When he’d stumbled out of Lorenzo’s car that night, clutching his poorly-buttoned blazer against his chest, hiding something more metaphorical than real, his body felt broken. His head throbbed. His limbs were tired, his back hurt. His chest ached with his still-shallow breaths. And the most obvious pain, of course, the one he tried to ignore, but every time he recalled it he remembered the blood.
That was good, he had decided. Thematically resonant. His body ached, and so did he. He had changed. He felt that in his bones. He had to feel it, or else it would stay in his head. The pain was miserable, but the alternative was worse.
He took slow steps into the house. Still too early for his parents to be asleep, his mother bombarded him with questions; he mumbled something about the food at prom not agreeing with him, clutched his stomach to sell the deception, and she got out of his way and let him shuffle into the bathroom. He did not look down as he removed his clothes, he closed his eyes, his hands barely able to undo the buttons, he climbed into the shower, he turned the water on.
Hot.
Hotter.
He didn’t turn it down. It hurt. He scrubbed and that hurt too, but that was okay. He opened his eyes and his skin was pink and red where he scrubbed and he scrubbed harded and it bled a little and that was okay too. Soap and water. If he removed his skin he’d be cleaner, at least. Not clean because his bones had changed, too, but cleaner. He felt better, he thought. He didn’t know how much time had passed when he turned the water off. He wrapped a towel around as much of his body as he could cover. His arms and legs were mottled red.
He snuck into his room. No interruptions. He had never slept naked before. He dropped his towel on the floor and crawled into bed. It stung where his skin stuck to the sheets. The pain blocked out his conscious thoughts. That was nice. That was good.
Moments or years later, he fell asleep.
The Tell-Tale Heart
may 25th through june 1st, 2018, a tale in several parts (cw: implications of sexual assault & trauma)
The Tell-Tale Heart
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
When he woke up, he burned.
His skin wasn’t quite as bad. The worst patches had faded to sunburn-pink; the lighter parts had returned to normal. But every inch still stung. The other pains were fading, the muscle aches, the throbbing in his head. But his skin still burned. He picked up his discarded towel and covered himself as he snuck back into the bathroom. Turned the water on. Climbed into the shower. The hot water burned worse, his skin cried for mercy, he wished it wouldn’t fix itself so quickly, he wished he could peel it all off at once, but it was good enough, for now. He snuck back to his room. Put on clothes. Long sleeves, long pants. He wondered if he could throw them out, later. His skin stuck to them. He felt wrong again. He wondered how long he could stay in the shower before his parents would worry.
He took breakfast to his room. Lunch. It was 2 PM. He had slept for 14 hours. Maybe longer. His parents were out. That was for the best. He took a large bag of tortilla chips along with his cereal. He locked the door. He never locked the door. He unlocked the drawer in his bedside table with the key he kept in his notebook. He pushed aside his bowl and his stash. There was a plastic bag with a brownie in it. A month old at least. He didn’t like edibles. They made him sleepy. Heavy. He smoked and drank too much coffee and didn’t sleep because there were too many thoughts that he needed to cram onto paper before the high dropped off and the caffeine left him and he collapsed. He didn’t have thoughts now. He ate the brownie. It was stale.
He thought about taking another shower. He took another shower. It was 11 PM. The chips were gone. His notebooks were meticulously dated. He hadn’t missed a day in months. Last time was the stomach flu. He stared at an empty page and then it was 4 AM and he fell asleep again.
Then it was Monday.
His skin wasn’t quite as bad. The worst patches had faded to sunburn-pink; the lighter parts had returned to normal. But every inch still stung. The other pains were fading, the muscle aches, the throbbing in his head. But his skin still burned. He picked up his discarded towel and covered himself as he snuck back into the bathroom. Turned the water on. Climbed into the shower. The hot water burned worse, his skin cried for mercy, he wished it wouldn’t fix itself so quickly, he wished he could peel it all off at once, but it was good enough, for now. He snuck back to his room. Put on clothes. Long sleeves, long pants. He wondered if he could throw them out, later. His skin stuck to them. He felt wrong again. He wondered how long he could stay in the shower before his parents would worry.
