“I know how you feel,” he mumbled to it.
He returned to his room and lay out on the sheets in his towel. He couldn’t be bothered to dry himself or dress. No one was home, and the sun was still in the window. His phone was buzzing with texts, he had a missed call, and he really ought to deal with his hair before it dried into a massive, unmanageable knot.
He did nothing; in a little while, he drifted back into a numb, dreamless sleep.
* * * *
Misha woke him next. He had missed them coming home, missed the usual havoc and noise Misha brought into the house when Mother and Father weren’t home, but she was suddenly there, standing at the side of the bed and frowning at him.
“Scott says, are you feelin’ better?” she demanded.
“No.”
She scowled. “Daaaarren. S’not the right answer,” she whined.
Darren shrugged, settling back into the pillows. She scrambled up onto the bed and squirmed under his arm for a cuddle, thumping his shoulders with her head when he didn’t hug back. He bit his lip. Maybe he did have the energy to cry after all.
“You feeling any better?”
He shook his head. After a moment, Scott’s heavy tread rolled across the room, and Misha was prised off the bed.
“Come on, Mish-Mash. Darren’s not feeling well, so leave him alone. Go and get your maths homework out and we’ll do it together, okay?”
She bounced off, ignorant of the whole bloody mess. Darren envied her, and hated himself for envying a six-year-old, for wanting her to understand. She was six. She had no business understanding this. None of them did.
“You eaten?”
“Yeah,” he lied, not opening his eyes to look at Scott.
“Uh-huh.” He could hear the scepticism all the same. “You slept most of the day?”
“Yeah.”
After a long pause, Scott added, “Well. Call if you need anything,” and then he was gone. He left the bedroom door open, probably on purpose, and still Darren couldn’t muster up the energy to be irritated. He didn’t want them home. He didn’t want the noise and fuss; he didn’t want Mother to come up when she got home and notice that the violin case hadn’t moved. She would scold about missing school. She would say that there was nothing wrong with him, and she’d be right. It was all in his head, all in his stupid, pathetic, idiotic, useless head…
His phone beeped in his slack hand.
He expected it to be Paul or Ethan, or even one of the other string students to tell him what he had been called in his absence by the ever-touchy Mr. Weber, but it was Jayden’s picture that lit up the screen, and he skated his thumb across one new message with a mingled sense of dread and hope.
When was he ever going to stop hoping that this would go away?
Are you all right?
It was nearly half past five. Jayden would be at the drama rehearsal, and it never lasted its allotted time on Fridays.
Fine, he replied and hauled himself off the bed again. Jayden didn’t know this either. He thought he did, but he didn’t. He’d never seen it, never seen the shadows under his eyes or the way he had to keep rubbing his thumb and fingers together, to check they were there. He’d take playing over the numbness. He’d take the empty shells of Vivaldi’s concerti, take his mind spiralling away into the notes until there was nothing left to wonder why it felt so wrong, over this…this…ache.
It ached. Deep inside his chest, it ached. Everywhere else had…had stopped. Just stopped. Ceased to exist and stopped.
The phone beeped. You were really quiet yesterday and you’ve been like silent today. Are you sure you’re okay?
“Go away,” he croaked. “Just go away, go away, go away…”
The phone beeped again. I’m sorry if I’m being pushy or overreacting or whatever, I’m just worried. About you x
The adrenaline exploded inside his head, burning a trail down his neck and arm in half a second, and he lashed out and hurled the phone against the wall in such a violent outburst that he was left shaking in the aftermath of it, rattling right out of his own skin in a cold sweat at the numbness sank back in, like breaking through the ice on a frozen lake and drowning, having all the heat of the rage peel away again, like…like…
He couldn’t do this. It felt like dying. The numbness felt like dying, inch by inch, and he couldn’t do this.
