Chapter Twenty-Five

By the time we reach my house, the dashboard clock reads that it's almost three in the morning.

As of right now, the entire construct of time is nothing but an alien concept to me. It doesn't feel like hours have passed since I had seen Garth looking like absolute shit. In fact, realistically, it felt as if only a few minutes had passed. Everything in this night was a whirlwind, constantly moving and never slowing down to allow me to catch my breath.

Nothing in my head could keep time, because it felt like we were in our own private universe; one where time moved more slowly, and didn't feel the need to address itself by the setting of the moon and the rising of the sun. In some way, we were kind of stuck here. Knowing that another day would await us just made me want to stop the clocks. Willing time to stop on such a whim would never be enough, but it never hurt to try.

The entire car-ride has been filled with the small-talk that would usually follow two friends who were meeting up after years of separation. We talked about the pointless stuff, and the silly stuff, and the stuff that made us smile, because right now we needed that. Both of us needed some sort of relief, a reprieve from the tragedy of reality.

A lack of personal conversation had made our journey feel less stressful. It felt light under the weight of our impending implosion. The whole point was to try and wean off the fact that neither of us were truly happy. At least that's how it felt without him next to me. Because as much as I try to feign being happy, there's something about having a boy you can have a conversation with being next to you, smiling, and laughing like his face doesn't hurt from every emotion he bears.

By the end of it, it feels like we've crammed an entire friendship into a single hour-long car journey. I know him better now. Except I don't. The superficial shit is something that's a refreshing change of pace to me.

God knows neither of us want to talk about anything real.

But as we sit silent in the car, looking out at my house at the end of the junction, we both know that there's something that must come from this. Neither of us can just pretend any more. Something has forced us together in this moment, and I feel scared for the first time in a long time.

"You missed the turn in for my house," Garth said, a short joking tone in his voice. I could tell that he was just as uncomfortable as me in this moment.

"I know," I replied, a little too sharply.

Garth turned to face me, before turning back at my house. "I don't mind going back."

I could tell that he was lying just to prevent the situation getting worse. It came again like a wave of anger, and I could only contain myself by biting my lip raw. I'm positive I felt the tinny taste of blood hit my tongue, bitterness making me scrunch my face.

The fact that he would lie to spare my feelings just made me more pissed at myself than it did make me pissed at him.

"You're not going home tonight." The response was pretty cut and dry. It was a warning to Garth. As much as I wanted to be there for him, there was no way I could be there for him in private. What happened in the four walls of his home was never going to be down to me. He had to make the decision on whether he wanted to run, or fight back.

I would have supported him either way.

"Xavier..."

My eyes locked fiercely with his. "Do you want my help or not Garth?"

He mulled the thought over in his head. After a moment, he dropped his head and sighed in a defeated fashion.

Moving in his seat slightly, he winced, drawing air through his teeth at the sheer thought of having to move much further. I didn't care what he chose; I knew he was in no position to be bargaining with me.

"Are you sure about this?"

"No," was what I wanted to say. It would have been the truth. But if I turned my back on him now, then he'd just crawl up into his head and disappear again. Instead, I found myself rolling my eyes at him disdainfully.

"I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't."

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The house was quiet, as you would have probably expected at three a.m. on a Saturday morning.

Except my home was not like most homes. Very rarely had I came home this late, in fact I think this might have been the latest I had ever returned home. Usually when I came back from my midnight rides, the illuminant screen of the television would faintly light the living-room in its afterglow, with the sounds being soft enough to fade into muffled echoes. And there my dad would be, sat in the same couch that he used to lay on with my mother, an almost glassy look in his eyes. The smell of cigarette smoke would occasionally permeate the air.

But there was no putrid stench of burning ash. There was no silhouette of a broken man sitting limply in front of a dim glowing screen. Muffled echoes were replaced instead with the hypnotic drawls of a tick-tock clock that sat firmly in the hallway.

The darkness was so unfamiliar to me that I had to reach back and grab Garth's hand just to lead him through the house. Fortunately, the streetlamps outside provided enough ambient glow to allow us to navigate through the hall and up the stairs. I turned back to Garth a few times, pressing my finger to my lips every time he made some sort of pained groan.

I as almost expecting to see my dad at the top of the steps, but when no sudden heavy footprints came, I whisked the other boy into my room, hoping not to make too much noise.

Once inside, I turned on the bedside lamp. Suddenly the room felt more crowded, like the introduction of light was enough to upset the natural balance of the room.

He stood at the edges of the room, his eyes flickering all over the place as if to piece me together from how my room looked. To be honest I'd be surprised if he could manage that with a room that looked more like something a guest might stay in. A hand rubbed up and down his arm, as if just now noticing the absence of warmth.

And that's when I noticed it. His face was no longer this composed façade that was holding everything together. His one good eye seemed glassy and damp, whilst his whole body shook slightly.

"Why are you crying," I spoke, not really caring who heard me right now.

He didn't answer.

My feet moved me across the room, so that I stood in front of him. This was now not my mind moving. It was something else that compelled me. It was the thing that made me want to know Garth and that drew us together.

Reaching out, I wiped a tear away with my thumb, the rest of my hand taking residence on his cheek.

"Please don't cry."

There were so many things about Garth Vega that confused me, but the thing that confused me most of all was how he was drawn to me, and how I was so drawn to him. And how in all of our unconscious drifting, our lives continued to collide. But there was a solitary thing I knew.

He was special to me in a way that I'd yet to figure out for myself.