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>You don’t take Alex home
>In fact, the car ride is quiet and uneventful
>The street lamps flick on early
>It’s not even late, just dark
>And the moon is so cold overhead, filling the sky with silvered light
>Another full moon…
>You may be braver, but that doesn’t stop a knot from twisting in your stomach, thrashing around like a headless snake
>That moon has a cause, and it has an effect… on something
>So, what did you accomplish today, other than a few felonies?
>Your eyes briefly shift from the road to the rabbit in the seat next to yours
>He’s not wearing his seatbelt, and you don’t have the energy to tell him to do so
>He’s curled tightly into a ball, his arms forming a tight link around his twiggish legs
>He keeps his head down, his hair a shut curtain over his face
>Without his hoodie on, swimming in that gray long sleeve t-shirt, ratty jeans hanging off him, he looks almost unrecognizable
>You can see more of him, the way clothing hangs off him like a sheet strung on a fragile clothes wire, his bird-like body only a thin and fading skeleton against the drape of the fabric
>You can’t imagine what he’s going through — what he’s been through already
>He looks malnourished, perpetually sleepless, and filthier than the gutter
>And somewhere, deep within a pit in your heart, where hope once lived, you see that you’ve made a grave error in trying to save him and the world from what’s about to happen
>You flick the blinker on left and turn into your driveway
>And as you roll up the concrete incline
>It sinks in
>Like a slow motion bullet rifled from God’s fifty-cal
>Inevitable
>People are going to get hurt
>“So, sleepover then?” Alex says, flashing a tired smile from the backseat
>You prod at Sam
“Hey. Dude. Wake up.”
>He looks up at you and brushes away a few locks of his greasy hair
>His eyes are bloodshot; stung by tears
“We… We uhhh. This is my house.”
>He turns his head forward and says replies with a distant, “Oh,” stifling a sniffle
>Alex unbuckles and leans into the center console
>”I’m not going home tonight, that’s for fucking sure.”
“Yeah, what about your parents, though?”
>“Fuck the oppressors. After this evening, I just want to kick back and drink some bee-“
>Alex glances down at Sam, but the bunny doesn’t look like he’s paying attention
>“Some sodas. Or something,” Alex concludes
>You silently thank whatever God there might be for Alex’s save
>Probably not a good night to get wistfully drunk
>Sam clears his throat and rubs his eyes with his sleeve
>He looks from you to Alex, a weak smile hanging on his lips with one finger
>“S-Sodas?” he says softly, though you can still hear the ache in his voice
“Don’t tell me you’ve never had a soda before, dude,” you try to put a little humor anbd cheer in your voice
>Sam’s ears shake from side to side
>There’s a little more color taking root back in his cheeks
>His voice still wavers
>“I-I-I h-have. J-Just not many of t-t-them. O-O-Or-“
>You pop open the front door to your home and gesture for Alex and Sam
>“Well, come on. Let’s get some dinner. And lemme wash your clothes there, Sam. They look like they haven’t touched water and soap in months.”
