Two Kings (History Plays, Book 4)

2: too good to be so and too bad to live

Richard — fifteen years earlier

"You are aware that this is why neither of you have any friends?"
"Oh we know."
"Yeah we know."
Henry and I stand in Coach's office, holding ice packs to our bruised faces and wads of paper towels to our cuts. We're both still mostly in hockey gear, and I'm holding my stick possessively.
"You didn't call my dad?" Harry asks, slowly. I realize this makes it sound like we spent our youth in various administrative offices, having recently escaped a bloody brawl, and that's entirely true that's exactly how we spent our youth, my Harry and I.
"No, Henry, nobody called your father. Don't worry about it. You and your cousin there just attacked the captain of the opposing hockey team, and then when the refs couldn't break it up, you attacked them too. And the opposing team, and then by the end your own team. And it turned out your cousin attacked the captain of the opposing team for no reason whatsoever, and that you helped him, based on no information, whatsoever. We have five broken bones, an ice rink covered in blood, fifteen broken hockey sticks, and ten players who are out the rest of the season. No. Nobody called anyone, you're free to go."
"It's sarcasm," I say, catching Harry's arm as he tries to leave.
"I know, but it was worth the try," Harry mutters.
"It was not," I sigh.
"Yes, of course your father was called. What the fuck do you think?" Coach Bill growls, sitting down at his desk to do paperwork, doubtless on us.
"It wasn't no reason—he was staring at me, I think he was gonna kill me, or try," I say.
"How? How would anyone kill you, Richard? Your cousin lives in a two foot radius of you ready to murder anything that mildly inconveniences you," Coach snarls.
I don't say anything, twitching my shoulders. That's true now that he says it. But why did that guy keep staring at me then?
"What did my dad say?" Harry asks.
"I don't have to tell you that."
"He said 'did they win', didn't he?"
"That he did."
"Fucking knew it," Harry says.
"Go get changed, both of you, and if you disappear then your dad will be the one looking for you, not me," he waves his hand at us. We need no second bidding to bolt to the locker room.
"Why would you do that?" Harry hisses, as we change, "He was seriously just staring at you?"
"Yeah, it was creeping me out, forget it," I shrug, as I pull on my school uniform. Harry is changing out of his.
"Seriously?" I ask, as he pulls on cargo pants.
"Yeah, I've got a date," he scoffs.
"With that girl who stole your cigarettes who keeps talking to you for reasons unknown to the Father the Son and the Holy Spirit?"
"So Mary has a name, you can call her by it, also yeah, it's called having a life, get one sometime," he says, patting my arm comfortingly.
"I'm trying," I say, quietly, as he backs away.
"See you, try not to get your ass kicked for like, twelve hours."
"Shut up—what am I supposed to tell your dad?" I sigh.
"The truth? He'll probably not even ask though he'll just say 'one out of two isn't bad'."
"He will not," I call after him.
Five minutes later I'm standing on the steps of Globe prep, waiting to climb into the sleek black Land Rover.
"Well, one out of two isn't bad, get in the car," my uncle snaps his fingers.
"Fuck you, Harry," I mutter, getting in the back because the dog is back there.
"Where is my Harry? Or am I better not being liable?" He asks, getting in the driver's seat. He usually drives, I don't know why, when he has drivers enough.
"With his girlfriend," I mutter. That annoys me and I don't know why. They're sleeping together. He told me that. I didn't want to know. It makes me feel sick and I don't even know why. It's not like he belongs to me or anything. But I am jealous of his attention all the same.
"Oh, good for him. What's wrong with you today? Huh? You jealous he's got a girl and you don't?"
I twitch my shoulders, clearing my throat.
"Richard? Where do you want to go, huh? I've got plans tonight, but I'll drop you off wherever," he says.
"I want to go home," I say, petting the shepherd dog's soft ears.
"Rich, you know you can't go back there without anyone," he says. I'm asking to go to my dad's house, where I was born, where he and my mom and I lived with Eddie. I barely remember it. But my dad took me back there when he was well enough. It's my house. Our house. Before a car accident, then cancer, claimed my entire little family.  I don't remember my mother that well. I do remember my father crying when he got the news. He picked up the phone and leaned against the wall just sobbing while they told him. The car got pushed off the road, flipped into the river, and she was killed by the windshield glass, and Eddie drown before police got there. I ran up and hugged his leg. He picked me up and squeezed me like he was never going to let me go.
"I want to go home," I mutter.
"Richard. We don't even keep that house open. You know that. And I can't leave you there by yourself."
"I'm eighteen," I say.
"I can count."
"Well it isn't fair! You let Harry go anywhere and do anything! But you treat me like I'm made of glass, just because of my dad. My dad taught me how to swim by tossing me a pool— he didn't think I was made of glass!" I cry, and the dog starts to lick my face.
