School has finally begun! I wasn't quite sure if I thought of school as a horror or as something exciting and fascinating to look forward too, but in retrospect, I think it's a combination of both, along with the other events that have happened since then.
The end of the summer wasn't quite as clean as I thought it would've been. Even now, the remnants of summer still show itself every once in a while, with small waves of heat coming about every now and then, sending everybody indoors and into shelter. For the bunch of us that have begun gathering at the apartments and making full use of the pools and the corridor that connected the two apartments, it didn't quite matter as long as the Friday night parties were on. It was everything to look forward to in every week, no matter how horrible or how exciting the week went. We'd all gather together and spill our guts about whatever had happened, whilst drinking ourselves silly and filling our stomachs with whatever food everybody brings along or orders (usually pizza). It was only when Mrs. Sandler got annoyed with the weekly pizza orders that she came to us one Friday and almost yelled –
"Enough with the pizzas already! That was the third pizza delivery man that came tonight!"
I had to smile sheepishly at her. "Sorry 'bout that."
"The entire corridor even smells of pizza!" She waved her arms about, gesturing around us both. "Any more and I can't even come up to this floor without thinking about pizza!"
Evan, who had been over at Scott and Marcel's apartment practically abusing their new game system with them, poked his head out just then.
"Sorry about that, Mrs. Sandler," he apologized smoothly, charm dripping from every last word he spoke. "And I'm also sorry about the noise every Friday night. I'm the one who came up with the terrible idea, so if anything, I claim full responsibility for this."
The thin line that Mrs. Sandler's lips had curved into eased itself slowly as Evan spoke. "Look," she finally said, "I don't have a problem with you kids partying your Friday nights away. But for the love of God, don't you kids have any other tastes other than pizza?"
"It's…good." I murmured softly, hoping silently that Mrs. Sandler didn't hear my little comment.
"Good?" She asked, incredulous. "I swear to God, I make better pizzas than this rubbish. If that's good, then how about I make you boys your pizzas for your parties then?"
The corner of her lips was twitching, as if threatening to break out into one of those brilliant smiles I'd seen quite a few times.
"Was that a request to join in, Mrs. Sandler?" Evan asked, a brilliant smile of his own forming on his own face.
"Not quite," she said brusquely, her grin betraying her tone. "I was asking if I could bring food for you boys… and join in if I felt like it."
And that was how Mrs. Sandler eventually also became a part of our Friday night club.
But the first Friday party, the very first Friday of the month was by far the highlight of the month. Everybody was there – not just me and Evan and Scott and Marcel, but also our friends from the beach and some of their friends as well. Just as the pools and most of Scott and Marcel's apartment were readily being assaulted by the partygoers, the three of us found solace in drinking together on the rooftop after getting the green light from Mrs. Sandler to climb up there (at our own risk). All of a sudden, in that moment, it felt like my first moments in my new apartment all over again, with the two idiots that so warmly welcomed me into a new home and a new place. The group would have probably been more complete with Evan, but it seemed as if he had someone else to be busy about.
"Evan and Alex, eh?" Marcel laughed, stealing a sideways glance at me.
"Aw, come on," I replied as coolly as I could. "It's not that surprising. Anyone could tell from the way they looked at each other since that time at the beach that they have the hots for each other."
"Pfffffft." Scott scoffed. "As if the son of a bitch doesn't have enough going on already. Hockey and school is already enough to stop us from seeing him for, what, the whole week? And now he's spending our Friday with his girl. Not that I don't like Alex, but damn, there should be a limit to this."
"Scott…" I tried to retaliate, weakly.
"Shut up, bitch, you know it's true. You've just started school and you already have to spend the whole fucking week alone in your own apartment."
"Watching shitty films." Marcel added, and poked me sharply in the side with the mouth of his emptied bottle. "Honestly, why the fuck did you decide to do that shitty ass course?"
"It's not shitty," I bit back, silently happy that Marcel changed the subject. "I like it."
Scott snorted, and reached out to ruffle my hair roughly. "Whatever. Sounds like shit to us. If you ever change your mind and decide to do something like actually make films instead, you're always welcome to join me and Marcel. Hell, we'll even lend you all our equipment and whatever help you'll need."
"I'll stick to what I like and what I do best, thank you very much."
"Like I said, whatever, fuck-boy."
"Don't call me a fuck-boy."
My reply was met with a soft laugh, and all fell silent as the three of us drank in the moonlight, drowning whatever feelings and frustrations we'd had over the week – not that I had many. My first week was by and far smooth-sailing… except when I'd come back to an eerily silent apartment, with nobody to share the space with except myself. Those nights, it would always feel as if all the warmth and connection and bonds that I'd built with Evan had loosened and broken off, and it would feel as if we were further away than ever. I'd almost not seen him the entire week until he'd turned up that Friday evening for the party with Alex, wearing an expression so casual and so normal as if nothing had happened at all and that he had seen me every single day of the week. The pang of loneliness that'd hit me then never seemed to leave me despite how much I swam and how many drinks I'd downed in the apartment. With Scott and Marcel on the breezy rooftop, however, it all seemed entirely different. It seemed there was nothing that cold alcohol, a great scene and great friends could solve.
The three of us remained silently on the rooftop, drinking to our heart's content until Evan popped his head through the trapdoor that we had climbed through to access the rooftop.
"Ah, you guys really are here," he grinned, and pulled his muscular body through the trapdoor. "I've been looking for you guys for quite some time now, and then Mrs. Sandler told me you guys were probably up here."
"What're you doing here? Go back and play with Alex." Scott retorted, a tiny hint of annoyance evident in his tone.
