//TW: suicide, abuse, rape, trauma, swearing\\

Thomas

"Thomas? What're you doing?" The voice drifted from the hallway. It caught me off guard, wrenching me from the fantasy I had lost myself in as I traced those long, spiraling shapes up my arm. I had constructed myself my own little world, devoid of heartbreak, told by the fallings of the ink along my arm in whatever way destiny chose for them. And now, I could only be disappointed by the stark, agonizing reality that sat before me.

I glanced up at the doorway, at the figure who had stolen into my brief existence in a separate time and life. The light dipped around her, revealing her face. She hadn't looked all that different from the person who had listlessly followed me through my dreams. Same face, same laugh, same smile. But there was a sadness, that haunted her eyes. A sadness that turned her expression wiser, less hopeful. She was not how I remembered, and I suppose it just goes to show how even the mightiest stones are weathered and aged by the battering sea of time.

I set the marker down on the hardwood table next to Dick, who was watching me and giving me his best impression of a car alarm. Such a strange, yet passionate song. It was one of the things that made me love him all the more, that made me terrified to lose what light there was left glimmering in a darkly vast sky.

"Hi," I said, softly, attempting a smile. It felt like a vain effort, like nothing I could do would ever be good enough for her. She had deserved the world, and I had left her when she needed her family most, and there was nobody to blame but me. I stiffened in her presence, terrified of meeting her gaze and uncovering hatred, uncovering utter disgust. It would destroy me, especially coming from somebody who had always promised to love me unconditionally.

So, I stiffened. I erected the pillars and the old, vine-entrenched walls, and I sheltered behind them so she would not have to see my face, so I did not have to see hers. I was a coward, and that I understood, but it was all I had.

"What are you doing?" she repeated softly, nodding to the marker.

I gazed down at it, at my colorful arm, wondering how I could ever explain such a thing, when I could not even reason it out with myself. "Um, nothing, really. Just drawing on my arm."

"Why?" she whispered.

I shrugged, hugging my body. I couldn't help it; it is what has always felt safe. I am the only one who can truly protect myself, so I might as well. "I don't know. It makes me feel better when I'm upset, I guess," I whispered.

"Thomas? Is everything alright?" she asked. I watched her carefully as she joined me on the couch and sat down next to me. I turned to face her.

"Yeah, I guess," I murmured, training my eyes on my hands. Sobs choked my throat, finding the few cracks I had been unable to heal. You drown in the sobs if you do not learn to speak through them, but fortunately, I have learned. "Yeah. Don't worry about me, I'm fine."

She reached forward. I gazed at her hand as it snaked across the couch, as it slid towards mine, as it latched on tight. She held my wrist carefully, the wrist of the arm I had drawn on, and examined the skin. A sharp burst of horror exploded through her eyes like an electric storm, and the room suddenly grew colder, emptier, smaller. I know what she saw. I know those white marks quite well, remnants from times that weren't all that long ago, the stragglers who didn't understand that they were no longer wanted, that I was supposed to be getting better, that I was supposed to be moving on. But how could I move on with their very presence reminding me every single second exactly who I was and exactly what I had done to myself and how weak I had been when I had needed to be strong—

In.

Out.

I took in a deep breath, my only remedy for those iron-laced sobs.

"Oh," she whispered, her thumb running along the old scars. Some of them still bore the scabbing, the ones from my last breakdown where my thoughts had gotten the better of me yet again. "Thomas..."

"I know," I whispered, pulling my arm away. I should have elaborated, I think. But I couldn't bring myself to. Talking hurt, and memories were the most painful thing in existence, so I was more than content just staying silent and letting the awkwardness between us grow. It was fine.

"I'm sorry. I'm okay. You don't have to worry about me," I said, hearing the trembling in my voice and utterly despising myself for it.

"Thomas, honey, I've known you your whole life. I know when you're lying. What's going on?"

"Nothing, I'm alright," I said. "Seriously! Don't worry about me, I'll be okay. It isn't important."

"If it wasn't important, you wouldn't be upset. And you are upset, so I am worried. What happened?"

"Nothing! I'm alright." I scooped up Dick into my hands carefully and sat him down in my lap, petting his head softly. The small bird let out a chirp in response. "I'll be okay," I repeated.