"We don't treat you like you're made of glass. But you're also not unbreakable. Someday you will have a kid of your own, maybe, and then you will know what it feels like to look at your boy and know if he's going to crash, or if he needs to be allowed to fly. You are not Harry. You're Richard and we wouldn't have you any other way but we know we need to take care of you. All of us, not for your dad, for you," he says.
I put my face in my heads, "I just want to go home. Bad things don't happen there."
"You're not going there right now. After this afternoon you're clearly not doing so okay."
"Well, maybe I'd be better if I was there! Maybe I'd be better if I got to do as I liked does that occur to anyone!?"
"Hey, look at me," He turns around in his seat at a red light, "I know you're hurting, and everyday you have to live without your dad. Well I have to live without my big brother. And I don't know how to do that either all right? But we are all doing the best we can."
"I just want to go home," I repeat.
"You want to go and stay with your Aunt Bella? I'll have someone bring your things."
"Sure," Aunt Bella isn't home for another few hours usually. So I can pull what I fondly call a 'Harry' and get dropped off at the house only to immediately walk away to go do as I please.
I wander through Avon before I find my way back to Harry's current hide out. For whatever reason it's not too hard to find him, I just look for the most decrepit, run down trailer in Avon, find somewhere ten times worse, and that's where Harry will be.  I'm still in my uniform and feeling stiff and awful. I can't walk all the way home though. Well, I could try but I can also find Harry who has a car and can be bribed to drive me places.
There's music pounding from inside the small house, and despite the early hour, kids are already spilling out onto the lawn, smoking all manner of substances, and drinking.
"Wow, you grew a pair," Harry greets me with a red solo cup of beer. I immediately lose all my resolve to ask him to drive me places. He's here having fun with his friends. I'm the one with no friends.
"Shut up," is all I say, taking the beer from him.
"Hello, Richard," Harry's girlfriend, Mary, comes up and wraps her arms around my waist, snuggling under one arm. I don't know why our Harry is attracted to girls who look like would enjoy strangling him with their thighs but here we are. Mary is a small thing, for a while she was shorter than Harry (who knew that was possible), she's quite pretty, with soft amber eyes, and shaved off dark hair. She's got smooth clear skin with a few freckles splattered across her face, and as usual she has multiple wood bead and rock necklaces and bracelets. She's wearing a long skirt and a far too small and short, 'save the trees' shirt which exposes her smooth stomach. She's a couple of years younger than us. I've never heard a harsh word from her, and scientists are still trying to determine why she'd love the likes of Harry. But she does, they've been going out for ages now. Get him drunk enough and he'll talk about marrying her.
"No, no, you are not allowed to get emotionally attached to him. One of us is, that's enough," Harry laughs, as she hugs me. I didn't know I needed a hug that much until she does it.
"Shh, he looks sad," she says, petting my hair.
"He's fine. That's how he looks."
"Hm, you sure you don't want me to find you a better man, Mary? Maybe without red hair and with a functioning temper?" I ask, hugging her back.
"No, I'm fond of this one," she says, going to pat Harry's chest and wind under his arm like a cat, "What's wrong though? Do you want to talk about it?"
"I just wanted quiet," I shake my head.
"You want a ride someplace?" Harry asks, finishing his drink.
"I don't know anymore," I admit.
"Come on, get in the car, I'll take you to my mom's she's not there, yeah? You can go to sleep on the sofa, you like that," he says.
"You're sure no one is there?" I ask. I do like sleeping on the sofa but that's so I won't be trapped in a room, but I can't do that if other people are there.
"Yeah, she told me she was gonna be out all evening, come on, let's get you out of here you hate this music," he says, putting a hand in the middle of my back to guide me out. I let him do it. My head is spinning.
Mary trails behind us, snatching a jacket from a hall closet along with her bag. Then we progress out to the lawn where Harry's red convertible is waiting. For all their acting like they don't get on or understand the other, Harry and his dad get on fine and Harry is content to be entirely spoiled by him.
"I don't want to go to a house, I'd rather go home," I say, quietly.
"Richard, look at me. I have had two beers and three shots. I am not driving you four hours to a house that's closed up, it is way too late for that shit. You are perfectly fine."
"I can drive—," Mary says.
"Shut up, he's fine—Richie, look at me. I can take you to my moms and you can turn off all the electricity and go to sleep, or I can take you to the hockey rink and we can skate, or we can go drive out to the look out and you can go look at the water. Options 1-3, pick one in the next two minutes or I will pick one for you," he says, hands on my shoulders.
"What—wait what were the options? Fuck Harry fuck it um—yeah the woods let's just go to the woods and look at the water I can't sleep anyway," I say, rubbing my face.