"It's a little too crowded back there to," Evan replied, almost oblivious to Scott's piercing tone. "Besides, she wanted to have some time own her own to have a one-to-one talk with Craig and make it clear that she doesn't feel anything for him."
"Who?" I asked.
"Remember that guy singing at the 4th of July party?" Evan turned towards me, a small smile playing on the corners of his lips as I slowly nodded through the hazy memories. "That's Craig. Has a huge crush on Alex, and she knows it, too, but she never could quite find a way to shake him off properly. It's a pity, though, he seems like quite the guy."
"But," he continued after a short pause, "I guess it's better this way, too, isn't it?"
"I suppose." I shrugged, and stretched myself out stiffly, turning my gaze towards the starry night sky. I wasn't quite that interested in listening about Evan and Alex's relationship or whatever problems might come with it, but I wanted to try. I admit, I'm not the happiest about them being together, and even a part of me would say that I feel like I've almost lost Evan to Alex, but I wanted to be happy for them. I wanted to be happy for them and help them, but I could never lie to myself and say that I wholeheartedly support their relationship. The best I could do then was to just pretend like I did, and push myself to care just a little bit.
"By the way, Mrs. Sandler also says there seems like there's a pretty huge package for you, and wants me to tell you to go pick it up from her after all this ends."
"Oh-kay." I said simply, and took another sip from my bottle, feeling the cold rush of heat down my throat as the night sky blurred a bit more in front of my eyes.
"And…" Evan began once more, sounding almost mildly uncomfortable.
"What?"
"Brandon's been looking around for you."
"Oh." I tried to sound calm, but God knows that probably flew out of the window the moment I opened my mouth. I hadn't seen Brandon for some time then, and my heart leapt ever so slightly at the thought of him. After all, he was at the party. And above it all, of all people, he was looking for me. Forget my discomfort at the thought of Alex and Evan dating each other, Brandon was looking for me.
"I'll go look for him, then," I added, barely able to keep the excitement out of my voice. Brandon was looking for me. Brandon. The real-life personification of the hero of my stories, my 'Grant'.
My excitement wasn't quite shared by my companions. A stiff expression had glued itself to Evan's face, whilst Scott and Marcel scowled at the mention of Brandon. It was apparent they hadn't quite gotten over their animosity over the guy, and I wasn't quite sure why. But I couldn't care less what they thought about Brandon. He was looking for me. Of all people. Me!
And so without much regrets or even a single look behind, I left my three close friends on the rooftop. It wasn't too long after I got back to the apartment areas that Brandon caught up to me, a dazzling smile upon his face, one that made me think about the stars on the night sky above us all.
"Hey," he greeted me cheerfully. "It's been some time since I'd seen you around. I dare say I missed you."
"R-really?" Move, you stupid mouth.
"Yeah." His smile widened. "You're the most interesting guy I've met so far. Every now and then I'll catch my thoughts wandering over to you, and I'll keep wondering how you're doing, how you've been since our times at the beach… and then I start wondering how you're like."
I simply gaped, not quite sure what to say. I wasn't sure if I was about to hear a confession of sorts, and I barely knew the guy beyond our short little acquaintance at the beach. But if anything, he looked too good and too charming whilst spilling his guts about how he missed me.
"What I'm saying is, Jonathan… I'm interested in being friends with you. I want to know more about you. I want to know what makes you smile, beyond beautiful sunsets. I want to know what makes you laugh, and what makes you go wild. I know, maybe you already think we're friends, what with the time we spent with Alex and all the rest, but what I mean is that I'm interested in being friends with you, on a very personal basis. I want to know you, Jonathan. I want to know you, just me and you."
A small silence fell between us as he finished. No matter how he put it, and no matter what words he used, the way he spoke almost seemed as if it was an invitation into a special, exclusive relationship with him.
"You… sure have a way of putting things."
His smile turned into a very mild smirk. "It's the only way I think you'll understand. I don't just want to be friends the way everybody says friends are. I don't want to just know you, I want to know you down to your depths. That's the sort of friends I want to be with you, you interesting man."
"I get that, but how is that different from being… just friends?"
With a step, he closed in on me, erasing much of the distance between us before. The air grew hot, sweltering hot, and I felt the blood rush towards my cheeks involuntarily.
"Believe me, Jonathan, the difference is immense to me. So what say you, Jonathan?"
With the breath completely drawn from my lungs, I simply nodded. I still couldn't quite see why he had to ask to be friends, but I couldn't see anything terrible in it either. Besides, I had more in mind than simply being friends after being propositioned in such an irresistible manner. His eyes seemed to devour mine, and the tone he spoke in seemed to make my knees grow weak. The effect of alcohol on my system was also undoubtedly enhancing his power over me. I would've begged him to date me right there and then if I hadn't managed to grasp onto my senses.
"Since that's the case…" He continued with a cheeky grin. "You wouldn't mind being the subject of my next photography project, would you? I find that one of the best ways to learn more about a person is through my lens. And the best ways people learn about me…is to work with me."
As if someone had thrown a rock at me, I jumped to my senses sharply. "Sub-subject…?! Model?!"
Brandon let out a small chuckle, evidently amused at my shock. "Yes, Jonathan, model. I'm interested in having you in my lens at least once. We'll get to know each other better."
"But I –"
"Don't worry too much about it. If it's experience you're worried about, you don't need to do anything that the pros do. Just be yourself. The camera doesn't have eyes – it's just going to be interactions between me and you."
"But…" I protested emptily. To be quite frank, I hadn't much for protest against.
