All American Boys

Chapter 30: They All Die

I woke up to the scent of the sea wafting through the room. I rubbed my eyes, not used to the sunlight shining into the room through the open window. The ocean breeze sent the white curtains fluttering as I tried to remember where I was. My head was pounding a little bit, my pulse throbbing at my temples.

I looked around and realised I was naked. It was only then when it all started slowly coming back to me. Cyril was nowhere to be found. His side of the bed was already made. In his place was a clean bathrobe, all neatly folded. Stretching my arms in front of me, I got up. After getting dressed I was about to go outside and look for my boyfriend, but the open glass door leading to the balcony was just too tempting.

Slipping on a pair of slippers I found, I stepped outside. The morning sun shining down onto my skin and the wind blowing against my hair was an amazing feeling. Pacing outside, I eventually stopped and leaned over the balcony, my hands grabbing onto the wooden railing. The sun hovered over the glimmering sea, the waves causing ripples in the reflective light. The sound of the Atlantic crashing against the sandy beaches filled me with a calm I hadn't experienced all week, ever since the incident at the Anderson house.

And I truly needed it. In a few hours I was going to see Isaac again. It was the day of the funeral after all, and I dreaded to think what would happen.

"You're finally awake," I heard Cyril say from behind me.

I turned around and flashed him a smile. My boyfriend was wearing a cerulean bathrobe and white slippers. His brown hair was slightly messy but his eyes were as bright as ever.

"It's a really fine morning," I replied, leaning back against the railing.

The young man walked up to me, planting a kiss on my left cheek. His lips were soft, just like they were the night before.

"I've made breakfast," he said, the excitement in his voice akin to an enthusiastic child at a science fair who wanted to show me his project. "I hope you'll like it."

I lazily let him lead me by the hand downstairs and to the back of the house. We entered the kitchen, where I was greeted with the aroma of coffee. There was an alcove to the side of the room, where a table had been set.

Set on the table were two plates, both holding a few sausages, some scrambled eggs and a couple of hashbrowns. There was a pitcher of juice, as well as a spread of various cheeses on a platter.

"How'd you like your coffee?" he asked me as he took out two mugs from the cupboard.

"Black, please," I said, still staring in awe at the breakfast that he had made for us.

Yeah, I knew he could cook and all, but I didn't expect him to go through so much effort just for me.

"Well what are you just staring there for?" my boyfriend chuckled as he walked up to the table, a mug of coffee in each hand. "Go ahead."

Cyril placed the mug with black coffee in front of me, before I took my seat.

"You know," I said, trying hard to not gush too much from excitement. "You didn't have to trouble yourself."

The young man only chuckled as he pulled out his chair. But I could notice him wincing as he sat down on his seat. I suppose it still hurt from last night. Well, as long as he didn't complain, I'd say nothing about it. Then again, he hadn't mentioned anything about last night. Which I found rather strange, but oh well.

A part of me felt that maybe he didn't like it. But even if that was the case, it wasn't really my problem.

"And you didn't have to be so modest," he replied, the conversation bringing my mind back to breakfast.

I only smiled before taking a sip of coffee.

"Do you want some cheese?" he said, showing the cheeseboard to me excitedly. "They're very good, you know?"

"Well, what do you have on offer?" I asked, flirtatiously, looking up from my cup.

A rosy blush covered the young man's cheeks.

"Well, there's some feta, some cream cheese. . ." Cyril trailed off. "Oh, and this one has fruit in it!"

I smiled at him, and he did the same to me.

"Truth be told, I just took whatever cheese there was in the fridge," he confessed, chuckling. "It's not like I knew exactly what I was doing."

"You have cheese stocked in the fridge?" I asked, rather curious. "I thought this was just your beachfront property."

"Well why wouldn't I stock it?" the young man replied. "I live here for the most part."

"Not at your mansion?" I asked. "Isn't it bigger up there?"

"Too big," he chuckled. "Sure, it's nice and all but I pretty much prefer it here. I have the place all to myself, and the view is amazing, don't you think?"

"Yeah," I said, looking at him. "The view sure is."

Our gazes met, and his cheeks just turned further red.

"Oh man," he said, laughing as he looked away. "I thought I'd have gotten used to it by now."

