The Lonely Ones

Chapter Twelve: A Story of a Boy

Warning: Homophobia, abuse, and implications of sexual assault (not detailed.)

When the circus came to Eidenswill, Artemis had expectations that were always met years prior. The hunter spent early mornings in the Grim Woods, carefully bringing his wares so as to not raise suspicion. While the townsfolk know of Artemis' secret, he does not go out of his way to clue in others. Then in the afternoon and evening, the shop opens to sell to the onslaught of customers. By the end of the week, Artemis has sat in to watch the show once or twice, but this year is different.

Artemis watched almost every show for the last nine days in a row. Ladies teeter precariously atop tightropes high above, frightening the crowd into dead silence or shared gasps. Partners flip from one rope to the next in glittering silk. A woman breathes fire, catching swords aflame that she juggles like they don't burn. Beasts lurk in the tent, jumping through flaming hoops or yowling like nightmares. The crowd cheers and applauds. Artemis sits among them, doing the same, although his gaze drifts to Dovin, who is heading his way.

Dovin isn't a part of the act. He scurries about the tent selling snacks or small trinkets from other lands, or so they claim. Perhaps they're nothing more than pieces of common wood carved by someone with a vivid imagination. No one asks because they're too excited by the idea of the unknown. His job seems to be a sort of errand boy.

During the day, Dovin comes and goes from Artemis' shop to make purchases. He doesn't mind Artemis' silence, chattering about his day and worries concerning the journey along the Jolly Road. When Artemis replies with more than a word or two, Dovin smiles. That smile drains the breath from Artemis' lungs. He hates himself for it.

But he continues peeking out the window, hoping for Dovin to visit or pass by. When he does, he always stops to at least say hello. His voice is like a song calling Artemis to look his way, to pay attention, and to want what he wishes he didn't.

Artemis tells himself time and time again not to watch the show. The tickets aren't expensive, but Mr. Orshawl will return when the circus leaves with another excuse to take more money. He needs all the coins he can get. But when Dovin takes a break to sit with Artemis, he forgets about money, Orshawl, and the house on the hill.

"Aren't you tired of the act yet?" Dovin asks. His arm is unbearably warm against Artemis' goosebump covered skin.

The heat of summer is trapped within the tent, bringing sweat to his brow. He shakes his head.

"Well, I'm certainly tired of it. I know the words and movements to every act." Dovin laughs, re-enacting the announcer when he comes on stage. Dovin gives a mocking flourish in perfect synchronization with the announcer. Artemis laughs.

"You should do that more often," Dovin says.

"What?" Artemis asks.

"Laugh. I like it when you laugh."

Heat rises to Artemis' face, as it has been. Sometimes he wonders if Dovin speaks purposefully. Does he carefully choose his words to invoke such a reaction? Can Artemis hope for that? Can he live with himself if he does hope for it? And other times he calls himself ridiculous for even contemplating the notion of Dovin having any interest since those across the sea don't always have the same customs. The townsfolk have witnessed this first hand. The married ladies selling fruits by the Jolly Road were spat at once by a man speaking in strange tongues. And the married men have gotten into a bar fight on a couple occasions.

"I better get back to work," Dovin says, rousing Artemis from his thoughts. Dovin rises from the bench. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

Artemis nods, maybe a little too eagerly because Dovin laughs again. Then he disappears among the crowd. The act comes to an end the way it always does. The next day comes and goes as an odd and new normal. Artemis sees Dovin, talks to him, sits with him at the circus, and laughs over the new jokes that Dovin stumbles through. Hope blossoms within Artemis, accompanied by fear. But he hasn't the time to address either before the final night arrives.