Losers: Part II

Today was the day. Anxiety gripped me before I’d even opened my eyes, and I lay very still as I tried to bring it back under control. Since moving into this house, we had repaired piping and electricity, rebuilt walls and replaced flooring. We’d torn through every damn room except one.

I had to face it. There was nothing in there but four walls and too many memories. I’d tried to get all my thoughts out in therapy yesterday, but shit, Dr. Wagner would have a lot more to hear from me next week too.

Rolling over, I snuggled closer to Lucas, wrapping my arm around him. He sighed softly, wiggling himself back so I was spooning him. It helped to have him close; I needed the warmth, the comfort. It pained me that Jess hadn’t been able to sleep over, but she was on such thin ice with her mom.

There had been another argument since she stayed over the weekend, and it stressed her out to keep fighting. Poor girl looked exhausted when we went for coffee yesterday, but she had a lot on her mind.

She had her review first thing on Monday next week. She’d worked so hard for it, but nerves still plagued her. We were confident she’d get that promotion, though.

Maybe that was why I suddenly felt spurred on to clear out the old bedroom. Life moved fast and I didn’t want to be left behind. It had become an unspoken agreement among us, it seemed, that when Jess moved to New York, obviously we would too.

But we needed everything in place.

Although I loathed leaving the bed’s warmth, I wasn’t going to get any more sleep. I was wide awake, my heart was pounding a bit too hard. Kissing Lucas’s shoulder, I climbed out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom. My hands were twitchy already, and I nicked myself with the razor as I shaved. Gulping down my pills before I left the bathroom, I went straight to the oil diffuser and switched it on. I briefly considered bathing in lavender essential oil, but figured there was only so much help the floral scent could offer me.

Jason was in the kitchen when I came downstairs. It surprised me to see him awake and dressed, before I remembered that he habitually was up this early now to join Jess at the gym.

“Damn, you’re awake before Lucas?” he said, shaking protein powder and water together in a bottle. He didn’t sound as tired as I’d expected; he didn’t look that tired either.

“Unfortunately,” I said, taking a seat at the table. Jojo trudged out of the living room, looking sleepy and confused at the early hour before she laid down beside me with a groan. “You look chipper this morning.”

Jason shrugged, chugging down his protein shake. “Can’t say I’m a fan of waking up before the sun, but it is nice to start the morning at the gym.” He smiled in thought before he took another sip, and I chuckled.

“Yeah, I bet it’s real nice when it’s with Jess,” I said.

“Goddamn, it really is. You could start working out too, you know. Imagine getting to stare at Jess’s ass in leggings first thing in the morning. It really sets a good mood for the whole day.”

“Bring her over afterward,” I said. “I know she has to work, but have her bring her laptop. She can work here.”

“She’d be down for that. I know she wants to keep working on that project for her review. She’s barely been able to get peace in that house.” He rolled his eyes in irritation, and I shared the feeling.

Most people I’d dated were in similar positions and didn’t see their folks, so I’d never had to care much about pleasing a partner’s parents. Vincent’s family was different. They’d practically adopted me. But with Jess, I knew my very presence in her life was a source of conflict. It was a problem I didn’t know how to fix; none of us did.

My stomach turned unpleasantly. I really didn’t need to dwell on more problems today.

***

Too on edge to relax, I spent most of the morning reorganizing the garage and playing with the dogs, trying to get my restless energy out. Once Lucas was awake, I felt a bit better. We said little to each other, but seeing him on the porch as he drank his coffee and smoked his morning cigarette gave me something comforting and normal to hold on to.

My initials had scabbed over on his side. I’d find him tracing the letters sometimes, absentmindedly running his fingers over them with an expression that was very nearly a smile. It wasn’t exactly a collar, but it was something like it.

We found our own ways to claim each other. Collars, rings, bruises, scars. As if to remind each other that even when we were apart, parts of us remained together.

It helped keep me focused on the now, rather than spiraling into memories.

It was only a goddamn bedroom; I hated to be so hung up on it. But I’d spent eighteen years of my life in that room. I’d gone hungry, tried to sleep through pain, and barricaded myself in that room.

I used to think I’d die in there.

About an hour later, when Jason pulled into the yard with Jess in his passenger seat, a sense of relief rushed over me. She stepped out of the car and came to hug me, like a ray of sunshine burning away my cloudy mood.

“Are you okay?” she said. Jason must have told her what was up. I nodded, although being “okay” was a generous description of what I was feeling. The pills were doing their job and mellowing me out, but the anxiety didn’t go away. It hid in the shadows, lurking and waiting for an opportunity to squeeze between my lungs again.

“We picked up breakfast burritos,” Jason said, tossing a white paper bag my way. I caught it, relishing the smell of cheesy eggs and bacon from inside.

The four of us ate on the porch, Vincent joining us right as we were finishing up. He ate his burrito slowly, with his eyes half closed and his head resting against Jason’s shoulder.

The food didn’t settle well in my stomach, but I choked it down regardless. As Jess set up her workstation in the living room, Lucas reiterated our plan for the day.