"We are not doing this," she hissed out, grabbing me before I could escape. "Thomas, I am your damn mother. And I care about you. And I have spent the last seven years of my life worried I was never going to see you again, worried I was going to find out that I had outlived yet another one of my children. Worried that one day, I would forget what your voice sounded like, what your smile looked like." I did not miss the tears that glimmered in her eyes—how could I? They existed so sharply, a stark contrast to the strong, beautiful woman I've always known for my entire life.

"I lived seven years of my life worried that you were going to walk right out of it," she repeated, her voice shaking as she choked out the words. "So, you are going to tell me exactly what it is that destroyed you the way it did, and I am going to be here, and I am going to make everything better. It's why I'm here." She gasped for breath, a soft laugh tilting her voice upwards.

"I—" I began, but I did not finish, because I simply was incapable of doing so. The world swarmed around me and swallowed me whole. I gazed down at her hands as she gripped onto me, as she held me close, and it felt good to feel her touch yet again.

"Thomas, please talk to me. I need to know what's wrong so I can help you."

I sighed and looked down at my bird before looking back up at her. "Well, I guess you wanted to know about what happened, huh?"

A soft sigh wormed out of her lips. "I just...I need to know eventually. I would understand if you aren't ready, but I can't—" She inhaled deeply, struggling for breath. "I can't live my entire life without knowing what happened to my son."

"No, you deserve to know the truth." I took a deep breath.

Her hand went to mine comfortingly. She squeezed, she pulled me closer, and I melted in her embrace. My inhibitions fled, the barriers came crumbling down in ways they never had before, not even for my perfect Alexander. The words came out, for better or for worse, and they left their mark upon the world. They burned, but the fire was freeing, as though my soul was carried by the drifting smoke.

I took a deep breath to hold back the choking sensation starting in my throat, the warning sign that I was close to tears, and began. "James and I started dating five years ago tomorrow. He was there for me when I needed him most. When I was upset, he was there. When I wanted to hurt myself, he was there. When I had nightmares, he was there. He supported me through it all, and I like to think I was there for him when he needed me too. He was the last person I had to go to, considering I lost Dad and then I lost you. But he was always there, ready to listen to my problems. I felt safe with him. I felt like I could tell him anything. I thought this was a sign that I had fallen in love with him." I was quiet for a beat, trying not to struggle under the weight of the what-ifs and the what-could-have-beens. "I had not fallen in love with him."

I pulled Dick closer, drawing in his strength, needing him to support me. "I mean—I—I thought I was? But it just never...it didn't last, before, well, he—" I sighed, shifted my hands, and started again.

"I had woken up from a nightmare screaming, and he was there. He helped calm me down and everything just came pouring out I guess. I told him how I thought I felt and then he kissed me and that was that. We started dating. And for three months, I had been the happiest I'd ever been. It felt like I had wings and could fly if I wanted to. Like I could go anywhere and do anything. I thought nothing could go wrong." The gasp came lurching out before I could stop it. "I—it all went wrong, I guess."

I breathed. It was all I could do, just breathe.

"It didn't take long for those wings to break. I don't know what I did wrong, but one day he just...he, umm, he started to h-hurt me. It was, uh, the little things at first. He wouldn't let me sing or play violin, he didn't like it when I hung out with my friends, he made me ask permission before I did things. Then he started to yell at me when I made the smallest of mistakes. He would insult me, scream at me, tell me I was a worthless mistake that didn't deserve to be loved. He would tell me that I was lucky I had him because nobody else would ever love me, and he would tell me that he would kill himself if he lost me. And then the next day he would apologize and promise it would never happen again and he would make it all better. It always happened again and he never made it better." I gripped at my wrists, watching the world disassociate around me and knowing all I could do was sit there. "He, um, he hit me. And then, he just...he kept hurting me, and he never stopped. Like, it felt sometimes that he'd...he'd go out of his way just to—to, um, see me hurt."

I cringed at the thoughts. Bugs twisted themself through a maze of veins and cells underneath my skin, worming and rioting and trying to break free. How could I keep living with myself, after all I had seen and done and allowed to happen? My breath escaped in a choked gasp as the sobs came undone in my throat, and my mother grabbed my arm fiercely but did not interrupt, one hand clamped firmly over her mouth in the universal sign of absolute horror.