He shut the bedroom door and sank back onto the bed on autopilot. I can’t feel my hands, I can’t feel my face, I can’t feel anything. I should feel sad, I should feel something, please, just feel something. He wasn’t aware he was shaking until he’d opened the bottom drawer, pushed his hand through the obscuring layer of usual bottom-drawer items—magazines, a couple of tubes of lubricant, a pair of obscenely fuzzy handcuffs that Paul and Ethan had got him for his fourteenth as a sick joke—and closed his fingers around the cool plastic case at the very bottom.
Four inches long, four years old. A present from Scott. The only thing that could push away the numbness anymore. He’d tried everything else: sports, fighting, sneaking things out of Father’s liquor cabinet, even shoplifted once or twice for a promised buzz that never came. The red Swiss army knife was the only thing that worked.
He slid the primary blade out. The only part of it he’d ever used. It was sharp and clean, perfect and unscratched, not a hint of its use until he rolled up his sleeve and tucked it lightly against the crook of his left elbow, amongst the scars.
The phone, lying where it had fallen in the corner, beeped again.
“Don’t,” Darren whispered, fighting back the tears. He hadn’t lied. It had been nearly a year. Nearly a year since…since…they were healed. Nothing left but these little white marks. Tiny things. Jayden wouldn’t even have found them if he hadn’t admitted to it, and how fucking stupid did he have to be to admit to this? “Don’t, don’t, don’t…”
He hated this. Hated how pathetic he was when he had to resort to this just to feel. It wasn’t normal. It was fucked up and sick and pathetic and if Jayden knew, if Jayden actually saw…
He screwed his eyes closed and breathed, pressing the cold metal against the folded joint of his elbow without—quite—breaking the skin, and tried just to simply breathe for a moment. Tried to push back the encroaching detachment with just the feel of the blade where it was, without having to move or press down. Just like this.
“Don’t,” he whispered to himself. “Don’t. Don’t, don’t, don’t…”
Jayden hadn’t liked it. The first time he’d asked, and when Darren wouldn’t answer properly. The second time, when he did. The way he’d run his fingers over—and under—Darren’s sleeves, always looking. He didn’t like it that Darren had done this. He wouldn’t like him if he did. He’d walk away, and he’d be right to do it, and then there’d be no sensation again. Nothing. Not even these past few weeks he’d managed to steal back from this fucking darkness. It would all be gone, and then what?
He slid off the bed and staggered across to the phone like a drunk, sliding down the wall beside it, the blade still buried into his closed elbow, threatening the sore skin. Just a little harder, and he’d draw blood. A little harder, and there’d be that sharp slice of pain that would punch through and make itself known, force his brain to acknowledge it. Acknowledge him. One little push. One more. Once.
He sat, back to the wall, and shivered through the indecision, the numbness biting at his fingers, trying to get himself to drop the blade. The rest of him desperately trying to conjure up the exact way Jayden’s fingers had felt when they’d pressed up his hands that first time, searching out the scars. And failing.
He couldn’t remember just how it felt.
The phone beeped, reminding him of the unread texts, and he unfolded his left arm to fumble for it, his vision fuzzy through the tears. Jayden again, only a couple of minutes after the other one.
If you need to talk, you know where I am. Love you x
It was too much, and the tears spilled over, heavy and hot and
horrible against his face. Finally, he was crying, like he’d wanted to all day, and it was worse than he’d thought it would be. The blade shook against his elbow, rubbing a graze into the skin. There’d be a bruise, at least. Maybe a scrape. Maybe a…
Bad day can i come over? he thumbed out, his entire hand shaking. He needed out. He needed out, he needed out, he needed to be as far away from this as he could, and there was nowhere to hide from this, no one who would…
Course you can xx
* * * *
Darren had been quiet at yesterday’s rehearsal, and the niggling unease at the back of Jayden’s brain hadn’t eased in the slightest by the time his phone trilled at half past seven and a text message flashed up.
Bad day can i come over?
Something in his chest twisted, and he’d said course you can xx before even leaving his room to find Mum and tell her. Tell her, because asking on Darren’s bad days wasn’t an option.
Mum was washing up in the kitchen, humming to herself, but she turned when Jayden paused in the doorway and smiled at him. The smile slid away in a heartbeat, and then: “Darling, what’s wrong?”