"Cool, get in the car, car, now," he says, snapping his fingers at the convertible.
"Richard, I can sit in the back," Mary says, following us to the car.
"No, I'm fine, I don't sit in fronts of cars," I say, nodding.
"He's fine he doesn't sit in fronts of cars," Harry says, at the exact same time, getting her car door before walking around it to get in.
"Why is she coming?" I whisper to Harry.
"Because she is my girlfriend, you fucking dipshit."
"Okay," I sit back, folding my arms. It's not like he screened her anything. Do we really know anything about her? Should we be showing her where we walk in the woods? Oh well. It's Harry's problem if she tries to kill us.
"Cigarette?" He offers her one.
"Why do you insist on keeping smoking?" That sounds mean of me to say, but Harry is currently choking on the smoke from his own. She has to take it from him. She smokes, that's how they met, at school, she stole his cigarettes. I used that as a reason maybe not to trust her to which Harry said not at all politely, "Richard, we're fucking mob. I'd better hope she's a criminal. I'M a criminal."
"My parents smoked," Mary comments, "I got addicted from that. I'd like to stop. I'm down to one cigarette a day."
"And I have it with her. Because I'm trying to start," Harry says.
"Right, I know, why?" I ask, tiredly.
"Okay so—Mary I didn't tell you because I don't talk about him when he's not here—,"
"Fuck you," I know he's talking about me.
"Driving you places, fuck off—but he goes to a therapist bullshit person my dad makes him go because of the way he moves his head real weird half the time—,"
"I quit going," I say. I turned eighteen so he can't make me anymore and I quit. It didn't help anyway. All we talked about was how the tics got worse when I was upset so I need to be less upset. And I already knew that. I want to be less upset. I would be if I could. Kind of hard when probably everyone wants to kill me.
"He quit going, anyway, apparently he kept talking about me all the time in his sessions and the therapist didn't think I was real, so once he made me go so the therapist would meet me and realize I'm very real, and so anyway I went and the therapist figured he'd talk to me for a while and he said that maybe I get into fights and break shit all the time because I have unresolved issues with my father who divorced my mom," Harry says.
"To be clear, he completely does; he should have had 'unresolved issues' tattooed on his forehead," I say.
"Should have put your ass in the fucking trunk—anyway, point being, apparently this is a thing that parents do to their kids, traumatize 'em, and the therapist called it 'daddy issues' or some bullshit. So, after a while I figured he might have a point," Harry says, really proud of himself, "And so, I figured that the best thing to do would be traumatize my father more than he's traumatized me."
"So you decided to start smoking? Because that will upset him that you're addicted cigarettes?" She asks.
"No," I say, so tired.
"No, he will not be upset I'm damaging my health smoking; he will be upset because cigarettes are very expensive," doing a very good if comedic impression of his father, " 'Do you have any idea how much those things cost, boy? Plus the tax? Why couldn't you get addicted to something cheaper like crack, hell, we sell that you can get it for free'."
"Before you say anything that's—yeah it's in character," I sigh.
"Okay then," Mary says, taking his cigarette because he's choking again, "If that's the idea why don't you just hold them then? Because you're clearly allergic to the smoke."
"Yeah, this happens to him every time," I say.
"Because the point is he cannot figure out that I'm doing it to traumatize him otherwise he won't be traumatized. I go to a lot of work to have my dad believe that I'm unfathomably stupid so that he's passingly proud when I make increasingly rare good decisions. It's years of work and conditioning I'll not waste it with him finding out I'm trying to affect his mental state as much as he's affected mine," Harry, proud of himself.
"So, that's why you two get expelled from school every week? And set off the fire alarms? And knock over vending machines? And start school wide riots? And knife fight each other in the third floor girl's bathroom every Friday? And cheat off of each other? And do all that you do? To vex him?"
"Oh, no," Harry says.
"No, that's not why."
"No, this is us."
"What you have witnessed—is our best," I say.
"This is us functioning, it gets worse around our family, no, you've seen the baseline."
"You see we're different brands of stupid, and we get a new, conglomerate stupid, when we're together. It's a guy thing, I think. My little brother—I have a baby brother now, he's like four you'll meet him do you remember him? From my chart?"
"You showed her the chart?" And she's still talking to you? So Harry's very fond of charts and things and he made one of his family, well our, family. It's color coded and everything and other than writing 'whore' instead of his father's name it's really accurate. He keeps leaving it places hoping his father will find it.
"Yeah, I show everyone the chart Rich—anyway, my little brother, when he was learning to talk I taught him five swear words and he went and called our dad all of them. It's just communal stupid. I got in trouble for it because our dad just assumed it was my fault at that point and he was right. Males in this family don't improve in groups," Harry says.
