Miss Yourself

Am I in a Dream

Kendall's POV:
It's hard to slip away when reality is so demanding. Having three people move into my home today wasn't something I was looking forward too and I spent most of the morning anxious about it. Clare, the scullery maid, has done more than her share. She's so good to me. I hire her for three days of the week, as that's all that I can really afford to pay her legally. I pay her under the table when my extra curriculars work out.
As much as I pleaded with her she's refused to go home with the arrival of my neice and her friends.
"It's awful what's happened to them. How could I just turn away." She said, "These transitions are never easy."
Now, here I am, cooking dinner for people I don't know.
I've prepared Prime Rib; cooked medium rare, fried carrots dipped in honey, and paired it with red wine. I know their minors but in my household I will not deny them anti-oxidents. Besides, post trauma requires a delicate hand and an easy mind. I will not allow them to over-indulge but they may have enough to take the edge off.
I was only a boy when I lost myself to the teeth of a vicious world. I know the ones who've hurt them. I was hurt by them too.
So, with my violin renditions of popular songs playing in the radio in my window, I sizzle and sip. I season, maybe a little too much. Burbon and brown sugar are my favorites.
As I go about my business I suspect the three of them are upstairs getting settled in. Each one has a separate room but I know that the malnourished one will crawl into the sheets of the bulky one. I could tell upon their arrival they cling to each other the way a peel clings to an orange. Made for each other, I feel. I felt that way about Carlos once upon a time.
They did so much to us at Palm Springs the world still doesn't know about. I've gotten a letter from a few of our friends asking if Big Time Rush is going to be involved in a documentary detailing the sexual and physical abuses we had to deal with. I would if the others would. James is too busy trying to save Isreal and pretending it all never happened. Logan's out here at the institution, he had the same idea I had of getting away from it all. Carlos... well let's just say he's still in it. He's living his dream as a dancer.
He's gotten to work with artists like Britney Spears, Sabrina Carpenter, and Camilla Cabello. He's idolized by many and for good reason. I miss his kiss. When it was just us, hidden beneath the sheets, we numbed the pain our way. He, like the rest of them, want to pretend it never happened.
Clive Orwall, my engineer, walks into the kitchen.
"Hello Mr. Knight." He says holding up a hose he's got wrapped around his shoulder, "I'm here to drain out your jacuzzi."
I nod, "Thank you Orwall. I saw that you fixed that leak in the third floor bathroom and the broken ledge on the second floor balcony. I appreciate you. Your envelope is perched on the chest of drawers in my office."
"I hate looking at that thing. Thousands of stories the world will never hear." He mentions yet again, I'd consider it disrespect but I know he's merely trying to be kind. A whole dresser full of journals detailing all the horrible things I went through. Their names and addresses were all changed of course. Everyone knows Kendall Knight. No one knows Sam Bellow.
I smile, "Maybe one day..."
As he shakes his head and walks out the bulky one walks into my kitchen.
"Hey." I say turning the eye down on the stove as not to burn anything and give him my full attention, "What can I do for you?"
He seems angry, like someone's keeping something from him. They are. But whatever it is they're keeping away from me too.
"I don't feel comfortable sleeping in the house of someone I don't know. I don't know you." Ah, he's attempting to find some control when so much has been taken from him.
I nod and pull out a stool at the island that separates my kitchen from my dining room. I gesture for him to sit down across from me. He's anxious but does so anyhow. He's got freckles on his nose but not enough to notice until you've been looking at him for a bit. His red hair is fine and falls aimlessly like an infant's. There's a broadness to his shoulders that he uses to let me know he's the protector of his group.
"Imogen tells me you work in medicine." He starts.
I nod, "I'm a composer for the documentation department at the Evangelical Institution for Progmatic Health. I write for the patients. Their story."
He looks down at his hands which he has folded in front of him and poders this. There's a curl to his brow that's supposed to be intimidating but considering I know he's only a boy it comes across broken and frightened. He doesn't want to say the wrong thing.
"My boyfriend, Charlie, needs a therapist." He whispers not out of shame but uncertainty.
Of course I'm already aware, "Yes I know of Mr. Springs OCD and Anorexia. I've got him an appointment with a good friend of mine at the institution first thing in the morning. You're worried, and I would understand why. Most Hollywood media preaches that American Asylums are just horror stories. That's not entirely true. We do have to advocate a little stronger for ourselves here but malpractice is illegal and I'll do my best to speak for Mr. Spring if my superiors attempt to excersize their power in ways that they shouldn't."
He eases. I've said the right thing.
"Is there anything else you needed, Mr. Nelson? I've got to finish dinner and prepare the table." I ask him.
He shakes his head and stands up pushing his stool underneath the island's counter top. He hesitates. Why?
"I might say things that are rude or intrusive. If so I apologize. This all feels very... unsteady." He whispers.
