All That We Say or Seem

by Cole Delacour

  A double date? Why would I ever want to be involved on a double date? In what world would he actually think that’s something I would want to do? I hadn’t had to fake being straight in so long. I let myself - let myself feel for so long. Let myself believe I was free of all the expectations weighing me down, but I hadn’t actually told anyone, had I? Well - nobody but Zeke, but I needed the free tattoos, and I hadn’t exactly told him everything. I never said the words to him even, did I? I’m still trapped.

  "Uhhh - a double date?"

  Reading my tone, I wanted to scream. Wanted him to feel the unspeakable, but he just shrugged. "Danielle said yes to a date, but apparently, Maggie got dumped, so...I said I’d put in a word with you." He smacked my shoulder. "Apparently, you’re considered to be one of the hottest freshman psych majors."

  The less I wanted their attention, the more people paid to me. Just like high school. All their eyes on me. I couldn’t refuse the dates. Not all of them. My dad would’ve started asking questions. Made jokes about my standards. Too high. Nose in the air. Too good for my own or a pansy. Both would’ve become daggers - turned against me, sharp and deep and I couldn’t do this here. Boston - east coast - freedom, right? I had to be. This meant I needed - I wasn’t - but that would mean telling him.

  Maybe I could trust him. Tom would understand. He joked about Chad and Alexander. But he also commented that Alexander was hot. Speculated on the sexuality of others while safely dating a woman. But he described himself as demisexual. He joked about crushes. Like the uncontrolled rush of infatuation was hilarious. Ridiculous. Something to be reveled in and joked about. Something beautiful. Light and gentle and welcome in all forms - amusing in all forms. So he would understand. Hell, knowing Tom, he’d probably be elated to be the first to officially know. Accepting and loving and a better roommate than a messed up guy like me deserved.

  He’d probably be better for Gray than I am.

  Cold and twitching and dark thoughts. Shoving more bagel into my mouth, I shrugged as best I could in what I hoped was an apologetic way. Tattoos - I couldn’t go because I had to get the next set of tattoos. Just my arms left. "Sorry, I’ve got a standing date for Saturdays."

  His eyes narrowed. "Shit, you got a girl? How did I not notice?"

  "Nah, man, I’m getting a tattoo." And now he’s going to ask questions.

  "Tattoos?"

  Tugging down my collar, I showed off the beginning of my chest tattoos. "It’s a couple sessions, but I’ll lose the deposit if I don’t show up." Liar.

  Why yes, doctor, I lied. I grew up lying. These thoughts weren’t unusual. Growing up hating myself, I struggled with more darkness than light, and every single day, I swallowed back, cutting off the pieces of me that threatened to kill me - to drag the weight of a world that would hate me for who I was inside, and all of it with this goal in mind. Get away. Go to a big fancy college - go to Harvard. Because Boston had to be progressive. Not NYU progressive, but they offered me more money than NYU, and if I headed out west - I wasn’t west coast material. Not brave enough or loud enough, and if you aren’t west coast material, you aren’t NYC material, but Boston - I could do Boston. Pull myself back together. Stitch the pieces back on me which hadn’t decayed. Ease myself into being who I told myself I couldn’t be.

  "What the hell - man, when did you - "

  And that wasn’t Tom, but he’d reset - hopefully - by the end of the class, so I just gestured at the professor and the lecture, mouthing my thanks for the bagel and pretending, with everything I had - pretending I could explain away what drove me. Because I was a coward. Shut up. Who used tattoos because I failed to say that I was - that was my secret to tell - Chad already knew. Alexander and he bet that my insanity came from repression. I wasn’t crazy. Which meant these thoughts invading my head weren’t me.

  Shoving them, I focused on my professor. Rory’s little brother. Well hello, Dr. Carreau. I’m not getting near him. Poor Rory - he seemed devastated when he saw how happy his brother was on his own. Without his drug addict, waste of space - now he wasn’t even trying.