"Do you remember our grandfather, he told us if any of our cousins started a conversation with 'do you want to—?' The answer should always be 'absolutely I do' especially if the suggestion involved fraud or murder," I say.
"I do remember that, yeah, he said it more than once 'cause my dad kept trying to carry me away. Our grandfather was fun, he taught me how to toss my knives," Harry says, fondly. Our grandfather died when we were eleven, so yes he did arm like at the time eight year old boys with knives for our birthdays and teach us to throw them. He was ill himself by then so we couldn't do axe throwing so he settled for knife throwing. Then Harry's dad found us and started crying that 'Harry doesn't need to know these things, Christ, Dad'. Our grandfather just laughed and said it was good for us.  My dad was there that day he laughed too. He was sick by then as well. I didn't think I was good at it, but I liked spending any time I could with him.
"Great, please keep telling me these child endangerment stories from your youth," Mary laughs.
Harry does oblige because he doesn't catch the sarcasm in it. I just lean back in the car, tipping my head back to stare at the stars up above us as we wind out of town. I don't listen to their chatter, letting the cold wind run her fingers through my hair as I watch the trees go by. It's late, but I'm not even tired. I don't know why. And I feel light all of a sudden and I don't want that to stop. I like this feeling of being free. Maybe it's being away from town, away from all those people. Yes that's it. I'm safe here.
When Harry parks I get out and walk down to find the water. Harry mutters something about not drowning myself, but he's happy to tug his girlfriend off into the woods, and be rid of me.
I walk down to the river and find a bit of bank to sit on, staring at the water. Yes it's quiet here. All is quiet. And I feel okay now so I don't want to even move. Like after being in pain for a long time, only this is just humming in my mind. I feel a tenseness in my shoulders, my chest. All those people. And cameras watching me. I don't like it. I'm glad I'm out here. It's safe. Harry was right to come out here. I'll stay.
I lie down on the bank, pressing my face to the cold earth. Yes, I feel all right here now. This is good. Not as good as home, but good. I can stay here. It's quiet here.
I must fall asleep. I don't know. But time passes because when I hear footsteps I see the moon is high in the sky. I don't stir. I know those steps. I know all footsteps, but especially Harry's.
"Hey, what are you doing?" He asks, sitting down next to me. He's wearing just his cargos, shirt discarded somewhere, freckled skin glowing in the moonlight. That black tattoo wide on his back, three eagles rising across his shoulder blades, their feathers curling across his skin. He's slippery with sweat. I'm sure he's been having sex with her off in those woods. At that thought I shiver and I don't know why. But I keep looking at the way his muscles roll underneath the tattooed skin.
"I don't—," I look back at the water, "I'm not doing so very well, lately, Harry."
"You're fine," he says, softly.
"I think there's something wrong with me," I say, looking down at my hands.
"You're all right. You're just different. Don't mind me if I don't know how to talk to you, that's my fault," he says, patting my back, "You feel better now?"
I shrug, reaching out a hand to touch his back, running my fingers down the lines of the eagles. I don't know why he got eagles. I do. I mean he told me but it's extensive and has to do with the history of everything that's ever happened and him and Jerusalem and some saint and everything wrong with French people and all that and I forgot.
"You should have come," he laughs. He got it when he turned eighteen. We didn't think his dad would like it, but I sobbed and begged him to tell his dad and not make me keep it a secret. Anyway his dad just said 'how long will this take?' And Harry said 'nine hours' and his dad nearly dropped whatever he was holding (coffee) and said, 'someone is gonna keep you still, in one place, that you can't leave, for nine hours? How much do I have to pay him?'. Yeah, not what we expected. Anyway.
"Not me," I say, quietly. I don't want my back to someone that long.
"Come on, let's get back in the car. I'm gonna drive Mary home," he says.
"Where is she?" I ask, looking around.
"Getting dressed."
"Harry!"
"What?" He leans back on his hands, muscled stomach scratched from bushes and whatever else he's been rolling in.
"Whatever happened to being religious?" I tap the cross he wears around his neck.
"If God did not want me to make love to that woman he would not have made her the way she is," Harry says, unapologetically, "Anyway, I did ask her father to marry her. He said no. What am I supposed to do?"
I shrug because it's kind of obvious.
"Don't look at me like that. Just because you don't have a girlfriend. I see the way you look at the girls in the hall—and the boys in the locker room," he scoffs.
"You know that?" I whimper, leaning away from him a little. I thought no one knew that.
"I know everything about you," he says, disdainfully, "Also, a lot of other people know. For a while I figured it was just guys, but then I saw you staring at the same girls I was when I finally took a break from staring at 'em."
"It's not my fault everyone is beautiful," I say, burying my face in my hands. I can feel myself blushing.
