Hedon

Hedon - Chapter 19

  Caston knew his end of school plans since the beginning of the year. Make an impression, go out on a high, and never look back.
  He never planned on going to graduation. He loves attention and catching eyes, but he's never liked to be rewarded for his achievements. It makes him feel small. And it would make him feel way too normal to get something that everyone else gets simply for just showing up at a building every day for months.
  Don't be mistaken, Caston loves feeling better than others. He knows that he's better than a lot of people at a lot of things, but being a rule-abiding high school student was not one of them. And he doesn't want anyone thinking that it was.
  He was very grateful for beginning of the year Caston, who had made up his mind on fleeing at the end of his deal, as he currently felt like a can of Pillsbury dough being repeatedly hit against the counter until it pops open.
  Ever since he met Malachi, he's been different. He know he has. He's felt the same, but he's tried harder and he hates himself for that. He had to put himself out there and show Malachi a side of him that wasn't real. A side of him that he made up simply to get things.
He risked every ounce of security that he's had just to sleep with Malachi. He wouldn't say that it wasn't worth it, but did it have to come with so many consequences?
  Caston knew that he was good at lying and hiding a lot of truths about himself, but maybe he's a little too good. After all, he not only got Malachi--a self-proclaimed straight boy--to fuck him, but he actually made Malachi fall in love with him.
  It's weird. Caston has never grasped the idea of love, much less the idea of someone loving him. It's been strange. Malachi is always there for him. He not only gives him attention and affection, but the way he looks at Caston makes him feel like a piece of meat in a dehydrator.
  The deal breaker for Caston, however, wasn't the repetitive "I love you" or the fond looks. His lack of understanding made those easy to brush off. It was the lack of an outlet. It's no secret that Caston enjoys killing things. He feels like, at this point, he needs it. And it seemed like recently he's needed it more than before. But just when he was ready, Malachi was there with his soft voice and his hands pushing Caston to a mediocre distraction.
  The only reason he ever listened was because he needed Malachi afterwards. Caston couldn't imagine having to clean up after and dispose of a body by himself. He thrives on structure and consistency and having Malachi present to help him had become part of the routine.
  So you could say that he feels like he has something to prove to himself; that he can do it alone. He doesn't need anyone else. He never has, so why would it be different now?

  Caston's destination wasn't set in stone. He kept driving until he had to stop and fill up his motorcycle. He was somewhere in New York, but far from the state's infamous city.
  He wasn't sure exactly how long he's been on the road, but the sun was setting and his back could use a good stretch.
  Caston pulled up to a gas pump and then hopped off of his motorcycle. He took his helmet off and shook his sweaty hair around. He hung the helmet on his handlebar, then placed his hands on his back, rotating his body slowly in each direction.
  He exhaled and then filled up the tank, using the cash he may or may not have swiped from his dad's dresser. He also used the money to buy a black monster and a new pack of cigarettes.
  He got back on the road, after chugging his monster and quickly inhaling enough nicotine to satisfy his veins.
  It wasn't long before he had driven through the night. The sun had began to rise and Welcome to Maine flew by his eyes faster than he could process it.
  Caston's eyes were tired, but his brain seemed to be working overtime to keep him awake. His hands were hurting from gripping the handlebars and he knows that when he stands up, his hips and back will feel the toll of the unmoving distance.
  What Caston would say, if he were asked, is that he stopped at a gas station to pee and as he pulled back onto the road, the sign caught his eye. He would say that the environment intrigues him. That the thought of being surrounded by death makes him feel calm and like he's one with the higher powers.
  If someone were to ask him why he's crunching leaves between headstones and reading names that he doesn't recognize, he would give them a simple answer; because dead people make great company.
  But he knows it's more than that. He knows there's truth in the answers he gives. He also knows there's more reasons he would choose to glaze over if he had to.
  His boots crushed the soft, dewy ground, the crunchy leaves backing up the morning birds. He walked down the lines slowly, his hands in his jacket pockets and his eyes watching the tall Graves get smaller and turn into flat headstones on the ground.
  He stopped at the end of the last row and laid down with his head on the flat stone. He folded his hands and placed them behind his head, looking up through the trees. "Hey, mom."
