Christopher is standing in front of him, close and nasty and the whole room, the whole mall, the whole city, seems to smell like rotting flesh.
"No," Seth breathes out, feeling fear in his hands even as they cool and hurt, and he closes his eyes and knows that before, he'd thought he'd go mad if it happened like this, if it happened like in his bedroom, all those years ago. Maybe he'd already had. Maybe he had a thousand times over.
Christopher laughs, and Seth can feel the sound reverberating on his skin, as if it was coming from inside him instead of outside. He can feel it cooling his blood and making him shudder.
There's a clicking sound that Seth recognizes, and he looks up, Christopher shaking his head slowly. "You know you're not supposed to do that, Seth."
What? Seth thinks with irony in his mind. Be afraid of you? Hide from you? Hate you?
Christopher smirks once again. "All of the above."
"Please," Seth can't help but plead, and he doesn't even know what it is he wants to plead. For his sanity, for Ryan's safety? They already had him once, why would they want him again, why would they--?
"Because we can."
Seth turns around, and Molly is standing there, toothy grin on her lips, her eyes as dark as if there's nothing in them, as if light itself ends where they begin.
"Because we like it," is whispered against his left ear, the voice distinctively Christopher, and Seth cringes at the voice, at the close contact. He pulls away, staggering away from them. He gasps as Murray appears before him, head down and hair over his eyes, but Seth doesn't need to see them to know that they are black and endless.
"No, no, no, no..." Seth shakes his head, tries to turn around, but Molly is there, and Christopher is closer and Murray is looking at him and they are here and they are close and-- "You're not real!"
They laugh, a sound that isn't melodic, that clashes against the air and moves through it as mercury dust.
you're not real you're not real you're not real you're not real you're not real you're not real
"You really think that, Seth?"
This time, to Seth's surprise, it's Murray who speaks to him. Seth looks up, Murray pushing back the lock of his hair that keeps falling over his eyes. His eyes are black, just like Molly's, just like Christopher's.
"You left me," he whispers with a shake of his head. And he remembers. He remembers that very clearly even if the rest of his life feels as if a dream at the moment. "You left me! You were gone," he says in a moment of desperation, grasping at straws. He turns around, away from them, but then Molly is standing before him and he whimpers. "You were gone. For over a year, you were gone. Why did you return? Why would you--?"
"Seth, Seth, Seth." Christopher stands before Seth, Molly at his back, Murray to his left, the wall at his right. Christopher makes a clicking sound with his tongue. "You should have known better." His eyes narrow, and they aren't kind like Ryan's, they are nothing but black and Seth grimaces and tries to hide, but knows there is no where to do so. "You know, we're always here." He leans forward, closer to Seth, and Seth cringes and tries to pull away, only he's already against the wall, and he hits his head against it. "We see everything."
"You were gone!" Seth whimpers, cries, shakes his head. "You were gone. Why would you go and then come back? Why would you--?"
"We thought he would leave," Christopher sneers, jerking his head over his shoulder. "He was supposed to leave."
Seth blinks, confused, and then he remembers Ryan leaving for Chino and him leaving for Portland, and then coming back, and only three weeks after that, they returned. "He left."
Christopher snorts, an ugly sound that makes the breath catch in Seth's throat. "He came back." He pauses, then tilts his head and smirks. "He was supposed to leave you to us."
Seth doesn't understand what he means, and truth be told, he doesn't want to.
"You're ours, Seth," Christopher says, leaning forward, closer to Seth than he's been in years. Seth can't help but swallow, pushing himself as far away from Christopher as he can go, half crawling into the wall itself, into mortar and concrete.
"No, no, no," Seth shakes his head, and the words on his lips are pointless and worthless and his pleading will never stop them, might even encourage them.
"You're ours," Molly singsongs, and Seth turns to glance at her, at her black eyes, the deceptive childishness of her, the way her pigtails seem to bounce even as she doesn't move. "Remember you'll always be ours, and then while we're close you'll still be ours," she finishes as if it were the same song she had been singing inside the store, giggling as the words don't match the rhythm of the song.
He closes his eyes, covers his face with his hands, shaking his head as he does so. "You're not real. You're not real. You were never real, you were never--"
Murray chuckles, and Seth recognizes the sound as well, because, years ago, that sound used to be almost like a gift. Murray, in a way that's oddly reminiscent of Ryan, has never been one to talk, let alone laugh. He peers out between his fingers, looking at Murray. Murray, with a smirk on his face as if it were Christopher's. Murray, who in taking a step closer to Seth, makes him shiver in fear and coldness.
"Is that what you think?" Murray asks, his voice low and barely audible, and yet it feels as if Seth can hear it inside his mind instead of as words floating through the air. "That we're not real? That we can't hurt you?"
Seth breathes in sharply, shaking his head. Murray smirks, head tilted to the side. For a second, everything around him goes black and Seth gasps, nails scratching the wall at his back as if trying to get a hold of something he can't quite touch. Nothing but black and darkness and he can imagine this being his life for the rest of his seconds minutes hours days.
"No, please, Murray. I didn't. I never..." He thinks he cries, he thinks he screams but doesn't make a sound. His voice makes no sound. "No, please. Murray. I'm sorry. I didn't. I'm sorry." He shakes his head and lets go of the wall to cover his face and shake in his fear.
And then it's like his ears have popped, and he can hear Molly humming under her breath, a different song, but one by the Beatles, one Seth recognizes and Ryan loves.
"Or we can hurt him instead."
Seth turns to look at Christopher this time, Molly humming and Murray just standing there. Seth shakes his head. There are tears down his cheeks and they are cold, but they feel warm against the chillness in his bones and skin and in between.
"Please," Seth says in between breaths that end in a sob. He shakes his head, covers his mouth with his hands. "Please, Christopher, no." he thinks he groans but it ends in a cry. "You can't--"
"I can't!"
Seth groans, head tilted back, against the wall that hasn't moved from his back. "Please." The word sounds longer in between breaths and gasps, the shake of his head makes his eyes sting and his hands clench at his side, at the paint that's scratched by weak fingernails.
"Is that what you want, Seth? That we hurt him? Is that it? We can do that--"
He can almost feel the words against his skin, against his cheek and lips and breath and pulse. "Christopher--" Because if someone can stop them, it's him. He can tell them. He can order them not to hurt Ryan, not to take him away from Seth. Please, anything but that. Please.
"We can have him on his knees, begging us to let him go--"
"Please. Please. I can't..." He cries into his hands, into the shake of his head and the knowledge that nothing he ever says will be enough for them to stop. "I can't..."
Please....
Please...
He doesn't know if he says the word, over and over again. He doesn't know if he breathes even as he feels them closing in on him. He doesn't know if he exists as darkness surrounds him and he's at their mercy, nothing but a doe being chased by predators through the forest.
