Archipelago
By Radishface
Chapter One: Pangaea
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There must have been one point where he had been genuinely happy. But throughout his childhood, it had been misery throughout and throughout, moments of escape peppered with moments of glee at having escaped, only to be drawn in again to the world that he called—family. If it could be called that.
Axel had a storybook image of what a family should be: dinner around the dinner table, mom in apron, making dinner, dad at a desk job, coming home through the front door—maybe even the other way around. Perhaps he was the one who screwed it up.
Older brother was the brilliant one in the family. Had enough guts to get out, too. He never came home much, never kept in touch at all. Axel remembered when he was just a kid, struggling through middle school, not struggling so much in the academic aspect but just—struggling, in general—his brother cruised on through high school, left home with a full scholarship to a prestigious university, and they'd never heard from him again.
As in all dysfunctional families, his father was an alcoholic and his mother was fragile. Axel couldn't imagine what possible angst his father would have to drink away—on the good days, the days of escape—his father would come home from the quarry with some hilarious story to tell, and they would— like a real family—sit around the dinner table and laugh over stupid, G-rated things. Most of the time, though, he came home in a bad mood, in a furious temper, drunk, smelling like beer and whiskey and whatever tequila they had in stock at the bar that night and would knock things over and yell at mother, for their situation, for letting Lex go off to college instead of take over his position at the quarry, for letting all these things happen because she didn't have a will of her own. Axel watched all of this in morbid fascination, on occasion involving himself in their household drama. Perhaps it was good that they didn't have much furniture; less things to break.
His respite from it all was in the friends he had at school. He talked and laughed loudly, obnoxiously, at school, and everybody thought he was kind of an asshole but still a likeable one. Axel never said anything he didn't mean.
He came home one day after school to find his house up in flames, firemen trying to extinguish the fire from the woodwork, policemen trying to calm the neighbors. Axel watched it with something akin to indifference, and asked his next-door neighbor, a dumpy middle-aged woman, what had happened.
Oh, there were screams, and shouts, she blubbered, next thing I knew there was this horrible crash and then the house went up in smoke
The firemen brought out two charred bodies. Axel closed his eyes.
A gas pipe burst. We guess somebody was smoking a cigarette and that's what set everything off. Are these your parents, son?
Axel opened his eyes, and nodded mutely. Funny that the man should call him son, especially as it wasn't his title to keep any longer.
We'll have somebody come over immediately and take you to the youth center.
Axel hung around the smoldering ruins of his house for a while, debating whether to venture in and salvage some of his stuff. He decided against it.
That night, he stayed over at a friend's house. His friend's parents were appropriately sympathetic to his plight. He didn't feel like talking much. But he woke up in the middle of the night with tears streaming down his cheeks and mucus in his nose and his friend asking him, awkwardly, if he would like a glass of water or something. They were both guys, they didn't know jack about comforting shit. Axel rolled over and told him to fuck off.
The next morning, the brother he hadn't seen for two years came to collect him. He came to collect Axel like he came to collect the will. Their parents' will had left both of them half of everything, not that there was much to give away; his brother claimed him, everything in the will, and took Axel off to boarding school. It wasn't half bad.
When his roommate asked him about his background (of course he would, it was inevitable that roommates would eventually have these sort of heart-to-heart talks), he told him without a thought. His classmate thought he was an interesting kind of guy—how could he talk so dispassionately about his family members? Oh, well, Axel surmised, maybe it was because they were pretty dispassionate about him. Hm, his roommate said, and seemed to mull it over for a little bit. Then he leaned in and put his arm around Axel's shoulder, and they sat like that for a while, watching the lunch crowds go by.
Was he angry about how he had been treated in the past? If he was, now wasn't the time to think about it. Contrary to his perpetually sullen look, Axel was actually one of the brightest students in school. He didn't know where his brains came from—his mother had certainly never displayed any spark of wit, and if his father had any kind of sense in him, it had all been smothered under the alcohol. He wondered if he were actually somebody else's kid—if his dad wasn't actually his dad—if his mother had slept around with some other man and had him. If that were really the case—he would have to hand it over to his mother. Sleeping around took irresponsibility, but it also took guts.
Axel had guts. Axel lost his first kiss to a girl in a late-night game of spin-the-bottle, and lost his virginity to an upperclassman when he was being hazed for a particular club. After that it was boy after boy and girl after girl. Sure, he might do the whole blushing bit, but he was more interested in the sucking and fucking. Axel had a dirty mouth, they said about him, he could talk into your pussy, through your cock, until your ears came off.
Love was a foreign concept.