"Not the weirdest thing about you, to be honest," he says, coolly.
"Fuck off."
"Come on, I'm gonna drive Mary home then I'll drive us to my place—well my dad's."
"Okay," I say, but I don't get up.
He sighs.
"Did you tell anyone?"
"I mean, you stare at the other boys changing so I don't actually have to tell anyone. Literally everyone knows you're queer."
"Does your dad know?"
"I don't know! I don't talk to him if I can help it. Jesus, Richard stop worrying about what my dad thinks!"
"But you haven't told anyone?"
"No, I also don't talk about you if I can help it," he sighs, "It's way too late for this shit, can we just go?"
"You're not gonna sleep," I mutter.
"Rich."
"Fine," I stand up, stuffing my hands in my pockets.
"Why don't you get a girlfriend—-," very slowly, "Or boyfriend."
I shrug.
"What's that mean?"
"I said I think something's wrong with me."
"We all know something's wrong with you, but you can still get laid. Might be good for you."
"Just shut up," I say, walking past him. How do I trust someone like that? They could wind up trying to poison me or something.
"I'm only trying to help, you know what? Fuck it. Forget it, I never say the right thing anyway," he mutters, following me.
We say nothing as we hike back to the car. I'm sure my face is still burning. I had no idea the secrets of my heart were so casually bare to him and I do not want to like it nor the inherent truth that he knows everything about me and follows me anyway. I can neither believe that nor dare to hope it when I know all about myself and therefore cannot trust myself.
Mary is waiting for us back at the car, dressed again, and wearing Harry's jacket. She blushes a bit, but what Harry knows of her is far more natural and far less horrible than what he knows of me. He snaps his fingers for me to get in and I do, crawling in the back and curling up on the seat.
"You okay, Richard?" Mary asks, turning around.
"No, never, why?" I ask, an arm over my face.
"He's tired, he'll come home with me."
"I have a home," I mutter.
"We all know that. It's four hours away. And I probably still have alcohol in my blood. And I wanted to show you something anyway, we'll drop Mary off then get something to eat, yeah?"
"Fine," I say because he wasn't gonna go on without a response. They talk, but I don't, on the way to dropping Mary off. And when the time comes Harry gets out and gets her door for her, and then she kisses him goodbye, a hand on his damp, naked chest.
Mary's family lives in a trailer, in a park, on the worst side of town, exactly like all of Harry's past crushes. I think he likes not being anything at all. I think he likes believing he's like them when in reality he bleeds money like his father. He wants to be just a man.
But he isn't.
He looks like a god. Head tipped, red hair stiff and straight on his neck, shadow of a red beard on his freckled face, that ink black tattoo smooth on his pale skin. Muscles thick and bulging in his chest. In the moonlight it's hard to see the scars, the bruises, the lust in his eyes that betrays him as catastrophically mortal. Like a god stripped of his powers, he has all the ire, all the strength of will, all the power in his spirit, but none of the immortality. And he doesn't know how to rule the world. And yet he has to, no matter how much he may wish he belonged here with us mortals.
"What are you thinking, crazy?" He asks, turning back from watching her go. A pleasant sight I'll admit, but I was looking at him for a variety of reasons mostly her being his. I really can't get over a pretty, simple, peace loving girl like her bedding this fallen Apollo, yet here he stands, her kisses moist in his mouth after their long goodbye.
"That you look like a god," I say, idly, resting my head in my hand.
"Who had three shots tonight, you or me?" He asks, pushing me back into the back of the car, "Also there are not 'gods' there is one God and the idea is you remember that and don't go to hell, cousin."
"I always wanted to be a god," I say, lying back along the back seat to stare up at the sky.
"If you start talking in rhymes I will crash this fucking car."
"I won't," I was considering it. I enjoy the mental exercise, it amuses me. Actually I'm going to, "Since the more fair and crystal is the sky, the uglier seem the clouds that in it fly."
Harry swerves the car to make his point and I laugh all the way back to his father's house. Savoy Place, a massive, twenty thousand square foot mansion worthy of the term palace, sprawling all the way to the river. It's huge, too huge I hate it, somebody could be living there and you'd not know it. All his security cameras or no (it burned down once, that's a not at all fun story involving what I now recognize as child endangerment, remind me never to tell it to you).
The night guard looks surprised we're not more disheveled and lets us in.
"Hello Nyx—hello Thanatos," Harry kneels down to pet two of the ink black german shepherds. These are older now, his dad doesn't travel with them anymore, they stay at the main house. Harry is actively trying to not stay at the main house either, but his father put up the gross and very unfair stipulation that Harry had to go a month without getting in a fight with someone including me, in order to move out. So, yes, it hasn't happened, and he hasn't gotten his own place yet.
