I HAVEN’T been inside my childhood bedroom in about a year. My parents are thinking about selling the house, but they haven’t gotten around to it, even though they’ve been talking about it for a few years now. If they’d sold it, I would have found another place to stay, which would be fine with me.
I would just go home to my pissed off flatmates.
My room is big, much bigger than the one in the flat. There’s a double bed, a tall brown bookshelf, a desk. A cross hangs above my bed, reminding me this isn’t really my room; it’s just a charade.
At least Alton is here.
He doesn’t want to be, doesn’t have to be, but he’s here. Despite how angry he is at me. Despite how angry our parents are at him. The environment at home feels horrible, smoggy, bogged down. It always has, and now it’s even worse. I could barely stand being here for lunch. I can’t picture living here for another few weeks.
I lie down on the bed and take out my phone. My mailbox is horribly empty. Because I’m a dick, not because people don’t care about me. I know that, but it doesn’t make it any better. Ziggy hasn’t gotten in touch and Levi—Levi wanted to know if I was okay. I should probably call him. I’d like to know, if I were him.
He sends me to voicemail after two rings.
“Hey, I’m not available right now, so leave me a message and I’ll hit you up when I can.”
His voice sounds so normal, so much like him. I’ve missed listening to him. I consider calling him back just so I can hear his voice again, but that would probably be weird. I don’t want him to think I’m stalking him or anything. But if I go to his house, then he’ll have to talk to me. I just want some closure, and even though I was being a dick to him, I probably deserve closure. We both do. He should know that I’m okay, or well, not worse off than I was before.
I can’t go downstairs because everyone will be there and I can’t walk out without fielding a ton of questions, so the only thing I can do is sneak out the window. I may have to wait until everyone is asleep, though. I haven’t done this for years, and I don’t think it’s like riding a bike. Sneaking out is a skill.
I’m eying my window when Alton comes into my room. He doesn’t knock. No one ever knocks.
Welcome home.
“Dinner is ready,” he says. I want to ask him what he’s doing here, but I know I shouldn’t.
“I’ll be right there,” I reply.
He sighs and sits down on my bed. “I was told to stay here until you came downstairs.”
“Oh,” I say. “Okay.”
We’re quiet for a few seconds before he leans back on the bed, stretching out his limbs. “Damien, they’re really worried about you. Do you think maybe you can talk to them?”
“I don’t know what I can say,” I reply.
“You do,” Alton says. “You could just tell them the truth. They’re not just worried, they’re hurt.”
“Why?”
“You called me for help instead of them, and they live, like, half an hour away from your flat,” he says. “I would always help you but it’s kind of hard when I’m so far away.”
I sigh when I look at him. Another person to add to the list of people I’ve let down lately. I didn’t think I could drown any more in self-pity, but it seems I was blind to how deep it could go.
“I’m sorry, Al,” I say. “To be fair I didn’t call anyone for help. It was Ziggy.”
“So you called Ziggy,” he says. “I know that you love her. I love her too, she’s great. I’m really glad she called me. But you have parents, you know.”
“True, but what could I have said? I didn’t want this to happen.”
“I know,” he replies. He sits up and squeezes my shoulder. “C’mon, kid. The food’s getting cold.”
“Right,” I reply. I stand up and hold out my hand to help him to his feet.
THE DINING room smells amazing. My dad is such a good cook. I would be happier if I could just smell the food instead of taste it, because I’m not hungry at all, but I guess I have to just sit down and shut up. I just hope they don’t hound me with questions. But I realize the chances of that are kind of slim, when I sit down at the table and everyone is already staring at me.
We haven’t done this in forever, just the four of us sitting around the table. And they haven’t even started on their food.
“Thank you,” I say to my dad. “This looks delicious.”
He nods. My dad is kind of scary-looking, though he’s getting on in age. He’s tall and muscular and has a full head of black hair. When I was young, I was terrified of him, even though he was never the disciplinarian. He just stood in a corner and looked threatening.
“Dig in,” he says.
I don’t have to be told twice. The last thing I want to do is insult him. It’s vegan potato curry, which is for my benefit, as my parents are both meat eaters. It’s good too, and maybe I was hungrier than I thought, because I’m eating faster than I should, and they’re all still staring at me. Maybe they think I’m stuffing my face this quickly so I can get up and avoid them.
I mean, they wouldn’t be wrong.
“Damien,” my mother says. “How are you doing?”
I swallow a bite of potato that is way too hot before I answer. “I’m fine. How are you doing, Mom?”
“We’re worried about you,” she says, looking around the table. “We all are. It’s not just me and your father. Can you please tell us what’s going on? Why couldn’t you come to us?”
I shrug. “That wasn’t really my choice. Seriously I’m fine. You guys are just blowing it out of proportion.”
“You disappear for nearly a week, are unreachable, then reappear in hospital. As if nothing had happened. But you think that you’re fine.”
“I am,” I say. “I know it’s hard for you to believe, but—”
“You reach out to your best friend, to your brother, before you reach out to us. I mean, we have no reason to worry, that’s why you haven’t reached out to us. Because we have no reason to worry or be afraid for your safety. You’re obviously fine and looking after yourself,” she says. “Because you’re a responsible adult.”
“That’s not fair, Mom,” I reply. “How was I meant to know I’d get sick again? I was fine. And then I wasn’t.”
“You could have come to stay with us after the hospital,” she replies. “We repeatedly asked you if you wanted to. We would have taken care of you.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I know that. But I didn’t need—”
“Obviously you did,” she replies. “Your brother was headed to Thailand to write a book. Did he tell you that? Did he tell you that you stopped him from writing a book?”
“Mom, writing a book isn’t location dependent,” Alton says. It’s a meek defense and she doesn’t even acknowledge it, she just points her fork at me and definitely ignores anything he has to say.
“You called someone from across the world to come to your aid,” she continues. “And you’re fine. You took a taxi to a hospital, by yourself, and you’re fine. Damien, we can’t keep supporting you if you’re not looking after yourself. We can’t pay your rent when we don’t even know where you are half the time.”
“Why would you need to know where I am? I’m usually at home or at work. I don’t know what you mean?”
She sighs. “You know what I mean. You know exactly what I mean. Your father and I have discussed it—”
She looks at him and he looks away, before she continues talking. “And we’ve decided we’re going to stop financially supporting you until you’re well again. You can live with us while you get better. Then you can get a job and move out, but only once you really are okay. We’re going to take care of you, Damien.”
“You’re going to take care of me,” I repeat, really slowly.
“Until you learn how to look after yourself,” my father says. His deep voice disorients me.
“You don’t understand,” I say. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was going to go off the grid, but it wasn’t like I planned it. I was being ambushed by a bunch of people, and I was just a little overwhelmed, so I left, okay? And then I got on a train and I didn’t realize I wouldn’t be coming back. Things just got a little crazy. I would’ve texted you, but I didn’t have any signal.”
“We do understand,” he replies. “We understand that you can’t be left alone.”
I look at Alton but he’s staring pointedly at his full plate. I guess I don’t deserve to be defended right now, but I really wish he would.
I wish he’d say something. Anything. Anything at all. But he doesn’t even meet my eyes.
I scoff before I speak. “May I be excused?”
“Yes,” my mother says. “Clear your plate before you go.”