  Maybe I was cocky. Maybe I thought I was just too good. If I could recognize which thoughts were mine and which were Carreau’s, how could he possibly get to me? Rory told me. Talked about the way Carreau twisted him around himself until up and down no longer made any sense, and he fumbled - swallowing the pills he was given without consideration to the other forces at work. The doctors worked as a unit. They supported each other. A terrible, warped pair of geniuses - fiddling inside the heads of the living until they could find a way to get a body of their own, and I believed I knew better. Dreamed I could recognize the voices. Separate them from myself.

  But they just kept coming. Clawing their way inside me until my brain screamed the names over and over - questions I couldn’t answer. What if Gray no longer loved me? What if I saved him only to have everything torn apart? All these tattoos, scarring my body without meaning - it had meaning. Saving Gray - it wasn’t just because I loved him. Not just because I loved him. That was only part. I wanted to be useful. Give my life meaning because the moment I admitted what I was out loud - it would find its way back to my family like a flood. A trail of blood which would never wash clean. Cut me off at the root. If I could save Gray - save him and keep him, I had to be worth more than the nothing I would be to my father - my mother - who would call me ungrateful. List out all they had done for me. The weight of their expectations - their doctor-to-be son dismissed and forgotten. Not that they’d tell their friends. Better everyone think I was a big city doctor. Too smart to come home. Better ungrateful than -

  "Shut up," I hissed.

  Tom frowned, brows furrowing. "You okay?" he whispered.

  "I’m fine." I lied.

  Scratching his head, he sighed. "You sure, you okay? Seriously, James, you’ve been kind of normal lately, so I tried to forget about that insomnia or narcolepsy whatever you had, but you’re kind of freaking me out again."

  "Sorry - just...arguing with myself. You know - intrusive thoughts." Not the right move. Not the right answer - who would think it was normal. He actually understood what that meant. Better to brush it off as stress. How many white farm boys get into Harvard these days? "Just ignore me."

  Though he nodded, his face did some interesting acrobatics. Skeptical - disbelieving that I could be anything other than his concern. That he could ignore me. If I could swing it on my scholarship, I needed to get a single next year. Or a single in a suite - something so nobody would know my sleep habits. All the bad habits that would chase Gray away.

  For once, Carreau was right. I wouldn’t have to worry. Next semester, I’d have Gray. Who didn’t have IDs or a place to stay. I could work. Dropping out would be a pretty shut door, and Gray would always feel guilty. I’d always hold it against him if I did. Gray and I would work on that together. The two of us - we could do it. Could figure it out. Those weren’t decisions I had to make on my own, and it would be easier then - easier to admit to what I wanted, who I was - because Gray could handle it. After being locked up the majority of his life - because he could commune with the dead, Gray deserved the responsibility of being my emotional crutch. That - that wasn’t true. When I didn’t deal with ghosts who wanted to kill me, that was when I’d make life-changing decisions. Like getting tattoos. Or taking in an eighteen-year-old from before the turn of the century.

  And the worst part - I couldn’t even argue with him, so I held my tongue. Pushing it down. Swallowing my outrage and the excuses, concentrating on surviving. Two more weeks. I could do this. Just two more weeks.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  "All right, that's all I have time for unfortunately," Professor Haggard said, dismissing us.

  Shutting my notebook, I groaned, stretching. "Brunch?"

  But Tom just frowned. Between the short dark fuzz of his buzzcut and the glow of the half-dead lights above our heads, the lines of his jaw seemed sharp enough to cut, and when - after a weird offbeat - he f
inally smiled and put his own stuff away, I could almost smell the thick miasma of Dr. Ose's study. Warm, choking, like breathing in smoke. The scent wound itself around my nose. Thick and cloying even when the pair of us stepped into the hallway, but in the clouded light of mid-morning, it faded once we exited the building.

  "So what's really going on?" Tom demanded on the old pathway to the nearest cafeteria.

  I shrugged. "What do you mean?"

  "You're acting weird again."

  One of these days, I'd tell Tom everything. He deserved to know. Not because I owed him anything. Though I probably did. Owed him the honesty of a friend - which was unfamiliar because the last 'friend' I had ran away to California because his boyfriend - and my crush - made his life a living Hell. If that could be called friendship considering. I never told Reggie the truth either. Simon would've made the whole result miserable if I had. Bad enough for him to suspect.