"I trusted him, a lot, and I think that's why I stayed. Because there was no way that I was seeing it correctly. There was...there was no way he was hurting me out of malice. He loved me! He said...he said he l-loved me and I trusted him and—do you know how destructive it is for somebody you love to beat you?" I almost screamed the words out, needing to get them out of my mouth before they burned me alive.

I broke, then, just for a moment. "He t-t-told me that he...that he l-loved me," I choked out, tears wracking my body. I needed to get them out, before the words destroyed me. I trembled, trying to stay afloat as the sheer weight of the past couple of months bore down on me. The tears that slid down my face burned like trails of molten iron, the same material found in stardust. But it wasn't stardust. It was just me. "He told me he loved me and I believed him because I thought nobody else would ever love me and I thought that he would be the only one who ever would and I thought—" Whatever I was going to say broke off, forever incomplete, as I struggled just to maintain control over my breathing.

"Do you need a second?" Mom interrupted.

"Yeah, if you wouldn't mind."

She pulled me into a hug and I relaxed against her. I tried so hard to lose myself to her embrace, to the memory of her touch guiding over me like home, but the sweet nostalgia had been absolutely ruined by my words left hanging in the air, spoiling all there was to spoil. So, I pushed myself away and took a deep breath, just as Alexander had reminded me. When she let go, I continued.

"Do—do you know how many times I considered killing myself?" I asked, brushing the tears away from my eyes, but it was such a vain effort. They blurred my vision of the world so fully I could hardly see her face, her expression. "I was so tired of it all, Mom," I whispered. "So, so tired. Nobody else in the world cared and the only person I thought I had only wanted to hurt me and I wanted to die and I wanted to suffer because I couldn't suffer anymore. I just wanted it all to end, you know?" And that's when I couldn't look at her anymore. That's when I turned my head downwards, just so I didn't have to see the pain in her eyes.

God, how selfish can I be? Unloading all of this upon her shoulders when she already has so much she has to deal with? What right did I have to burden her with any of this, just so I could walk a little easier? I am a terrible person, a terrible son. I don't deserve to live.

"Thomas," she whispered. "Please. Keep going."

I calmed my shaking hands, gazing down at the bird between them. He gazed up at me expectantly, lovingly. A perfect reminder that there was still good in this world. There was still something to be treasured and loved and still something that had given me a reason to keep going on, in the end.

When I spoke again, my voice cracked, but it regained its strength, its solidity. "I thought I would die without anyone even noticing, much less caring. I thought I would disappear from this world without anybody apart from James remembering my name. I was so terrified. So alone. But luckily, I never had to suffer through that. Because that's where Alexander comes in.

"Without him, I don't know where I'd be right now. Probably dead. Or maybe not. Who knows?" I swallowed. "He was the first to realize something was wrong. He um...he saved me, Mom. He reminded me that there was color, again. That life wasn't just pain and heartache, and he made me see wonder and—and—I'll never be able to ex-express exactly what he means to me, and I'll never be able to explain everything that he—that he did—and the—" I stopped, forcing myself to breathe. Her eyes bore down on me, the weight of the sun behind them, but I let myself breathe for just a moment more.

I glanced down at Dick and smiled for a brief second. Then, the smile disappeared. "Good things don't last forever, though. James wouldn't leave me alone. He tried to do everything he could to get me back. Finally, one day he called me and said he wanted to talk. He told me to meet him in his dorm. It was March 16th, it was his birthday, how was I supposed to refuse? I thought he wanted to talk. To apologize and maybe I could forgive him then and there. Little blind and trusting me decided that meeting him would be a perfect idea and that nothing could go wrong. So, I went to meet him and he drugged me and he raped me. He also told me that he wanted me back, and he would kill Alexander and the rest of my friends in order to get what he wanted, should it come down to that. He gave me a week to make my choice."

I swallowed, the world shaking around me, threatening to become undone. "I'm sorry. You can stop me at any point," I whispered, glancing up at her.

Horror-stricken. If ever a word could be used to describe her face in that moment, it would be that one. Disbelief and horror and guilt, all at the words spilling out if my mouth. I was hurting her.

She squeezed my hand tighter, and I mimicked her steady breathing. For a moment, just a small, sudden moment, I was a child again, and she was the guardian come to chase away a nightmare and its wretched grip on me. "I'm here. It's okay. I'm here. Please, continue."