He lets his hands fall to his sides, and the three of them stand around him, close, closer, as if the very breath from his lungs is what's calling to them. Hours pass, days pass and time stands still as the light gets dark and the darkness fills all around him and he can see them and not see them, and he can almost feel them around him even though he can't feel a thing. He shivers at the cold underneath his lucid skin and doesn't know why he moves, doesn't know if he can move.
He squeezes his eyes closed.
"You're ours," they say, and Seth cringes at the lie on their lips and the truth in those words.
No, he wants to say, you're not real, he wants to plead. But he's wrong, because he has no strength left to squander, no sigh on his lips even as he slides down the wall into the floor, into a heap of nothing and flesh and bone.
He presses himself tighter against what's at his back -- a wall? he remembers, he doesn't remember. a wall? -- and lifts his arms and hides his face behind forearms and pleading has taken him nowhere because he has nothing to offer to them, he's their anchor and they're his and he should know that, he should have known that all this time.
"You're ours," they promise, the caress like a lover against his face. "You're ours," they say, one after another, their voices melting, interlacing, not three but one and none and all.
You are ours, they vow.
Seth shivers, cringes, fears but yields. "Yes," he answers, because that's what they want to hear from him, because all he has now is ice and nothingness and this, them.
"You're ours," they speak with jilted tongues, serpent's tale coming undone.
"I know."
"You're ours."
"Yes."
"You're ours."
"Yes."
you're ours
I know
you're ours
yes
you're ours
yes...
Afterward, Seth would remember his hold on the ordinary world had begun to slip days before, the night he dreamt of Ryan opening his legs for him even as black blood smeared on soft skin and Seth tried his best to find a way to keep Ryan's organs inside his body. He sits down on the linoleum floor in a mall in Los Angeles on an early December Saturday morning, people walking past him and eyeing him from the corner of their eyes, arms thrown over his head and rocking himself back and forth. It is like that that Ryan will find him, not even a minute after he left the music store. But at the time, he simply hadn't known the descent had begun the morning he had blinked and three very different personas had appeared before him.
Or perhaps it had been the day he had heard the kitchen door open and turned around to watch a boy his age with blond hair still with his hand on the doorknob. Perhaps he'll never know.
The sun is high through the window and it's that which wakes you up, nothing more. You wake up as the sunlight hits your face and you rub your eyes with your hands. For a second, you don't want to get out of bed. There's nothing out there for you but summer and summer has long ago lost its appeal. But then you swallow and remember and yes!, you think, and throw away the covers and rush to the bathroom.
You stand before the mirror and look at yourself and when you blink, you fear that it's your imagination. Because your dad can be a little weird at times, but bringing home a kid from one of his cases kind of tops everything he has ever done before. But then you remember, the fight at the Holly's beach house and upon closer inspection, you can see the corner of your eye still a little bit dark from the punch of one of the idiots that pretend that have a brain.
You touch your eyebrow, the dark skin over it, and cringe in pain and yes, because if it hurts then it happened and you didn't imagine it. Your imagination can't be that good.
You think about the model home as you brush your teeth, and fear what your grandpa will say. Because he might be your grandpa, and you kinda like him at times, but that doesn't mean he can't be a hardass. That doesn't mean he doesn't hate your dad, and sometimes mutters that your mom married down.
You worry he'll hate Ryan, when you already like him so much, depend on him and have only known him for two days. Your mom wants your dad to find Ryan's mother. You know this, mostly because you stayed up late with Ryan in the pool house, and by the time you went back to your bedroom -- way past midnight -- your parents' bedroom light was on. And you heard them.
You really don't want him to leave.
Now, well, it's just a matter of letting your mom know that. Hmm. You're pretty sure you can convince her. Then again, you never managed to talk her into buying you a puppy. You chuckle, feeling something weird inside you. And when you stop to think about it as you brush your hair and figured you'll shower later today because you really want to go downstairs and make sure Ryan's actually there, you realize you're happy.
You rush down the stairs and through the living room. And yet, you pause at the threshold, watching Ryan reaching for the coffee maker, as if afraid it might bite him -- or your mom might get mad. You can't help but smile and lean against the side, watching him a minute more.
Ryan pulls open one of the cupboard doors, then the other, and finally finds a mug to pour himself a cup of coffee. You smile and something inside you uncoils and dies -- is born?
"He's nice."
You look over your shoulder, and Murray is standing right behind you, looking over your shoulder at Ryan. You turn around, and nod.
"He is," you think you say, maybe mutter under your breath. You want to be very quiet, so Ryan doesn't notice you're here, doesn't see you watching him.
"He's here now," Murray says with a bit of a sigh, and you smile at the way Ryan runs one hand through his dark blond hair, and instead of settling down, it seems to stand up even more. You smile at Ryan and can't seem to stop. "Goodie."
You nod, and Murray's right, because Ryan is nice and he's here now, and he's everything you've ever wanted and never got until now.
You look at Ryan and don't quite notice the way Molly and Christopher appear, both flanking Murray behind you.
You look at Ryan and Ryan turns to look at you over his shoulder, and you smile at him and he meets your smile and everything is right in the world.
You don't look behind you, at them, watching you watching Ryan. You miss the look they give one another, the one they give Ryan.
You have no way to know that they, in tandem, are thinking, we won't lose him.
The space between dream and reality (4/4)
Seth goes to his bedroom and stands in the doorway, looking inside. It's all dark and black and gray, the light coming from the bathroom down the hallway, only illuminating the corner of the door. He takes in a deep breath, and something clenches around his chest and his breath is painful in his lungs. He knows the taste of fear on his tongue, and he swallows it whole before turning on the light.
It helps, in a way, but he can't help or stop himself from glancing from his bed to his dresser, to the nightstand to the wall to the coat hanger, thinking he'll see something dark and unnamable lurking in the shadows but finding nothing hiding in them.
He swallows, and takes a step forward, and then another. JJ said he should at least try it. At the very least. If he couldn't spend the whole night in his bed, then that was fine, and he should go to Ryan if he so wanted to. But he should, at the very least, give a shot at sleeping by himself. He doesn't want to. He knows he'll get scared, end up having a nightmare and calling out for Ryan. He'd rather save what little dignity he has left and just go ahead and cut out the middle man. But he should try, JJ said, so he's trying now.
He nods to himself and looks around, and for a moment the bedroom looks alien to him, as if he has never been here before, and then in a blink it looks like the one he had back in Newport, with the wide windows, looking out to the pool house. And then he blinks and it's the first memory of a bedroom, a memory that has almost faded away with the years, and the room is smaller but a bit homier, and he knows the window this time will look out into the backyard and the tree that still stands proud at his parents' first home.
He blinks again and he's in his small bedroom in the loft in Los Angeles, and he never got to pick this one, but Ryan did it for him and that's just as well. He lets out his breath through his mouth, something going slack inside him.