  He let the two words linger in the air for a moment, only hearing the wind through the trees as a response.
  "I can call you that now, right? I mean, you're dead, so it's not like you can object."
  He glanced at his surroundings, taking in the other headstones and the trees that surrounded them. "You've got a nice place here. I'm sure dad wanted you to rest in peace. God knows why, you were a total bitch to him. I was a child and I knew that what you did wasn't right. Granted, I only know because of Miss Fields, but we're not here to talk about me. Well, I guess we can. I mean if you want to." Caston paused. "What's that? You wanna know how I'm doing? Hm, good question, mom, let's see..."
  "You aren't the only person I've killed." Caston clicked his tongue. "Bummer, I know. Sorry to make you feel less special."
  Caston bent his knees, his feet now flat on the ground. He exhaled. "Let's see..what else? Oh, I got this wannabe straight boy to fall in love with me. Weird, huh? He's cool, though. I think I like having him around. I guess...I feel about him the same way I feel about the earth. I didn't choose to live here or to go through the motions of being human, but I'm not eager to stop it. I don't hate the fact that he loves me, but I often wonder what it feels like for him. Like...how does he feel when he looks at me? How does he know that he loves me? What does that feel like?"
  Caston kicked the earth with the heel of his boot, making the chains on his jeans clink together gently.
  "I've always wondered how I would've turned out if I didn't kill you. I always wondered if I didn't do it then..if I still would have. I've never regretted it. I'm sure that sucks to hear, but it's true. I oftentimes think that what I did was good. Good for me. Good for dad. Good for you." He rested his ankle on his knee. "I think I would've. I just think it would've been different. I think dad would've reacted differently. I think I would've gone about it differently. Maybe...done more. I think I would've seen more reason behind doing it because of you. At the time, I was curious. I had just learned about death. I didn't know what it looked like...what it felt like. To me, it feels serene. Like something I should be doing. It's like...it feels right. It makes me feel things, mom. And that's something I never thought would happen. It's...scary. It's a lot to take in. I like when it happens. When I feel the way I feel after I kill someone. But I feel it with Malachi too. He makes me feel how death feels. But I don't know if I want to keep feeling things. That's why I left. I don't know if it was the right thing. I don't know if it's what was best. For me or Malachi. I just didn't want things to keep changing in ways that didn't make sense to me."
  Caston sighed and sat up, turning to sit facing the headstone. He placed his feet flat on the ground and laid his arms on his knees. He looked down at the carved stone, resting his chin on his forearms. "What do I do, mom?"
  His eyes traced the indentations in the stone over and over.
  Angela Grace Hill
3-27-1983 - 4-19-2010
Beloved mother, wife, and daughter
  Caston scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Even in death, you're a liar."
  He put his knees down and sat criss-cross, reaching out and tracing the indented numbers with his finger. "I forgot about my birthday again this year. I'm eighteen now. No more lying to strangers for fun." He let a few seconds pass, continuing to retrace the death date. "I think if Malachi knew, he would've done something. I don't know how I would've felt about it, but I imagine it would've been okay. I wonder when his birthday is. It never came up in conversation, I guess. I bet he's older than me. It feels like it sometimes. Like with most people. It's like everyone knows so much that I don't. They know what to say and how to feel about stuff. Except for the people I kill, they don't know a threat when it's staring them in the face."
  A gentle laugh passed his lips and he briefly imagined Malachi next to him laughing as well.
  "I think Malachi would hate you. Don't worry, that's a good thing in my eyes. I don't think we would work together the way we do if he's the type of person who would be fond of you." Caston rested his elbow on his knee and placed his chin on his palm. "He likes dad. I think. I know dad likes him. He was really adamant on getting us together as friends. He and Malachi's mom. Oh now she's a piece of work. Thinking that she's all that and like she even knows a fraction of me."
  Caston shimmied his boot from side to side, the sole continuously stepping on the headstone. "At least you never pretended to like me. I admire you for that. Maybe we clashed back then because of how similar we were. Maybe...we would've gotten along more than I thought."
  The sound of someone else entering the graveyard was Caston's cue to leave. He doesn't want anyone mistaking his reminiscing for grief.