"It's fine if you don't want to do it. I'd just like you to give it some thought." He dug through his pockets and pulled out a card, before thrusting it in my hands.
"It's a good way to further our friendship. You don't really dislike the idea, I can tell. You're just not ready for it – so, when you're ready, give me a call, and I'll set a date with you. Just me and you. A heart to heart, if you will."
I stared after him as he left, strutting away from me in his charmingly confident manner.
As Brandon left, it seemed that many amongst us decided to call it a night as well. It was as if he brought the crowd with him wherever he went, and everybody fluttered to him like moths to a bright, bright light. I would have been one of those moths, if I weren't caught between multiple sources of bright lights. As wonderful as Brandon was, he seemed so incredibly out of reach at times.
I finally got around to collecting the package I'd gotten from Mrs. Sandler and was heading back to the apartment to find the front door only slightly agape. My hands full with the large, heavy, and rather worn-down box that Luke sent, I attempted to kick the door open with my foot – only to find it stuck and unmovable.
"Evan?" I called out, my hands aching and about to give way.
A voice came from behind the door.
"Sorry. I'm cleaning up at the moment, so you'll have to make do."
I would've protested at that point, and should have protested – but I didn't. For some reason, whatever protests I had simply dissolved into nothingness, and I decided to solve things all on my own. In that one moment, even though I knew exactly what was in the box, and I knew how precious and how sacred they were to me, I couldn't care less about its value. And so I simply decided to force my way through, and force the flimsy box through the tiny gap – an act that became something I regretted almost immediately as the run-down box tore and split in its side, with all its contents spilling to the ground at the doorway of our apartment.
What came first was a sea of white. A sea of off-white papers flooding out from the bottom of the dumb box, page after page, year after year of my painstaking work, night after night of scribbling away furiously on pieces of paper and emptying all of my thoughts and feelings onto them. Page after page of the manuscript for the Gold series cascaded onto the ground, each filled with all the time I'd spent feeling, writing, loving and hurting.
What followed was a barrage of hard plastic. CD cases of my favorite games came crashing towards the ground, alongside some statues and figurines that I had managed to get my hands on. As they landed on the ground with hard, solid thuds, I silently hoped in my head that nothing had broken, and that Luke's packing for such fragile and precious items would have saved them from the fall somewhat. Alongside all this, a couple of pieces of suspicious fabric fell out – some shirts, and underwear.
There I stood, embarrassed and anxious out of my mind, yet rooted onto the ground in shock in the wake of the disaster, with my possessions scattered across the ground by the doorway and Evan crouched just slightly in front of me behind the door, shocked and quite unsure what to do.
It took a short pause before he jumped to action, apologizing profusely.
"Sorry! I should've moved," he groaned, and hurriedly rushed at the mess before us, grabbing at whatever he could find. "It's okay, I'll clean this up for you."
Hastily, he reached out towards the pile of papers that were the closest by him. It took me only a split-second to stop him from touching it, a split second for my voice to come gurgling out of my throat in a desperate attempt to stop him.
A split second too late.
The moment he laid his eyes on the first page that lay at the top of the pile, he paused in his tracks, his fingers hovering only very slightly above the accursed piece of paper. Even before he said anything, even before he moved or reacted to what he saw, all the worries about my figurines breaking and all the annoyance at the situation that I was in gave way to distress. Even before I knew what was going on in his head, I already sensed it all – the questions, the curiosity, the confusion. An overwhelming sense of dread filled every particle of my body as I saw him still for a protracted period of time, reading the words on the page, the very words that enticed millions of people into my world ten years ago, the very words that opened the first book of the Gold series.
Evan slowly lifted his head after what felt like forever, and in his eyes were countless questions that I could not answer, and daren't answer.
Was I willing to give up my anonymity as Sid Rouile for him? I wasn't sure. I wasn't sure if I even trusted him with my secret. I wasn't sure if I could tell him everything he wanted to know and satisfy his curiosity once and for all. I wasn't sure what I'd say.
"Johna-…" He began, and trailed off almost as soon as he did. I watched as the disbelief flickered in his eyes.
"You… this… you copied all of this, right?" He started once more, voice shaking slightly, unsure, uncertain. A nervous laugh came from the depths of his chest as he spoke. "I mean… You must've really liked him, right…? He's a… a really good writer…"
I hated myself for not thinking properly at that point of time. I didn't deny it, nor did I confirm it, and I just stood there, barely getting any proper words out, before hurriedly attempting to gather up as many things as I could gather back into the broken box. I wasn't sure if I even managed to get everything in or if I had left anything behind (I'd come out to check the next morning and found nothing left behind). All I knew was panic, and the fact that as I walked away, I caught a glimpse of Evan's widened eyes, and in the one small glimpse I had the feeling that he knew. It was the last time I'd properly met his eyes, and since then, we'd barely greet each other in passing, and as soon as the stifling, awkward tension starts bubbling to the surface, I would leave the apartment, running off to school to bury myself in my studies and half-heartedly listen to the professor drone on about things that I was supposed to care about.
I'd forgotten how long it's been since me and Evan stopped talking to each other. What was supposed to be days felt like weeks and months, and over some time I forgot entirely how long it had been. I'd ungraciously zoned out in class after class, that the one of the guys that seemed to be taking multiple classes with me had to nudge me gently in the middle of it all and whisper –
"Hey, did you hear what he said?"
I blinked stupidly and shook my head.
He shook his head disapprovingly. "Prof said there'd be a pop quiz tomorrow on the past week's topics. Old guy isn't giving us a break, is he?"
