Part one, chapter one

How hurtful it can be to deny one's true self and live a life of lies just to appease others."
― June Ahern

Compared with how it used to be, I would say my life has become quite dull. So, occasionally, while I'm alone in my office, arms propped up on my desk as my elbows dig into the wood, I start to reminisce. I start to remember my time in high school, mainly, my last year. Now, all the business with the trades are long gone, and the very thought of them are tossed behind my back like a candy wrapper.

That being said, I still long to return to some of some of those moments, maybe out of nostalgia, maybe I want to change some of the stupid choices I made back then. Either way, I find myself drifting back into the part of my brain which harbours the memories, and smiling lightly, at even the most morbid of the situations I had found myself in.

I'm nobody special, and my life is even less so. Time ticks slowly on for me, just as it does for you, and everybody around you, and just like you, the ticking of the clock is deafening to me. So, let us procrastinate together, I'll tell you my story, as you waste some of your own.

If I had to choose where to start, which I do, I would say this is a pretty good place to begin. It involves myself, walking around the vast corridors of my old high school, with a pile of folders stacked high in my arms and tucked under my chin so that they could be stable. The tiles that covered the walls of the clogged hallway were a bright, sparkling white, polished to a point that you could see around every corner, as if they were mirrors.

Some of the students thought that was so teachers could see you around the corner, if you had attempted to bunk off you're classes. The truth, I'm sure, is that the school cleaner had a lot of time on his hands. Anyway, so I was trying to balance the folders in my arms when I look in front of me, and see the reflection of two girls outside the classroom I had been heading to.

At first I just grumbled in annoyance, before leaning onto the wall that was just to my right, in attempt of giving my arms the slightest rest. As I didn't have anything better to do, as I stood there I let myself drift into the conversation between the girls.

"Did you hear?" one of them asks, her head slightly tilted to the side "Alfred f. Jones did a trade,"

The way she had said it made it sound like top secret information, in a sort of stage whisper, covering her pink painted lips with four of her fingers to that nobody could read her lips. The way she held her self was somewhat snobbish, and her friends reaction to the news did not help bring her ego down. "ehhh?" the other had replied, casting her head back slightly as if she didn't believe it for a moment "You're kidding me, right? Golden boy?"

The first girl smirked in triumph "no, no seriously! His mom had cancer remember?" she had raised her voice to say that, probably believing it would help get her point across- it didn't. To anybody passing by, and myself, it was just plain shocking how the other had not known about the biggest news at the school around that time. She twists her voice into a sympathy clad tone, while fidgeting with the slight muck under her manicured nails "She's really young too, so he traded a half of it for her... heroic, as always, right?"

"Yeah, I guess that is super Alfred like... but a half? Is that even legal?"

And that's when I step in, finally losing patience with their ignorance. Being the student council president- and the friend of Gilbert- I had been hearing the same thing over and over. The same question, 'is 50% even legal?' and I suppose it was due to the lack of information schools give their pupils about trades, but being from the background I was, at the time I thought it was all common knowledge.

Stepping forward from the corner I leant on, I gain their attention by saying "It is." With my usual serious glare. They look at me bemused, un aware I had been listening into their conversation, and so, after an irritated huff I carry on "it's legal to trade up to 80% of your mental health," I explain "it's not a big deal, either, nothing more than an obvious rumour, that holds no point in talking about it."

Impatiently, I push past the two girls before they reply, not being bothered to retaliate, biting the inside of my cheek. I enter the room, which was slightly chilly due to the open window at the side of the teacher's desk. Ignoring the people who already occupied the room, I head over to that very corner, where the teachers paper work was fluttering under the weight of staplers and whole punchers. After tossing the stack of files onto the floor beside the desk, I head towards my own, falling back lazily onto the hard plastic chair which had been vaguely positioned in front of it. Though it doesn't sooth the ache of my mussels, it does help me to relax ever so slightly.

For the following days, I found myself quelling any gossip about Alfred that anyone dared to speak, telling myself how much their ignorance got on my nerves. Occasionally, I saw the boy himself pass me in the halls, he always looked happy, a content smile on his face, like he didn't hear the whispers around him. I wondered if he did, I had even begun to convince myself he didn't until that time in the classroom, in the middle of dinner time when I had nothing else to do.