He pushes past the fear for a second, and turns on the lamp on the nightstand before turning off the overhead light of the room. He sits on the edge of his bed, hands gripping the corners of the covers, and thinks about looking over his shoulder to make sure there's no one standing there.
Stupid, he tells himself. There's nothing there. There was never anything there. You imagined it all. You've kept imaging it. And he has kept imagining, even through the meds that should work and his mind that should stop playing tricks on him.
He pushes back the covers and gets in, and turns off the light, all in one breath. His breathing is ragged, as he tries to find a comfortable position on the bed. He's lying on his back and he thinks about turning to his side, because he's never been able to sleep on his back. But turning with his back to the door would mean he wouldn't see if someone walks into his bedroom. And turning with his back to the wall would mean he wouldn't know if someone was standing there. So, on his back. But he can't sleep on his back. He never could.
He turns to his side, with his eyes on the door, but barely on his side. More like with his head to the side and it's not comfortable and the darkness around him is oppressing and his breathing is ragged and he knows there's no way in hell he's going to be able to sleep like this tonight. He'll tell JJ that he tried, which he did, he just wasn't very successful and he's gotten soft around the edges -- figuratively and literally -- and way too comfortable feeling safe in Ryan's arms to give that up now, now when--
The covers start making their way down, from high around his neck to his chest, as if someone is pulling them from the bottom of the bed. Seth swallows.
I'm imagining this. They aren't real. They were never real. JJ said that and Ryan said that and whatever Ryan says--
But then the covers are being pulled down once again, and they start sliding down Seth's body, slowly, from chest to waist to mid thigh down to his feet. Seth can feel his heart thudding in his temples, in his chest, and his hands dampen with sweat and fear. He swallows again, and closes his eyes against everything he can feel inside him and around him and considers for a brief moment saying fuck it and screaming for Ryan.
He hears a soft giggle, nothing but air around the room, and his body clamps even tighter around itself and fear turns into something that he's certain has no name. His face is nothing but a grimace and he knows this is going to be like pulling off a Band-Aid -- or a bullet from a wound -- and the quicker he does it, the quicker he'll be safe.
So he jumps off his bed, his eyes not quite open not quite closed and rushes across the room to the door--
Only for the door to close before him. With the force of his momentum, he crashes into it, hitting his shoulder with more force that he thought possible. His hands move to the doorknob, rattling it in its place on the door, and trying to turn it but being unable to.
Seth can feel fear come over him like the darkness, and he doesn't need to look over his shoulder to know that at least Molly is there, not to mention the others. He keeps on rattling the doorknob for another second before it's too much and he starts banging on the door with his fists, as loud and as hard as he can.
"Ryan!" He screams, his throat tight and the sound barely making its way out of his lips. "Ryan, please! Ryan! Help! Ryan!!!"
He can feel the tears on his cheeks, taste them as he tries to take in a breath and comes up short, ending in a sob that chokes him even more, even tighter, and his hands shake even as he pounds on the door that doesn't give up under him.
"Ryan!" Seth screams, over and over again, and knows that Ryan should be hearing him because he was in his bedroom, with the laptop again over his knees, and he's only on the other side of the hallway. Ryan should have heard his screaming from the second the door closed. "Ryan!"
He pounds on the door, hitting his hands so hard, they start to hurt and he wonders about blood and if 'they' would like that, to see him bleed from fear alone. After a moment, after what feels like an eternity and nothing but a second, he slides down to the floor, head against the wood, palms flat as if trying to reach beyond and touch Ryan and find peace. He cries against the door, against the wood and the pain and the fear, and as he feels like he's floating away, into nothing but darkness and cold, he's falling back on his hands and when he dares open his eyes, there's Ryan standing there.
He blinks, and he fears that's 'them' making him see things, because this can't be Ryan. They wouldn't give him Ryan. They never would. They hate Ryan. They want Ryan dead.
"Ryan?" he asks, the word catching in his throat, filled with hesitation. He asks, because he doesn't know how not to.
He thinks he sees something fleeting pass through Ryan's eyes before it's fully formed, but then Ryan's kneeling before him and asking him questions and Seth can't understand them. He does the one thing he can do, he throws himself at Ryan, almost making him stumble back, and wraps his arms around Ryan's chest and back the best way he knows how and buries his face in Ryan's chest and breathes in.
There are hands on his back, rubbing soothingly, and Ryan's saying words again, words that don't make sense. He thinks he catches one, and looks at it under the light but the light must be too dim, because he can't quite see it or understand it, so he lets it go, lets it float away, and watches it evaporate instead.
He breathes in, and hears his throat crack and he thinks his hands shake as he grips Ryan's shirt, but he isn't sure.
It's okay, it's okay, Seth--
He shakes his head, and doesn't understand what Ryan's saying. He understands his name, and Ryan's touch, and the way Ryan smells and the warmth of Ryan's body against his and that Ryan will protect him, or at least try to.
Seth's being helped to his feet, and he tries to put some effort into it, not let Ryan carry him completely, but his bones are tired and he's still choked on fear and darkness, so he can only drag his feet. He's pushed to lie on the bed, and the covers are almost pulled over him, Ryan's hands over his own, trying to untangle Seth's fingers from his shirt. But Seth doesn't give up, not this time, and pulls Ryan to him, making him stumble to lie against him.
He pulls Ryan closer, as close as he can be and still be himself in his own bones, and hides his face and wraps his arms and breathes in and hears Ryan speaking to him and still he doesn't understand. His breathing is ragged and Ryan holds him almost as tightly as he's holding Ryan, and then he can breathe in and breathe out.
Shh. Shh. It's okay. I've got you. I've got you. Seth, please, try to say a word. Say something. Please. Say something. I'm right here, Seth, nothing's going to happen. Everything will be just fine.
Words and more words, and he can't understand them either, and this time he doesn't even try to catch them and watch them, only to give them up, too. He tightens his hold on Ryan.
Seth. A chuckle he hears and recognizes, and for a second he thinks it's a word too, and then, I do have to breathe, you know? You might want to--
He holds on tighter and Ryan chuckles again, and this time it sounds even more like a word he knows.
It's minutes later -- or a lifetime, he thinks, he doesn't know -- that he relaxes his hold on Ryan. Ryan, lying on the bed with him, and the covers have been pulled over his shoulders, around the both of them, and the bed is warm under him and Ryan's body is even warmer next to his.
His heart is still racing in his chest, and his hands are still damp, and his fear can still be tasted on his tongue, but Ryan's here now, and that makes it all okay. Ryan's here, and that makes him feel safe, even if he isn't.
He blinks, and for a second, he doesn't know why, he looks over Ryan's shoulder to the other side of the room. The room is bathed in darkness, and he doesn't know how he hadn't noticed before, and standing against the furthest wall, Seth can see the legs of all three. He cringes, but doesn't look a way, and in a second they are standing next to the bed, on the other side of Ryan, and this time he whimpers in the back of his throat and hides his face in Ryan's neck and holds Ryan tighter.