More stupid blinking on my end. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to believe that straight off the bat – I'd had my fair share of school pranks.
Almost as if he heard my thoughts, he slouched slightly into his seat, a look of disappointment growing on his charming face. "Oh come on, I'm not like that. I'm not going to lie to you. Besides, you're the only one that takes the same classes as I do and doesn't call me Carlos."
I didn't remember his name, and I felt terrible for it. With a slight peek at whatever he had on his table, I tried to recover smoothly from my humongous blunder.
"Why would anybody call you Carlos, Arlan?"
He burst out into a brilliant smile. "Because… that's the first name I introduced myself with. As a joke. But then nobody remembered the rest and just called me Carlos. And you don't remember because you were dazed out of your mind half the time thinking about something else. I'm surprised you even remember my name."
"Arlan is a nice name."
Arlan flushed deeply, his light olive skin reddening violently, almost as if I'd paid him a great compliment. He turned back to face the screen once more, attempting focus on the lecture, only to have a very slight smile interrupting his concentration every now and then. I smiled slightly to myself, happy enough to have somewhat made a friend and dodged a bit of a bullet at that point of time.
But even so, the problem of Evan still hung over me. I simply went back to being distracted and detached from the class, almost paying no attention at all to the lecturer. It took a couple more nudges at the end of the class from Arlan for me to snap back to reality and to head out of the classroom, and a handful more nudges for me to remember that I didn't have any more classes for the rest of the day.
"Are you always this distracted?" He asked as we stood by the bus-stop, waiting for a bus home. "Or is something troubling you?"
I sighed. I briefly considered if I should let out all my personal problems to this new acquaintance of mine, only for him to smile at me and reassure me that it was okay.
"I… I kept a secret or two from this friend of mine. And I don't know if he's mad at me. But we haven't talked since and it's been really awkward."
"Hmm." Arlan pondered aloud, raising a brow as he did. "Is it a good friend?"
"…Kind of. We're roommates. He's been really, really nice."
"Then are you interested in being good friends?"
"Yeah. Sure. It'd be nice. Really nice."
Arlan fell quiet for a moment, thinking, before he started once more. "Then I think you guys should talk about it. Like… why you did it, how he feels about it, things like that. If he's mad about it, then I don't think he should stay angry too long. If he's as nice as you say he is, he'll understand if you explain it to him, right? Besides, it's not like friends shouldn't have some secrets. As long as it's not a bad secret. We all deserve some privacy sometimes, no?"
I snorted. "Funny."
He'd caught in on the irony in the moment, and laughed sheepishly. "Hey, I mean – it's fine if you keep secrets from me. I'll still be curious, but I won't force you to tell me anything you don't want to tell me!"
I had to laugh. It was nice having a new friend in school, even if I wasn't particularly close to Arlan yet. I was almost never alone in this new life of mine – something that I wasn't quite sure I totally enjoyed, but I wasn't quite sure that I totally hated it either. It did, however, bring about some new feelings of pleasantry that I hadn't had the chance to experience back home. I never realized how quiet my life had been for the past ten years, and how much I also enjoyed a life that wasn't that quiet.
Not long after Arlan and I parted ways and I made my way home, I returned into the apartment – quieter than ever. Scott and Marcel were still at school, Evan was missing in action as was his usual behavior for the past week or so, and I had the place all to myself. I'd just laid my body out on the couch, about to lazily spend the rest of my day being absolutely lazy when a buzz from my mobile phone sent me flying up into a sitting position.
"Hello?" I eagerly answered.
"Hey," a smooth, familiar voice came from the other end. "Did you think about my little offer?"
I swallowed. Alongside the problem of Evan, the problem of Brandon swam about in my head, the causes for my lack of sleep. The truth was, I did think about Brandon's offer. I thought about it so much that my head hurt and that I decided to think about the what had happened with Evan some more.
"Not really," I admitted. "Haven't had the chance to."
The voice on the other end let out a smooth, creamy chuckle. "Alright. No pressure."
A short pause ensued – but I felt far from awkward. Instead, a small smile crept onto my lips slowly, irresistibly, and automatically. I almost didn't want the call to end. Heck, I almost didn't want the moment to end.
"I guess… that's that. I'll talk to you later, then."
"W- Wait!" I blurted out, unwilling it to end it all. "Er… how did you get my number?"
Brandon let out another suave laugh, and began again, his tone teasing and playful. "You gave it to me, remember? All the way back then?"
"Ah."
"I'll tell you what," he murmured softly with an almost seductive purr in his voice. "Whenever you feel lonely, or you wanna talk to somebody…give me a call, won't you? I miss your voice every day, you know that?"
I could almost feel his warm, tall form beside me, leaning down from behind me to whisper into my ear, his hot breath brushing against my ears and sending sharp, tingly feelings down my front and throughout the rest of my body. I liked it. I really, really liked it. Yet, the face that I pictured wasn't Brandon's. It was someone that looked quite impressively like him – and I never realized just how much before. It was Evan's lips that breathed near me, and it was Evan's face that leaned in in my dumb imagination and gently kissed my earlobe. I gasped sharply, yet softly, and forced the thought out of my head. Brandon, I tried to think. It's Brandon. Not Evan.
"Is something wrong?" Brandon pressed on.
"Nothing," I replied, trying to sound as normal as possible. Brandon, I repeated in my head. I'm talking to him right now, not Evan.
Brandon sighed softly. "The way you put it, I wish it were something. You can be so painfully expressive…so much that I wish…"
He sighed once more. "Never mind, I guess. Anyway… when can I see you again, just me and you?"
