A Touch of Courage (Troyler AU)

Chapter 38: Thread Softly

"The very least you can do in your life is figure out what you hope for. And the most you can do is live inside that hope. Not admire it from a distance but live right in it, under its roof."

― Barbara Kingsolver, Animal Dreams

Troye's POV:

The full impact of what the hell he'd done didn't hit him until the next morning, opening his eyes slowly and staring up at the ceiling. Not, until that moment, holding himself as though against a threat and thinking about Tyler. Only then did his swallowed panic start to detonate, hard and brutal, and his chest hurt so much that he was left short of breath.

It was hard to imagine that he'd really done it. That he'd really laid out the whole ugly truth to Tyler. That Tyler had glimpsed the ugly underbelly. And that was it. The problem with having someone see you at your worst wasn't that they would remember, but that you would. How was he supposed to adjust to this new reality?

It would have been neater if Troye had used that moment of revelation as a catalyst to a new way of being; a new way of life. He didn't. He spiraled down into a void instead.

He lay in his bed, picking at life like it was a meal he didn't want to eat. He didn't paint, he ate mechanically when hungry, and he struggled more and more to convince himself that doing anything else was worth it.

He tried to sleep, but panic continued to wake him up in the morning in a cold sweat, his heart pounding and his hands scrambling against his sheets.

Caspar suggested he try yoga to help with the panic attacks. Troye didn't respond to his suggestions. He wasn't sure if he and Caspar were still talking.

It wouldn't do any good anyway. He couldn't get out of bed, how was he supposed to make it to yoga?

When Caspar suggested that maybe he try talking to someone about his anxiety, he graduated from ignoring him to avoiding him altogether, migrating to Tyler's place and coming back to his room as little as possible.

Any relief he felt at getting the hard part over with had been pushed to the margins. He was too numb to feel it. He was too busy trying to breathe to feel much of anything. The hard part was over with, right?

That morning, Tyler ran his hand from his shoulder, down his bare arms and back up again. Faced away from him, Troye clutched the blankets closer and closed his eyes briefly, but didn't ask him to stop.

Tyler said with false cheeriness, "Just think, only four more days till the weekend!"

"Not helping," Troye muttered into the pillow.

Tyler sank down beside the bed. "I know. I'm sorry."

A moment of silence, then a more tentative tone.

"If you're not going in to class today, you should probably tell Mr. Greene," Tyler whispered. "You don't have to go, Troye, but you should think about telling someone. Give them a chance to understand."

"I just want to stay here," Troye said, flushing at the smallness of his own voice.

Far from feeling cleansed by his terrifying confession, Troye felt absolutely the opposite: dirty and muddy, terribly exposed, as though he had unbuttoned his chest and given Tyler a good long look at what lay inside his ribs.

He rolled over to face Tyler, releasing the covers from his chest. Tyler gave him a wary smile, the kind where his mouth moved a little, but his eyes remained dark with worry, crinkled in the corners.