Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far!! Especially Brie! love you all!!
xx
It was a nice day, sunny but not too hot with a breeze that wasn't too cold. There were a few of the younger kids from school riding their bikes around, trying to do jumps thinking they were the next Evel Kinevel. On the grass, there were a few families, settling down with picnic baskets and blankets to sit on. They all looked so peaceful, so different to the anxiousness going on inside Howard's own head. Though he'd never let Vince know, last night's events had freaked him out a little. He felt like it hadn't really been him, like he'd watched another boy grab his best friend's face and kiss him with all the confidence of a seasoned professional.
He hadn't even thought of Vince like that until that moment. Oh, who was he kidding? The first night, after Vince had told him he was gay, Howard had thought about little else. He'd gone to bed early and stared at the ceiling just replaying the conversation over and over in his head. He'd begun to question his own sexuality. He'd considered the posters of famous jazz musicians on his walls and wondered if there was more than just a healthy love of jazz behind his obsession with Howling Jimmy Jefferson? He'd considered his favourite picture of him and Vince with their arms around each other's shoulders, grinning foolishly at the camera and he'd wondered if he could ever fall for his best friend.
At the time, he'd put those feelings down to shock; the shock of being told that the person he cared most about was gay. He'd pushed any doubts about himself to the back of his mind and hadn't thought about it again. But all the questions had come flooding back to him when Vince was snatched from him and taken to a boarding school on the other side of town. Suddenly, the burning hole in his chest suggested that maybe his feelings for Vince had always edged just above the platonic line.
And now? Well, now he was an emotional mess. He just wanted to see Vince again, see the reassurance and the fear in his eyes, which showed that he too was going through this internal trauma. But for Vince, of course, it was worse. He'd been tormenting himself with this for years and it had changed him. The old Vince would never have been this late. Sure, he'd have turned up maybe quarter of an hour late, mumbling some thin excuse about frogs setting up a wall to stop him from leaving his house or a porcupine that stole his shoes or how he spent all morning inventing a frying pan and then discovered it had already been invented. Howard had always taken mental notes of the crazy things he'd come out with, wondering if perhaps one day they could be the beginnings of a novel. But Vince was really late now and although it was blindingly obvious to Howard that Vince wasn't coming, he still couldn't bring himself to go home… just in case.
It was getting dark by the time he heard his name being called, he knew it wasn't Vince's voice but he turned around full of hope anyway.
"Oh," he sighed, "Hey mum. Have you seen Vince?"
"No but he did ring the house a while ago."
"Oh?"
"He told me to tell you he couldn't come to the park today. He sounded quite distressed actually."
"Really?" Howard asked, jumping to his feet. "What was wrong?"
"I don't know. He just sounded a bit shaken up, like he'd just been scared out of his wits. He's gone a bit strange since he went to that boarding school. Carol, you know Carol."
"No." Howard didn't know or indeed care about Carol. All he could think about was Vince sounding distressed and how he had to go find him to see it was because of something he did but his mother continued regardless.
"Yes you do. Carol, she lives near Rosemary."
Howard must have looked blank as she continued to clarify, "You know Janine. Her mother."
Howard nodded although he wasn't really listening. He didn't care about Janine's mother's goldfish's next-door neighbour's hamster's owner's opinions on his best friend or anyone else's opinions on him for that matter.
"Well anyway," his mother continued, "Carol was saying she was at the Noir's house the other day and Vince didn't even come out of his bedroom to say 'hello'. Reckons he's above us now, private education and all that."
"It's not that."
"Pardon?"
"It's not that. He's got it into his head that everyone hates him, that he's evil. He doesn't talk to anyone anymore."
"Like I said, strange. Why do you hang out with him Howard?"
"Because… because he's my best friend. He'll talk to me. I'm going to go around and see if he's okay."
"But your tea is ready."
"I'm not hungry."
"Growing boy like you? You're always hungry."
"I'll microwave it when I get home."
He didn't stick around to hear his mum's response. He just walked quickly in the direction of the vicarage.
--
He knocked on the large wooden door nervously. He hadn't been stood here for over a year and now he felt unwelcome. He felt almost guilty, as though he were trying to lead Vince astray, though of course he could tell that this was what Vince wanted. Although, if that were true, why hadn't he come to the park? No, he couldn't think like that. He had to stay positive.
The door creaked open to reveal Mrs Noir stood in an apron and oven mitts. She was always cooking something or another.
"Oh." she seemed surprised and, Howard supposed, had every right to be, "Howard, I haven't seen you for a while."
Howard smiled his best smile and asked if Vince was in.
"He's up in his room." she said warily, wiping her brow with a ridiculously oversized mitt, "though I doubt you'll get a word out of him. He keeps that door locked all the time. I knew he should never have gone to that boarding school. He's become really isolated now."
Howard just nodded. Isolated wasn't really the word but what Vince had actually become was too terrifying to name.