“We’ll get all the old shit pulled out and thrown away,” he said. “Clean it up, get it painted. Once the paint is dried, we’ll rip up the floor. I figure we can get it all done by this weekend.” He glanced over at me, seated beside him on the porch. “You want everything thrown away, right? Everything?”

I nodded. I didn’t want to go through my old shit piece by piece, sifting through memories and trying to decide what didn’t hurt too badly to keep. We could burn it all.

Lucas shoved himself to his feet. “All right then. Let’s get to it.”

As we came inside, Jess called to us from the couch, “Hey, I want to help! Tell me what I can do.”

“You don’t have to do anything, angel,” I said, leaning against the doorframe as she hurriedly put her laptop aside. “Don’t you have to work?”

She shrugged. “It’s a slow day, honestly. I answered most of my emails yesterday.”

Having another pair of hands to help out would make things go faster. Part of me was ashamed to have her see that old bedroom though. It was frozen in time, a rotten, barely-preserved piece of my old life.

But maybe it was time to move past shame. “You can help pull things out if you really want to,” I said. “We just need to get everything into bags or thrown out in the dumpster.”

They all gathered behind me as I fumbled with my keys in front of the door, finally jamming the right one in the lock. I didn’t want to stand around and think about it, but I was still giving myself an internal pep talk as I did it.

“I feel like I’m about to follow Mr. Tumnus into Narnia,” Vincent said, and I gave a hopeless laugh.

The door creaked as I shoved it open, the old hinges groaning. A distinct smell of dust wafted out to greet us, and I stepped into my childhood bedroom for the first time in almost five years.

Even when we first moved in after Mom’s death, I hadn’t looked at it. The door had remained locked since the day I left and never came back; neither of my parents had bothered to open it.

The bed was shoved in the corner, unmade. There were no sheets on the stained mattress, just one thin blue blanket that had the texture of felt. The closet was open, dirty clothes piled on the floor next to shoes with holes and broken laces. My bedside drawer was open, and I had a sudden vivid memory of the last morning I’d spent here.

I hadn’t slept, nerves keeping me awake with thoughts of what I was about to do. I laid awake and stared at the ceiling, as the word “murderer” rolled around on my tongue.

I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I didn’t.

But part of me wanted to. Part of me was willing. Part of me knew that if Kyle didn’t stop, I’d do what I needed to.

I rolled out of bed, yanked open the drawer, and put the knife in my back pocket…

A hand grasped my shoulder and squeezed. Vincent. “You okay, man?”

I nodded. “Yep. Totally fine. Let’s clear this shit out.”

“It’s really remarkable,” Jason said, hands in his pockets as he looked around. “This room has perfectly preserved the stench of a teenage boy.”

“Just like your own room, bud,” Lucas said, slapping him on the back with enough force to make him huff.

We got to work, equipped with black trash bags. The closet seemed like the most approachable area for me so that was where I started, stuffing clothes and pieces of trash into the bag. I didn’t look at anything too long. I tried not to get caught up in it.

“Hey, Manson? Do you want —” Jess abruptly cut off, and as I turned around, I could tell that Lucas had tried to stop her from asking. She held a photo in her hands, and she quickly stuffed it in her trash bag. “Never mind. It was nothing.”

“It’s okay,” I said. I didn’t want them to feel like they had to tiptoe around me. Curious now, I pulled the picture back out of her bag and turned it over.

It was a photo of my mom and I. It was the only family trip I could remember us ever taking — I was around five years old at the time. We’d gone camping for the weekend, and Dad had spent most of his time hunting, leaving Mom and I alone at the campsite.

She was different back then. She was so young, younger than I was now. In the photo, she was smiling with her cheek squished against my head. Her arm was held out, since she’d taken the photo herself on a disposable camera. I was smiling big, holding a frog with both hands, my glasses askew on my nose.

We looked normal. Like a happy mother and son.

Mom had looked nothing like that when she died. It was like she rotted before she was even dead. Her face had grown haggard, all the weight had fallen off her bones. Toward the end, she’d barely been eating, hardly sleeping. Just pills and booze, over and over until her body couldn’t sustain itself anymore.

“I can get rid of it,” Jess said softly. I handed it back to her. “Do you want me to?”

I shook my head. I had no idea what that photo meant to me, but it felt strange to see it. Not bad, exactly, but not happy either. It was a memory filled with melancholy and a strange sense of longing.

“I’ll keep it,” Jess said, holding the photo against her chest. “That way, you won’t have to think about it unless you specifically want it.”

“Thanks, Jess.” There was so much of my childhood I either couldn’t remember or didn’t want to. But there were little moments — bright spots in an endless abyss. Things like this photo, that reminded me of goodness and love, no matter how brief they’d been.

It felt important to remember.

Before too long, Jason and Lucas were hauling the old mattress outside to the dumpster and the room was finally empty. There was still plenty of dust and dirt piled in the corners, but all my old stuff was gone.

Standing in the empty room, I stared at the faded paint and mildew stains on the walls. This place used to feel like a pit I was trapped in, scrambling for a way out. But it didn’t feel threatening anymore. It was muted, like any other place abandoned for years. There was nothing remaining here that couldn’t be repaired, painted over and laid to rest.