I won't give him up. I won't. I don't care what you do to me, I won't give him up.
He doesn't know if they hear him. He knows they know. He tries to breathe in, and stop the tears, but they keep coming, and he can't breathe, and Ryan hugs him tighter.
Tell me something, Seth, please. Something. Anything. I just want to hear your voice, know you're alright. Please.
He rubs his nose against the skin of Ryan's neck, and can almost feel the pulse beating against his lips, and nods, he thinks he nods, and says, I'm afraid, but doesn't know if the words leave his mouth at all.
Seth holds Ryan tighter, lets Ryan rub his back and run his fingers through his hair, and whispers words he wonders if he ever knew, and after hours and minutes and a lifetime, he thinks he falls asleep.
At least this time, the covers aren't pulled down.
"What happened?"
Ryan wonders how he can put what occurred two days ago into words. He goes through them, coming up with words he promised himself he would never think about again, let alone speak, words like delusional and lost and crazy, words he used to think on a daily basis three years ago. He shakes his head, and tries to think up new ones. For a moment he wonders if they even exist.
He looks up at JJ, waiting patiently for Ryan to find the words or to simply stay silent. Ryan can't help but wonder where JJ gets all that patience. He certainly doesn't have it. Then again, dealing with Seth has forced him to bring up every ounce of it he has.
dealing
That's what he does, isn't it? He deals with what happens, one day at a time. He makes sure Seth's taking his pills, worries about Seth when he holds Ryan in bed a little bit tighter. Has a heart attack when Seth has nightmares at night, dies a little when Seth locks himself up in his room.
He sighs, looking away to the high windows in the office, closes his eyes for a minute. "He's been having nightmares," he says, because he refuses to give it any other name. Night terrors, probably; he can't think of them as delusions. He pauses for a second, and JJ doesn't interrupt. JJ never interrupts. Seth used to do it all the time. Ryan would barely be able to get a word in the conversation, in the first months of their friendship, Seth was so full of things to say. Ryan clears his throat. "They are getting worse."
He falls silent after that, and minutes later, when it's obvious that Ryan won't be forthcoming, JJ leans forward on his seat and asks, "How much worse?"
Ryan thinks about Seth's small breakdown two months ago, how Seth screamed his head off and he couldn't reach him, how he had to use the Risperdal and hated every second of it. He thinks about last time, about hearing Seth's door closing even as he sat on his bed, hearing Seth scream for him. Rushing to the bedroom only to find the door locked from the inside, trying to open it and unable to, going back to his room for his keys, Seth's room key in the keychain, and trying to unlock the door and not being able to. Pushing with his shoulder until the door gives and realizing that the reason he couldn't open the door was because Seth had been sitting against it.
"Worse," he says, and when he looks up JJ's giving him a look that clearly says that that hasn't explained anything. He sighs once again, rubbing his left eyebrow with his left hand, and he thinks Seth commented on that once, how he always rubs it with his left hand. He lets his hand drop to his side.
"Last night," Ryan starts, and finds he can't tell the story without feeling something catching in his chest, remembering the way Seth had hugged him tight when they had been finally in bed together. Seth must have been so afraid, to hold him so tight it almost hurt, it squeezed his breath out. So afraid, that even an hour later, he had been whimpering and crying and barely breathed out a word that Ryan could distinguish before falling asleep.
"Last night?"
Ryan looks up, surprised he had even been looking down, and looks right at JJ. JJ nods, gives him a small smile.
You don't understand, he wants to say. I love him. You don't understand what it is to see him like that and fear I'll lose him again. I've lost him too many times now.
For a fleeting second he wonders what ever pushed Seth to go to Berkeley with him, instead of RISD. What made Seth break up with Summer after they had decided that she would go to GEORGE. He wonders, and for a second thinks about asking him, but lets that thought die, because he fears the answer. Lately, he fears so much.
He takes in a deep breath and tells the story in short, curt words. He falters in the middle, as he tells how he had tried to open the door only to find it locked from the inside. How he had feared the key wasn't working, even as Seth screamed his name raw. How he had hurt his shoulder pushing inside, and finding Seth on the floor. How he had died a little, and seen red blood where there was none.
He finishes the story with his hands shaking, and he places them under his armpits, with the excuse that his fingers hurt from the cold.
He looks up at JJ, and notices the way the other man tilts his head, seemingly to go over his words, trying to come up with something.
They could change the dosage, he knows, but for a moment Ryan wonders if they are even making a dent in the problem at hand.
At least he's not--
The thought ends ruthlessly there, because Ryan refuses to allow himself to complete that sentence, ever, at all.
"He's getting worse, isn't he?"
The words leave Ryan's mouth before he can stop himself, and he watches JJ sigh, and then nod, and Ryan remembers only feeling this helpless once before, as red blood made its way through his fingers, soaking up towels and bathroom tiles.
You push past Dora as you get to the front door, hearing her chuckle. You laugh even as you rush into the kitchen, throwing your backpack wherever it should fall.
"Seth. Backpack."
You glance at her, over your shoulder, and she shakes her head. She mutters something Spanish you can't really understand, even if she has been your nanny the past two years. "I'll get it in a minute."
"Not a minute. Now, Seth."
You grumble, but do as you're told, because you know that she'll tell on you and she might be right but that doesn't mean you like it. You're eight, you think. You should be able to leave your backpack on the floor for at least an hour. You pick up your backpack -- it has the Transformers logo on the front, and Optimus Prime on the side, and you chose it yourself and you think it's really really cool -- and place it on the couch in the den. You like it there. And you'll take it to your bedroom after you've had the snack she's making you at the moment, and she knows that, so she doesn't tell you to do it.
You make your way to the kitchen and open the fridge door and when you close it, Christopher is standing there, behind it, looking back at you with something in his eyes that you can't read. But you don't mind, and you grin at him and bounce on your feet.
"I have something to tell you!" You almost scream because you're happy and you want them to know. "I won the spelling bee! It was a very complicated word but dad had told me to practice the very long words because he was sure they were going to ask me at least one of those and I beat Marissa and Summer and Luke and even Taylor but she got second prize so it's not bad and I thought for a moment she was gonna cry but then she just gave me this very nasty look and left the room and I can't believe I won!"
Christopher smiles, an almost indulgent smile, and you know that because your mom gives you enough of those from time to time. Your dad too, but mostly your mom.
"I know Seth," he says, in that slow monotone voice of his, that's both calming and a bit weird. He's older than you, very much older than you. He's not a kid, he's a boy. You don't know how old he is, because you've never asked, but you think he might fifteen, or even sixteen. He's a big boy.
He looks down at you and you frown for a moment, confused, because how could he know when you've only now told him and all that happened at school not here.