"Are you sure?" I said. "It gets worse from here."

She nodded. She slid an arm around my shoulders and shifted closer, her fingers drifting down to stroke the bird sitting in my lap. And so, side-by-side, I continued.

And I continued, because perhaps, I needed this just as much as her. If I kept running from the past, refusing to allow the fires that wrought devastation from meeting the cool, gentle rain, those fires would never truly extinguish. They would burn low, but all it would take is a spark for them to ignite once more, and they would destroy me again and again. So, as the words kept tumbling out of me, their mere utterance healed a part of my soul. A part of my broken, broken soul. Because for every moment that my mother listened to those words and held me and promised to keep me safe, I was reminded that in the end, I was not alone. I was never alone.

"Well, I didn't need a week. I knew that I couldn't be in their lives if all I did was cause pain, so I went with James. I tried to make that week the best week of my life before I got to experience, unarguably, the worst weeks of my life. I went back to James. I went back to him—and—well, I—it just...every day I thought I was going to die. I wanted to die. I wanted it all to be over and it just—"

I froze, brushing away the tears again. "I wanted to, okay? I wanted to leave and never look back. I wanted to die because I hated myself. He made me hate myself. He made me hate the world, and its beautiful colors, and its gorgeous music. He made me want to leave it all behind and never let the starlight dance on my skin, and I—I lived in darkness and I was going to be consumed by decay and rot and—" I cut myself off, before I could continue. "But I had Alexander. He was always there, when I needed him." I laughed, through my tears. "I had him, and once again, he saved me, and I returned to the starlight. I left James, once and for all. And I promised myself that I would never look back.

"But things didn't became any better. I still hate myself. I still want to hurt, all the time. I want to bleed and suffer because I need to apologize to the world for my existence and sometimes it feels like bleeding is the only thing that can do that. I still wake up in the morning sometimes, terrified that I'm just gonna end up in his arms once again. I even have to take antidepressants every morning because my brain is useless and can't generate happiness on its own. I found an alternative to self harm, and that's drawing on myself." I gestured to the marker laying on the table, discarded but not forgotten. "And it seems to be working. But I'm so afraid that I'm gonna end up hurting Alexander by hurting myself. I don't want to hurt Alexander. He deserves to be happy. But I still just feel like I deserve to hurt myself.

"Now these next few things are things I haven't told anyone else before." It was all too easy to say. All too easy to admit to her, and she didn't interrupt, didn't ask for anything in return. She sat in silence and gave me the space and the time that I needed. She allowed me to write this the way I wanted to, and there was nothing more I ever could have asked for then to be able to breathe and exist on my own terms.

"Sometimes people come to me, people who know about the abuse, and tell me that this is all my fault. They tell me that I deserved this, that I should've enjoyed the times he touched me without my consent, that this was just as much my fault as it was his. His. I can't even say his name without feeling a pinprick of fear. How messed up is that? I don't tell anyone else about what these people say, because I don't want them to worry. I've had enough of people worrying about me for no reason. I need to start taking care of myself and deal with my own problems. I hate dumping them on other people when I should be strong enough to handle them without anyone else even knowing. Plus, their words are no worse than the thoughts inside my head."

And I laughed. "Which is ironic, right? Because that's essentially what I'm doing to you?"

"I'm here to listen."

I nodded, reaching for her hands. I needed them, I needed their warmth. I needed something to remind me of all the beauty in the world and all the goodness, before I lost it forever.

"I'm also not as good of a person as everyone believes I am. They like to think I'm a pure, innocent, sweet, little angel that is incapable of harm. But I'm the complete opposite of that. I'm a chronic liar, I'm just as manipulative as James is, I hide things from my friends and I make decisions for them. I'm also selfish, and I tend to do things without realizing how other people would feel. And what happens when everybody realizes that? That I'm not the perfect person they think I am? What happens when they realize how messed up I am, how horrible of a person I am? Will they start to hate me? Will Alexander realize he's better off without me and leave me without so much as a second thought?"

I pushed myself away from her, and before I could stop it, before I could control myself, I was weeping into my hands. It was the only refuge I had as I stuttered out the last few things that had carved themselves into my mind. I spat out the poison and the pain and the hurt because it was all that was left within me. "I'm...I'm a—I'm a h-horrible person," I managed out between the waves of sobs that crashed against me.