It had been a cloudy day, and I think at the time there was a slight patter of rain at the window beside me. Because of it, the school had been extra cramped with students trying to find something to do. The air was moist and sticky, I had even discarded my blazer out of the discomfort.

I had cast a sly eye over to my right, to see seven or so teenagers beside me, who had been ignorant to my presence –not that I wanted them to acknowledge me- and the sight hadn't surprised me much. You must have known people like them at your school, the group with the aura of blue bloods, who don't give you the time of day unless you were utterly flawless. It never really bothered me though, so I can't complain about them as much as I disliked their very existence.

What caught my attention, though, was the fact they were talking about Alfred, much like the girls out in the hallway, but the difference here being that the golden boy was actually sat with them, laughing along with their petty jabs about the subject. After listening in for a moment or two, I decided I was not interested in what they were doing; and so looked out the window beside me, but kept my ears tuned in, just in case anything they said spiked my interest.

"So, what?" a boy smirked, his leg perched on the desk he was using as a seat, "You bat shit crazy now al?" The people around him laughed in chorus. I'm pretty sure I could hear Alfred laughing too, as it was very distinguished compared to the rest of their giggles. Sadder, uncertain, almost pathetic.

Before I had time to ponder over this, a girl perked up , her voice was nasal and high, incredibly annoying "yeah, half is so much," her comment was stupid, in consequential, but the people rung around her acted like it was a life changing sentence, nodding a long. A moment later and everybody was discussing among their selves what they thought of the situation, and throwing stupid jokes out like they were nothing.

"Yeah... yeah something like that…" Alfred replied, though his voice was drowned out by the stupid laughter of his peers.

The view outside the window beside my desk was, to a certain point, my favourite thing about school at that time. The sky had always seemed to be tinted amber as if someone had melted gold and stirred it into the sky with a wooden spoon, until the colours began to blur. There were no buildings, as the school was on the edge of town, but instead it was a view of farmlands. As always, I had been trying to absorb myself into the sight, even if tuned in to the conversation beside me, but I had become un nerved, fidgety.

That's why I ended up burying my mouth into the palm of my hand, so that the shaky voice was somewhat lost but still audible, as I said "I-it shouldn't matter whether or not he did a trade. W-why don't you m-mature a little,"

Though my eyes were in the opposite direction, it was obvious all of the gazes of the kings and queens had fell on me, the stupid little beggar who had come to challenge their rule. It was rare, even for me, for anyone to speak up about the people inside the circle. If this had been a different time, a different topic, they would have just told me to go piss of back to England or some crap like that, but now the room had fallen silent, and it was like I had been completely secluded.

Finally someone spoke up, it was same boy as before "the fucks it got to do with you?" it was practically spat in my direction, I felt sorry for those seated in front of him, as they would have received a face full of saliva.

Putting on a brave face I looked back at the group, and gulped "Actually, my father doctors Alfred's mother in her ill state, and I know for a fact-" a little white lie on my behalf- "that no such trade occurred, now stop being such brats, would you kindly?"

My father did indeed doctor Miss Jones, but in no way would I have received information like that. The only reason I know of this is because I regularly visit my father at work, and apparently so does Alfred, we often ran into each other, although I don't know if he ever realised it was me.

The whole group groaned in annoyance, it had been a Monday and I doubt any of them could have been bothered with an argument "let's go, leave the pissy little brit to his own," a new voice spoke, I smiled at him as if he just paid me a compliment, though it was hardly an insult either.

They all got up and headed to the door together, bar one, Alfred himself. Who just stood, staring down at me in complete silence. My first instinct had been look away, waiting for him to leave, but his eyes still stuck on me, and I realised I had struck a chord I may not have meant to.

"so your dad takes care of my mom, huh?" he finally asks, his voice un believing. I realise now why he was as confused as he was, but at that very moment in time I had been on edge and very quick thinking.

And so, I reply "Y-yes, he indeed does… well, he did, but I think his boss re arranged the shifts,"

"well, thanks, but you didn't have to do that… Arthur, " it is a quick reply, in a throw away style "it's not like they were bothering me,"

Something had unnerved me about the way he stood, his arms were drooped down, like a rag dolls, and his legs stiff as plastic. The way he spoke my name, too, had been so unfamiliar to me, like he was getting used to the way it flicked off his tongue. I ignored all this though, stupidly, and replied with a slightly sour face "sorry for sticking up for you, then,"

"why did you stick up for me, though?"

