Too Young to Burn

THURSDAY

Nathan woke up, for the third time this night. He lifted his eyes, which were swollen and red. After he had vomited for the second time, he had locked the door because he had been sick of Zach coming into his room, telling him to stop that shit.

But, of course, Nathan couldn't explain. If he had told him why he was acting so fucking strange, he wouldn't have believed him anyway … and he would have reported him to the police. So he couldn't tell him why he'd been sobbing for hours, vomiting on the boy's bathroom from crying too much, making him cry because he was such a pathetic peace of shit. He hadn't want to admit it, but the dream had hit him hard, and he had cried, because it had felt like playing a role in a theater, a finite play, with a scripted ending not as fucked up as his one. But then he had woken up, and he had realized that his end would be different from the one he had dreamed. Rachel was still dead, and Kris hadn't visited him in months (and she had broken up with Jack two years ago), Sean didn't give a shit about him nor his girlfriend Nathan would probably never have, and at the end of the day, Nathan was still in love with none other than Warren Graham, and it was spreading.

Nathan's head was exploding. He stood up, and everything was a blur. His movements were so frigid, and lifting his hands and arms suddenly felt impossible to do. His back was wet and cold, and his heart was racing. His body felt like an old house, which was about to collide, the flames were devouring the rotten beams, but from the outside, it looked like a mansion, which was absolutely alright. But these moldered beams, the wooden scaffold was infiltrated by maggots and decay. He felt … drugged. Depersonalized.

Nathan turned on the lights and looked at himself in the mirror. When did he start to look so fucked up? His eyes were red and murky. His eyelids tried hard to stay where they are, to hold his eyes open, and they felt heavy and looked like they were sinking in a dark shadow. Nathan's face also looked pretty gaunt, like he had smoked for years and hadn't eaten since. But then again, he didn't remember when he had eaten something you could call foot apart from that waffle with Mark. His room was dark, and sometimes, Nathan heard some things, but he couldn't tell what it was … the healing made some weird noises, and sometimes he had got waken up, hearing some one say "Rachel, Rachel, Rachel, Rachel", and he had looked around in fear, seeing no one.

Nathan sighed feebly. Mark. He hadn't played a role in his dream, and still, Nathan had somehow known that he had been there. He had still drugged Kate, and had killed Rachel Amber. … Still, nobody knew, and everybody liked him. None of them had accused him of being in love with Warren Graham, but how could they: he hadn't been. He had been in love with that stupid hipster girl, and he had went all crazy about her childish freckles and her attitude. He had looked at Warren once, seeing that he had been dating Stella, and there had been this weird sting in his heart he hadn't been able to define. Now, Nathan knew what it was.

This alternate reality felt so real yet so weird, like a beautiful nightmare.

After sleeping for some hours and hoping he wouldn't wake up with a stomach as nervous as it had been before, he slept until noon. After some weird ass dreams (but no lucid ones like his last one), he knew he couldn't continue this way. He needed some stronger medication than his pills, which did stop his headache, but not the weird things he heard.

He contacted Frank about some dope, then they set a time they wanted to meet. While putting on his clothes, he got a message from Mark.

'I'm assuming you're not attending school, so I need you to meet me, you know where.

There's something I want to talk with you about.' – Mark

Nathan had actually planned on taking a shower, but he was afraid that he would fall over like last time, and aside from his greasy hair, he didn't smell bad, so he put on a shirt and a cardigan, then he took his jacket and lightened a cig while he went out. His squad was chilling on the school's campus, and Nathan tried to ignore them, but of course, Vic saw him. She waved at him, smiling. Nathan sighed, saddened and somehow sobered. Oh sweet Vic. You have no idea who you're hanging out with. Things had gotten so much shittier and more complicated by now.

Suddenly, Hayden stood up, then he ran to him. Nathan swallowed uncomfortably. He was wearing his douche look, hooded, arrogant eyes, a quarterback jacket and a cig in his hand (but not the expensive one).

Suddenly, Nathan noticed that he pretty much looked the same.

"Wassup bro," Hayden grinned. Nathan didn't know how to react, also he didn't have the nerve to talk to him. If he hadn't been that fucking insecure, he had laughed at this stupid joke, but … even though everybody thought so, Nathan knew that he hadn't had any self-confidence at all. Sometimes, he wished to be as cool as Warren, of course he wasn't cool, but … he somehow appeared to be above it all.

"Fuck off," Nathan said, proceeding to ignore Hayden and his black eye. Nathan made sure that Hayden couldn't see his chapped knuckles.

"The fuck is wrong with you, bro," Hayden whispered smiling, forcing a grin while looking to the others, who were staring at the two boys in confusion, "you're acting so fucking strange. Where's my bro Nathan? I wanna be honest with you, 'cause you're my bud. You've changed throughout the months."

Hayden looked at him in a mixture of forced kindness and honest sympathy. For one second, Nathan felt his stomach turning upside down, felt like crying and explaining everything to the boy who had used to be his best mate.