"That… I don't know. Classes haven't started for too long and I… I've been doing a whole bunch of things." A whole bunch of worrying about me and Evan, that is. I felt my heart throb again.
"Aw," Brandon breathed, the disappointment evident in his tone. "I suppose… we'll see as we go along…"
In that moment, the door clicked and opened, and Evan strode in slowly, head hung as if he barely wanted to look at me. I don't know what got into me next. For some reason, I forgot completely that he was supposed to be the one that was angry. Instead, I was. Stung by his seemingly cold behavior towards me, I grew irritated at his reaction towards seeing me (despite the fact that I was the one who avoided him). I made sure to practically announce my next line to Brandon as loud as possible –
"Actually, I can make time to see you, if you – if you want. It's not like I have people to hang out with after school. At least – nobody that seems to care."
From the corner of my eye, I saw Evan's figure still by the doorway.
Brandon chuckled. "Don't force yourself, babe. Gimme a call when you're good and I'll pop around to see you, just me and you."
Another pause, before he spoke up abruptly once more.
"Well, I gotta run. I believe I'll catch you soon… in a less satisfying setting for me. 'Til then…!"
The line went dead, and everything was silent once more.
"Who was that?" Evan murmured softly, coldly.
"None of your business." I bit back as I stood from the sofa, legs aching to make a mad dash towards my room.
"Yeah, I guessed about much. And you accuse me of not caring."
"I'm going to bed." I began to move, only for Evan to stop me in my tracks with his huge frame, my face only inches from his muscular chest.
"No you're not. You're going to hide from me more and avoid ever talking to me again about what happened. You don't even want to look at me right now."
"That's not – that's not…"
His long fingers traced along my jawline with surprising gentility. As his hand found my chin, he tilted my head upwards, forcing my reluctant eyes to meet his.
"We haven't spoken since that night. You haven' looked me in the eye for a single moment since. You keep running away from me and avoiding me and I don't know why," he sighed.
I quietly wondered then if I had assessed the situation wrongly the whole time. Evan's eyes reflected not anger but sadness and disappointment. I felt his thumb caress my chin gently for a few moments, before he released me quietly.
"I'm sorry," I blurted out almost automatically. "I shouldn't have – I don't know…"
"There I was, thinking about why you wouldn't tell anybody – not even me. Did I not matter enough to you? Did you not trust me? Was I simply not good enough…?" Evan croaked sorrowfully, his questions not seeking an answer.
"That's not it! I –"
"And then… do you want to know something at the cost of a little bit of our friendship?" Evan asked with a slight smile, expression tinged with guilt. "When I said I wouldn't look at your diary, I lied. A little. I couldn't figure out why I meant so little to you. I thought I'd get some answers since you didn't want to talk to me… but the first few pages of your diary told me a whole new story."
I didn't quite know what to feel at that revelation. Strangely enough, I wasn't mad. I was not in the least bit agitated by what he had done, or by his words. Instead, I felt oddly vindicated – as if I'd been waiting for him to do so. I wondered quietly as well if he knew what I felt about him, and how strangely I felt about him. I wondered if he had read everything, and realized everything that I never told him.
"I didn't read everything, of course. That'd be rude," Evan continued. "But I think I understand. You as a writer, you as somebody who just wants to be… you. You just wanted to be Jonathan, and I understand that."
"No – look," I finally spoke up, unwilling to let Evan continue on. He was far too understanding and far too agreeable. He was handling it all so perfectly, and I simply couldn't let him. I wanted to be a part of it. For some reason, I wanted to do it just like how he did. I wanted to stop being Jonathan for a moment – that Jonathan that ran away from everything, that Jonathan that tried to pretend everything would be fine. Evan wanted to confront something, and for the first time in a while, I wanted to confront something, too.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't say a thing about it before, I'm sorry I didn't even talk to you about it after that. I thought you'd be mad at me – mad at me for hiding it from you and all that."
"I was, at first. But I can't stay angry for long. Especially not at you."
A warm silence fell upon us. For the first time in a while, the heavy covers that threw themselves upon my heart lifted. Everything felt so silly, so trivial. A part of me didn't understand what just happened or why it happened. Another part of me was just happy to have gotten it all over with. A very small part of me wondered childishly if Evan was some angel that magically made things happen so strangely and so smoothly.
"So…" Evan pulled a shit-eating grin. "Can I have your autograph?"
It's been a million and one questions since then. How I came up with the stories, the inspiration for it all, the whole deal. Evan had seemed so excited about every single detail about Sid Rouile and how I came to be him. Every day there would be something that would pique his interest about what I'd written, and every day there seems to be something new he'd want to know. For some strange reason, he'd taken an entirely new level of interest in me. We were new friends all over again, covering new ground and recovering lost ground at the same time.
What I should've learnt is that happiness is always short-lived. Whenever I was happy – absolutely overjoyed – for a prolonged period in my life, it always meant that I would crash to the ground hard. The happier I was, the worse I felt when the brief euphoria passed – and I would be overtaken by anhedonia. Joy would be harder to find, pleasure would be harder to seek. But no matter how many times I was happy, and no matter how many times I had my happiness ruined by a series of misfortune that would bring my mood down, I never quite seemed to learn. I would just happily hop off my misery again and again, unafraid and undeterred by what had happened, and I would fly freely, unrestrained, up to cloud nine.
