It was late by the time Ronan climbed up to where K lay on the grass. Ronan was surprised the other boy had hung around this long. He couldn't imagine him being the sort to wait on well-maybe's.
"Where ya been, Princess?" he said as he exhaled a lungful of bitter smoke. "I called you hours ago."
"I turned my phone off, asshole. I was in church."
Kavinsky snorted. "Christ, Lynch, the fuck you go back there for? You can't tell me you believe in that bullshit."
"And you don't?" Ronan replied, a dangerous edge to his voice. "After everything you've seen and done, you don't believe there's something bigger than yourself?"
"Nah, man, take it easy. I mean, why do you go to that dank little building when you can walk up there?" He cast a hand up to the sky.
"I go," Ronan said softly, "because it is the one place where I know exactly what I am."
"And what's that?"
"A sinner, K, a common sinner."
Kavinsky stubbed out the cigarette on his thigh, sucking in a mouthful of cold night air as the pain grounded him. "And what's so good about that?" he asked, sitting up and retrieving a plastic baggie from his pocket, "When you can be a god?"
"Life isn't just sex and booze and cars."
"Mine is."
It's quiet on the hill and for a while the creatures under Ronan's skin pause their maddening quest to tear him apart from the inside.
"Should we try to roll a cross joint? You know because it's Good Friday. For Jesus."
Ronan lets out a huff of breath. "We're gonna burn, K."
"When I die, fuck it, I wanna go to hell. We're POS's anyway." His voice started angry and aggressive but faded into something sad, empty. Ronan felt something twist in his gut and he pinched his lips together, willing the feeling away.
Help, I'm starting to care. He wanted to say. Instead he took the bag from K, fishing neon pills out and offered some to the Bulgarian. "Let's dream." Reality hurts. So does this. But in a different way. A way that seemed a little more manageable. Ronan didn't quite understand it. He had stopped trying a while ago.
Next Sunday though he'd be at church, praying for sins to ugly to speak aloud. And when God didn't answer, he'd be next to Kavinsky. The only other person in his world who knew what desperation for the void felt like. But one thing was certain. They would burn. But they would burn together. Could you blame them for clinging to each other?