"But I don't want to hurt Alexander," I sobbed. "He's so good. He's so good, and he deserves so m-much, and I—I know by just being here, I'm hurting him! He deserves so much better than me, and I can't—I can't—I feel so bad for all that I've done to him and all the ways I've hurt him and I know it can't be easy putting up with me and I know how much I put him through and I want him to be happy and free and I'm so, so, so terrified that I'm going to do the same thing to him that James did to me and I—I—I love him. I love him and sometimes it feels like I can't breathe without him, like I've never lived before him and I'll never be able to live without him because he's the very thing that brings light into my world and without him—" Violently, I shook, as it all overwhelmed me, like a storm I could not weather any longer. The sobs came once more and this time, I could not power through.

But this time, for the first time in a long time, I allowed them to come. I did not fight them back, I did not wish they were gone. They shook me, and I knew I must have looked like an absolute, pathetic mess, sobbing and crying with a hand over my mouth as if that could stifle it all. I knew, but I didn't care. I accepted them, and I let the tears pour out of me, and track their trails of fire down my cheeks and I let my mom hold me close, and suddenly, I could breathe again. Like rain, washing over the land, bringing with it renewal and rebirth, these tears came.

It was a long time before I could continue.

I wiped away my tears with my hand. "Sometimes I wonder what Dad would think, if he was still here today. I wonder if he would think I was a disgrace. I wonder if he'd hate me almost as much as I do. If he was embarrassed to have someone as pathetic as me as his son. I wonder how—"

"Your father," Mom started carefully. I looked up at her to see her gaze hard, and I realized that she was holding back tears. "Your father would not be embarrassed of you. Though," her voice broke at this point, "I think he'd have a tougher time being prouder of you than I am." She pulled me into a tight hug, one that I didn't ever want to leave.

It filled me to the brim, the buoyancy that her touch brought. The most freeing thing imaginable, and suddenly, I was walking on air. Suddenly, the sunlight broke above my head and the storm disappeared and the world was reborn in those gentle yet blazing hues of orange and pink and red, the brushstrokes of a sunrise, of a new beginning.

"Proud?" I managed to say. "Why would you be proud of me? There's nothing to be proud about."

"For being so strong, for managing to get through something as horrible as that, for staying here with us, even though you wanted to leave so many times. For being so brave and so wise."

"I'm so sorry. Momma, I'm so sorry."

She held me tighter, and I relished in the familiar and bittersweet nostalgic warmth of my mother's embrace. I clung to her, as if nothing had existed before or since. I refused to pry myself away, refused to live in any moment but the one I was in now. I chased away the rest of my thoughts, the rest of the nightmares forever tugging at my mind, and surrendered myself to her love.

We were silent for a while, before Momma said, "thank you." But it wasn't directed at me.

I pushed myself away from her and looked over my shoulder to see Alexander standing in the doorway, smiling softly. He crossed over and joined us on the couch. "It was my pleasure," he responded, taking my hand in his.

"I—" I breathed, but no words dared follow. He took my face in his hands, and it did not escape me, the layer of tears that glimmered in his eyes.

"Are you okay, Thomas?" he whispered, holding me close.

"Sorry," I murmured, dropping my head to gaze down at Dick as he inspected Alexander's sleeve. "I didn't mean— I— I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for, love," he said gently, pulling me to his chest, and the bird took to the sky to land on the table. I closed my eyes tightly. "Did something happen? What set you off? I'll fight someone if I have to!"

"Just... just going through one of my lows. That's all."

He wiped away my tears, his hands gentle and soft, just as they always were, with my delicate position. I clung to him, a glass bird on the precipice of falling, and relied on him to save me. And he did, because he was always here, regardless of it all. Regardless of the space I had put between us, be it one city or the halls of my past that stretch far longer than I remember them to, he always found me in the end, and his love was more than enough to save me.

He had saved my life.

And I would never stop loving him for it.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, gazing at the floor.

"No need to apologize, Thomas. You know this. I'm never going to blame you for being upset." He tilted my head upwards, allowing me to peer into his gaze without regret, without fear of what may lurk underneath. His eyes were clear as pools, genuine and unafraid to glisten with the tears that seeped forwards.