He went steady with some broad for four months. Nazareth was as cute as a button and just as talkative as Axel was. During the time they were going steady, Axel did not touch another person. He understood the meaning of fidelity just as well as he understood infidelity. They had talked about the meaning of that—of "going steady," of commitment. She came from a good family, a rich background, landed gentry, if you really wanted to get into it. Axel was an orphan with good grades. They got along well, until she cheated on him with another blueblood one weekend at her beach house. Axel promptly dumped her and the two of them never spoke again. He felt something then—he had genuinely liked her, liked her company and her looks, and though he never pretended that it was love, the absence of her led her to believe that he had lost something important to him, whether it was his pride or his dignity or the potential for love.
He stayed in this funk until he smoked his first cigarette.
It had been handed to him with nervous hands. His roommate—the same one that had asked him about his past—had stolen a pack from his mother and had snuck it to school. He and Axel had been sitting on the rooftops of the school, waiting for the bell to ring, and he'd asked Axel if he wanted to see something cool. Axel shrugged, yeah, sure, why not, and the boy took out the carton of cigarettes from his pocket, a lighter from the other.
"Light up," he had said, trying to be confident. The both of them were scared shitless. Axel thought it was a little bit ridiculous. He'd fucked, been fucked, sucked off, been sucked off, had gone the whole nine yards and maybe more. One little cigarette couldn't scare him. It didn't even do justice as a phallic symbol.
He smelled the tobacco burning on the end of the cigarette. His friend lit his own cigarette and the two of them sat looking at each other, daring the other one to take a puff first. They both did it at the same time.
Axel felt something hot go past his mouth, burn the back of his throat. He struggled not to choke. God, it fucking hurt. He puffed again, inhaled harder. His eyes burned, his throat cried out in pain. He clamped the cigarette between his teeth and breathed out slowly through his nose, feeling the burn travel all the way up his sinuses, watching the smoke come out in wispy tendrils.
"Fuck," Axel said, and started laughing. The smoke curling in the air—the sight of that, the feeling that accompanied knowing that Axel himself had done that—made the pain worth it.
His roommate was coughing uncontrollably. "I can't believe—" he wheezed, "—that you are not feeling a fucking thing."
Axel smirked. Let him think he was invincible. "Aw, don't be a pussy. Just try it again."
His friend glared at him, but owned up to the challenge. He lit up another cigarette and puffed it slowly, his eyes growing watery and growing a little red, but he did it without saying anything. Axel finished off his cigarette with relish, not minding the pain as long as he saw the smoke coming out of his mouth. That—that was fucking sexy.
"This is fucking disgusting." His roommate said, flicking his cigarette butt over the roof. Axel watched it spiral down three stories and land somewhere in the school courtyard. "I'm not even gonna lie to you, Axel. I don't know how my mom can put up with such a shitty habit."
"Well." Axel said, plucking the carton of cigarettes from his roommate's hand, "you've got me hooked. I'll be taking these now."
"You can't be serious."
"Serious as all fuckin' hell." Axel winked. "Oh, don't make that face."
"What face?" His roommate grimaced.
"One last one." Axel drew another cig from the carton. "Hand over the lighter."
His roommate dug it out of his pocket, almost angrily. "You'll die, man."
"We're all going to die." Axel said, lighting up. He watched the flame on the lighter wave back and forth. "But we'll all die differently. Me—" Axel breathed in sharply, triumphant at his discovery— "I want to go up in flames."
"With tubes down your throat and oxygen pumped into your lungs?"
"Whatever."
"You don't even have the health insurance for that kind of thing."
"Who the fuck cares?" Axel sucked in the smoke. Feel that burn? Shit, his voice was going to be hoarse tomorrow. He was going to sound like he threw up all night. "I'm dying young."
"Axel." His friend shook his head. "Don't say things like that."
He had tried to make it sound flippant, but his friend was rubbing his hands together, a classic sign of worry. Axel leaned over, put his hand on his friend's shoulder. It tensed under his grip.
"Hey," Axel said, "before you quit smoking altogether,"
the burn, it was fucking amazing
"—let's shotgun it." It was something he'd heard about… something to add to the hazards of smoking—the hazards of societal belligerence.
"Shotgun—" His roommate spluttered, "—what do you—"
Axel closed his lips over his friend's, sealed the space tight between their mouths, and breathed out. His friend compliantly breathed in even as he was shaking—in anger, fear, desperation, what? Axel wanted to laugh again. Fuckfuckfuck, this was great. Flame, meet cigarette. Make smoke.
I'm breathing life into your lungs, you bastard, he thought. You'd better appreciate it.
He flung the barely-smoked cigarette over the roof and stuck his tongue into his friend's mouth. Before the other boy could push him away, he drew back and wiped his mouth off on the back of his sleeve.
"Gotcha." Axel grinned.
"Oh god." His friend choked. "I really did not need that. I can't believe you."
