The Boy I Met On the Roof

Horned Man

Dustin hadn't noticed until now, but as he slowly wakes up wrapped in slender, bony arms, he realizes that Sasha's body is warm, more so than anyone he's been so close to before. He faintly remembers his mother being physically cold, always complaining about her freezing feet and hands, and Noah had been lukewarm at best; perhaps it's related to the infection? Not that he would know; he had the least severe symptoms out of everyone, the rot only affecting the inside of his cheeks, along with some headaches and vision issues. The rot, compared to everything else, isn't all that bad; it barely hurts, and the dead, white flesh would peel away like dried-out skin.His back is on the couch, his left arm draped over the headrest and the other hanging down limply; the girl's body is on top of his, her chest touching his, and her arms tangle around his head like vines.The blonde peach fuzz covering her arms tickles his nose, the little hairs swaying whenever he exhales, like a miniature lawn turned yellow during fall. Smiling to himself, he closes his eyes: not sleeping, just resting, enjoying this moment of freely given affection. The dying need for contact in his chest rapped its knuckles against the enclosure of his ribcage, a distant reminder that this wouldn't last forever.For once, he doesn't listen to it.

A sudden, angry yell startles him out of his trance, causing him to sit up instinctively; Sasha groans from where her head rests on his chest, hands sneaking up to his shoulders to push him down again. Whipping his head around, he finds a furious-looking Lukas and a frozen Tam; she stands stock still, fragile hands cradled to her chest, plump lips trembling.The boy keeps on yelling, most words a garble between some kind of European-sounding language and English, barely comprehensible to anyone but himself. As his screams get louder, Sasha raises her head as well, expression one of poorly hidden annoyance; she snarls at the two, moaning something about being "quiet for once in their lives!" which doesn't deter Lukas from shouting even louder.Sighing, she gets up from both him and the couch, stabilizing herself on his chest, which admittedly hurts quite a bit; Dustin can't remember when exactly it happened or how often, but he has had his fair share of fractured ribs. The worst one wasn't even all that violent; someone, he can't even recall who had kicked him in the back when he was walking down the stairs one day, and he had somehow managed to land in a position where his upper torso aligned perfectly with the stone edge of one of the steps. The following crack was audible, the feeble bone snapping in a matter of seconds, and while X-rays aren't a thing upstairs, he is confident that four of his upper ribs broke on impact.

It hurt like hell, and even if one of the medics wrapped his entire torso in off-white, clearly reused bandages, they hadn't set correctly, sticking out just a bit too far and aching whenever someone pressed onto his chest at the wrong angle. Of course, there were other times; the lower right rib broke after a nasty hit, the middle left one after one of the teachers threw a vase at him, all that good stuff. But for some reason, the staircase case sticks with him; it was random, unplanned, for no reason except power or maybe sadism. It was just...strange in an off-putting way.Shaking his head to get rid of the memories, he watches as Sasha, still half asleep, marches towards the duo, starting a screaming match with Lukas; the two stand face to face, mere inches away from touching each other, both gesturing uncoordinated while screaming, trying to overpower each other.

As the two go on, Tam escapes her frozen state, looking at him with her big, doe-like eyes, pleading silently; nodding, he stands up and grabs her by the arms, dragging her away from the scene, lest it turn violent. The girl follows his fast pace more or less gracefully, stumbling every few steps, but Dustin has a goal in mind: the smoking corner, as he and Ethan named it. It's a quiet little place between two rooms, stacked to the brim with empty lighters, vapes, and cigarette boxes, adorned by a couple of pillows and bits of fabric functioning as blankets. In a profoundly nostalgic way, it reminds him of the rooftop: grey, littered, smelling like nicotine, but still homey like any teen hangout."Where are we going?" she stutters, voice shaky."Smoking corner," he states, tightening his grip and pulling her forward just a little more eagerly; she furrows her eyebrows, looking away to avoid eye contact. Sensing her discomfort, he gives her the most gentle smile he can muster, whispering: "Don't tell anyone about this; I'm supposed to be a role model."Giving a weak smile back, she nods, walking behind him a bit more comfortably, face lighter, the wrinkles on her forehead smoothed out.