“Darren’s coming over.” Jayden was turning his phone over in his hand, over and over, as if it would sort it all out. “He’s had a bad day.”
Mum wiped her hands off on a tea towel. “He was a bit quiet the other day,” she said slowly. “Is everything all right, Jayden?”
“Yeah,” Jayden lied.
“Jayden.”
“He’s,” Jayden faltered. “He gets…off, sometimes. He has these bad days.”
She cocked her head. “Bad days?” she echoed.
“Like…” Jayden swallowed. “Just…bad days. When he…he’s not okay.”
“Depression?” Mum asked, her voice almost delicate. The same delicate way she’d asked if they’d done anything. The same delicate way she asked if he was all right every time he came home with a black eye or no shoes.
Jayden shrugged. “Yeah,” he offered helplessly.
“Darling,” Mum drew close and took his shoulders in her hands. “Is everything all right with Darren at home?”
“I…yes.”
“Jayden.”
“Yes,” he repeated. “It’s not…he’s not being, like, beaten by his dad or anything. He’s just not really close to them. They’re a bit…” He wrinkled his nose. “Self-absorbed? They don’t abuse him or whatever, they’re just not…not…” He wanted to say they’re not like you, but he didn’t. He didn’t think Darren would like much of Mum’s coddling anyway.
Mum smoothed his hair and nodded. “All right,” she said. “But if you ever want to talk to us about anything—me or Dad—then you know where to find us. If it’s about you or Darren. All right?”
Jayden swallowed against the lump in his throat and slid forward to hug her. He might have been sixteen and taller than her, but she was still Mum, and she knew all the right things to say, all the right things to do. He still needed her sometimes, still needed a hug and the right words. Sometimes.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about us sooner,” he mumbled.
“Oh, darling,” she chuckled a little, squeezing him tight before letting him go and smoothing down his hair again habitually. “We knew—well, we knew about you. And yes, we wanted you to tell us. I didn’t like you feeling like you couldn’t, or that we’d be upset with you. But I was sixteen once too, and I do remember the nerves in telling your parents about your first boyfriend.”
“Well, I can’t really imagine having to tell Granddad I’m gay,” Jayden joked feebly, and they shared a snigger, imagining his grim-faced reaction.
“Well, he didn’t fight for his country to have all these gays and black people over here, did he?” Mum whispered, like a secret, and Jayden found a proper laugh in his chest somewhere. Sometimes he reckoned Granddad Moore was born griping. “Now, in all seriousness. How bad is a bad day?”
Jayden shrugged. “Don’t really know.”
“Does he…have medication?”
“No,” Jayden said honestly. “I don’t think anyone really knows at home. He doesn’t like talking about it. I mean, he told me, he said it was only fair I knew if I’m going to be going out with him, but he doesn’t like to discuss it. He thinks…I don’t what he thinks. I think maybe he’s ashamed of it or something.”
Mum hummed, biting her lip. He had gotten the habit from her. “Darling? Does he…self-harm?”
Jayden took a breath. “No,” he said finally. “At least…not anymore. He promised me he didn’t do that anymore.” He pulled a face. “And I check,” he added lamely, and Mum squeezed his arm.
“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart,” she murmured. “You’re being so adult about this. It can’t be easy.”
Jayden folded his arms around himself. “It’s Darren,” he said weakly. “I just…I don’t mind, ‘cause it’s for Darren.” He still didn’t feel like he could cope, like he could handle it, but…but it was true. It was Darren.
She smiled and gathered him into a hug again, her plastic apron pressing into his arms. “Well, if either of you need anything—at any time—you just come and tell me,” she said, letting go and squeezing his bicep in one damp, Fairy-liquid-smooth hand. “And if he wants to spend the night, then that’s fine, but leave the door open, and no funny business.”
Jayden bit his lip against the threatening smile and nodded.
“I mean it! You’re sixteen years old.”
“You were only nineteen when you had me.”