It took him a while to locate Vince's door and not only because he hadn't been in this part of the house for a long time. It had lost all the bright swirls and dazzling stars that Vince had painted on it a few years ago. The glittery, emboldened 'Vince's Room' plaque had been unscrewed and the only clue that it had ever existed was a mark of slightly darker wood and four tiny holes for the screws.
Howard fingered the darker wood gently. The door, like Vince, was missing something. He knocked on the door tentatively. He wasn't exactly surprised by the silence that followed.
"Vince." he called softly, "It's me, Howard."
He pressed his ear to the door and could just about make out some rustling and the sound of soft footsteps approaching the door.
"I can't open the door." Vince's whispered, he sounded shaky.
"Why?" Howard whispered back.
"Because it's wrong Howard."
"What is?"
"Everything. What we did." Then Howard heard the unmistakable sound of retching.
"Vince!" he shouted, slamming his fist against the wood. "Vince let me in."
"I can't." his voice came out choked and strangled and the sound of retching came again and again and again.
"Vince stop it." Howard shouted, the panic and fear in his own voice causing it to break sharply and falter like a sob. The retching stopped. Howard pressed his ear to the door and he heard Vince again.
"Are you crying Howard?"
"Inside I am." he said. It sounded weird; too poetic, too metaphorical but deeply dark and poetic was the language Vince seemed to talk now. Howard wanted to lighten the mood by saying something like 'tears on my pancreas' but it seemed somehow inappropriate.
"Why?" Vince asked. The question seemed so innocent.
"Because I want to see you."
"And you can't reach the thing you want?" Vince asked.
"Yes."
"There's a barrier?"
"Exactly."
"A physical barrier. There's always a barrier though. It's there. It's stopping me." And then, with hardly a moments pause; "I'm bleeding Howard."
"What?"
"I cut myself. I had to punish myself."
"For what?"
"For what we did."
"Where have you cut yourself?"
"My wrists."
Howard had had enough. He stood up, dropped his shoulder and ran at the door. Well, it worked in films. It didn't, however, work now. Instead, he bounced off the door, his shoulder cracking loudly. He cried out in pain but he didn't care. If Vince really was slitting his wrists, a bit of pain in his shoulder was bearable. He dragged himself to his feet and ran at the door again. The pain screamed in his shoulder and speared up and down his arm as he collided with the splintering wood. He staggered backwards, bit his lip to hold back the yells and steadied himself to run at the door again.
Vince's head snapped up. There was a loud bang and his door shook violently. He ignored it. He ignored the yelp of pain that followed it. He shut it out and focused on his wrist, the deep red liquid dripping slowly down his arm, in beautiful, dreamlike contrast with the pale of his skin. The bleeding giving him relief. The pain in his arm seeping the pain from his soul. The door rattled and a large crack appeared though the central panel. Vince hauled himself to his hands and knees. His bleeding wrist leaving droplets of blood on the floor, smeared across his latest paintings and the faded blue carpet. He crawled to the door and unlocked it. From outside, Howard heard the faint click of the opening lock and opened the door carefully.
The first thing that hit him was the smell of vomit but he didn't think about that, instead, he focused on Vince. The boy was huddled in a ball, still staring manically at his wrist. Howard gasped as his eyes were drawn to the bloodstained arm. The all too pale, all too thin wrist bleeding weakly. Howard knelt by his friend. His shoulder was searing in agony but he ignored the pain, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped it around Vince's bloody wrist. He couldn't fail to notice the amount of scars accumulating there. He shuddered as he felt how cold Vince's skin was against his own. He secured the handkerchief tightly and raised Vince's hand above his head. He didn't know what that was supposed to do but he'd seen it on gritty hospital dramas you had to get the wound above the heart.
Vince just allowed this to happen. He was like a lifeless rag doll. Howard sighed.
"How long have you been doing this?" he asked, rubbing his thumb over Vince's other wrist, he felt the juts and bumps of self-inflicted scars. Vince snatched his arms back, his eyes wide with fear.
"It's to punish myself. It's wrong Howard."
"Vince." Howard started, placing his hand to Vince's cheek. Suddenly, the smaller boy jerked away and vomited. It happened so quickly. Howard didn't know what to do.
"Are you okay?" he asked, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder and wincing when Vince threw up again. He was shaking tears rolling down his cheeks. He vomited again. His body went into spasm and he retched. He was on his side now, curled into a ball. His eyes were streaming. His skin so pale it was grey. He threw up again and again. Uncontrollable spasms. The smell was overwhelming but the sight was worse, Vince weak, helpless and shaking. It was making Howard's own stomach clench and heave. But he blocked it out. He blocked everything out and reached out again to touch his shoulder. He just wanted to help. To do… something.
"Don't touch me." Vince choked out. "Please." Tears streamed down his face. "Don't you see? It's you who's doing this to me."
Howard stepped away; horrified. How could this be his fault? How could Vince blame him for this? Whatever this was.