Upon opening the door, dust, ash, and that indescribable smell of solace hits him: behind him, Tam curls her shoulders in, fidgeting with her hands, tearing the loose hangnails off, watching the blood bubble up with a suspiciously intense gaze. As a nail chewer himself, he shrugs the motion off; while he doesn't necessarily like the blood or the pain, the motion itself calms him enough for the rest to not matter. 

Plus, he isn't all that good with facial expressions. Concerned faces look mad, sad faces look disappointed, and happy faces always seem to have this twinkle of Schadenfreude. It could be because of his mother, where he rarely saw any positive facial expressions, but probably there's just something unexplainable off with his brain; after all, many other factors point to the second option. The fidgetiness, the awkward conversations, the strange sensory experiences: all point to him either having been born wrong or just having been raised wrong.

Back when he was still at "home", he had spent days and nights searching for an explanation, reading through ICD-10 and DSM-5 codes, and researching illness upon illness, just to come up basically empty-handed and even more despaired; what is the point if he will never get any treatment? He doesn't have money for therapists, psychiatrists, and neurologists, and even if he gets diagnosed, it wouldn't change anything.What is the point if he keeps being the weird kid to the others?No school, especially the one he had the displeasure of attending, would accommodate someone like him, who threads the line between functionality and disorder. Sure, he could go to school, and he will wake up and get out of bed eventually, but it's a struggle; like a broken phone battery, charging no more than twenty-five percent each night, he will do what he has to, but there's nothing left for much else. He can sit still for a while if he tries hard enough, but then he won't be able to sleep that night. Flip a coin and decide what's best; it won't matter anyway."Go sit down; do you want to have a smoke?" Dustin asks, crouching beside the frightened girl, who shakes her head in response. Shrugging, he picks up a half-empty box of cigarettes, pulls one out, plops it into his mouth, and lights it in one fluid motion, eased by practice. "Your loss," he mumbles while trying to blow smoke in the opposite direction."So, what was all that about?" the boy asks, gesturing toward the doorway; Lukas is known for his short temper, but he was furious, acting like someone killed his dog or something.Tam pulls her too knobby knees up to her chest, tears gathering around her waterline, simply breathing out: "I saw something."

Cocking his head, he motions for her to continue, wrist creaking as he does so."I was crawling through the vents-" a hiccup interrupts her, but still no tears fall: "-and it was all dusty and...I saw like...this man dressed in black with those tall horns through one of the openings, And-" a shudder stops her this time, a full-body shiver fueled by horror, maybe disgust: "He looked at me, and his face was all fucked up!" This time, Tam actually starts crying, ever so slowly delving into hyperventilation.Gently, he places a hand on her shoulder, taking exaggerated breaths in an attempt to stop her from passing out; still, she inhales and exhales in a matter of microseconds, her face gaining an unhealthy red hue.Sighing, he stands up to gather a bunch of "blankets", placing them over the brunette in a gentle manner; it had helped when he had an attack over his tooth, and if Dustin is being genuine he doesn't know what else to do.

He sometimes envies people with better people skills: people who don't have to think over what they're going to say twice, those who know what to say and when to say it, because deep down, Dustin despises the fact that other people have it easier in life.It simply doesn't make sense to him; is there some genetic lottery that he just lost? He had stopped believing in any form of deity long ago; why talk to someone who doesn't answer, doesn't listen?He used to beg for death so many times, kneeling by his bedside with his hands folded; his mother told him that since she put him in this world, she could also take him out, so why can't god do the same?If god knows that he is destined to be a sinner, why can't he hurry up and send him to hell already?Sitting down in front of Tam, he silently holds out a spare pack of tissues, hoping that even just the gesture will cheer her up.