He took breakfast to his room. Lunch. It was 2 PM. He had slept for 14 hours. Maybe longer. His parents were out. That was for the best. He took a large bag of tortilla chips along with his cereal. He locked the door. He never locked the door. He unlocked the drawer in his bedside table with the key he kept in his notebook. He pushed aside his bowl and his stash. There was a plastic bag with a brownie in it. A month old at least. He didn’t like edibles. They made him sleepy. Heavy. He smoked and drank too much coffee and didn’t sleep because there were too many thoughts that he needed to cram onto paper before the high dropped off and the caffeine left him and he collapsed. He didn’t have thoughts now. He ate the brownie. It was stale.
He thought about taking another shower. He took another shower. It was 11 PM. The chips were gone. His notebooks were meticulously dated. He hadn’t missed a day in months. Last time was the stomach flu. He stared at an empty page and then it was 4 AM and he fell asleep again.
Then it was Monday.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
Home was okay. He never talked much. His mom talked at him. He nodded. He wore long sleeves. He hid his prom outfit under his bed. He wondered if he could burn it. He wondered if Dolly would hate him if he did. He came home and smoked. He took two showers. When his parents went out he took three.
School was different.
He was quiet. People were used to that. He didn’t go to clubs. That was more noteworthy. He got texts that he didn’t respond to. He saw Dolly in the halls. He avoided her when he could. He couldn’t always. She touched his arm and he cringed away because it hurt and because she shouldn’t touch him. He told her he wasn’t feeling well and she nodded. She asked if there was anything she could do. He apologized. He had always apologized a lot. They were the only words he could find now.
He came home on Monday and opened his notebook and wrote I’M SORRY but he wrote too hard and ripped through the page.
Classes were unimportant. Probably his grades were dropping. It didn’t matter. It was almost over anyway. He had been accepted to college. He was so tired all the time even though he did nothing but sleep. He pinched his arm and it hurt. That helped, a little.
Thematic resonance, he remembered. He wasn’t sure it fit anymore. He didn’t feel anything inside.
He kept his dirty clothes in a pile. He didn’t wash them. He wasn’t sure how he could make them clean again.
The days passed like something. He didn’t have words.
He missed his words so much.
School was different.
He was quiet. People were used to that. He didn’t go to clubs. That was more noteworthy. He got texts that he didn’t respond to. He saw Dolly in the halls. He avoided her when he could. He couldn’t always. She touched his arm and he cringed away because it hurt and because she shouldn’t touch him. He told her he wasn’t feeling well and she nodded. She asked if there was anything she could do. He apologized. He had always apologized a lot. They were the only words he could find now.
He came home on Monday and opened his notebook and wrote I’M SORRY but he wrote too hard and ripped through the page.
Classes were unimportant. Probably his grades were dropping. It didn’t matter. It was almost over anyway. He had been accepted to college. He was so tired all the time even though he did nothing but sleep. He pinched his arm and it hurt. That helped, a little.
Thematic resonance, he remembered. He wasn’t sure it fit anymore. He didn’t feel anything inside.
He kept his dirty clothes in a pile. He didn’t wash them. He wasn’t sure how he could make them clean again.
The days passed like something. He didn’t have words.
He missed his words so much.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
His mom mentioned DC on Thursday.
He didn’t know what she was talking about. He had been feeling a little better. At least enough that he could hear what she was saying and wasn’t just nodding. His parents had been out for a couple of hours and he hadn’t taken another shower. That was progress, maybe. Maybe he had just given up on being clean. His skin didn’t sting any less. He had sat with Dolly at lunch. He sat across from her so she wouldn’t touch him, and he didn’t say much. But it was a little better. She’d asked if he wanted to come over after school. He’d made an excuse.
DC. He was missing something. He said something stupid like “huh?” His mom looked at him strangely. She reminded him.
They were leaving tomorrow. Dolly had mentioned it. He hadn’t said anything, because he hadn’t processed it, because he wasn’t processing much. He was focused on doing better. He was doing better, he told himself, again, because that might help. Tomorrow, though. Tomorrow they’d go on a bus. All of them. A bunch of hours, and then DC, and they’d all be together. There were so many of them.
“No,” he said.
”Nyet?”
”Nyet.”