"You know I'm eighteen as well, we'll move out together," I say, following him up the stairs.
"I'm not leaving Avon," Harry says flatly.
"I meant get a place—somewhere else. Here. Money's no object, you know, even if your father says you have to work for a living you work for me and I'll pay you what I like," I say, as we wind our way toward's Harry's room. It's far from his dad and current wife, and the little kids, because Harry and I come in at all hours. Mine is over in this wing as well, different hall, has been since before my dad died. My dad and I would stay here and he'd let me come into his room anytime I got scared. I was never scared with him my dad was the fiercest, bravest man on the planet. Harry worshiped him, probably more than I did.
"Funny you should mention that, with your blessing, I had a plan I wanted to show you, it involves the eastern territories, you know the trade route we wanted to recapture—?"
I'm not very good with spoken directions I lose him about then as he leads me into his room. Oh my god, he's got a plan drawn on the white board in multiple colors of marker. Oh my god, I'm going to be here all night.
So, why does Harry have a white board in his room on which to write evil plans? Well, a couple of years ago I got it for him for his birthday. His dad, who I told, said "Harry's not going to like that. We don't even know if he can read. I love him and he's my son, but I have definite doubts  as to whether or not he can read." And I said, "No, I'm pretty sure he's gonna like it."
Anyway, it's his favorite thing ever he draws weird charts and plans of attack on it constantly as well as keeps lists of schemes that he used to have posted on papers around his room, on it instead. Yeah, eventually his dad came to check on us for his monthly health morale and welfare check and he saw Harry's board covered in writing.
He said, "Ah, son, what are you doing there?"
And Harry said, "Oh, Richard got me this I use it to plan out my schedule and activities."
And his father just stood there for a minute, gestured to everything in the room but mostly Harry and said, "This, this is you making plans?"
And Harry said, "Yeah," all confused.
And his dad left, said he had to make a phone call, but I found him outside an hour later just praying.
Yes, so anyway I fall asleep to Harry planning out things on that board. In the morning I realize I retained some of it and we go off to do the things and yes we almost get arrested. We would be arrested but thankfully we are very fast runners. Anyway. That's about how I got to sleep most nights, so many nights my senior year. Listening to Harry talk, him coughing and trying to smoke, often after just coming from his girlfriend. I didn't know why that bothered me but it did. eventually I recognized the horrible feeling in my stomach as jealousy. But there wasn't anything I could do about it. Just like most of the ways I feel.
We graduated, and the days got warmer and bled into summer. I had little idea what to do with myself. I was meant to go to college, but I solidly refused. I wanted to play hockey. But my growing distrust kept me from agreeing to sign to any team, no matter their skill. I couldn't use locker rooms anymore. I wasn't going to undress around all those people. I still skated every single day, but that was alone. I practiced my routines alone, and was much happier that way. Possibly it was the only time I was happy.
I was meant to run my father's estate but I could barely do that. In the end I went with half the opinions of my advisors, my father's various business men who probably knew better than I did. I don't know if Harry's father liked that, but he had little to do with it by design.
It was early June and already I felt like the world was crashing in around me. Against my better judgement I moved into an apartment but I couldn't stand the noise, and other people there. I spent most of my time up on the roof watching the clouds and avoiding anyone who was supposed to talk to me. I wanted to get better, but every decision I made seemed worse. I quit going out at night entirely, not alone. I couldn't see as well and I began to fear the dark again.
And one night Harry showed up at my door. It was mid June, then. He was usually off doing errands for me because, night, or doing as he pleased. I paid him well that was one thing I saw to myself. And he worked for his father as well so he kept all hours.
"Who is it?" I stand at the door with a knife. I am in my silk robe and shorts, ready for bed where I lie for hours convincing all the thoughts to leave my head.
"Harry. Like you couldn't cut up, butcher, and bury, anybody who actually came to your door?"
"Prove it's you," I say, leaning against the door.
"Okay, fuckwad, how about I break the door down, you like that you cunt—,"
"Yeah, it's Harry," I open the door and he nearly falls in, clearly he'd been about to slam it open.
"Hi," he says, regaining his balance. He's in a leather jacket, with my emblem. I did have him out tonight didn't I? He's wearing a wife beater under it, clearly dozens of weapons. He's holding a six pack of beer. I feel slightly bad.
"In or out?" I ask, he's partly blocking the door.
"Can we talk?" He asks.
"You're breaking up with me?" I raise my eyebrows.
"Shut up—is this how you sleep? Just put some clothes on, come on, let's go for a drive."
"We can talk here," I don't leave the house at night.
"You twitch more here and it's distracting."
"You noticed that?"
"I notice everything. Come on, get changed."