"Gotten used to what?" I teased, tilting my head to the side.

Now that Isaac was no longer in the picture, I wasn't sure about what I felt about Cyril. Sure, he was a nice, genuine guy. He was sweet and he looked good. He told me he loved me.

I had told him that I loved him, but this time, a small part of my heart actually meant it, I suppose. But I wasn't so sure. Perhaps I felt that way out of insecurity. Perhaps I felt that way because I was just too afraid of being alone. I had been alone for far too long, the pain would eat away at me.

"To how adorable you are," he said, a sheepish grin on his lips.

"Well," I replied, giggling. "If you're just gonna sit here and complement me, I don't think we'll ever finish all this food."

"You're right," Cyril chuckled. "But honestly, I wouldn't mind spending forever with you here."

After we were done with breakfast, we did the dishes together. He told me to go get washed up and to meet him at the porch when I was done.

I headed upstairs and did as I was told. My clothes had been folded and placed neatly on the counter. As I felt the cool water against my skin in the shower, I couldn't help but think. In the silence of the shower, save for the sound of the dripping water, the thoughts and emotions began creeping back. There was nothing to distract me from them. No sad green eyes to look at, no awkward smile for me to reciprocate.

What was Isaac going to say? I couldn't face him. If he knew what I did last night, he'd be hurt. I told him that what I had for Cyril was nothing but a farce, yet last night, it didn't feel too farcical to me. Perhaps a part of me actually began to care for Cyril. A part of me that didn't view him as just a means to an end.

But I shook those thoughts all away. There was no point thinking about it now. I had to remain focused. I had gone all in, and Cyril is wrapped firmly around my finger. Wasn't it that which I wanted? And wasn't I the one who told myself yesterday that my feelings didn't matter? That it wouldn't get me anywhere?

As I dried myself with a fresh towel, I put on my clothes. I let out a deep sigh. It was honestly exhausting.

Perhaps Isaac was too good for me. Maybe I didn't deserve him. But there wasn't any use crying over spilled milk. If he wanted me back, then that's great. If he didn't, then it wouldn't cost me anything.

To weigh out both relationships, it went by saying that a relationship with Cyril was much more beneficial for me. Isaac didn't have much to offer, especially now that his father was dead. Well, now he had inherited some money I guess, but money wasn't what I was after. Perhaps he did me a favour after all by cutting me off, because I probably never would have done it on my own. But maybe thinking like that was a bit too cold and cruel.

Whatever, I didn't want to think about it. It did me much better to just forget.

Once I was done getting ready, I met Cyril downstairs. He had change out of his bathrobe into a deep blue Hawaiian shirt, as well as a pair of cream chino shorts. He had unbuttoned the first few buttons, revealing the crucifix on his chest, not too far away from the bruised patches of skin on his collar bone. I nearly scoffed, but I held myself back.

I remembered him refusing to take it off last night. There he was straddling me as his silver cross kept jingling with every movement. I wasn't religious but even that made me want to laugh. Surely that would've been some form of sacrilege, but it wasn't like I was a believer or anything. I guess the Lord loves every one of his children, even the ones getting dick in their ass.

Cyril and I have never went public, but I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be good if it ever got out. I didn't care so much, but Cyril did have a lot to lose. The fact that he was willing to risk everything for me. . . I admired it. As foolish as it was, I admired it. But then again, he was Cyril Crawford. He could probably get away with it. He could probably still show up at church every week and no one would say a thing.

The two of us headed outside, exiting through the back door. Walking down to the beach, I soon found myself by his side as we ventured along the seashore. The waves at our feet and the sea breeze blowing against us, I held his hand. There was no one there. No one could see us.

"It's beautiful isn't it?" he said, as we stood there looking at the ocean.

"Yeah," I answered. "It's just so vast."

There was a short moment of silence as Cyril stretched out his hands and inhaled deeply.

"Have you ever thought about leaving this place?" he asked, out of the blue.

"On holiday?" I answered. "I've been on a few road trips with Emily, so yeah, been there, done that."

Cyril only chuckled, but he soon returned to a more serious expression.

"You know that's not what I meant," he said. "I'm talking about moving and starting fresh somewhere else."