"Still," I said. "Sorry, if I made you worry."

There was a moment before either one of us spoke, and only then did I realize my mother was watching. Slowly, silently, never whispering a word. But she watched it all, and perhaps she saw something that reminded her all too much of a person from the past long buried.

Alexander began to rub soft circles into my back. "Well, you were right about one thing. You are a chronic liar."

"Wha-what do you mean?"

"You absolutely are perfect."

"I'm not perfect Alexan—"

"Liar."

"Alexander, I—"

"Li-ar!"

"Alex—"

"Li-to-the-fucking-ar."

"You can't just say I'm a liar when you disagree with me, honey."

"Uh, watch me." I smiled and shifted so I was resting my head against his chest and laying on the couch. "Can I see your wrists?" I let him see my left wrist, and then my right. He smiled proudly and kissed my forehead. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"I just...you know. I didn't want to waste your time."

"Okay, first off, never call yourself a waste of time again. I love you, and you're my everything. You are not a waste of time and if I ever hear you call yourself that again, I'm going to punch James."

I sighed. "Of course you are."

"Second off, I'd rather you wake me up because you're hurting and you need help than wake up without you beside my side and fear the worse."

"Alexander, I'm so sorry, I—"

"It's okay, love. No need to apologize. You know I think you're amazing, right? And you know that I love you, right?"

I nodded, but he wasn't satisfied with that alone. He tugged me closer, never caving to the world as he did so. His hands danced around my waist, wrapping tightly and pulling me closer. Sometimes it seemed like there was simply too much space in the world, to always exist between us. Sometimes it seemed like we were twin galaxies that pulled a bit too much on each other, until one day, they would eventually collide and burst into a dazzling nebula. But all I knew is that when I was with him, when held me and looked at me like I was the only person in the entire world, everything felt right.

"Say it out loud. So I can hear you."

"You think I'm amazing and you love me."

"Good. Now, we're gonna go to the fair together tomorrow, right? And you're going to let me win you something at one of the games. And we're gonna eat cotton candy and ice cream and popcorn together. And then, when the sun goes down, we're gonna watch the fireworks together, right?"

"Right."

He clutched my hand tighter, staring at my wrist, and the drawings that inked up and down my hand. Such beautiful colors, and yet born from the craving of violence and pain all the same. "You promise?" I know I did not imagine the tremble in his voice, the little waver that existed as the world forced him to consider a different possibility, the same kind that steals into the darkness of the night to rip the world into shreds.

"I promise."

"And you won't break that promise?"

"Of course not. I'm not a barbarian."

Alexander laughed gently and kissed me once more. I pushed myself away from him and looked up at my mom, who was silently watching. She wore an amused smile, and I felt my face heat up.

"Uh, sorry," I whispered.

"No, don't mind me," she returned, tilting her head. For whatever reason, I could not even guess what she was thinking, what worlds passed through her marble stare. "Please, carry on."

"Um," Alexander said, clearly flustered to the point where it was absolutely adorable. "Uh, sorry, I know you were having a moment, but—it's just, when Thomas is upset, usually I—well, you get the idea. If I overstepped—"

"I like this one, Thomas. He's a keeper."

"Sometimes I think he's the universe's way of apologizing to me." I rested my head against his arm, smiling up at him. "Though I'll never be quite sure how I got lucky enough to have him as mine."

She smiled, and for the first time that morning, I think it was one borne of true happiness. Relief shone in her eyes as she watched the two of us, as though she finally understood. "Thomas, why don't you go get something to eat?"

"And drink. And take your pills for me, love?" Alexander chimed in. God, he's more parental than my actual parent. I don't mind it though. It's nice to be cared about and loved.

"Alright," I said. "I'll be right back." I stood up to go get something to eat and drink. Truth was, I didn't really want to eat. But I knew it would make both of them happy if I ate something.

They deserved the world. Nothing more, nothing less. And if all it took to make both of then smile was simply living, taking care of myself and ensuring my survival, then it was worth it every step of the way. So I ate, and I made sure I took my antidepressants regardless of how wary I had grown of the capsules and their deriving sneer, and I poured myself a glass of water just to carry back with me as proof.