>Sam’s face pulses beat red, and he buries his gaze in his shoes
>But you can see how big his eyes are at the prospect of… God only knows
>F-Fuck…
>You shake your head free of The Gay(tm), sucking down cold October air
>It just occurred to you how deeply your pits are soaked
>You need to change clothes too
>And…
>Do something heterosexuality-affirming…
>Instead you glance at your phone
>No missed calls from Mike
>Maybe you should give him a ring
>You are Mike MUTHAFUCKIN’ Sapone
>And you gotta keep moving
>Your eyes nervously flit around the neighborhood as you bank into a turn, your car gliding under the streetlamp like a steel wraith
>You grab the spot where Lydia clamped down on your neck
>It hurts, but the bleeding was overall fairly minimal
>Going to the hospital crossed your mind, but you don’t think that’s a good idea right now — and you don’t think they can help
>The cheerleaders followed you for a good distance once you made it to your car
>They kept up alongside your car the whole time for some miles, their legs churning with unbelievable pace
>Steps so powerful the concrete sidewalks seemed to bend beneath them
>A foreign, yet powerful instinct tells you not to trust anyone while the moon’s full
>FUCK
>Your first evil, vampiric cheerleader encounter and it was hardly sexual
>You’re pretty sure you’re going to run into werewolves at this point. That’s the asinine bullshit you just brushed up against
>You don’t trust any predator either — nobody with fangs gets a pass tonight
>In fact, you’ve decided to run over any fangmouths you see
>But that won’t happen
>You’ve been doing loops around this random neighborhood for what feels like an hour
>Glistening with a fine sheen of sweat
>Hair matted down with it
>Head aching from where you rekt Lydia
>Eyes lidded, heavy with sleep
>Body…
>…strangely warm, almost feverish, rising with manic pace
>Just keep doing loops, wait until it gets dark
>Just keep moving
>And then what?
>Go home? Wouldn’t they know where you live?
>Do they?
>They mig-
>God, you don’t feel good
>How long has this car been on the ‘E’?
>Are you even moving?
>You feel like you’re going to be sick
>You slam on the brakes but the car doesn’t move
>You throw open your door
>Your body seizes up and forces its contents out
>But nothing comes up
>It’s just your body retching and gagging on the sidewalk, underneath the street lamps of some foreign neighborhood
>You try forcing your body to stop heaving, but to no avail
>It feels like your stomach is colliding with your ribcage
>Your back and shoulders hurt
>Everything hurts
>Even your eyeballs
>Your vision clouds over with sudden darkness
>The idea that something isn’t right has long since been replaced with the firm, unshakeable knowledge that something is deeply wrong here
>An brief, dissipating image of you receiving your diploma flashes through your mind’s eye
>The image of you flipping off the principal, diploma in hand, shit-eating-grin plastered across your face, read-and-white cap and gown on slowly becomes ethereal, fading away like smoke against the sky
>You reach out to grab one tendril and anchor it to the Earth
>But it slips through your fingers
>And your vision collapses
>As your body hits the sidewalk
>Be Anon
>You open the door to your room and motion for Sam to enter
>But he doesn’t budge
>He stands in the entryway, hands folded in front of him, twisting his body around as he peers into the dark space
“What? He’s not here, dude. Remember? He’s back at your old house. Probably,” you laugh. “Wishing he lived in a place like this.”
>You snap on the lights, part of you expecting to find Sam’s Dad in wait
>But it’s your same old room
>Same old desk, same old computer, same old unmade bed and messy, low dresser and nightstand
>The floor is a minefield of dirty clothes and loose sheets of paper
“Go on, I’ll find my old pajamas while you change.”
>You almost nudge him forward, but hold back on pressing the bunny
>“I-I-I can’t…” he says, looking up at you with a distraught expression
>“D-Dad said I’m n-not allowed in a b-b-boys’ room.”
“What? Why would he say that? Now come on, let’s go,” you push him inside, quickly done with being tender
>He squeaks at your touch and jumps forward into the room, gaining impressive distance
>Rabbits. Fucking rabbits, man
>Sam glances around your room, his eyes lighting up as he glosses over the little bookshelf in the corner
>“Y-You have a b-book shelf?” he says
“… Yeah, I have a bookshelf. What’s so cool about that?”
>Sam presses his fingers together when he sees you waiting at the door
>“I-uhhh I always wa-wanted a bookshelf in my r-r-room,” he says
>Oh, right. Makes sense. His family was a buncha cunts and probably wouldn’t get him one
>You sigh. You’re not sleepy, but you’re tired
“You can go look,” you point towards the shelf. “I think I’ve got old copies of Superman on the bottom shelf, and I think there’s the Bone collection on the top..”