"I know," he says, with something of a smile on his lips, almost as if answering the question you haven't asked, "because I was there." His eyes darken for a second, or so you think, but then they return back to normal, very dark brown eyes. "We're never far away from you. You might not see us," he says, glancing over his shoulder.
You follow his gaze, and he's looking at Dora making you a tuna sandwich with a bit of mayo and one very small piece of lettuce, just the way you like it. You turn back to look at him, and Christopher is already looking at you. You think he smiles, but you're not sure.
"But," he continues, as if he hasn't stopped, as if he hasn't turned to look at Dora who doesn't pay too much attention to you, if she hasn't seen Christopher, or heard you talking to him, "we see everything."
You look at him, and he looks back at you, and there's a breeze coming from the French doors, even though they are closed, because you can feel goosebumps on your arms. He looks back at you and you nod, because you believe him.
Seth glances down at his shopping cart, filled with toilet paper and the shampoo Ryan likes, and three bars of soap, and remembers that he still needs to get the cereals and milk. Ryan usually does the shopping, but they left early from Theories of Composition and Jennifer said she was going to visit a friend and the store was on her way, so Seth thought he could do the shopping before meeting Ryan for lunch.
He turns right at the next aisle, seeing box upon box of the cereals. He catches sight of Cornflakes and Captain Crunch, his hand reaches for those two boxes, and thinks CocoPuffs once in a while--
He hears Molly before seeing her, her soft giggle, and out of the corner of his eyes he can see her dark hair pulled back in two ponytails, the tip of her pink ribbons, before closing his eyes, his fingers tightening around the corner of the box. He hears her giggle again, and pulls his hand back, turning the cart around. He makes his way down the aisle, in the opposite direction from where he's certain he heard her, thinking milk, milk, milk.
He finds the large dairy section easily, consciously not looking over his shoulder, afraid of what he might see, or not see. A gallon, he thinks, since he's taking a cab back to UCLA, he might as well buy it. His hand reaches for the handle of the jug, picking it up slowly, when another hand covers his own. A small hand, a child's hand. The hand tightens and holding on, hurting him, and he can't help but cringe and want to pull away. The hold doesn't give, only tightening even more so, and he whimpers in the back of his throat, and for a fleeting second he thinks that it doesn't make sense. The milk is on the second shelf, Molly is too small--
He closes his eyes and takes in a shallow breath, tells himself he's not seeing this, and then the hand crushes his own even more, and he whimpers, and his mind goes quiet. When he opens his eyes, the child's hand is gone, only his own around the handle and his fingers go slack on their own accord, and the jug falls down and crashes onto the linoleum floor.
Seth blinks down at it, at the white milk expanding from the mashed side of the jug, covering the cream floor, and when he blinks again. For a second, he sees red instead of white. He looks down at his hands and they are covered in blood -- Ryan's blood -- and he shakes his head and takes a step back and bumps into someone, cursing under their breath. He turns around and people are looking at him and he shakes his head once again and glances down at his hands but they are clean this time, not a drop of blood on them. He gasps, drawing air desperately into his lungs, and pushes his way through the crowd of people doing their shopping and looking at him and reaches the wide front doors and he lets in a breath.
He leans forward, hands on his knees, his chest tight and the darkness behind his eyelids taunting him with the things they want to show him and the things they want him to see. He opens his eyes wide, looking around, at the bright sunlight hitting the parked cars, the people coming and going, a child crying somewhere. A child that is not Molly.
He swallows, and pushes himself to stand up straight, and not look over his shoulder. He takes a step forward, then another one, and another one, making his way to the corner, to take a cab back to school. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest still, and his hands damp and clammy, and his eyes clogged as if filled with water, but he pays no attention. He can only think about the sunlight hitting his face, and putting one foot in front of the other, and maybe having a cup of coffee as he waits for Ryan to pick him up for lunch.
Ryan pulls over at the front door of UCLA, glancing at Seth, who sits with his hands on his lap. He doesn't say anything, and he tells himself -- naively, probably -- that he doesn't because he doesn't need to, not because he doesn't know what to say.
His chest feels cold, but he's used to this, in a way. He worries that the cold will turn into something horrible -- gaping and empty and the memory of then, back then, of a boy lying on a bed drooling on the sheets and Ryan watching without knowing what to do to bring him back. Ryan gasps, soundlessly, and closes his eyes, as if by doing so he could shut down the memory. His face falls into a grimace and then he opens his eyes, and the memory is still there -- it won't ever leave, he knows, but pretends he doesn't -- but he can glance at Seth from the corner of his eyes this time around.
Seth's still sitting there, not quite looking out through the windshield, at the rest of the students making their way to class. Ryan wants to reach out and take Seth's hand, but doesn't want to break the spell, wanting to see something in Seth's eyes and afraid of what he might see at the same time.
He watches Seth, the way he nibbles at his lower lip -- he used to do that, a long time ago, and Seth picked it up from him -- and stares at one point in particular, as if seeing--
Ryan shakes his head, reaching a hand out to touch Seth's shoulder, trying his best not to startle him. And to his surprise, he doesn't. Seth turns around to his left, to look at Ryan, almost like he was waiting for Ryan to do so. Seth blinks himself out of his stupor almost, before trying to give him a smile and failing miserably.
There are words on his lips that stay there, caught between one breath and the next, and Ryan reaches forward one more time, fingers curled, knuckles caressing Seth's cheek.
Ryan smiles, and tries to breath, and wonders if there's something he can do and finds himself with no jock to fight, no person to defend Seth against. It's far too difficult for Ryan to defend Seth against himself, against his mind. He would, he knows. He would go in and fight and bring Seth back -- Seth, the boy he met who did nothing more than sit on a carpet and look back at him -- if he only knew how.
Ryan swallows, and then Seth's looking at him, right at him, and picks up his backpack from the back seat and jumps out of the car.
He watches Seth close the door behind him, and hesitate for a second, hand still on the door handle. Seth stands there, unmoving, looking at something -- someone? -- before shaking his head and making his way to class.
Ryan watches Seth walk away from him, until he can see him no more.
You sit on the floor of your bedroom, your back against the side of your bed, your legs folded. The latest Batman is opened before you, and you keep going over the pages idly, not really reading it, not paying attention to the words or the graphics or what happens. You've seen the ending twice, but you can't remember what happens. It was rumor it'd be a cliffhanger. You knew you'd like it, but you haven't. Or you will. You're not sure.
Molly is sitting beside you, her legs folded underneath her, poking your forearm with her finger every other minute. You should be annoyed at her for doing that, but you're not. You know she only wants to pull you out of your sullen mood. You've been like this since your bar mitzvah.
"Seth?" she asks again, as she did fifteen minutes ago, and pokes you again just for good measure.
You pretend you can't hear her, even though you know, if she really wanted to, she'd make you pay attention to her.
You're sad, you know. No one went to your party. You're sad and sulking and you're happy to be that person right now. You don't want anyone to bother you.