I rarely got to see Evan in school. It was to be expected, either way – we were in entirely different courses, studying entirely different things. I didn't even get to share a single class with him. Instead, I got to spend my days in school with Arlan. It wasn't a step down from spending time with, say, Evan, Scott or Marcel, but Arlan was… different. The moment I walked into the first class every day, he would smile at me as if I was his favorite person in the entire world. Whilst his brilliant smiles often lit up my day, and his listening ear was always immensely appreciated, his attention was often directed very specifically at me with a very strange undertone. Still, I liked the guy. He was a great friend through and through, putting up with my troublesome nature. I just wasn't sure if I could take anything beyond that.
But I digress, as I have time and again. I rarely got to see Evan in school. But one day as the month began to near its end, Evan turned up in my path. It was an occurrence that I could never foresee or even expect because it was just so unlikely – but it happened. It was also when my descent back to earth began.
"Jonathan!" He yelled, waving at me from the distance. Eyes turned to gaze at me. More eyes turned towards Evan and the glory that he stood in.
"Who's that?" Arlan whispered.
"My… roommate…" I slowly replied, trying to comprehend the situation as Evan strutted towards me. What in the world…?
"Hi Jonathan's roommate," Arlan greeted.
"Uhm, hi. It's Evan, by the way."
"Hi Evan," Arlan greeted once more, extending his hand out for a shake. "Arlan."
"Hi Arlan. Nice to meet you." Evan beamed with that killer smile of his, taking my soul away from me once more. At some point in their introductions, he'd reached out and grabbed me by the arm, dragging my half-soulless body towards him.
"Actually, we've got to run."
"We…have..?" I asked stupidly.
"Yeah we do," Evan responded.
"Where?" I asked again, feeling dumber than ever.
"To see everyone."
His answer wasn't quite an answer. Instead, it raised more questions within me. All I could do, however, was to simply stare at Evan incredulously as my soul finally came back to me fully.
It was Arlan that spoke up next. His demeanor had now shifted, and although his smile was still as wide as ever and his outward behavior was still as welcoming as it had always been, but something had changed. The passion that had always colored his face when he was around me slightly died down a little, and he seemed a bit more withdrawn. If there was anything I learnt about Arlan from being beside him so much within a month, it was that he knew how to turn many downs into ups, and when he couldn't, he hid it cheerfully enough. And it was clear as day to me that Arlan was disappointed. Sure, he hid his disappointment underneath his sincere smile – but it was still there, and rather apparent in his eyes.
"Oh – uh – it's fine if you have to go somewhere," he announced to both of us cheerily. "I have a class later anyway, so I'll be fine on my own. I guess I'll see you both around."
Arlan turned quickly on his heel and left, and I stared at his back as he sped away at a surprising speed.
"I think he likes you," Evan breathed once Arlan was out of earshot. "In that sort of way."
"D'you think so?" I moaned, refusing to believe my own ears. Even Evan thought so. Perhaps what I'd sensed wasn't that wild or that untrue after all – and that fact bothered me even more.
"He looks at you like… like he could kiss you any moment." Evan chuckled. "But he tries to hide it anyway, poor guy. Probably thinks he has no chance with you."
"Which would be the truth," I sighed. "Enough about me and him, what about you? What the hell are you doing here?"
"Like I said. We're going to see everyone."
"But – for what? Why? And why didn't – why didn't you guys ask me first or tell me beforehand? And why the heck do you have to be here to go with me?"
He hesitated before me, trying to find words that weren't there. "Because… I never get to see you in school…And… uh…"
I raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Spit it out."
"Okay, fine, I just wanted to see you. And I wanted to go there together with you. And I wanted to spend some time alone with my idol before we get swarmed with people. And above all… I was kind of curious to see if you were fine. You never tell me about what happens in class or how you're doing, I actually got a little worried that you didn't have anyone."
"And all my other questions?"
Evan pondered for a bit. "Alex is going back to Ireland soon for school. And she kind of... didn't want to think about it for the longest time, so it's pretty sudden. Nobody really got informed until this morning. It's not really a farewell party, but more like a farewell getaway. Not to say that there's no party – there will be tomorrow night before she flies back. But from now until then, she wants to spend as much time as possible with all of us."
"It's not like I –" I began to protest, but Evan shut me up quickly enough.
"Let it be, okay? This is what Alex wants."
For a moment, Evan looked almost perfectly serious. He wasn't exactly smiling, nor was he stern – but his words were like a dagger that he stabbed straight through me. In that moment, I felt like a petulant child being told off by an adult. Evan's voice almost seemed to imply it, and I – as if to prove his point – responded with a childish harrumph. We'd been walking for some time then, but I slowed my pace down even further, determined to shake him off a little.
"She's… been wanting to know you more ever since months ago," Evan explained patiently, "It's just that… all that happened, and she never quite got the chance to. She thought you were cute, too. But you always seemed to avoid her, and then…"
His voice trailed off, and we were silent once more. But he was right. I avoided Alex. Yes, I liked her when I first met her. I liked how genuine she seemed, and I liked how bright and upbeat her personality was. I liked her, truly. But I still avoided her. I avoided her because I knew that she was interested in Evan. I knew she liked Evan, and I knew she had her eyes on him. I was simply never ready for them to get together, and I didn't like the reason why. I almost never wanted that reason to be a possibility. I was quite simply jealous and envious of a girl who had done absolutely nothing wrong. But more and more, especially ever since the night Brandon last called me, I felt myself drifting in Evan's direction. Was it the million-and-one questions? Was it the thrill of sharing a secret with Evan for the first time – and a big secret at that? Was it a conditioned response after finding myself also struggling to not fall for Brandon? Or is it because I was stupid, and even when I told myself I could never do it all over again and get hurt all over again, I couldn't stop myself from throwing myself into the wolves' den? I had to pull myself back somehow. I stopped myself from falling for Evan and turned towards Brandon, only to push him away as well. All the while avoiding the one person who had done nothing wrong and had nothing to do with my personal struggles.