They spoke in hushed voices when I returned to them, barely loud enough for me to hear. My mother had grown quiet, her arms crossed and lips pulled tight as she listened to Alexander. I paused in the doorway, terrified of what they were saying. If only I could read his lips, if only I could get a basic understanding of the things they discussed the moment I had disappeared. But as it was, the few soft murmurings I could overhear were all I had to go off of.

"Thank you," Mom said. "Thank you so much for taking care of him. A mother should never have to outlive her children. I don't know what I would have done if I didn't get to see Thomas one more time. But thanks to you, I got to have that chance."

"Of course," Alexander returned, his gaze locked on his intertwined hands. "I don't know what I would do if I lost him. He's, well, he's my everything."

"Is Thomas telling the truth? Did that all really happen? Or was there more?"

"Way more. Way, way more. But he hasn't told me everything yet, either, and I trust him to tell me when he's ready." He paused, swallowing hard. "It's so...terrifying. I want to know everything, I want to know exactly what James did to him, but I know how hard it is on Thomas and I know what thinking of his past does to him—but there's n-no way that that's everything, especially not with some of the moments I've seen him and the things he says and thinks about himself—" Alexander paused, glancing up at her. "He is so strong, by the way. And I'm so proud of him. And you should be, too."

And, as if noticing my existence, both looked up.

"Hey, love," Alexander said, shifting aside and patting the space besides him. He beamed upon seeing me, the world lighting up around him as if set ablaze by a thousand fireflies. And part of my heart swelled, knowing that it was me he looked at so fondly. It was because of my mere presence that he smiled so radiantly. "Come sit?"

"Sorry," I whispered as I made my way over to join them.

"For what?"

I shrugged, gazing at my hands.

Alexander wrapped his arms around my waist and pulling me close to him. He left no space between us, and there was no way I'd rather have it. His heart beating in perfect time with mine. It was more than I could ever ask for.

"No more apologizing, for me, love? You have absolutely nothing to apologize for, now or ever. You are utterly perfect."

"Well, I wouldn't go that far—"

"Well, I would! Are you gonna fight with me, Thomas? Huh?"

And I did exactly what he set out to see me do; I laughed. And it was nice, having somebody who loved to make you laugh, somebody who lived to see you smile.

"You know you're going to have to tell your siblings, Thomas."

My heart came crashing to the ground, even though I had known she would say something like that. "I don't know if I can. It...it took so much strength just to tell you, and I know they might not understand the way you do, and—"

"They're your siblings, Thomas. They love you. And it doesn't have to be today, but at some point, you're going to have to tell at least Jane, Mary, and Elizabeth."

I nodded, hugging my arms. Alexander squeezed me closer, his breath warm against my neck.

"I'll tell them eventually."

"You can sit with me for now, if you'd like," Alexander offered, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead as I leaned against him. And then, too quick for me to move, he grabbed me by the waist and shifted me so I was laying in his lap, pressed against his body, his arms wrapped tight around me. "And I can talk about how much I love you?"

My mother laughed lightly. "Thomas, you better marry this boy one day."

"Mom!" I exclaimed, heat rushing into my face at the mere suggestion of it. Though, I would by lying if I said my heart did not flutter at picturing a future forever set in stone with my Alexander at my side. And he had frozen a bit too, unable to respond.

~•~

The dirt path below me let out a satisfying crunch with every step I took. There was a slight breeze blowing through the clear blue Virginian summer sky. I was humming gently to myself as I walked down the path.

I knew this path.

It carved through the woods, familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time. Imposing trees wreathed with tendrils of ivy and glass jars hanging from each branch. From the jars, a soft yellow light glimmered radiantly, though I did not understand why. It was not the light of a fire, nor fireflies. More like the gleam of a star, imprisoned within glass. But even though I did not understand it, I was not bothered.

The woods hummed alongside me as I floated along the path. A haze rolled in, winding through the trees and painting the world like a careless summer dream. Like a world undefined by the whims of humans, a world reclaimed by the magic that surged through the undergrowth and on the breath of the songbird's sweet lullaby.

I knew where this path led. If I kept following it, I would wind up at my father's favorite garden. I smiled at the thought of the small fishpond, the flowers growing with no rhyme or reason, the giant oak trees that were surrounding the little area, and the old little wooden bench painted white.

I did not know how I knew, for the woods were beginning to bend and fall in unfamiliar ways. But part of me knew, and part of me knew who was waiting at the end of the path. I continued on without a single care in the world, humming along to the symphony of the woods.