"You took it like a man." Axel patted him on the back. "I'm proud of you. Just try to resist the temptation to kiss me, now that you've gotten a taste of it."
"Axel, you scare me sometimes." Still spluttering, still indignant. Some distant part of Axel thought it was kind of endearing. He looked out at the horizon, the white cumulus clouds and the azure sky and thought about everything that lay beyond what he could see, the things he had never questioned before.
"But it's great to be alive," Axel said. "And we're living now. Don't forget it."
By the time they got back to the room, Axel had developed a headache. He wasn't sure if it was psychosomatic; some manifestation of guilt from committing this final illicit act—he didn't care. He went straight to his room, swallowed two ibuprofen, drank an entire bottle of water, and fell onto the couch. He was aware that his friend followed suit, but was half asleep when he felt his roommate's head drop on his shoulder.
Axel woke, parched and needing to pee; His friend was curled at his side, breathing into his shoulder. His breath was moist, and he snored.
Axel was right, he thought; this isn't new. Living together wasn't new; falling asleep on the couch in front of the television wasn't new. He shouldn't think too much about it.
His roommate opened his eyes, sighed, realized his position, and sat up a little too abruptly. "Hey," he murmured. "I'm hungry."
"Me, too. And I gotta pee."
"Me, too." He sighed again, and rolled onto his back. "Nothing for it, then."
Axel rolled off the couch, and held out his hands to His friend, pulling him up. His friend was wearing his socks, Air Force-issued boxers, and a tee shirt, so he pulled on his heavy coat; it was too cold in the room to wander around looking for a late-night snack. Axel shrugged into his long-sleeved shirt, and they padded out of their room through the winding hallway and into the kitchen. His friend made them a sandwich of leftover bread spread with the yogurt cheese and filled with onions, while Axel fetched a carton of milk and two mugs.
His friend filled the glasses, and raised his mug to Axel. "Here's tae us. Wha's like us? Damn few, and they're a' deid, mair's the pity!"
Axel goggled at him, then started to laugh. "That's the worst Irish accent --"
"Shh! And it's Scots."
"The worst Scottish accent I ever heard, me boyo."
"Oh, like your phony Irish accent is something to write home to Dublin about."
"Well, it's a damn sight better that yours."
"And did you really say 'me, boyo'? Good god, Axel. Just drink the damn stuff already."
"No, no. You started it. Uh . . ." Axel frowned, and then held up his cup. "The things, good Lord, that we pray for, give us the grace to work for."
His friend sipped his milk, then said approvingly, "Sir Thomas Moore. I'm very impressed."
Axel smiled at him, and took a big bite of his sandwich.
They munched in silence. They stood at the counter, side by side, Axel leaning against his friend, and said nothing. The quiet soaked into Axel, the weight of unspoken things.
Axel sighed, and took another bite of his sandwich. In a minute, they'd hit the bathroom, and head to their rooms. They'd sleep. Eventually he'd wake, still and looking up sightlessly at the ceiling, and they'd get through another day. And then another. And then still others, until the day would come when one of them wouldn't get through it, and the other would be bereft. An unbalanced star in a hitherto binary system.
Until then, Axel thought, and lifted his cup again. Until that day.
He set down his sandwich and cup, lightly brushing the crumbs off his fingers, and turned to face his friend, who also set down his impromptu meal. They stared at each other.
"I'm gonna head outside for a smoke," he finally said, and his friend nodded.
- - -
Axel's brother came to visit on a sunny afternoon. Axel had just finished with the last class of the day when his teacher called him over to tell him that the principal had told him to tell him that his brother was waiting at the front gates.
So Axel headed over like a good kid.
Axel's older brother was a head taller than Axel and even more handsome (if that were really possible, thought Axel—he was pretty much considered the cream of the crop around here). Instead of being cursed with Axel's flaming-red-stoplight-fire-truck hair, his mop was a supinely royal shade of auburn and was just slightly curly. His brother kept his hair short, while Axel liked to leave it long, sort of as a side-note fuck you to the authority that he had to listen to every day. Just remind them of that cheekiness.
"Hey," his brother smiled.
"Hey," Axel returned, managing a polite smile.
"Thought I'd check up on you." They walked along the path away from the campus. "How's school?"
"That's one of the questions you don't ask. But since we're so estranged anyway, I don't really blame you."
His brother shot him an amused look. "Then pray tell, what kind of questions should I be asking?"
Axel smirked. "Question one: how's the car? Question two: how's the room? Question three: how's the roommate?"
"And?"
"I don't have a car, my room's a mess, and I'm fucking the roommate."
"Oh." His brother raised an eyebrow and paused. "So, he doesn't fuck you?"
"What the hell?" Axel grinned, a little wildly. "No shit."