  He shoved his cold hands into his pockets and stared at the ground, trying his best to avoid whoever walked onto the premises.
  "Caston? Is that you?"
  Caston lifted his head a the gentle voice, his eyes meeting a familiar and slightly more aged face. "Miss Fields! Yo is the universe on crack or something? The fuck is this reunion?"
  "I don't know, but I'm delightfully surprised." She smiled and stepped forward, seeming to go for a hug.
  "Oh," Caston leaned back, "I don't do that."
  She gave him a look that he could only interpret as oh, so you haven't changed. She laughed gently and raised her hands. "Right. My bad. So how have you been?"
  It was weird for Caston's brain to hear her young voice in his head right after her aged voice in real life. To hear her say more than words and their respective definition was so strange to his mind.
  "Still having a hard time with words, I take it?" Her voice was gentle.
  "You could say that. I do quite well most of the time, thanks to you. I've actually made a few friends and such."
  "That's great. I've never seen you here in all my years of visiting. Is there something in particular that pushed you to visit?"
  Caston quite liked the way Miss Fields said things. She always worded her phrases in a way that made his brain struggle less to respond.
  "Um...not really. I kind of fled a...confusing situation. I left behind a person who..really cares about me because I'm not sure...what that's like. I don't think I hate it or am...scared of it. My body and my brain just want to leave when the environment gets too...warm?"
  She eyed him with patience and a smile as he picked through the words in his brain.
  "Miss Fields, you never told me about love. You taught me so many words. I can recite nearly the whole dictionary and apply the words in the right settings most of the time. Except for love. What does it mean? What does it feel like?" Caston felt childlike as the words left his mouth.
  "Caston, I never taught you about love because it's not really something that you can teach. You can teach etiquette. You can teach simple reactions; laughter, smiles, happiness sadness, anger. You can give examples in these situations. You can set a scene for what may provoke these emotions, but you can't provoke love. You can't simulate the feeling because it's more than surface level. It's a deep connection. It's an indescribable desire typically focused towards one person."
  "So...you can feel love for things..as well as people?" Caston asked.
  She nodded. "Absolutely. Love between two people is a deeper feeling, but you can feel love for things. You can love animals, hobbies, jobs, objects, seasons, colors. You can love a lot of things, but you can only be in love with people."
  "So in love is deep? Like drowning, but...not in a bad way. Not painful."
  "If that's how you see it, yes. It can be painful and have its down moments, but generally speaking, love is quite gentle and beautiful. Though, I imagine the love you would partake in is anything but that."
  Caston smirked. "After all these years, you still know me so well."
  "You're quite easy to understand, Caston. All it takes is time and effort. Devoting time to not only be with someone, but to understand them. To not only partake in what they enjoy, but to be a part of their difficult moments and their struggles; that is love."
  Caston suddenly seemed to grasp it. His brain connected the dots and the fog and confusion evaporated. He could see the past year playing like a movie in his mind. He saw the images and the scenes connect with the words Miss Fields spoke. Malachi is in love with him.
  All of the things Caston brushed off and considered part of Malachi's personality were because he loved him. The annoying loyalty, the smiles, the soft kisses, and the way he never hesitated and was always there to help Caston, even if he just woke up or nearly threw up at the sight of a dead body at first. The way he always expressed a desire to be around and with Caston. The way he didn't want anyone else. The way he seemed to need it. It wasn't Malachi being Malachi. It was Malachi being in love with Caston. Caston was Malachi's murder.
  "Hm."
  "You just make the connection that this person who really cares about you is actually in love with you?" Miss Fields smiled.
  "I...I knew that he loved me, but I've never understood it. I never got it. I never grasped what it could possibly feel like, so it was easy to brush off. It was easy to think that it wasn't real. Like how do you believe something you can't see or touch or hear? But...I think I get it now."
  "I'm glad I could help." She smiled. "Does that mean you're going to go back to him?"
  Caston chewed on the inside of his cheek. "I don't know yet. I still have one more thing to figure out before I make that decision."
  "And what's that?"
  Caston clicked his tongue. "Don't you know not to meddle in a teenager's love life?"
  "I hope whatever it is goes well." She smiled, then dismissed herself politely.
  "Me too."