I don't get changed, I put on a pretty silk shirt and my side arm, and then a pair of soft bamboo pants, then do grudgingly put on shoes before rejoining him.
"Better?" I ask.
"Not really. Come on."
We get in his car and he drives us out to a look out before handing me a can of beer. I don't even like beer, but I take it anyway so as not to upset him. He just stares off at the sky and doesn't look at me.
"Are you okay?" I ask, quietly. Is he sick? Hurt? Did he kill someone he thinks I like? I don't like anyone so I doubt that last one.
"Mary's pregnant," he says, not looking at me.
"Ah," that was probably bound to happen given how much time they spent together, but I don't say that.
"She didn't tell me or anyone—till now. She thought her parents would make her get rid of it," he says, just staring at the cold glass bottle.
"She's still in school," she probably should stay in school?
"She can graduate next spring," he says, shrugging, "She wants it. And it's alive it's here I wouldn't—she couldn't kill it."
"I mean," I shrug. I don't see what's so wrong about that she is still in school.
"What you think she should have gotten rid of it?" He asks, looking over at me, "That's awful. Wouldn't you want to be born?"
"No, not at all," I say, so automatically I don't stop my self.
"That was super dark, but I'm not dealing with that shit right now—I'm telling you because I need to tell someone and be okay with this," he groans.
"I'm sorry—I'm sorry it just came out, no, um—like you said she'll graduate soon," I am not good at helping people and I have no idea what to say, "How um—,"
"The baby isn't due till end of January. So. We got a minute. She only told me because she wouldn't have a drink with me—she wasn't gonna tell me. She says she wants it," he shakes his head, "I don't—she should have told me."
"She was scared," she's having your child for Christ's sake. Poor girl. She is a couple of years younger than us, not that it's indecent but she'll still be seventeen when she has it.
"She should have told me. I'm bad at fucking math when does that make it—? What she's been lying for like three months? Fuck," he rubs his face, "She is scared. She doesn't want to lose it—she's always strong."
"It'll be okay," I don't think anything will be okay.
"I had three older brothers die of SIDs why would this be fine?" He mutters.
"You're okay," I point out. I'm not, but you are. You lived.
"She told her parents like I said—they're arguing with her, like right now. I told them I'm going to marry her. I wanted to before oh well—guess this will convince them," he scoffs, "I um—that's it I guess. I don't know."
"Did you tell your dad?" I ask.
"No, you idiot. You're the only person I've told it—this happened last night. She was throwing up and I tried to give her a drink—,"
"You tried to give someone vomiting alcohol—?"
"Not accepting constructive criticism right now—anyway she had to tell me. She's known for weeks, bastard," he sighs, "I was going to marry her but the courts—we can't without her parents permission and they're currently in denial. We've been talking all night. I'm going to get a place for us. Outside the city, where the kid and her can be safe you know?"
"Yeah," I nod. Nothing to do now. His religious convictions will prevent him from doing anything but marrying the girl.
"But I need to go and tell my dad I knocked up my girlfriend," he sighs, rubbing his face again. His own, albeit controlled, tic. "That's gonna be fun. He's gonna—him and my mom both are gonna be pissed. I'm nineteen they're gonna say they're not supposed to be grandparents. And they aren't and I'm—I'm not—I don't know how to be its dad. I'm not even good with my baby siblings they cry and stuff what if I screw up and let this kid down?"
"You won't—you're fine, you're gonna be fine. It's just a baby, you said you have a lot of littler siblings they just sleep and stuff. It's years before they're talking. And it's your kid, it'll probably be like you," I encourage.
"Or its mom," he says, relaxing a little.
"Right, and you know how to make her happy and all that? It's you two, you'll—you'll do fine, I'm sure. And even if not, I was nothing like my dad but he knew how to be my dad. It's a thing I'm sure like, you'll know how to because it's gonna be your kid," I say, encouragingly.
"What if I don't? What if I miss that and the kid hates me?" He asks.
"It won't. It's okay um—this will be fine," no it won't, "We're together. Just like our dads were with us, right? We're not alone."
"Yeah," he smiles a little, "Like you said, probably be a hellion like me. And little kids, like, they like simple stuff. That's easy for a while."
"Right," I say.
"Right," he stares off.
"Do you want me to come with you? When you tell your dad?"
"Would you?" He asks, looking over at me finally.
"Of course," I nod, despite the sick feeling in my stomach.  "I'll remind him  how much I pay you. And if you've got an infant to look after you won't get in trouble so much."
"Good idea," then he finally smiles.
We drive back to his father's house. It's just accepted that his father will not be asleep any more than we are. At this point in the evening Harry is just chewing up excedrine for the caffeine, having run out of energy drinks. Given what he discovered last night, I'm sure he didn't sleep then either.