"Well where did that come from?" I replied, raising an eyebrow. "You have everything here. Everything that you've ever wanted."

"Yeah, but here I'll always be Cyril Crawford," he said, emphasising the last bit. "I'll forever be living under my father's shadow. I'll always be the mayor's son. Well, don't get me wrong, I love him and he's a great dad, but I just want to make a name for myself, you know?"

I nearly laughed aloud at the part where he called Hugh a great dad. Oh, sweet child.

"So you want to be famous?" I asked him. "Is that it?"

"Not that," he replied. "I just want something that I've worked for. To build up my own life."

That's rather rich, coming from someone raised in privilege. But I suppose that's what living for years on your father's wealth and power does to you: you see struggle as something romantic.

"And you know, college is a good opportunity for that," he said. "I'm thinking of going somewhere far away, like New York maybe, or California."

"What do you plan to do?" I asked.

"I was thinking of doing history," he told me, as we started to walk back to the house. "Or maybe Literature."

I only smiled as I linked hands with him.

It took me all my strength to keep smiling and nodding as he talked, and to not immediately guffaw at him. Here he was, spending daddy's wealth on an expensive degree in a nice college and talking about wanting to make a name for himself. How sweet. How innocent.

How foolish.

It wasn't like he has to worry about student loans, or trying to get a job in this economy. In a few years his degree would be sitting on the wall, a decoration gathering dust while he inherits one of Crawford's many businesses. He can try as hard as he wanted to be independent, but he got to where he was with his father's fortune. He can afford to play house.

"I was thinking if you could come with me," he said as we walked up to the back door. "You know, don't you think it'd be romantic, just the two of us, somewhere far away?"

"Of course," I replied, further feeding his fantasies.

"If there's one thing I've learnt," he said as he locked the door behind us. "When you get older, everybody you love and rely on starts dying one by one, until there's no one left. They all die. And then you only have yourself to rely on."

He seemed a bit sad all of a sudden, his hazel eyes staring at the ground.

"Well that's a bit morbid," I said.

"But it's the truth isn't it?" he replied, recovering quickly. "Sorry, I was just thinking about. . . things."

There was a short silence. Well, what could I reply to that?

"Anyway, maybe I should drop you off now," he said as we walked through the house. "I wish I could spend more time with you, but I've got to attend the funeral. You know, Richard Anderson's."

Oh, right.

"It's kind of sad isn't it?" I said, getting my stuff from the coffee table. "To lose a parent at such a young age."

"Yeah," Cyril replied rather blankly. "Say, will you be attending?"

"The funeral?"

My boyfriend only nodded.

I hesitated. It was the question that I had been asking myself all week. Did I want to attend? Was I even wanted there? Must I put myself in the position where I was confronted with my own actions?

Cyril furrowed his eyebrows when he noticed my silence, springing me to answer.

"No," I told him. "No, I don't think so."

"I see," Cyril replied. "I thought you and him were friends. I mean, you tutored him even after that time when he insulted you, and you seemed to get along just fine."

Right. Cyril thought that Isaac and I were just friends. We rarely interacted in front of him after all, other than a few smiles when we saw each other down the corridor and the brief conversations on the lunch table. Cyril and Isaac weren't exactly friends, but they seemed content with the uneasy peace, which I indirectly helped to broker. Isaac had to be at the very least, civil to Cyril so that he could sit with us at the central lunch table. And Cyril seemed to have no problem with it. But Cyril never had anything against Isaac in the first place. He was just too good-natured.

"It's just that. . ." I told him. "I don't like funerals. It reminds me of very unpleasant memories."

"Oh, no worries," he said. "I'm sure he'll understand if you tell him. Sure, Isaac and I don't get along very well, but I've known him for a while. . . And he seems to take a liking to you. Which is quite impressive, if you're asking me. But who wouldn't like you?"

His choice of words was. . . interesting, given the circumstances. But I only smiled sheepishly in response.

After making sure I never left anything behind, Cyril brought me to his car to send me home. As I sat there on the way back, my boyfriend beside me and The End of the World playing on the radio, I couldn't help but hear Cyril's words echo in my head.

They all die. And then you only have yourself to rely on.