I did not have to continue for very long. All of a sudden, no warning or reason, the woods fell away and the garden emerged as crisp and perfect as it had always been, the flowers replanted carefully and the vines growing along the trellis borders pruned with grace and affection. It seemed to be exactly the way it had been in all of my memories as a child, with no change at all affecting the elegance of the little garden, tucked miles away from the house.

I gazed around.

It's funny, actually.

I kinda expected to see him, and there he was.

He was reclining on the bench, reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. I beamed when I remembered how he used to read the series to me when I was much smaller, giving each character different voices and making the story as dramatic as he possibly could. When he saw me, he set the book down and stood up, smiling warmly.

I watched a moment longer, fixating at the book. I did not cry, not yet. Even though I could feel the tears building up inside of me.

"Hi," he said.

I did not trust myself to speak.

"It's good to see you. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

I nodded, unable to tear my eyes away from the book. If I could focus on the book, a thing I knew to be real, then I did not have to watch him and know he could disappear at any moment. I could close my eyes and open them again and the book would still be there, but he would be gone like a whisper in a breeze.

"You don't have to be afraid, Thomas," he said, stepping forward. "Not everything has to be real to be believed."

He held out his arms, an unspoken offering extended only to me. The universe be damned, if it was watching, it it knew of what was happening under its domain.

I was in his arms in an instant.

I knew it was a dream. The whole time, I knew it was a dream. But it felt so real.

I could feel the warmth of his touch pouring into my body, the soft cotton of his white shirt, the gentle grip he held me in.

I could smell the scent of his cologne, the scent of the flowers blooming up in scattered places, the scent of the fields after it rains.

I could hear the birdsong above us in the trees, a gentle splash as a turtle jumped into the fishpond, me humming happily.

It certainly didn't feel like a dream.

It all came at me, as bright and vivid as if it were real life. And so, I chose to believe that it was real life, simply because there was nothing to stop me.

He let go of me and took a step back. I beamed happily. "Dad," I breathed in disbelief.

"I'm so proud of you," he said, and I felt my heart soar.

"I miss you so much."

"I know," he responded, smiling warmly. "I've been by your side every step of the way, even though you didn't know it, even when you wanted to give up, I was by your side. And I'm so proud of you for being so strong."

I felt the warm wetness of tears trailing down my face.

"You've got to go soon, but just know that I'm always here."

"I want to go with you. Dad, please. I don't wanna go back. I wanna go with you." I reminded myself of a child begging to be with his father. And in a way, that's exactly what it was.

"You can't, Thomas. Not yet. Not for a long time. Stay there. For your mother, for your siblings, for your friends, and for Alexander."

"You know about Alexander?"

He nodded, his smile sad. "I'm glad you found happiness with him. I'm glad you love him, and that he loves you."

"Please don't go."

He hugged me again, and this time I realized that his chest wasn't moving up and down rhythmically. This time, his touch was cold, as if I was hugging a dead, empty corpse rather than the human being I've trusted and known for so long, for so many years.

"I wish I could be with you," he whispered as he pulled me closer. I do not think we have ever done this before. There was never any sweet sentimentality, even for as much as I knew he loved me. "I wish I could be with you and your mother, questioning your boyfriend and learning of what happened together. I wish I could hold you, for real, and promise that everything will be okay because your father is here, Thomas. I wish I could help bring color and music back into your life, because I know how much you've missed them." But he slid away, cupped my face in his hands.

"Dad," I whispered. "Don't leave me."

"I love you, Thomas. And every breeze you feel, every inexplicable song you hear popping into your head, every bird you catch a quick glimpse of soaring through the sky, that is me. That is me standing by your side through it all."

"I love you too," I whispered, watching as he began to fade. 

"Dad!" I begged as he took a step back.

"Goodbye Thomas. I'll see you again, one day. I love you, okay?"

"DAD!"

The world around me was beginning to fade.

"No, no! Not yet, please! Just a little bit longer!" I called out, but nobody was there to hear my call.

My father had disappeared, and the world around me was slowly fading, until the last thing I saw was the little old wooden bench.

~•~

My eyes opened to greet the morning sunlight streaming through the window, and the dream began to slip away from me, spinning away into nothingness.