And at that point, I stopped in my tracks. I wasn't ready to see Alex yet. Yes, I wanted to see her off before she goes back to Ireland. Yes, I wanted to send her off happily. Yes, I wanted to thank her for welcoming me to sunny California – but I didn't want to see her then. I was sharing my secret with my friend, who was willing to help me keep my million and one points of my secret. I had to share my friend as well? My world had to revolve around hers, as well?
"I – uh – Tell Alex I'm sorry," I mumbled. "I've got something to do."
"Johnathan!" Evan called out as I turned away sharply and began walking away back towards my end of the school.
"I'll be there for the party, I swear!" I responded, not looking back once.
I had nothing to do once I headed back into the school. All I could do was to settle down in a quiet corner in the library and fume needlessly over something that shouldn't have annoyed me at all. Some reflection made me hate myself for being a child at my age. Further reflection made me feel worse. As much as I wanted to get some work done, I couldn't help but fiddle with my phone for a solid hour, before finally deciding to bite the bullet and apologize.
'I'm sorry,' I typed. 'I really swear I'll be at the party tomorrow night.'
It didn't seem to take long before Evan replied. He replied so simply and so unemotionally that I felt like I was almost back in that time when I was avoiding him again. 'Okay," he said, ever so simply, simple enough to make me feel terrible. There was not a single word from Evan after that. Not a single peep or sign.
I didn't go back to the apartment that night. I intended to, but I decided to turn the other way and go to Scott and Marcel's place instead after hearing a second voice in the apartment. The two of them welcomed me with open arms and even offered to go to Alex's little farewell party with me (it was going to be held at Diane's place, I heard). They didn't ask any questions about what happened between me and Evan, or why we were hot one minute and cold the other, and just accepted that things were the way they were, and that we'd eventually figure out how to get back to being normal again. Their hope was so contagious that I'd even begun to believe it, myself. All in all, they were very gracious sleepover hosts, providing me with two pairs of listening ears and two sets of humorous and fun personalities to be around.
Even the way they woke me up was fun. I fully expected to be woken up with my face adorned with all sorts of genitalia roughly drawn upon my skin with a marker, but instead I woke up to the smell of bacon and pancakes. There Scotty was, flipping pancakes whilst Marcel half-yelled at him to tell him off as he elegantly handled his pan full of bacon. With a smile they greeted the still-sleepy me and handed me a plate with my breakfast on it. I felt much better, so much better then. But in comparison to the rest of the day, that was all so unimportant. Everything else that had happened before that night felt so, so unimportant.
It seemed like it was Evan's turn to avoid me. Wherever I was in Diane's house that night, he seemed to be in the next room over, coordinating his movements with mine. There was another person that seemed to be coordinating his movements with mine, moving with me wherever I was as if he was tailing me from the start to the end. I would've been fine with it given that it was someone I knew, but I still grew uncomfortable with it and eventually snapped –
"Could you – not follow me about?"
Brandon cracked a sheepish smile at me. "I'd love to, but you looked so lonely tonight I couldn't help but follow your scent everywhere. I've got a nose for lonely people, you know."
"It makes me a little – a little uncomfortable when you creep around me like that," I explained. "At least follow me around openly. And actually talk to me rather than keep silent."
"Sure thing, babe." He beamed. "But aren't you following someone as well?"
I sighed softly. "Not really. He just doesn't really want to talk to me."
"Then I guess I have your attention for the whole night, then?" He beamed wider.
"I guess so." I shrugged, and just as I did so, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. "Let me go pick up this call first, will you?"
Almost obediently, Brandon nodded, and stayed in his spot as I wandered off to a less crowded area in the apartment.
My phone was vibrating wildly by the time I attended to it. I rolled my eyes then, not knowing how serious the situation actually was, and picked up the call.
"What's up, Luke?"
"Jonathan…" Luke croaked. His voice was gravelly and low, as if he dreaded speaking to me. "You have to listen, okay?"
"I'm listening." I replied, still not catching on to the gravity of the situation.
"It's not good," he breathed. "The news over here's reporting all over that the Masked Killer got out somehow. Seems like he's got help from outside and has been planning his escape for some time."
"Oh…kay?"
"No, Jonathan, listen. It would've been fine for all of us. It would've been, but then they..."
Luke trailed off, and then sighed. I didn't realize how difficult it was to convey whatever he wanted to convey. Instead, I was impatient. I wanted to get back to Brandon. More than that, I wanted to get back to my happy space at home in my own room with my own diary.
"Go on," I snapped impatiently.
"Jonathan." Luke's tone was grave. "They – they found his body just this morning."
I froze. Luke didn't even need to say his name. I knew immediately from the way Luke said it that he wasn't talking about the Masked Killer. He was talking about someone else. Someone we both knew and someone that I've had a hard time saying used to matter to me. No, he mattered to me alright. He had stolen my heart. He had been my top priority for several months there, even though we couldn't see each other as often as we liked and we had our small romantic getaways confined to a sleepy morning or two a week. He mattered to me.
"Simon. He's… He's dead, Jonathan. They found his body while looking for the Masked Killer. They think he did it and –"
"Don't kid around," I cut in. I refused to believe it. The entire idea was ludicrous to me then. He'd been gone for a little more than a year now. He can't possibly just show up now, and dead at that, coincidentally in the path of the Masked Killer.