"Fucking or not," his brother sighed, "I checked in with the headmaster, and he says you're doing fine—you're in the top ten percent of the class."
"You know the headmaster personally well enough to talk to him?" Axel shook his head, and made a fisting motion. "Mm-mm-good, like that?"
"I make it a point to know people," his brother replied smoothly.
"You barely know me." Axel replied, his voice unintentionally hard. He caught himself in time before he could say anything else. What the fuck? He couldn't care less.
"I was busy, you know that."
"And I don't hold it against you."
"I had things to do."
"What are you up to these days?"
"I'm wearing a suit and tie to work."
"This one of your casual days, then?"
"You weren't worth the jacket, so I left it in the car."
"How's your car?"
"I drive stick. It probably explains why I don't give handjobs to my roommate."
"Too tired?"
"Too experienced." His brother shook his head and laughed. "Nobody can keep up with me."
Axel gave his brother a sidelong glance, studying his profile. "I probably could."
His brother didn't skip a beat. "You think so?"
"We've got the same genes."
A slight pause, then a nod of acquiescence. "Well, good luck with that."
Axel pursed his lips together in thought. "Thanks."
- - -
A few nights later, Axel woke up craving a cigarette. He hopped off the top bunk and landed on the floor without a sound, not disturbing his sleeping roommate. Cracking open the windows, he sat on the edge and lit up.
There were a lot of things that he could care about, especially at his age. He could care about his friends, or his brother—the only family he had—or his grades, or his future, or anything like that. The truth was, he really wasn't concerned about any of those except for his future—and being concerned about his future meant that he had to be concerned about his grades and his friends and family, if only for the reasons that they'd be of some use to him in the future.
He wondered if he should change his outlook. He wondered what meant more to him, power, or—
"Axel?"
"Hm?"
"You're smoking?" His roommate yawned and tried to muster a glare. It didn't quite work, he was still too bleary. "Throw it out the window and get into bed already."
"I see," Axel said, smiling lopsidedly. "Want me to take care of that morning wood for you?"
"What?" Wide awake now. "What? Axel, it's fucking four in the morning. Classes don't start for another four hours. Are you fucking kidding me."
"It was a proposition for the future. I'm quite aware of the time."
"Oh."
He watched the other boy's face flush in embarrassment, arousal, and indignation. Axel liked that kind of power, to make people react that way. He felt a throbbing in his gut that wasn't brought on by the burn of the cigarette. He wondered if he should do something about it, then decided against it.
"I'll go back to sleep," he said, affecting his most charming smile, not that anybody could see it in the dark. "And see you in the morning."
- - -
As promised, Axel took care of the proffered morning wood. Several minutes and a bed full of sticky sheets later, they tumbled out of bed and hurriedly got ready for class, not a word spoken.
First class of the day—some humanities course—Axel was about to doze off in lecture (mutual handjobs were a tiring business, after all) when he noticed a very pretty girl looking at him from the corner of her eye. He leaned over to his right and whispered,
"who's that?"
to one of his classmates. His classmate, jolted from taking notes, replied irritably,
"that's the new girl. She's a transfer from one of those junior schools. I don't know what her name is."
Axel smiled to himself and leaned back in his chairs, closing his eyes. A few minutes later he heard the girl get up and leave. Axel counted fifteen seconds, and then got up as well, tucking his notes and books under his chair.
She was lingering out in the hallway, apparently waiting for him. "Hey," she said.
"Wanna fuck?" Axel said.
"What, that's it?" The girl shook her head. "You don't even give me any preamble of foreplay?"
"All right," Axel said, and dug into his pocket. "How much?"
The girl spluttered indignantly.
"I'm just playing with you."
"I can't believe you."
"Oh, you'll be able to believe me soon enough."
"You're horrible."
"No," he said, leaning in, pressing his hips against hers, "I'm Axel."
"Axel..." She murmured, suddenly docile.
"A-x-e-l." He said, breathing the letters into her ear, tracing the tip of his tongue along the lobe of her ear. She gave an involuntary shudder. "Got it memorized?"
She came back into class first, her face a little redder, her blouse a little wrinkled, but not looking worse for the wear. Axel strolled in fifteen seconds later, looking to all the world as if he had just taken a walk in the park.
His classmate gave him another irritated look and continued taking notes.
- - -
Here was a boy growing into the prime of his life; unhindered by fear of fear, causes of causes. Here he was, lying on a grassy hillside during school hours with his eyes closed and his mouth full of chewing gum and the smell of cigarettes and original sin. He had an easy, forthcoming kind of genius, half of a family, a roommate of convenience, and girls when and where he wanted them.
Most importantly, he had a burn in his lungs ate away at his heart, a burn that reminded himself that he was slowly dying, but not yet, no, not yet.
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