Chapter 12 - What he has
Jon realized too late into the night that he had never actually made dinner for himself or for Shawn. He hadn't heard from the kid in hours, so he assumed he wasn't hungry. Jon knew he himself wasn't. He thought maybe he should try to eat something anyway, since he hadn't really had lunch, but the thought made his stomach turn.
He told himself he would go up to his room and read for a little while before bed, but he found he couldn't focus on what he was reading, any more than he could remember anything that had been on TV that evening. It was around 11:45 that he finally switched off the lamp and tried to sleep.
And tossed and turned.
It was so hard to even think about how to process what had happened tonight. To begin with, Jon had done absolutely everything he could do to make sure the day was perfect for Shawn, and in the end, nothing he had done mattered. Shawn would always look back on his 16th birthday and remember how it had ended—or rather, how it hadn't ended.
It was hard to consider how to think about Chet, too. The man was playing with his son's emotions, jerking him around, coming and going. But Shawn wanted him. Needed him. For that alone, Jon would have given absolutely anything to help him to get it together for his child. He was rooting for the man like he had never rooted for anyone.
He was just running out of faith that Chet even cared. It was a terrible way to be thinking about him, and Jon struggled to keep it all straight in his own mind. He wanted to give Chet everything; he also wanted to beat the living daylights out of him for what he had done to Shawn.
Jo wished he could talk to Alan about it, but he suspected this wasn't something Alan would have any idea what to do with. The Matthews were experienced parents, but they had never fostered.
One way or another, Jon knew that he wouldn't be sleeping tonight. He took a deep breath and lay back in the darkness, resigning himself to simply wait until morning.
By 1 AM, he couldn't take it anymore. He pulled himself out of bed. He could put on the TV or fold laundry or something—he knew from experience that the ceiling provided enough of a barrier that Shawn wouldn't hear much from his room.
He did have to pass by the guest room on the way down the hall, though. He could see the lights were on, but that wasn't unusual. Shawn slept in full lighting. But he could also hear something going on in Shawn's room, and he stepped closer to listen.
His heart sank. The kid was crying.
For a moment, he stood, frozen. For all his memories of being 16, he couldn't figure out what he would have wanted at that age if he were in the same situation. If his dad hadn't shown up for his 16th birthday. Honestly, he might have been happier—Jon's dad wasn't exactly the warmest. But if he had been crying in the middle of the night, would he have wanted someone to overhear? To talk to him? No, he supposed he wouldn't want anyone to know. But if someone did know...
Jon didn't know what he would have wanted. Not that Shawn was guaranteed to want the same thing. And, perhaps on a more relevant note, could Jon even stand to stay away when the kid was so upset?
He had to do something. He couldn't just leave the kid to cry alone.
But what? He had no idea what to say. No idea what to do. He could make things worse instead of better.
Jon peaked back at the clock radio in his own room; it was 1:09. He couldn't exactly call anyone for help, not without getting his head torn off.
… Let them tear his head off. Shawn needed help. Jon didn't know how to give it. He needed to call someone.
He grabbed the phone and hung it up again three times without dialing before working up the courage to actually place the call. Yes, the Matthews had three kids at home, all of whom should be fast asleep, but tomorrow was Sunday. Even if they went to church, which he wasn't sure about, he was pretty sure it didn't start as early as school.
A groggy voice answered after the fourth ring. "Hello?"
"I'm so sorry to bother you, Alan," Jon said.
"I take it there's an emergency?"
"Shawn's crying."
A long pause, complete with a bit of shuffling on the other end. "Do you know why?"
"His dad didn't show up for his visit."
"Wasn't it his birthday?"
"Yeah."
"Poor kid. You can't calm him down?"
"I… I haven't tried. I don't know what to do, Alan."
"Well, has he said anything?"
"I just overheard him from the hallway. I have no idea what to say."
"Okay, it's gonna be okay." There was a new note of sympathy in his tone. "Now, what you're going to do is, you're going to go in there. If he's fallen asleep by now, you don't need to bring anything up in the morning, let him come to you if he wants to. But if he's still crying, just go sit on the edge of his bed and put a hand on him."
"Just that?"
"Well, start with that. You don't need to say anything. Just let him know you're there."
"And that'll help?"
"It helps Cory and Morgan when they're hurting. It always helped Eric."
Jon winced, looking toward the stairs. "I don't know, Alan. I'm not the one he needs."
"Yes, you are. One way or another, he doesn't want to feel alone."
"I don't know if he wants me to… hug him or anything like that."
"Shawn responds pretty well to touch. Better than Cory does, actually."
Jon shifted his weight. "All right. I'm gonna go talk to him. So sorry to bother you in the middle of the night, it won't happen again."
"I appreciate that, Jon, but if you need me, I hope you call. No matter what time it is. You're not the only one who loves that boy."