>Sam’s eyes go big
>“S-SUPERMAN!?” he catches his palms over his mouth before his voice hits a high note that… only girls can hit…
>Well, he is a super feminine boy
>With an oddly androgynous face
>Hmmmm
>You shake your head
>“S-Sorry,” Sam whispers
>You turn to go find your pajamas
>You think you left them in the kitchen
>Nobody has been home for a few days
>Not like anyone is gonna tell you otherwise
>You are Anon, a high school bachelor, after-all
“Just get undressed before you read the comics.”
>Sam’s ears shoot up to the top of his head
>“W-What? A-A-A-A-A-Anon I-“
>You shut the door and release a tired sigh
>You’re a patient man, but not that patient
>Why is he being so weird about this? It’s not like you haven’t changed in front of Mike or Alex before
>Speaking of…
>You pull out your phone and dial up Mike again
>His phone rings, but terminates in his voicemail
“Fuck,” you whisper, stepping into the kitchen, where you find Alex, parked at your kitchen table
>He’s spoon-deep in a bowl of cereal, the fridge door still open
>“How’d it go with your boyfriend?” he asks, the spoon hanging from his lips like a metal cigarette
>You point your phone at him
“What did I say about that? What did I say?”
>“I can’t remember, but I think you came out to Mike and I at a Burgershack. You’re… You’re at least bi, right?”
“NO!”
>Alex sets aside his cereal and leans over the table, a templetive look on his face
>“Listen, Anon. I’m not Mike. I’m not trying to tease you here. But you gotta face facts…”
“I know you’re not Mike.” Your groan echoing off the low ceiling. “Because you’re my retard friend Alex, whose last two brain cells are trying to tell me I’m gay, which I’m not.”
>“You need to be honest with yourself. I support you and Sam, dude.”
>You feel like you just got punched in the gut
>You and Sam?
“ME and SAM?” You exclaim
>“Well that’s what it looks like!”
“It’s not what it looks like. It NEVER is!”
>“So why were you so hell-bent on saving him today?” Alex folds his hands over each other
>….
>You didn’t think ahead this far
>Very few times is Alex ever able to get an edge on you
>FEW TIMES
>You swear this will not be one of those times
>But you did make a pact with the literal enemy in order to commit a felony in order to have an obviously mentally ill gay boy have a forced, extended sleepover with you
>And all you can come up with is
“Listen here, motherfucker, I am not gay. Alright?”
>And that’ll do it, you think
>The smirk across Alex’s face says everything
“What do you want me to say? That I feel…” you lower your voice to a harsh whisper “… responsible for him? That maybe since him and I are such cowards deep down, I might be able to at least save him if I can’t save myself?”
>Alex tilts his head
>“You’re a coward? Since when have you been a coward? You could be the leader of the next intellectual movement to abolish property. You know I’ve read your writing-“
>You open your mouth to tell Alex everything
>How you made a pact with Vanessa
>And will sacrifice Gloria to them so they can complete their dark rite
>But you say nothing
>You catch yourself before you can ruin another friendship
>You’ve already lost Mike
>You don’t need Alex thinking you’re a traitor
>…But you’ve practically signed his death certificate and gotten him involved with a psychotic drunk
>You clutch your head and fight down the screams
>“Anon? Are you having an epiphany?”
>You shove your trembling finger at him, clutching your pulsing skull with your free hand
“LISTEN! I AM NOT GAY, I AM NOT A COWARD, I AM NOT GOING TO DIE, AND NEITHER IS SAM!” you say, stepping forward, like a prophet receiving revelations from the god of rage, “And there will be no gay shit tonight! NOTHING! NONE!”
Oliver Hart
Author of Foxing, Leaves of Fall, Liquid Courage, Beating the Heat, A Red Winter, Weber’s Gambit, and many other stories. He primarily writes hmofa, but dabbles in most genres. Interests include, writing, reading, technology, and music.
Stories: Foxing, The Leaves of Fall