"I don't have time for this shit," Nathan said instead, thinking about Mark and how mad he got at Nathan arriving too late. God! No wonder Hayden was talking trash about him – Nathan was insufferable.

Hayden tried to smile, waving at Vic, then he looked at him again, and his expression changed. He glared at him, pointing at his black eye, "I'm a fucking quarterback, you know who ya messing around with, right? I don't know what kind of creepy shit's going on in your pathetic life this time, but you're completely fucked up, you know that? Look at you. You look like a junkie. The fuck happened to you? You dad shoved too much money up your ass?"

"I said: Get the fuck out of my face, now," Nathan hissed, trying to ignore his headache. But Hayden continued. "Zach couldn't sleep because of you puking, bro. Everybody's talking about you," Hayden said in a threatening manner, gnashing his teeth, and his dark eyes glared at him, "they laugh at you and your crappy life. What's wrong this time? Are you depressed because daddy bought you the wrong boat? Poor little rich kid."

Then Hayden intended on walking off, but he turned around, looking at Nathan in a weird way. "Oh, and … they're talking about that fag Warren Graham. But calm down bro. I know you ain't into him. Would be pretty embarrassing, if the club's president would be jerking off to a dude, especially to an autistic nerd like Warren Gayham. I mean … what would the people say."

Hayden looked at him in an unfamiliar way, but before shitting his pants out of fear, Nathan managed to open his mouth, hissing, "Wouldn't be as embarrassing as a pathetic attempt of sexting Vic. Pretty disappointing dick pic, by the way. But hey, at least you don't have to fear me crushing on you."

Hayden's face froze, and Nathan went off to his car, feeling his heart race. Embracing another part of his sickness instead of denying it. Nathan didn't know if he should smile proudly or cry with fear off getting busted.

Nathan typed in the passcode for the second time this week, then he opened the door and entered the Dark Room. He paused; no music. Nathan wasn't sure if that was a good thing, since there hadn't been a meeting without some Jazz music in the background. Even during their sessions, Mark enjoyed some musical accompaniment. Nathan took out his box of cigs, which he really had to refill, then he fished out his lighter, but before he could have his smoke, he heard Mark's stern voice say, "For the millionth time, I don't want you to smoke in here, so put that shit out."

Nathan pulled a face, and for one second he thought about resisting, but then he obeyed, noticing that Mark's voice was firmer than usual. He seemed tense, lost in thoughts about something complicated. Nathan wondered what it was. Mark hadn't looked at him yet. Quite unusual; there was something amiss this time.

"Nathan, it's serious," Mark said, covering his mouth with his hands while brooding over some of Kate's and Rachel's photos, "I've talked to Max just the other day, and … I have a bad feeling."

Nathan threw his jacket over the sofa, an the plastic rustled (Nathan hated the fact that Mark insisted on covering it with that stupid film), then he came closer, taking a look at the red binders, noticing the one with Vic's name on it as well. He swallowed; no, Mark had promised him that she wasn't next. He needed to believe him … there was no one else left he could trust.

Next to the photos, there was Mark's old letter laying, telling Nathan to stop calling him by his phone and screaming his name in public. Back then, abut half a year ago, Mark had called it teen-rage. Nathan remembered Mark writing him this. It had been written by a completely different Mark Jefferson. He hadn't known Nathan and how serious he was about it. Now, Mark and him were closer than ever. Nathan wondered why the letter was laying there.

"I've been thinking," Mark said as he was looking up, and his eyes widened in surprise, "what the– Holy shit, are you alright?"

Nathan gave him a questioning look, feeling Mark's warm hands cupping his face. His brown eyes were staring at him though the glass. "Please don't say that you've driven here high."

"I'm not high," Nathan snarled, shaking his head and escaping Mark's grip, "I'm just … tired."

He wasn't high. Yet.

"I'm serious," Mark said, standing up and taking a seat on the sofa, "I'm not gonna pick you up from the hospital again, pretending to be your father. If you fuck up taking drugs properly, it's not my problem. I'm tired of this shit, Nathan."

"Holy crap, calm down," Nathan hissed, "I'm not fucking high. Got it? What do you want?"

Nathan sat down next to him and the stupid plastic squeaked, then Mark gave him a firm look. "As I said, I've been thinking. Max and I have talked and she continues telling everybody about you drugging Kate, even the police and Madsen. But Kate's not our main problem … I don't know why, but something tells me that her and this punk girl Chloe are closer to find Rachel than every member of the police. They start to get dangerous."

Mark silenced, and Nathan stared at him, trying to figure out what was happening underneath that brown, groomed hair. Nathan never knew what Mark was thinking; something he loved and feared at the same time.

"… I've changed my mind. I think it's better to have a break for some time."

"A break …?" Nathan replied. "You mean …"

"What I want to say is … let's stop at this point. If Max really manages to somehow prove that you drugged Kate and that you never took her to the hospital, we're fucked. It's too risky. We'll continue when it's absolute safe, but at this moment, it's not."