She pokes you again, but you keep on flipping the pages of the comic. When you reach the end and again, haven't read it, you go back to the cover and start over. You hear her huff. You're pretty sure she's pouting.
"You shouldn't ignore her."
You look up, and Christopher is leaning against the side of the window, arms folded over his chest. He's not smiling, he doesn't really smile, but he's looking right at you.
They know why you're like this. They all know. You didn't need to tell them. They've always known. They were there with you during the party. They are always with you.
You swallow and blink and rub your eyes with the back of your hand. You think you see blurry for a second, but then it's gone, and you're seeing right again. You sniff.
You turn to look at her, after remembering what it was Christopher said, and Molly is looking back at you. She gives you a big toothy grin, her hair bobbing, and even though you want to smile at her, you can't. You sniff again.
You look back at Christopher, and he looks at you like he knows what you're thinking.
I want to have friends, you think childishly. I want someone to listen to me. I want someone to be able to tell me that they like me and meant it.
You want to say those things, but they get stuck in your throat because you're thirteen and you're not a kid anymore, you're a man. You had the party to prove it.
I just want a friend, you want to tell Christopher, as pathetic as that sounds. I want--
And the thought ends there, and you look at Christopher and he looks back at you like he knows what you're thinking, like you don't have to say it. You wish you could meet someone like that.
He looks back at you and he nods, and he knows, and you know that he knows. You smile, even though you're seeing blurry all over again. You sniff and you smile, and then turn to look at Molly grinning back at you, and then turn to look at the corner of the room and Murray is standing right there, head ducked. You sniff again and for a moment you think you don't need anyone else.
"Seth!"
"Just one second," Seth calls over his shoulder, turning around to the hallway and then toward his bedroom. He pulls open the closet and grabs his blue jacket, before closing the closet door. He sees something out of the corner of his eyes, something on the edge of the mirror, but when he looks at it, there's nothing there.
you're not real
He closes his eyes for a second, tries to breathe in deep, but the darkness is oppressing, feels like nothing, like oblivion and emptiness and it smells putrid and is acrid on his tongue. He opens his eyes with a start, his heart racing in his chest, pulse rapid in his temples.
"Seth!"
"I'm coming!" Seth yells after a second, and his voice sounds confident and certain. He turns around and walks out of the bedroom, not looking once looking over his shoulder, focused on reaching the kitchen and smiling at Ryan once he catches sight of him.
"Hey," Seth says, standing before Ryan. Ryan smiles back at him, nothing but a ghost of a smile, the curl of his lips.
Seth can still feel his heart in his throat, his pulse quick in his temples, but being with Ryan relaxes him. He feels protected, even though he knows it's a lie, but the lie seems to allow him to breathe.
"Come on," Ryan says, walking to the door and opening it for them both. "We should try to be back for lunch. You have that paper--"
Seth waves it off with one hand, trying to put on the jacket at the same time. "For the Workshop, yeah. Don't worry about it. I can have it done in two hours."
Ryan chuckles, the sound full of implications. The sound of home and happiness and the rest of what Seth lets fill him. It feels like the sun on his skin, and Seth can't stop himself from leaning closer to it.
"You always say so," Ryan finishes as Seth walks down the hallway, smile on his lips. "And then it takes you three hours longer than you said it would."
"I do not!"
Ryan chuckles again, and Seth punches the number for the lobby, leaning against the wall next to the elevator doors. They stand there for a moment, not saying anything.
Something catches Seth's attention from the corner of his eyes, but when he blinks once again, it's gone. He swallows thickly, feeling his throat closing up on him, his hands itching.
"Seth?"
Seth looks at up Ryan, blue eyes staring right into him. Into him. Ryan had that very nasty habit of looking at him like he knew what he was thinking. Like he knew what he was afraid of. Seth gives him a tentative smile, a shrug of his shoulder.
Idly, Seth scratches his left forearm with his right hand. It feels like ants, for a second, and he's reminded of how it used to feel, years ago, three years ago, when this whole thing started. He swallows and walks into the elevator the moment the doors slide open.
Ryan doesn't say anything to him, and Seth, for once doesn't break the silence. Instead, he gnaws on his lower lip, on the inside of his cheek. He thinks he feels cold, but tells himself he's imagining things because
you're not real
It's barely the beginning of December, not even ten in the morning on a Saturday, and the sun is high in the sky and this is LA after all. He scratches his left forearm, and when he notices, forces himself to stop. He wants to look over his shoulder, in the rearview mirror, but stops himself from doing that as well.
They reach the mall, garlands filling the windowpanes and the corners, all red and green. They walk inside in a strained silence that Seth never liked and for a second wishes he could break. But what would he say? There's something wrong in the air? I can almost smell it, and it smells acrid, like something that has gone to waste, and like nothing at all, at the same time? No, because that's not right. Because there's nothing out there for him to smell. It's probably another weird side effect of the pills, or just him being weird and fucked up and broken.
They walk down the wide hallway, people passing them by. Couples with young kids running in front of them, teenagers talking loudly over the other voices, young girls giggling over stuff Seth can't quite catch as he walks past them. They are supposed to get a couple of shirts for Ryan for work, maybe a jacket and few shirts for Seth, then the groceries and then go back home.
Instead, Seth pauses before a music store, looking through the windows at the new albums out, the few names of bands he recognizes.
A hand on his shoulder, warm instead of cold, and Seth smiles though his heart rate picks up.
"We should--"
"I wanna check it out." Seth says, head tilted to the side, looking at the album covers instead of the reflections on the windowpane, afraid of what he might see even as he tells himself he's not.
Ryan doesn't say anything for a second, but then Seth hears him sighing, and the hand on his shoulder tightens for a second. "Sure," Ryan says, and Seth nods, wanting to look at their reflection in the mirror. When Ryan's hand drops from his shoulder, Seth follows him inside.
He makes his way down the aisle, flipping the CD plastic covers, looking for something that will catch his eye and finding very little. He makes his way deeper into the store, noticing that Ryan is at the end of the aisle, that Ryan doesn't let him get too far away from him. It feels stupid and unnecessary in a way, and oddly reassuring in another.
He turns around the corner at the end of the aisle, picking up a Beatles anthology CD, turning it around to see the songs listed on the back. He knows Ryan has a weird appreciation for the old group, and can't help but smile at the songs he recognizes. Paperback Writer, All My Loving, Michelle, Norwegian Wood, Nowhere Man--
-- eyes and I'll kiss you, tomorrow I'll miss you, remember I'll always be --
Seth looks over his shoulder at the childish voice, the soft giggle as she falters in the middle of the lyrics. He can see her standing there, not even ten feet from him, reaching for one of the albums on the very back of the display. She stands on her toes, trying to reach and coming up short.