  Now wasn't the time. Not until Gray was safely in my arms. "Just stressed. Finals this week - not going home for Christmas..." But Tom was. He planned to leave Friday morning. "Wait - aren't you heading home Friday?"

  Grabbing my arm, he pulled me out of the middle of the path. "Dude, you don't do well when stressed. You need to calm down. You're hyper-focusing, which might be great for whatever you're actually concentrating on, but I doubt it's all your classes at once."

  "I appreciate your concern, but seriously, man, I'm fine."

  "Fine?" His brows leapt up before furrowing low over his dark eyes. "You're not planning ahead. You aren't going home..."

  Of course. Tom and his perfect home life - which was why he was such a great person, better than me, had him stumped. Why would I not go home? I could tell him the right lie. Again.

  Running a hand through my hair, I took a deep breath. "My folks can't afford that. Anyway, not like I'll be alone. A lot of the international students stay behind."

  "That you know?" he asked, and when I didn't immediately answer - because he knew I couldn't, Tom continued to roll right over me. "Maybe you've forgotten, but I room with you. I call my dad weekly - sometimes even streaming for the game. My mom and I text almost daily. You haven't talked to either of your parents the whole time you were here."

  "One, you aren't around me every hour of every day, and two, you and I aren't the same. Our families aren't comparable," I argued, catching my voice raising quickly enough to keep it low, but not quickly enough for Tom not to notice the uptick.

  Crossing his arms, he tapped his foot. "Why?"

  "Hell if I know. Some guys get lucky," I retorted.

  He snorted, but his eyes blazed with a focus which terrified me. For all his talk about hyper-focus, I wasn't the one with an Adderall prescription. As nice as Tom could be, every ounce of his concentration on me threatened everything. If he realized what was happening, no way he'd understand. Or believe. My actions added up to a one-way ticket to a psychiatric hold. I couldn't afford to lose even one day. Risk losing Gray - or my scholarships.

  I had to tell him the truth.

  No. I could do this on my own. I didn't need Tom to figure things out. Sure, I had help, but I had this. Two more tattoo sessions with Zeke, and then I'd camp out in the manor to ensure I was there when the time came. Reach into limbo in the attic, drag Gray out, and figure out the rest once we were safely back in the dorm.

  When Gray sat beside me, then I could tell Tom. Tell him everything, and if he thought I was crazy, fine. Because Gray's life wouldn't be in the balance. We had another semester together - and if I expected him to help hide Gray, I needed to stop waiting and tell him now.

  Stop it. No matter how much Carreau whispered in my ear, I wouldn't do what he wanted. I saw him - felt him - recognized his evil. I wouldn’t let him bend me around myself like he did with Rory.

  "My parents have certain opinions, and I'm not somebody who they'd want around at Christmas." Not somebody they'd want anyway. They would hate me. Make me hate myself - more than I already did. "It's complicated, and I'm not ready to talk about this yet. Maybe after finals - or hell if you could give me next year, I -"

  Tom threw an arm around my shoulders. Pulling me into a one-armed embrace, he guided me onward toward the dining hall. "You don't have to tell me right now. I know I'm putting you on the spot, but you're freaking me out." We got a few paces in awkward silence before he added, "Come back home with me. My parents always wanted another kid - "

  "Thanks for the invite, but I'm good. Finishing up my tattoo, spending some time figuring out how to deal better." Maybe even figuring out how to be honest. Find a way to reassure myself lies weren't necessary.

  Prepare for when my parents called. When they asked why I didn't come back on the bus. My mom would ask if I hadn’t been able to afford the ticket after all and offer to buy one. Ask if I was eating enough - sleeping enough. Until I told them the truth, they would keep caring. She'd care. My dad would tell her I was a young man - spreading my wings. Probably tell me to make sure I hit a service, but at eighteen, he considered his responsibilities completed. I got into college, didn't I? I survived and looked like I'd end up a productive member of society.