It was an argument. It might have been an argument, anyway, if he had spoken back. His mom went on about the deposit they’d put down. How this was an opportunity for him. How he needed to spend more time with his peers anyway. He just stared at his emptied plate of beef stroganoff and squeezed his arm. He wasn’t better enough, yet. He wasn’t fixed, yet. He couldn’t get away from them there. He couldn’t get away from anyone.
He thought of Lorenzo’s face and felt like something was squeezing his throat.
She couldn’t make him go. He took another shower. He texted Dolly.
I’m sorry.
I don’t think I can go.
I don’t feel well.
He loved her so much.
He thought of words. He thought about writing them down, but decided against it. He put his phone in his drawer and locked it so he couldn’t read her response.
He fell asleep.
He didn’t know what she was talking about. He had been feeling a little better. At least enough that he could hear what she was saying and wasn’t just nodding. His parents had been out for a couple of hours and he hadn’t taken another shower. That was progress, maybe. Maybe he had just given up on being clean. His skin didn’t sting any less. He had sat with Dolly at lunch. He sat across from her so she wouldn’t touch him, and he didn’t say much. But it was a little better. She’d asked if he wanted to come over after school. He’d made an excuse.
DC. He was missing something. He said something stupid like “huh?” His mom looked at him strangely. She reminded him.
They were leaving tomorrow. Dolly had mentioned it. He hadn’t said anything, because he hadn’t processed it, because he wasn’t processing much. He was focused on doing better. He was doing better, he told himself, again, because that might help. Tomorrow, though. Tomorrow they’d go on a bus. All of them. A bunch of hours, and then DC, and they’d all be together. There were so many of them.
“No,” he said.
”Nyet?”
”Nyet.”
It was an argument. It might have been an argument, anyway, if he had spoken back. His mom went on about the deposit they’d put down. How this was an opportunity for him. How he needed to spend more time with his peers anyway. He just stared at his emptied plate of beef stroganoff and squeezed his arm. He wasn’t better enough, yet. He wasn’t fixed, yet. He couldn’t get away from them there. He couldn’t get away from anyone.
He thought of Lorenzo’s face and felt like something was squeezing his throat.
She couldn’t make him go. He took another shower. He texted Dolly.
I’m sorry.
I don’t think I can go.
I don’t feel well.
He loved her so much.
He thought of words. He thought about writing them down, but decided against it. He put his phone in his drawer and locked it so he couldn’t read her response.
He fell asleep.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
He left his phone in the drawer when he woke up. He imagined they were still on the bus. Dolly was probably texting him. He hoped she wasn’t angry at him. She probably wasn’t surprised. She knew him too well. Probably she was more surprised he’d agreed to come on the trip to begin with. He hadn’t particularly wanted to. DC didn’t appeal to him in any specific way. Being around so many people for so long would have been hard no matter what.
He was almost glad for the excuse.
He laughed at that thought because he could. His laughter tasted like bile. He dragged himself out of bed to the bathroom in case he threw up, but he didn’t. He took a shower, and felt better. Parts of his skin were scabbed over where he’d scrubbed so hard he’d bled. Other parts were shiny in a way that made him uncomfortable. He wondered if he should stop, or if he could, but he could think about it another time, when things tasted normal again.
Time passed slowly. He’d found time, again, but he couldn’t bear to do anything with it. His notebook lay open to its ripped page. His laptop was unopened, his PS4 untouched. His door still locked. His mother was angry with him, his father was resigned. He didn’t want to speak to either.
He put on a movie. It didn’t matter what movie it was, since he’d watched everything on his shelf a number of times. It just mattered that it was something. That time would pass when he watched it. He plucked a case at random, put the disc in his PS4, and didn’t know what he was watching until he reached the title screen. He barely noticed it then. He just pressed play. Between the pain and the movie he could keep pretending there was nothing else to think about.
For a little while, at least.
He wondered where the bus was, now. He wondered if Dolly hated him for not coming, if Amelia hated him for abandoning her at prom. He wondered if anyone else noticed he was gone, if Regina or Valerija or Alexander had noticed he wasn’t there. He hoped not. He hoped they were all happy.
He put on another movie.