"Swynford—where's my dad?" Harry calls, upon finding his father's current mistress sitting on the front steps, drinking and tossing a ball for one of the dogs.
"In his study, where else? You boys aren't in trouble are you?"
I wave, and physically stop Harry from flipping her off. We make our way up to his father's study, which has an elegant 'do not disturb' sign on it. We immediately disturb.
"Dad, I need to talk to you," Harry says, boldly.
"I'm just here," I say.
"Talk," his father is at his desk, clearly not at all planning on going to bed, wearing an expensive looking turtle neck, his silver hair slicked back neatly, not looking up at our entrance.
"My girlfriend—Mary. She's pregnant. We're going to get married," Harry says, all in one go, fiddling with his hands.
"Huh, okay, tonight?" Still not looking up.
"No, not tonight!" Harry cries.
"Well, you barged in like it was urgent, was that it?"
"What—you're—," Harry stutters.
"Don't feel like you have to marry her. I know you do, don't. It's obvious she's already sleeping with you. Richard, can you get that from the printer? Thank you," he still has not looked up. I obey while Harry stutters and rubs his face.
"You have a standard prenup template?" I ask, staring at the crisp white piece of paper.
"Yes," shrugging.
"I'm not—I'm not having her sign your stupid horrible prenup like you did my mom! I love her and I'm going to marry her and she'll have this baby and then maybe someday more and we'll be happy!" Harry cries, taking it from me and tearing it up.
"Oh. Good for you. Then you won't need to worry about the prenup and it won't matter since you're madly in love. Good for you," with no emotion.
"Is this what you do?" I ask. I know his wives have been wealthy. I skimmed the prenup and it literally allows him to take up to 80% of their money and none of his. That's about all I got through before Harry tore it up, but that was really enough.
"Yes. Every man should have one lesson he refuses to learn. I selected dangerously beautiful women I highly recommend you boys do the same. However, as I won't lose any money on it," shrugging and reprinting the paper.
"That's what—you're going to be a grandfather, I'm going to be a father—,"
"Yes, I'm aware of how lineage works. I gave you my helpful advice. You seem to like this girl, she's now having your baby, that's how I got you, and your grandfather got me, as I understand it," he says, calmly, finally looking up. "What do you want me to say here, Harry?"
"You're supposed to be my dad! You're supposed to be cross with me not giving me financial advice you're my dad —not my accountant! I'm having a baby, I'm nineteen and I'm terrified," Harry cries.
"I'm very disappointed in you young man. You have your whole life ahead of you and plenty of time to have children. I'm shocked, shocked and upset you'd father a child out of wedlock, no good will come of this, I disinherit you. There. Better?" Completely calm with zero anger, leaning back in his chair.
"A little," Harry says, face still in hands.
His father shrugs and goes back to work for a good minute before he realizes we are both still standing there.
"What?" He looks at his son.
"Just expected to be parented. That's all," Harry says, so tiredly.
"I'm disappointed in you. This is not how you were raised—,"
"This is exactly how I was raised—?" Harry frowns.
"I know and I'm proud of you—I even gave you my prenuptial agreement form which was very nice of me I might add and I suggested you not marry the girl at all as she doesn't have any money it'll cost less in the long run hell your little sisters have a couple of nannies you can leave the child with, save some money—," to remind you, reader, this person is very literally made of money.
"You're so fucking weird, dad," Harry says, face still in his hands.
"Then go about your night, be young men, surely there are some pretty girls you two could be off seducing? Work you have to do—,"
"Wow, seriously, I just told you my girlfriend is pregnant."
"Yes, that's one woman, son."
"You're SO fucking weird," Harry sighs.
"What is it you want?" He asks, getting up and walking around the desk to finally talk to us.
"I don't know what to do! I don't want the kid to hate me—or think I'm weird—I don't know what to do. You have like ten of us, so far, that we know of, and none of us have tried to kill you yet, I was expecting something approximating normal advice," Harry sighs.
"Look, son, people, children, are not that complicated. They want to feel loved, protected, and they want to know you care about them. That's it. That's all you can do. And for the first ten to fifteen years you're dealing with the odd broken heart and skinned knee and telling them everything will be all right when it probably won't. You're already very good at that with him," he pats my head condescendingly despite being shorter than I am. "You're very good with your cousin, who is nothing like you and is very sensitive—,"
"I am standing right here. I can hear you," I sigh.
"I know and don't care, you should know by now you're sensitive—Henry, look at me. You'll be just fine. Most children take after their mother—we, we don't know what happened to you, we don't, but anyway—most children take after their mother."
"I'm fine with her," Harry says, hesitantly.
"Precisely. And you've always been very good with Richard. Have some confidence. What's the worst that could happen?"