"Oh," Nathan said, not being sure what to feel. On the one hand, he was sad to know that he wouldn't have an excuse to spend time with Mark, because he somehow thought that this would continue the next years, and that he wouldn't have to worry about school at all. On the other hand, he was kind of relieved to hear that there was one thing he didn't need to worry about at this moment. He didn't know if he would manage to endure another session, seeing this empty look on the next girl's face.

"But don't get me wrong," Mark suddenly said, standing up and walking through the room, "we'll still finish what we have begun."

Nathan looked up in surprise, and before Mark could tell him, he knew exactly who he meant. He jumped off the sofa, staring at him, shocked.

"No …! This, this is a joke, right?" he screamed, but Mark just looked at him with his dark eyes. Unimpressed. "I knew it. I fucking knew it all the time. You want her, right? You want Max to be our model!"

"… Now, I've been thinking about this a lot, and normally, she wouldn't be my type, but her eyes–"

"I know, I know, her eyes are so un-fucking-believably innocent, and her stupid freckled nose, sticking it into everything that's none of her business. Whatevathefuck!" Nathan screamed, glaring at Mark, but he wasn't frightened. He stared back with a look a lot firmer than Nathan's.

"Here we go again – the teen-rage," Mark said, rolling his eyes and putting his hands on his hips, which made Nathan even more furious. – "You fucking kidding me, Mark?! You wanna frame that bitch who got me reported and got you expelled from the contest? She doesn't deserve it, she's not even worth having her stupid face on one of her shitty instant photos! I told you what I think of–"

"And I told you that I don't give a shit," Mark said with a look as cold as ice, "about what you think of my models. I'm your mentor, and you're my apprentice. Maybe you'll understand when you're older."

Mark's last sentence made Nathan blush with rage and shame, hearing that Mark didn't think he had an eye for their photos. "Listen here," Nathan screamed in an outburst of rage, but he paused as Mark cut him short.

"No, you listen. Yes, I do believe that Max's different from the others. In some sort of way I haven't already figured out. But," he said, and he squinted his eyes like a cat, "try to think for once, goddamnit. Of course I'm not gonna photograph her just because she's some girl with mysterious blue eyes and a polaroid."

Nathan tried to figure out what he meant. His gaze confusedly wandered to Mark, who looked like he had been thinking about this for quite a while now.

"I'm gonna photograph her and then I'm gonna give her an extra dose, then I will bring her to the hospital. I'll tell them that I found her during the club party. I know the concentrate, and I will dilute her dose," Mark said and a judgmental look was lasting on Nathan's shoulders, and the shame crawled up his spine as he thought about what that look meant, "she'll stay at the hospital for some time, and she won't be able to continue her … investigations. But there's something different about Max, and I hope you'll understand that, but this time … I want to do it on my own."

"You, you want to– Why?" Nathan asked, disappointed and relieved at the same time. It was true that he probably wouldn't stand another shooting, and Max's lifeless eyes would probably make him fall over and black out again like he already did some days ago. But then again, why didn't Mark want to involve him?

The answer was brief and plausible. "I don't want you to get in any more trouble than you already are," Mark explained, "and I see that you're not feeling well. After Kate's suicide, you've been devastated. I'm so glad you're feeling a little better now. You're too young to burn."

Nathan swallowed uneasily, noticing Mark quoting something he had once screamed to him during a panic attack, telling him that he felt like his body had been set on fire, and he couldn't stand it any longer.

"Don't get me wrong, but …" Mark, who had been glaring at him a minute ago, now looked at him tenderly, and his voice turned smooth again as he carefully approached him, lifting his hand and stroking Nathan's cheek. He rested his fingers on Max's scratch marks.

"There's so much at stake, and on top of it your well-being. Now, I know you're disappointed, and you think that photographing Max is wrong, and, you know, it's not like I don't understand that. We're working together since one year and the last models have been chosen by us, and framed by us, but … I know what seeing Kate Marsh did to you, and I want to wait some time before I expose you to this again."

Nathan swallowed, trying to resist the urge of hugging Mark back, who put his arms around him. Nathan sensed Mark's perfume, and it felt like he was doing it for the first time since ages. The long-familiar warmth and the feeling of Mark's beard tickling his cheeks teared him back into the past, like a wave of nostalgia, and Nathan couldn't help but let his body being carried away. He closed his eyes, wishing capturing moments was as easy as taking photographs.

"It's not your fault, Nathan," Mark whispered, and Nathan knew whom he was talking about. Yes, he had bullied her, he hadn't thought about her feelings, but at the end, it had been her, who had jumped … right?

"Thanks," Nathan whispered, and tears were running down his cheeks as he spoke his next words, "I don't know what I'd do without you, Mark."

"You don't have to," Mark said and his words lifted Nathan's heart, then he looked at him with his calm hazel eyes, who told him everything was alright, life wasn't as shitty as it seemed. Even though it was just an illusion.

"After all, we're a team."