She giggles again, singing under her breath -- while I'm away, I'll write home every day, and I'll send all my loving to y--
She turns around, looking at Seth and her eyes are hollow and empty and dark, and Seth takes in a breath. He shakes his head, turning away from her, closing his eyes, but he can still hear her -- pretend I am kissing, the lips I am missing -- and can feel the chill around his shoulders, down his spine.
No, no, he thinks he mutters, closing his eyes, hiding his face. He turns around and stumbles away from her, hitting his shoulder hard in a corner. He looks up and to his left, there's Murray, leaning against the counter, head ducked down, dark blond hair falling into his eyes. No, no, no, please.
They are all here. They are all-- Christopher can't be far behind.
-- hope that my dreams will come true --
He turns away from him as well, hearing her voice
-- while I'm away, I'll write home every day --
as he tries to put as much space between him and them. He looks to his right and sees the door and stumbles his way out of the store, to his right once again, palm flat against the wall, as if it's the one thing holding him up.
The voices in the packed corridor shut out Molly's singing, and he doesn't dare to look over his shoulder to see Murray lurking in the shadows. Christopher can't be far away. If there are the two of them, then Christopher is close. His eyes stay on the linoleum floor, on the tip of his sneakers. He can't hear her anymore, and he certainly can't see Murray, but when he looks up, Christopher is standing at the end of the corridor, head tilted to the side, small smirk on his lips.
Seth gasps, stumbling back, trying to put one foot behind the other without having to turn around. Christopher's smirk widens.
"Hello there, Seth."
Seth shakes his head. No, no, no, you're not real. Neither of you are. He told me so. Ryan and JJ and mom and dad and this is nothing but--
Christopher snorts, a nasty sound coming from his lips, "What? Nothing but a figment of your imagination? Is that what you think?"
Seth doesn't blink but then Christopher is standing in front of him, close and nasty and the whole room, the whole mall, the whole city, seems to smell like rotting flesh.
"No," Seth breathes out, feeling fear in his hands even as they cool and hurt, and he closes his eyes and knows that before, he'd thought he'd go mad if it happened like this, if it happened like in his bedroom, all those years ago. Maybe he'd already had. Maybe he had a thousand times over.
Christopher laughs, and Seth can feel the sound reverberating on his skin, as if it was coming from inside him instead of outside. He can feel it cooling his blood and making him shudder.
There's a clicking sound that Seth recognizes, and he looks up, Christopher shaking his head slowly. "You know you're not supposed to do that, Seth."
What? Seth thinks with irony in his mind. Be afraid of you? Hide from you? Hate you?
Christopher smirks once again. "All of the above."
"Please," Seth can't help but plead, and he doesn't even know what it is he wants to plead. For his sanity, for Ryan's safety? They already had him once, why would they want him again, why would they--?
"Because we can."
Seth turns around, and Molly is standing there, toothy grin on her lips, her eyes as dark as if there's nothing in them, as if light itself ends where they begin.
"Because we like it," is whispered against his left ear, the voice distinctively Christopher, and Seth cringes at the voice, at the close contact. He pulls away, staggering away from them. He gasps as Murray appears before him, head down and hair over his eyes, but Seth doesn't need to see them to know that they are black and endless.
"No, no, no, no..." Seth shakes his head, tries to turn around, but Molly is there, and Christopher is closer and Murray is looking at him and they are here and they are close and-- "You're not real!"
They laugh, a sound that isn't melodic, that clashes against the air and moves through it as mercury dust.
you're not real you're not real you're not real you're not real you're not real you're not real
"You really think that, Seth?"
This time, to Seth's surprise, it's Murray who speaks to him. Seth looks up, Murray pushing back the lock of his hair that keeps falling over his eyes. His eyes are black, just like Molly's, just like Christopher's.
"You left me," he whispers with a shake of his head. And he remembers. He remembers that very clearly even if the rest of his life feels as if a dream at the moment. "You left me! You were gone," he says in a moment of desperation, grasping at straws. He turns around, away from them, but then Molly is standing before him and he whimpers. "You were gone. For over a year, you were gone. Why did you return? Why would you--?"
"Seth, Seth, Seth." Christopher stands before Seth, Molly at his back, Murray to his left, the wall at his right. Christopher makes a clicking sound with his tongue. "You should have known better." His eyes narrow, and they aren't kind like Ryan's, they are nothing but black and Seth grimaces and tries to hide, but knows there is no where to do so. "You know, we're always here." He leans forward, closer to Seth, and Seth cringes and tries to pull away, only he's already against the wall, and he hits his head against it. "We see everything."
"You were gone!" Seth whimpers, cries, shakes his head. "You were gone. Why would you go and then come back? Why would you--?"
"We thought he would leave," Christopher sneers, jerking his head over his shoulder. "He was supposed to leave."
Seth blinks, confused, and then he remembers Ryan leaving for Chino and him leaving for Portland, and then coming back, and only three weeks after that, they returned. "He left."
Christopher snorts, an ugly sound that makes the breath catch in Seth's throat. "He came back." He pauses, then tilts his head and smirks. "He was supposed to leave you to us."
Seth doesn't understand what he means, and truth be told, he doesn't want to.
"You're ours, Seth," Christopher says, leaning forward, closer to Seth than he's been in years. Seth can't help but swallow, pushing himself as far away from Christopher as he can go, half crawling into the wall itself, into mortar and concrete.
"No, no, no," Seth shakes his head, and the words on his lips are pointless and worthless and his pleading will never stop them, might even encourage them.
"You're ours," Molly singsongs, and Seth turns to glance at her, at her black eyes, the deceptive childishness of her, the way her pigtails seem to bounce even as she doesn't move. "Remember you'll always be ours, and then while we're close you'll still be ours," she finishes as if it were the same song she had been singing inside the store, giggling as the words don't match the rhythm of the song.
He closes his eyes, covers his face with his hands, shaking his head as he does so. "You're not real. You're not real. You were never real, you were never--"
Murray chuckles, and Seth recognizes the sound as well, because, years ago, that sound used to be almost like a gift. Murray, in a way that's oddly reminiscent of Ryan, has never been one to talk, let alone laugh. He peers out between his fingers, looking at Murray. Murray, with a smirk on his face as if it were Christopher's. Murray, who in taking a step closer to Seth, makes him shiver in fear and coldness.
"Is that what you think?" Murray asks, his voice low and barely audible, and yet it feels as if Seth can hear it inside his mind instead of as words floating through the air. "That we're not real? That we can't hurt you?"
Seth breathes in sharply, shaking his head. Murray smirks, head tilted to the side. For a second, everything around him goes black and Seth gasps, nails scratching the wall at his back as if trying to get a hold of something he can't quite touch. Nothing but black and darkness and he can imagine this being his life for the rest of his seconds minutes hours days.
"No, please, Murray. I didn't. I never..." He thinks he cries, he thinks he screams but doesn't make a sound. His voice makes no sound. "No, please. Murray. I'm sorry. I didn't. I'm sorry." He shakes his head and lets go of the wall to cover his face and shake in his fear.