We swept, dusted, and wiped everything down before we took a break. Vincent cooked up some lunch for us, but I still didn’t have much of an appetite.

As they all sat on the porch to eat, I found myself back inside, wandering around my old room.

It had taken me a long time to realize that “home,” to most people, represented a place of comfort and safety. Home was a place people wanted to return to, not one they dreaded or feared. I’d had to build my own home, my own family. I’d crafted it in the only way I knew how; it was messy and strange, but it was mine and no one could take it away from me.

No one. Not Alex or Nate, and not my father.

Sinking down to the floor, I sat with my back resting against the wall beneath the window. Facing the open doorway, my stomach felt hollow. My fingers twitched in a familiar rhythm, as if I was flipping my blade open and closed, and I closed my eyes.

This feeling wasn’t joy; it wasn’t sadness. It felt as if I’d finally put down a weight I’d been carrying for far too long. But it still ached, as if the weight had compressed me down. Even in its absence, its effects remained.

Maybe some wounds never healed. They needed to be tended forever, treated gently. It was hard to accept that when it felt like admitting defeat.

But shit, even a victor in battle could come away from it wounded.

There came the soft sound of bare feet approaching. When I looked up, Jess was standing in the doorway.

“What are you doing in here?” she said. Her hair was in a long braid today, and she was stroking the end in her fingers.

“Thinking too hard,” I said.

“Do you want to be alone?”

Usually, I would have said yes, even though it wasn’t true. I didn’t want to be. But I also didn’t want to confuse anyone with my scattered thoughts, worry them with my fears.

But Jess had been there. She’d seen me when I was weak, when I was out of control, when I was scared. She saw me already.

I spread my arm toward her. “I’d rather be with you.”

She came and sat beside me, tucking herself under my arm. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, she moved to sit on my lap instead. Her legs straddled mine, and she traced her finger along the lines of the snake tattooed near my collarbone.

“Why a snake?” she whispered.

Not all of my tattoos had meanings. Some were only there because I’d been bored and had nothing better to do. It was a stroke of luck that I’d never gotten an infection from the shady places and people I’d let tattoo me.

But the snake was important, since I’d actually put a little thought into it.

“Have you ever seen what happens when you cut a snake’s head off?” She made a face of disgust, wrinkling her nose. “You’re telling me your dad never chopped the head off a snake when it wandered into the yard?”

“Ew, no!” She laughed. “If there was a snake, we’d just, like…call animal control.”

It made me happy to hear that, strange as it was. Not everyone in the world operated like my parents did, and that was a relief.

“Well, when you cut a snake’s head off, it will keep snapping its jaws at you,” I explained. “It’ll twist and struggle on the ground. It’s just nerve endings firing off. Death throes. It’s not actually alive, even if it looks like it.”

She frowned, lifting her eyes from my chest to my face. “Do you feel like the snake? With its head cut off?”

“I used to. When I was living here before, I thought I’d die here. I thought that one day, my dad would take it too far. That he wouldn’t stop. It was like I already thought of myself as dead. Why was I trying? Continuing to struggle to make life worth it felt useless.”

I’d been hopeless. Even when I’d tried to act optimistic for my friends, it had all been fake. Every day felt too long, and every night felt too dark. But somehow, I didn’t die.

“Did you want to give up?” Her fingers brushed so gently over my skin, slow and soothing. They made me shiver, even as they warmed me up. She touched me like she had when I was bound in Vincent’s rope in the cabin: taking her time, moving reverently.

“Sometimes,” I said.

My answer made her wince. When I said I didn’t want to hurt anyone, this was part of what I meant, too. I kept my pain to myself because it hurt others to hear it.

When I was younger, when I’d thought about ending it all…sometimes, the only thing that made me hold on was knowing that Lucas would be lost without me. Or that Vincent would never forgive himself for not finding a way to stop me, or that Jason would be devastated. Maybe staying alive for the sake of other people wasn’t healthy, but it was better than the alternative. I found whatever I could to keep me going, no matter how small.

My family. My dogs. Sunrises and quiet mornings. The taste of coffee. The determination that I’d see Europe someday. The desire to go on a road trip across the States. I had a desperate, almost frantic belief that someday, things would be better.

Whatever it took to keep myself alive.

“Manson?” Jess’s voice was soft, timid with the question weighing it down.

“What is it, angel?”

“I love you.”

The earth stopped turning for a moment.

She cupped my face in her hands, moving herself closer. I wrapped my arms around her, trailing my fingers up her spine as she lifted my chin and looked into my eyes. “I love you, Manson Reed.”

She kissed me, swallowing the words I couldn’t string into coherent sentences. She surged against me, so passionate and so right. Our lips would part for a moment, for a breath, and she’d say it again. She whispered it, snarled it, kissed it into my skin. She pressed her chest against mine, and her heart thumped, it beat so damn hard. Or was that my own? I wasn’t sure if I could tell them apart when we were tangled so close.

“I love you.” It was all I could say and it still wasn’t enough. But if I could keep saying it — if I could say those words from now until the end of forever — God, maybe then, those words could take on the fierceness I meant them with.