"Thanks, Alan." Jon hung up the phone, took a deep breath, and went over to the stairs, beginning the climb.
From the hallway just outside Shawn's room, he could hear the quiet weeping. It took him another moment to convince himself to open the door and step inside.
His eyes took a moment to adjust to the bright lighting; he had never understood how Shawn could sleep better like this. Right now, of course, he wasn't sleeping at all. He was buried under the covers, and his head under the pillow.
Jon made sure to make his footsteps loud enough that Shawn could hear them, so he wouldn't startle the kid. Slowly, he sat down on the edge of the bed. The only part of him that was uncovered was part of his arm, which was gripping the pillow over his head, so Jon put his hand over the covers, where Shawn's back was.
The quiet sobs rose, but Shawn's grip on his pillow loosened.
Jon started to worry he was going to suffocate himself. He took the pillow away, and he moved his hand up to the back of Shawn's neck instead.
He didn't know what to say. So he didn't say anything. He just stayed. It was as if he was soaking in the child's pain as he sat with him, because after a few minutes, he felt like crying himself. He just didn't know if he was helping Shawn to feel any better in the process.
Jon didn't know how long it had been when the kid said something.
He couldn't hear what the words had been. He almost didn't ask Shawn to repeat them. But he also wanted to be there to listen, so… "Shawn?"
He spoke clearer this time, although his voice kept cracking. "What did I do?"
Jon could feel his heart shattering within him. "Nothing," he said. "You did nothing wrong, do you hear me?"
"Then why… Why…" Shawn curled in on himself, facing away from Jon, turning to the side and pulling his knees in.
The covers had slipped partway as he shifted, so Jon moved his hand back to Shawn's back and stroked in gentle circles. "It's not your fault," he whispered. "You understand, Hunter? It's not your fault."
Shawn stopped trying to speak then. He buried his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes and cheeks. His shoulders still shook.
Jon didn't say anything more. There was nothing more to say. If the kid wanted to talk about anything else, he could, but Jon wasn't going to be able to convince him his father's issues weren't his fault.
Eyes fully adjusted to the light, Jon instead focused his energy on looking over the kid. He was a mess. He was still wearing the same clothes from the day before, although his shirts were twisted awkwardly around his body, the top one coming up halfway. His hair was sweaty and matted, and his body felt too warm. His face was bright red, skin blotchy, and there were little red crescent marks all over his forearms, like he'd been digging his fingernails into his skin. And his cries weren't just desperate. They sounded angry. Jon would have been angry, too, but Shawn had never seemed angry at his father. He had yelled at Jon early on, but his accusations contradicted each other, never quite seeming to make sense.
It occurred to him now, what should have struck him earlier. The kid may have been taking his anger out on Jon, but he was never angry at Jon, and he wasn't angry at Chet or Virna, either. He was only angry with himself. He really believed all of this was his own fault.
Jon shifted himself in closer, sitting fully on the bed with his back against the headboard. He wanted to tell the kid it wasn't his job to appease his dad. He wanted to tell him he loved him. He wanted to promise he would make things better, that he would take care of Shawn, that he wouldn't leave. He wanted to tell Shawn how proud he was, of every little bit of who Shawn was growing up to be.
But he couldn't find the words for any of it. And some of it, he was concerned about saying—he was sure he would make things worse. So he just stayed.
Slowly, little by little, Shawn's cries quieted. Jon didn't go anywhere. He wanted to know that the kid was asleep before he left.
It had been silent in the room for a few minutes when Shawn shifted positions again. He rolled over onto his other side, so his face was inches from the side of Jon's leg.
Jon sighed, reaching over to grab Shawn's pillow and tucking it under his head. He wanted to fix the blankets, but he was sitting on them; he got up to adjust them.
Shawn's hand shot out, grabbing Jon's arm. His swollen, bloodshot eyes met Jon's.
"I'm not going anywhere, Hunter," Jon whispered. "I'm staying."
Shawn slowly let out his breath, and he relaxed back onto the pillow. Jon tucked a blanket in around him, and he sat back down on the bed, reaching a hand around to place it on the kid's back once again, over the covers
He stayed there for a long time. Long enough that Shawn's breathing evened out, and he was quietly snoring.
Only then did Jon begin to speak. Under his breath, so there was no way he would wake the kid up. "You wouldn't believe me," he whispered, "but you're a good kid. I feel sorry for your dad, he has no idea what he's missing."
Slowly, he took his hand away. Shawn didn't stir.
"Love you so much, Hunter."
He shifted himself up off the bed as silently as he could. No reaction.
Jon let his breath out, and he slipped out into the hall, softly closing the door behind him. He looked back toward the room, at the light shining from under the door, and only then did he allow his head to fall, tears stinging his own eyes.