I shrug, losing interest "Why wouldn't I?"

The very idea of Alfred going through a trade had been so alien to me. I knew well that he loved his mother, to the point that he definitely would have done anything to allow her to live on and on. That wasn't it. I just couldn't imagine the boy without the walls he had built around him since the beginning of high school, the walls that it so he didn't talk to me anymore, the barrier of pride, you could say.

The king of the school, lacking sanity? It wasn't very believable to me, because I didn't allow it to be.

Anyhow, I suppose you don't know much about the trades and such. They do, after all only tell you the basics in high school, so I will explain it in the slightest bit more detail.

If an individual is lacking in their life source, by this I mean the reactants in a person's body which provide white blood cells and the very building blocks of flesh and muscle, they become ill. Sometimes, the body is not efficient enough to provide enough of this; it becomes possible that the illness will be terminal. Well, quite a while back- around the 2030's, I would say- I psychologist found that the two products that control health and sanity are similar in form.

To stem off from that, it became clear that the form of mental health in one person was compatible to the life source of people close to them. That basically means, we became able to give people life at the cost of our own sanity. Of course there's a whole system in this, to take place in a trade, you need to have a true reason. This only includes health, psychological or religious reasons. As well as this, under twelve's may not be subjected to any form of trade.

My father- well, foster father- worked at a hospital, as previously mentioned, and he took care of people such as mrs Jones, who are in need of, are going through, or are recovering from a trade. I always found that job quite admirable, even with my past- which, some could say was dark.

I decided, that night, to ask him about Alfred, this was when I was visiting him at his break time, at the hospital, although, he wasn't really the most helpful.

"I am not allowed to tell you who has, or who hasn't been in a trade," he had said, his pearly cup full of a bitter liquid- coffee, horrible stuff it is- perched just under his lip. I groan, throwing myself back onto the sofa, asking myself why I had even thought asking my father would help, when he carried on "hang on. You're friends with Alfred again?"

My eyebrows furrow as I look up at him blankly for a moment, before realising what he meant and huffing, my knuckle held my heavy head up as I spoke "You say that like you've met him, no, we just spoke today, and there's a rumour going around school that he did a trade for his mother,"

"yeah, I know, but from what you told me of the boy I find it quite devastating that you aren't friends anymore," he takes a sip of the putrid muddy liquid "you should have seen the look on your face when you used to talk to him, to me it seemed like you looked up to him,"

I scowl into my hand "psh. Whatever. He's not the same person he was when we were kids,"

"I'm sure."

He wasn't lying; Alfred and I did had been friends in the past. Though, he had never met him, like I said. My father and mother actually fostered me two years previous to the time all this had been happening, so any information he got about my and Alfred's passed friendship was what he had read out of my diary. Yeah, he had been that type of dad.

We haven't been friends since we were twelve, which was the first year of high school. We had drifted away from each other due to a difference in priorities Alfred had taken an interest in the popular kids, wanting as many people to like him as possible, where as I was desperate to get straight A's, anybody who has been to high school knows that people with those sort of interests don't always make the best of friends. Because on my side, I was cooped up in my room surrounded my textbooks, and on Alfred's side, he was surrounded by… well, assholes, who called themselves friends.

We parted slowly, there wasn't a big argument or anything like that. Because of this, it was a secret, of sorts, that Alfred and I had even known each other in the first place.

It would be clear to onlookers how I still cared about the boy, still thought of him as a friend, even. To me, though, I felt as if we were strangers in each other's eyes, mainly because I thought that was how he viewed me at the time.

Little did I know how wrong I was.

"hey Arthur!"

I had flinched, visibly. On my way home, while the swollen abyss of night had wrapped around me, I had become absorbed in my own thoughts until the shout of my own name shook me slightly. I stopped walking, stiffly, and slowly located where the voice had come from. My discovery from this, was that behind me stood a hyperactive American, waving like an idiot.