  That would take time. But it was important. Better I get everything out of them - the hatred and the attempts to save me. Odds were my mom might try to reason with me. Tell me I was mistaken. Confused by the city. By the City. Like all cities were exactly alike and held the same temptations. For her, I'd have to stick my ground. Tell her again and again - find a way not to get angry - not to yell or cry or tear myself apart when she blamed herself. She always did that. Verbally punished herself to push me to fold. I couldn't live like that. Live in the unknown - Schrödinger's gay. Wasn't that the trick? Everybody else balanced between the two - was or wasn't - but the cat knew. I knew.

  My dad wouldn't give a second chance. He'd dismiss me. Disown me. Tell me to forget about them. Act like I was suddenly more on my own. As if he paid a cent toward my education or anything else. I had bought the ticket to Boston. I paid for my school supplies. Everything was me.

  "Hey, come on," Tom called, waving his hand in front of my face. "You're zoning again."

  Better pay attention. Would hate for a positive coming out experience before I threw myself on the proverbial fire.

  Shut up, Carreau. That sick reverse psychological experiment wouldn't work on me.

  "Sorry."

  Though he nodded, any ease I had earned myself stood on shakier and shakier ground. Just two weeks, and after this Friday, I wouldn't have to hide my actions from anyone. I'd have the dorm room - and pretty much the whole dorm - to myself for the next four weeks. Two weeks of that would be with Gray.

  Or dead.

  Either way, I'd be with Gray.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Tom rushed around our dorm room, throwing this and that into his duffle bag as if he would be gone for months instead of the few weeks for the holidays. If I were a better friend, I wouldn’t be nearly as excited to see him go, but all I could think was how much easier saving Gray would become without him around. Plus, Carreau hung around the room, lurking in my thoughts - and probably Tom’s too - which meant I had no idea when he would strike next. The less people around to mess with, the better off I’d be. At least I could recognize his influence.

  "So - Cheyenne and Chad are coming back up on New Year’s for some memorial for Theodore Thompson. Apparently, he died on the 1st or something, and the place is getting torn down at the end of the month," Tom informed me, and I nodded along, pretending this was new information. "I mean, kind of weird. Spending New Year’s Day hanging around an abandoned rehab center - kinda weird, but that’s Cheyenne for you."

  Sitting back on my bed, I set aside the book I had faked reading. "What about Maddix?"

  "What about him?"

  "Generally, when Cheyenne does anything related to Crables Manor, he’s along for the ride," I retorted.

  Tom shrugged, shoving the messy pile of clothes into his duffle as he tried to zi
p it. "Normally, you’re involved too, but it seems they didn’t invite you. Anyway - Maddix’ll be in Texas. Cheyenne’s in NYC; Chad - is Chad, so ya know, you’ll be around. I told them you were interested."

  Of course, he did. I couldn’t be trusted to be left on my own, so he was going to have the crazy crew check in on me. I bet it was Carreau who gave Cheyenne the idea of a vigil. Having them around would make the whole thing more difficult than it had to be. Zeke scheduled me for the 30th, so I’d just camp out from the morning of New Year’s Eve until it was done. Unfortunately, I had no idea the exact time. None of Maddix’s or Cheyenne’s research pointed to a time of death, and Rory hadn’t given me any specifics. We had been arrogant to think we had time to discuss more details later.

  With a sigh, I rolled my eyes. "Thanks for the playdate, mom, but I’ve got plans."

  "Plans?" He reared back and turned on me. "What plans?"

  "A friend of mine is coming around to Boston," I told him. Better to build up Gray’s arrival sooner than later.

  Brows furrowed, Tom crossed his arms over his chest. "Who?"

  "Gray. He’s sticking around a while after, so you’ll probably meet him."

  Even though he nodded, I could see uncertainty in his eyes. "Friend from back home?"

  "He’s actually from around here," I offered before jumping to another topic. "When are you planning to come back?"

  "The Friday before classes start back up." Glancing at his cell, he ran his hands over his short hair. He stuffed it back into his pocket and grabbed his coat. "Shit! I should’ve already hit the road."

  "Need help bringing your stuff down?"

  Tom shook his head. "I’ve got it. See you next year!" The door had almost shut behind him when he kicked it open again. "And keep your phone on you!"

  "Sure thing, mom. I’ll keep my phone charged and ready for your mother hen calls." I waved, and with a pointed look, he headed out.