He wondered if they had arrived yet. What their hotel looked like, who had to room together, if there was a pool and good food. He wondered if they were having fun, if they missed him at all, if they’d noticed. He wondered if he deserved to be thinking about them all when he’d barely spoken to any of them all week. He wondered if he should have told Dolly.
The taste of bile was still there. He didn’t know how to wash it away.
He opened the drawer.
His phone was there. There were messages. Not just from Dolly but mostly from her. Worried, at first, then idle, photos of the countryside, updates on the journey. They had arrived about an hour previous.
He should have told her, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t see the look on her face. He couldn’t shake the possibility of it twisting in disgust, of her stepping back, avoidant, uncomfortable. That was what he deserved. But he was too much of a coward to accept it. Things could stay the same if he didn’t speak. All he wanted was for things to stay the same.
But they had changed already. His bones felt heavy. It was too late.
At least he wouldn’t see her face. If she just hung up, that would be judgment enough. But something had to give, or else he’d be trapped here.
He took a deep breath.
> Dolly?
> I'm sorry to bother you.
> I'm sure you're busy.
> Let me know when you can talk?
He swore he’d felt nothing at all for days, but when her response lit up his phone, he started to cry.
He was almost glad for the excuse.
He laughed at that thought because he could. His laughter tasted like bile. He dragged himself out of bed to the bathroom in case he threw up, but he didn’t. He took a shower, and felt better. Parts of his skin were scabbed over where he’d scrubbed so hard he’d bled. Other parts were shiny in a way that made him uncomfortable. He wondered if he should stop, or if he could, but he could think about it another time, when things tasted normal again.
Time passed slowly. He’d found time, again, but he couldn’t bear to do anything with it. His notebook lay open to its ripped page. His laptop was unopened, his PS4 untouched. His door still locked. His mother was angry with him, his father was resigned. He didn’t want to speak to either.
He put on a movie. It didn’t matter what movie it was, since he’d watched everything on his shelf a number of times. It just mattered that it was something. That time would pass when he watched it. He plucked a case at random, put the disc in his PS4, and didn’t know what he was watching until he reached the title screen. He barely noticed it then. He just pressed play. Between the pain and the movie he could keep pretending there was nothing else to think about.
For a little while, at least.
He wondered where the bus was, now. He wondered if Dolly hated him for not coming, if Amelia hated him for abandoning her at prom. He wondered if anyone else noticed he was gone, if Regina or Valerija or Alexander had noticed he wasn’t there. He hoped not. He hoped they were all happy.
He put on another movie.
He wondered if they had arrived yet. What their hotel looked like, who had to room together, if there was a pool and good food. He wondered if they were having fun, if they missed him at all, if they’d noticed. He wondered if he deserved to be thinking about them all when he’d barely spoken to any of them all week. He wondered if he should have told Dolly.
The taste of bile was still there. He didn’t know how to wash it away.
He opened the drawer.
His phone was there. There were messages. Not just from Dolly but mostly from her. Worried, at first, then idle, photos of the countryside, updates on the journey. They had arrived about an hour previous.
He should have told her, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t see the look on her face. He couldn’t shake the possibility of it twisting in disgust, of her stepping back, avoidant, uncomfortable. That was what he deserved. But he was too much of a coward to accept it. Things could stay the same if he didn’t speak. All he wanted was for things to stay the same.
But they had changed already. His bones felt heavy. It was too late.
At least he wouldn’t see her face. If she just hung up, that would be judgment enough. But something had to give, or else he’d be trapped here.
He took a deep breath.
> Dolly?
> I'm sorry to bother you.
> I'm sure you're busy.
> Let me know when you can talk?
He swore he’d felt nothing at all for days, but when her response lit up his phone, he started to cry.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
Artem hung up.
That went well, he thought, wiping the tears welling in his eyes. She didn’t notice, he didn’t think.
He would be okay. He needed to be okay.
When she came back, he’d find himself again. For her sake.
He wasn’t quite ready to do it for his own, but that was okay, too.
He just needed time.
Only time.
That went well, he thought, wiping the tears welling in his eyes. She didn’t notice, he didn’t think.
He would be okay. He needed to be okay.
When she came back, he’d find himself again. For her sake.
He wasn’t quite ready to do it for his own, but that was okay, too.
He just needed time.
Only time.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."