“And darling, I love you, and I wouldn’t change you for the world, but nineteen was too young to have a baby,” Mum said, tucking a curl behind her ear and sighing gustily. “I made a mistake with your father, and you’re the only good thing I got out of it.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not like anyone’s going to get pregnant here,” Jayden hunched his shoulders, going pink and feeling horribly grateful that she didn’t know.
“Good,” Mum said, “but that’s no excuse. Sex isn’t as meaningless as you boys seem to think, honey. You be careful. Both of you.”
Jayden went red, and she got that suspicious look on her face—and then the God Jayden didn’t believe in saved him, and the doorbell chimed.
He stuffed his phone in the back pocket of his jeans before fumbling with the chain. Mum had already locked up for the night, and he swore at himself trying to get the fiddly security chain out of its slot before finally succeeding and jerking the door open.
It was drizzling slightly outside, and the heavy fabric of Darren’s hoodie was damp when he pulled him inside by the sleeve. “Go upstairs,” he said, slamming the door and fumbling with the chain again. “No, don’t bother about your shoes, just go up to my room.”
Darren gave him an incredulous look. “I walk through a park to get here, Jayden.” But it was only half the strength of his normal arguing, and when he toed the muddy trainers off, Jayden didn’t even get an eye-roll for his troubles.
He shut the door behind them, never mind Mum’s instructions. When Darren sat almost gingerly on the edge of his mattress, hands gripping it like something was trying to rip him off it again, Jayden gathered up all his resolve and slid onto the sheets beside him, one foot on the floor and one on the bed, sliding forward until he had Darren between his knees and he could slide an arm around his rain-damp shoulders.
“Did something happen?” he asked lowly.
Darren sighed gustily and pressed the heel of one hand into his eye socket almost viciously. “No,” he said flatly, and he sounded so tired that Jayden had to bite down on his lip. When he tried to tug Darren closer, the damp fabric itched at his nerves, and he shook his head.
“Get this off,” he said quietly, tugging at the hem. “In fact—stay the night. Mum said you could, and it’s Friday so it’s not like you have school tomorrow.”
“I have a music lesson at nine.”
“Skip it.”
Darren unglued his hand from his eye and shrugged out o
f the hoodie. When he tensed as if to stand up, Jayden pulled it from his hand and dropped it on the floor, wrapping both arms around Darren’s broad shoulders and pulling him into a slightly uncomfortable, but hard hug.
“You’re cold,” he murmured, rubbing at Darren’s arms. He was wearing just a thin blue T-shirt underneath, that clingy kind of polyester that normally would have had Jayden trying to get him out of that too, but the lack of anything in Darren’s face had killed the impulse. It was the worst look Darren ever wore, and Jayden hated it.
“I just…”
Jayden barely heard it, but for the crack in Darren’s voice. The moment it split, it vanished, and then Darren was curling forward, planting his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. Jayden held on for the movement, curling around his shoulders and bracing his knees either side of Darren’s hips to hug him half from behind and half from the side. “Stay the night,” he said again.
Darren shook his head.
“Yes,” Jayden insisted. “I’m not letting you go home like this. I’m not letting you go like this. Stay the night. I already told Mum you are.” Well, she’d offered, but Jayden didn’t feel like correcting himself. “I have some spare sweatpants that would fit you.” Well… “Ish.”
The ‘ish’ wrought a tiny noise out of the back of Darren’s throat, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and Jayden pushed a hand into the mess of damp, unruly hair and rubbed at that little spot behind Darren’s left ear until it irritated him enough to shake him off and mutter a hoarse, “All right.”
Jayden kissed his shoulder through his shirt before getting off the bed and rummaging in his chest of drawers. Darren slowly stripped down to his boxers, so slowly that it was like he was moving through water, and the way he folded up his jeans when Jayden knew for a fact that he just left his clothes wherever and however they came off was painful. Like, physically painful. It hurt, somewhere in the middle of Jayden’s stomach, and he found himself handing over the offered sweats instead of throwing them like he usually would have done. He found himself changing into his pyjama bottoms without his usual embarrassment.
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