"I'm serious, Jonathan. I really am. He's dead, and it's all over the news. Inquiries are being made. Soon you'll even get the police coming to you to ask questions."
"He's been gone over a year!" I almost screamed back. My chest felt fuzzy and uncomfortably full, almost to the point of bursting. I needed to leave. I needed to go back to my happy place. I needed to run away from the world that I was in at the moment. Most of all, I needed someone. I needed someone to hold me.
"Why do I care?!" I continued. "Don't kid around, Luke. I don't have time for this. Dead or not, he's gone, and he's not coming back. You said that to me, and so I'm taking your advice! So there!"
I hung up on Luke rudely, cutting off his protesting voice from the other end with a click of a button. Fuming slightly, I half-stormed back to Brandon.
"Could you give me a ride home?"
"Sure thing," he smiled slightly, evidently taken aback by my change in mood. "Don't you at least want to talk to your roommate and go with him, though? Or at least let him know you're going?"
I looked around. Evan was still in the next room, his right arm tucked firmly around Alex's waist. There was a slight reddish tinge about his cheeks and his arm was lowering ever so slightly and ever so sensually that the raging annoyance within me became much worse.
"Forget it," I responded. "He's probably going to stay over here tonight, anyway."
The drive home couldn't be any slower. It seemed so slow that the moment Brandon got the car parked, I opened the door and rushed out and up towards the stairs. I didn't have the patience to wait for an elevator, let alone Brandon. Brandon, however, caught up with impressive finesse. He seemed almost graceful as he raced after me, the slight smile never slipping and his gaze never wandering away from me. He was chasing me, both physically and mentally.
"Jonathan!" I heard Mrs. Sandler call out as I passed her floor. I slowed to a stop, unwilling to allow my condition affect how I treated the kind old lady.
"You've got a letter," she said, widening the gap in her door. She walked out gracefully in her usual manner, raising her eyebrows slightly at the sight of Brandon.
"I believe I've seen you before," She held out her free hand, which Brandon took with an air of charisma. "Mrs. Sandler. Jonathan's landlady and the bossy old bat of this building."
"Brandon."
"Anyway," Mrs. Sandler turned back towards me, a letter outstretched in her other hand. "This came in earlier. I thought I'd save you the hassle by dropping it off by your apartment before you came back."
I tried to receive the letter from her hands as patiently as I could. Almost immediately, however, I noticed an odd, smoky scent coming from the envelope. The envelope itself seemed harmless. It was a pure, clean white, with some slight crinkles and creases here and there from what I believed was trauma from transportation. There were a few faint dark brown marks at the sides that I brushed off as simply dirt. The contents of the envelope also didn't seem too suspicious – it was thick, but it seemed as if it as a stack of papers or cards. The handwriting upon the envelope wasn't one that I had seen before, and the stamps seemed to indicate that it came from my home state.
"I'd thought most people stopped snail-mailing by now," Mrs. Sandler commented, and turned to leave. "Well, I'll leave you boys to your own thing. Take care of Jonathan, won't you?"
As soon as I heard her door click, my legs began to move again. This time, my hands were moving as well. I tore open the letter swiftly, but almost as soon as I opened the letter and took a peek into its contents, I inhaled sharply and dropped the envelope and its contents all over the stairs. Out came the contents of the letter I had received – dozens upon dozens of Polaroid photographs, each with some brownish stain of some sort on the white edges. The tight, full feeling in my chest came back and grew stronger than ever, and my head swirled. What I saw made me sick to the core, and a wave of nausea was soon boiling within me, threatening to push me over the edge.
"Jonathan?" Brandon called out, a ray of light attempting to penetrate the thick clouds of darkness that grew around me. I felt his arms around mine, hot and strong, attempting to pull me back to my feet as I sank to the ground, pale and shaking. "Please, Jonathan, talk to me!"
I couldn't speak. The moment I opened my mouth, I retched, emptying the contents of my stomach all over the ground and over a portion of the photos. Tears welled up to my eyes as I did, and before I knew it, I was crying uncontrollably. I didn't know when Mrs. Sandler also came along, or when the two of them got me back into the apartment and into the bath, or when I was dressed and swept back into my own bed. All I knew was that as I looked into the letter, I saw the eyes of Simon gaze right back at me. When I dropped the letter, I saw many more pairs, both tortured and soulless appear before me.
In each photo, his face was bloodied, cut open with the brutality of no less than an animal. There were burns and bruises on his face, and his hair – his beautiful dark hair – had been roughly shaved off of his head, leaving visible cuts behind. In some photographs, the cuts were fresh and bloody, and in others, they were festering, filled with vile yellow pus that dribbled from the edges. But the most terrible photo was the very first one that I saw.
His eyes were soulless and dead then, with an eyeball gouged out and placed sadistically out of place. His face was so severely injured that he was barely recognizable. His lips – the very ones I used to kiss – were cut open brutally from cheek to cheek, forming a grotesque smile that made me sick upon seeing it. And right underneath it all, in the white space that was coated in a layer of dried-up, dark brown blood, was a little message that was left for me.
'Love, Jason.'
First of all, I'm so sorry for the really, really long wait! I'm also really sorry about the lack of quality in this chapter. I've only ever gotten time to write it bit by bit, and upon getting a little bit more time this week I decided to complete it to push the plot forward a little bit. I'm not sure if anybody is still following this story much less reading it anymore because of how long you guys have to wait each time...! Either way, I hope you guys didn't mind it all too much and I hope it was still an enjoyable read. I do hope to write more soon, but I do know that in a few months I'll be incredibly busy again so I hope you guys can bear with me!
- delmin