Howard could feel tears pushing at his own eyes. He was scared. Terrified that Vince was going to die right there in front of him curled on the floor; deathly still, lying in a pool of his own vomit with blood oozing through an old handkerchief tied around his wrist. His eyes were open and unblinking, just staring at something no one else could see. Howard panicked, he called for Vince's mum, not daring to look away or even to move.
He heard Mrs Noir, running up the stairs. She burst into the bedroom and gasped in absolute horror at the sight ahead of her. Her eyes watered up but she didn't let the tears fall. Howard wondered who exactly she was being brave for because Vince was quite clearly lost to the world now, caught up in something totally in his head.
"Vincent." she said, trying to keep the fear from her voice as she knelt by her son trying to avoid the mess. "Vince, sweetheart. Can you hear me?"
To Howard's surprise, Vince nodded, just a little, just enough.
"Good boy." she said. Then remembering Howard she added, "I think it's that chicken he ate for lunch. I thought it seemed a bit undercooked."
Howard's face dropped in disbelief. Food poisoning? How naïve did she think he was?
"Mrs Noir." he said, trying to keep himself steady and polite, whilst inside he felt like a raging lunatic. "With the greatest of respect, that is not food poisoning."
"It is. Isn't it darling?" she looked down at Vince, brushing some of his hair from his sweaty face. The boy nodded again, no sound, no expression, just the shallow nod of a head.
"Mrs Noir." Howard pressed. He was furious now but he was determined not to show it. His fists were so clenched tightly he was leaving bruises in his palms but apart from that, he seemed completely calm, a little too calm, "He's clearly very ill."
"I know that." she said, not taking her eyes off her frozen son. "But we're getting that fixed, aren't we sweetheart?"
The distant nod came again.
"But you're clearly damaging the process Howard. I don't think you should comeback here again."
Howard wanted to scream with frustration. Leave? He couldn't leave. He had to stay here and help. He seemed to be the only who thought Vince's strange behaviour wasn't okay. Why could no one else see that this was a problem? Vince was ill, really, ill. He needed to see a professional, someone to help him through all of this and bring back the real Vince; the Vince Howard knew and loved.
"Vince. Please." he was begging his friend now, "Tell her you need help." He didn't respond. "Vince. Come on. Please. I want you back. I want my best friend back." Suddenly, Vince's whole body spasmed and he retched again.
"Oh sweetheart." his mum said, a lone tear finally falling, showing she wasn't completely heartless. She stroked his hair again and wiped away the sheen of cold sweat from his forehead.
"Go." she said sharply to Howard. "Before you make it any worse."
Howard opened his mouth to speak. He wanted to yell and scream. He wanted to jump up and down and smash things. He wanted to act crazy because then people might notice. But he didn't. He just left, walked away from all this corruption. He didn't want to have anything to do with it anymore but he still couldn't give up on Vince.
--
"I think you should leave it well alone Howard."
"But you didn't see him mum. He was so weak. He just needed someone to help him."
"Well, his parents can help him. You said his mum said he was under treatment for whatever's wrong with him. Maybe he's at a stage where he doesn't like visitors or something."
"But mum…"
"Howard." she warned, "Let the Noir's deal with it. Please. Don't try and get involved anymore."
Howard thought about what his mum said. He thought long and hard but he couldn't leave it alone. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the image of Vince, curled up in a ball, lost, alone, icy cold and deathly still. It was as though it was tattooed to his eyelids. Fate was never going to let him forget that moment. He tried at first to just knock on the front door of the vicarage and ask to see Vince. Unsurprisingly, Vince's parents had told Howard he wasn't really up for having visitors. So, he went around the back and looked at the trellis. He could climb that again but when he looked at the window above it, he saw thick black bars where the glass should have been. He really hoped they were to keep him out rather than to keep Vince in. The window behind the bars though was open. Maybe he could climb up and just talk to Vince.
Fuelled partly by desperation and partly by lunacy, he found himself hopping the low garden wall again. He ran across the grass and climbed the trellis, quicker than anyone could have ever expected.
"Vince." he hissed though the bars. "Vince. Come on. I know you're in there." He could hear some shuffling, a stifled sob but the curtains didn't open.
"Please." Howard begged. "I just want to know you're alright."
No sound came this time, not even the soft rustling of fabrics; just silence.
"Vince." he tried again, "Vince, please don't shut me out. I care about you."
Then, he heard Vince retch and he winced sharply. Maybe Vince was right, maybe it was Howard that was making him sick.
"I'm so sorry Vince." he whispered, determined not to let the tears that were falling down his face, show in his voice. "I shouldn't have come."
With that, he ran away and he knew, with a bitter twist of the gut and a violent stab through the heart, he could never go back, should never go back. It wasn't fair on him and it certainly wasn't fair on Vince. He'd have to trust that Reverend and Mrs Noir really were sorting it out because it was obvious now that the last thing Vince wanted was Howard.