It didn't really comprehend well in my brain, seen as I was tired from the day, and very cold, hunching my shoulders up so the choler of my coat reached high in attempt to guard my ears. I'm not sure if it's just me who does this, but when I'm alone with nothing but the whistle of the wind and the chill it leaves on my skin, I like to drift off into my fantasy land. This land, for me, is full of people who adore me, tea waterfalls...unicorns. And I still do this now, since it calms me, as well as refreshing my mind and will power, just enough for me to write that next piece of paper work.

Still in my dream land, for a clumsy moment or two, I forgot we were no longer as close as we had been four years ago, and my reply was "hey Alfie-"followed by a harsh realisation, that we were not on nick name basis anymore, and this was visually shown by the massive cringe at the use of his nick name, and I attempted to redeem myself "-fred. Hello Alfred, how are you?"

He seems to ignore my slip up (thank the lord) and the strole he had morphed into a jog, in attempt to catch up with me "why ya out so late?" he looks around absent minded "in the hospital car park, no less,"

I sniff, the cold making my nose run slightly, and the air smelt like burnt frost "Like I said earlier, my dad works at the hospital," I inform the him, returning to my walk.

He follows along, pulling a confused expression as he tried to comprehend something. When he gives up, he says "I was pretty sure he was a priest…" the comment trails off into the silence. My eyebrows furrow, as I look back at him momentarily.

Realising my mistake, I curse my stupidity silently, and ponder over a way of explaining everything that had happened while the boy had been away.

"… urm… yeah, he was, but this is…. A different dad?" I respond sounding a lot more confused than he did, forming the sentences in a way that seemed simple in my head, but when spoken out loud sounded silly and irrelevant "I was fostered..."

I remember being on the brink of hugging the boy out of pure joy. It sounds foolish, I know, but If it was you who had convinced you're self your childhood friend had become blind to you, wouldn't you feel the same when proven otherwise? This little thrill, a somewhat guilty pleasure, had surprised me. I had not realised how much his absence from my side had actually affected me.

Which is why when he had began saying "Why? I remember that he was an asshole but-" I cut him off abruptly, without even comprehending his words, because I wanted to know if his remembrance went as far as forgotten friendship.

"is it true?" was my question, my attempt to see if he trusted me.

"… Arthur," I remember feeling slightly hurt that he didn't call me 'Artie;' like he used to. It was unusual, because I used to whack him over the head whenever he called me by a name other than Arthur. "… It's been a while hasn't it? Shall we really go straight into that? Look, I'll walk you home,"

An aggravated sigh lodges in my throat "I live nowhere near you anymore, two miles in the other direction, actually," I was trying to maintain eye contact through the awkwardness, even though it felt like a forced chore.

"Oh…but, I can still walk you,"

I raised an eyebrow, the corner of my mouth twitching up into what resembled an amused smirk "It would be 11 o'clock when you get back, or around that time at the very least, and I don't want to find myself responsible for you getting murdered," though meant as a joke, it still harboured some truth. I pause, my words sounding unfinished, before I carry on matter-of-factly "it has been a while, though, we should catch up sometime,"

He nods, that stupid… perfect grin spreading across his face in an instant, before exclaiming "definitely! How about tomorrow after school? Cause, I suppose I have to repay you for sticking up for me today," his sentence breaks "Even if I didn't need it- which I definitely didn't- I'll buy you something as a thank you ... do you like coffee?"

I chuckle slightly and shake my head, a little tiny bit of warmth filling my stomach, fighting against the freeze around me "No, it's absolutely horrible... but I am a fan of tea, I must say,"

"Psh," he grunts playfully "Coffee is the beverage of gods! And here I was, thinking you were the smart one," his arms cross, as if to make his point seem even stronger.

"Sorry to say, I disagree quite strongly there,"

"Whatever, I'll buy you tea then, are you up for it or what?"

I blink "yes, I guess so, I have nothing better to do,"

"Good, I'll see you then," and with a nod of goodbye, he was gone

It's stupid how little moments like that can shoot you with nostalgia, and make you bleed the memories you want to return to. It's even worse to think how I'd never really noticed, back then, how these little encounters shaped my life, and created this blur whenever I thought of my future, distorted the clarity of what I thought I wanted, or even needed.