And then it's like his ears have popped, and he can hear Molly humming under her breath, a different song, but one by the Beatles, one Seth recognizes and Ryan loves.
"Or we can hurt him instead."
Seth turns to look at Christopher this time, Molly humming and Murray just standing there. Seth shakes his head. There are tears down his cheeks and they are cold, but they feel warm against the chillness in his bones and skin and in between.
"Please," Seth says in between breaths that end in a sob. He shakes his head, covers his mouth with his hands. "Please, Christopher, no." he thinks he groans but it ends in a cry. "You can't--"
"I can't!"
Seth groans, head tilted back, against the wall that hasn't moved from his back. "Please." The word sounds longer in between breaths and gasps, the shake of his head makes his eyes sting and his hands clench at his side, at the paint that's scratched by weak fingernails.
"Is that what you want, Seth? That we hurt him? Is that it? We can do that--"
He can almost feel the words against his skin, against his cheek and lips and breath and pulse. "Christopher--" Because if someone can stop them, it's him. He can tell them. He can order them not to hurt Ryan, not to take him away from Seth. Please, anything but that. Please.
"We can have him on his knees, begging us to let him go--"
"Please. Please. I can't..." He cries into his hands, into the shake of his head and the knowledge that nothing he ever says will be enough for them to stop. "I can't..."
Please....
Please...
He doesn't know if he says the word, over and over again. He doesn't know if he breathes even as he feels them closing in on him. He doesn't know if he exists as darkness surrounds him and he's at their mercy, nothing but a doe being chased by predators through the forest.
He lets his hands fall to his sides, and the three of them stand around him, close, closer, as if the very breath from his lungs is what's calling to them. Hours pass, days pass and time stands still as the light gets dark and the darkness fills all around him and he can see them and not see them, and he can almost feel them around him even though he can't feel a thing. He shivers at the cold underneath his lucid skin and doesn't know why he moves, doesn't know if he can move.
He squeezes his eyes closed.
"You're ours," they say, and Seth cringes at the lie on their lips and the truth in those words.
No, he wants to say, you're not real, he wants to plead. But he's wrong, because he has no strength left to squander, no sigh on his lips even as he slides down the wall into the floor, into a heap of nothing and flesh and bone.
He presses himself tighter against what's at his back -- a wall? he remembers, he doesn't remember. a wall? -- and lifts his arms and hides his face behind forearms and pleading has taken him nowhere because he has nothing to offer to them, he's their anchor and they're his and he should know that, he should have known that all this time.
"You're ours," they promise, the caress like a lover against his face. "You're ours," they say, one after another, their voices melting, interlacing, not three but one and none and all.
You are ours, they vow.
Seth shivers, cringes, fears but yields. "Yes," he answers, because that's what they want to hear from him, because all he has now is ice and nothingness and this, them.
"You're ours," they speak with jilted tongues, serpent's tale coming undone.
"I know."
"You're ours."
"Yes."
"You're ours."
"Yes."
you're ours
I know
you're ours
yes
you're ours
yes...
Afterward, Seth would remember his hold on the ordinary world had begun to slip days before, the night he dreamt of Ryan opening his legs for him even as black blood smeared on soft skin and Seth tried his best to find a way to keep Ryan's organs inside his body. He sits down on the linoleum floor in a mall in Los Angeles on an early December Saturday morning, people walking past him and eyeing him from the corner of their eyes, arms thrown over his head and rocking himself back and forth. It is like that that Ryan will find him, not even a minute after he left the music store. But at the time, he simply hadn't known the descent had begun the morning he had blinked and three very different personas had appeared before him.
Or perhaps it had been the day he had heard the kitchen door open and turned around to watch a boy his age with blond hair still with his hand on the doorknob. Perhaps he'll never know.
The sun is high through the window and it's that which wakes you up, nothing more. You wake up as the sunlight hits your face and you rub your eyes with your hands. For a second, you don't want to get out of bed. There's nothing out there for you but summer and summer has long ago lost its appeal. But then you swallow and remember and yes!, you think, and throw away the covers and rush to the bathroom.
You stand before the mirror and look at yourself and when you blink, you fear that it's your imagination. Because your dad can be a little weird at times, but bringing home a kid from one of his cases kind of tops everything he has ever done before. But then you remember, the fight at the Holly's beach house and upon closer inspection, you can see the corner of your eye still a little bit dark from the punch of one of the idiots that pretend that have a brain.
You touch your eyebrow, the dark skin over it, and cringe in pain and yes, because if it hurts then it happened and you didn't imagine it. Your imagination can't be that good.
You think about the model home as you brush your teeth, and fear what your grandpa will say. Because he might be your grandpa, and you kinda like him at times, but that doesn't mean he can't be a hardass. That doesn't mean he doesn't hate your dad, and sometimes mutters that your mom married down.
You worry he'll hate Ryan, when you already like him so much, depend on him and have only known him for two days. Your mom wants your dad to find Ryan's mother. You know this, mostly because you stayed up late with Ryan in the pool house, and by the time you went back to your bedroom -- way past midnight -- your parents' bedroom light was on. And you heard them.
You really don't want him to leave.
Now, well, it's just a matter of letting your mom know that. Hmm. You're pretty sure you can convince her. Then again, you never managed to talk her into buying you a puppy. You chuckle, feeling something weird inside you. And when you stop to think about it as you brush your hair and figured you'll shower later today because you really want to go downstairs and make sure Ryan's actually there, you realize you're happy.
You rush down the stairs and through the living room. And yet, you pause at the threshold, watching Ryan reaching for the coffee maker, as if afraid it might bite him -- or your mom might get mad. You can't help but smile and lean against the side, watching him a minute more.
Ryan pulls open one of the cupboard doors, then the other, and finally finds a mug to pour himself a cup of coffee. You smile and something inside you uncoils and dies -- is born?
"He's nice."
You look over your shoulder, and Murray is standing right behind you, looking over your shoulder at Ryan. You turn around, and nod.
"He is," you think you say, maybe mutter under your breath. You want to be very quiet, so Ryan doesn't notice you're here, doesn't see you watching him.
"He's here now," Murray says with a bit of a sigh, and you smile at the way Ryan runs one hand through his dark blond hair, and instead of settling down, it seems to stand up even more. You smile at Ryan and can't seem to stop. "Goodie."
You nod, and Murray's right, because Ryan is nice and he's here now, and he's everything you've ever wanted and never got until now.
You look at Ryan and don't quite notice the way Molly and Christopher appear, both flanking Murray behind you.
You look at Ryan and Ryan turns to look at you over his shoulder, and you smile at him and he meets your smile and everything is right in the world.
You don't look behind you, at them, watching you watching Ryan. You miss the look they give one another, the one they give Ryan.
You have no way to know that they, in tandem, are thinking, we won't lose him.
The space between dream and reality (4/4)