I nod, "Some days my mind convices me that the human race is a damned species and all the elitest rich people in the world keep us sedated with lies about religion and an afterlife to keep us working, keep them rich, eternal suffering all around. Other days I'm so very certain I have a destiny and that it will lead me to save the world. In reality I'm just an author who lives in a cabin in the woods and I'll do my best to make sure my world is safe. I sugguest you take it one day at a time like I do. Don't destroy yourself over 'What Ifs'." He nods and walks out of my kitchen. I return to the sizzle and the sipping.
Another twenty minutes go by. Another friend of mine has arrived. Tommy Tanner is what he goes by. I know his real name but this is what he responds too on socials. He's hot, and I find myself craving his body. He's an adult actor in a specific catagory. Part of me wants to keep him from the kids but he's still a human being and I have no business reducing him to a mere spectacle. He's more than sex.
While he's adamant in his trans man, gay pornography, he's a person and he's my friend. He cracks open a hard Arizona tea from my fridge. He's such a respectful boy and dresses modestly when he's not preforming. Those sweaters and button ups look good on him. I'd be interested in persuing a relationship if I wasn't so consumed in what was.
"I love the way you so meticulously organize things." He says as he looks out my window onto the garden I'm growing out back.
Hedges, grapes, and hibsicus make me so happy. There's other things that make up that garden but those looking from the outside in only see those three. Inside is a maze and around each corner is a new statue of something I love but those can only be discovered by those brave enough to venture inside.
"Tom..." I say, "There is no organization here. Not in what's been asked of me."
I'm nervous and he's always been so understanding. We've become so close recently. Ever since Covid.
"These kids aren't something to be afraid of. Not when I've seen you face your darkest fears and dance with the boy you love." He's rediculous.
Dancing with Carlos was a game. No one was going to die, no one did die. He and I completed a task but that was a party I'd give anything to get back to. He is gone. I have to accept this.
I'm no fool. I see the way Tommy looks at me. I see his smile. He likes me... maybe... maybe it's not such a bad idea to entertain the idea of a life with him. I'm very lonely here. That's silly, I shouldn't be thinking this way when I've seen him naked.
"Will you stay for dinner?" I ask.
He smiles big and nods, "I'd like that..."
Then I'm throwing another steak into the pan and the sizzle continues. I set another place at the table for him and he's so handsome. I need to be respectful.
The sunlight peeks through the screen windows along the corner of the first floor balcony. A door opens to the world outside less than five feet from my dining table. I pull out a chair and he sits down. How handsome is he in the light of the afternoon. Out there plants grow and the strong scent of life comes wafting in. I like the company he keeps.
"Clare?" I call out and my scullery made slips through the threshold dividing my kitchen from the corridor before the stair case.
She smiles, first at Tommy and then at me. She's never been one to judge but I find her expression so difficult to read. She says, "Mr. Knight? Is there anything you'd like me to do?"
I smile back as it's so easy to do so, "Call them? Dinner is ready... and I've made enough for you and Mr. Orwell, I wouldn't want any to go to waste. Would you join us?"
Only a few moments later and seven out of the twelve spots around my dinner table are occupied. Dinner has been served. I'm passing around a bottle of wine. The candle light holds as an evening sun sets. While they're uneasy, the three new occupants of Knight's manner manage small smiles and delicate conversation. They're relucant but they share small details with me; what their schools were like, how they're enjoying the accomodations, the tiny hopes they have. It's a tragedy they're swimming through but I'm greatful for their words. I look to Tommy and he's smiling back at me.
Tomorrow things will be different but right here, right now, things are calming. Tommy takes my hand. There's light to his expression.
"Would you stay over this evening?" I ask as Mr. Spring and Mr. Nelson discuss their games of rugby with Clive.
Tommy smirks, "You know I would, if I could. I work tomorrow morning and you, Mr. Knight are a distraction."
My scullery maid, Clare, and Imogen laugh over something silly and noncompliant that occured in similar convection earlier today and I accept the rejection Tommy offered me. There's always a slight rejection. So much will occur tomorrow but I wouldn't mind a night in warm waters with Tommy. A slight distraction from what tomorrow would bring seems exactly like what I'd like to swim in but alas that's impossible.
What is possible is having survived today. Three children, including my neice, arrived from over seas today and I handled their arrival well. Robyn delivered unbelievable and dreadful news, and Mr.Spring, Mr. Nelson, and Imogen will have to undergo a horrific transition but I will be here. I've seen death before. I've walked in the pain that atmospheres them now. No it isn't easy but... it's manageable.
Clive Orwell leaves, apologizing as he goes as he's got a family at home to get too. Clare leaves shortly hereafter. She much more apologetice and she's grown rather fond of the malnurished one at this point. Imogen turns in first as she's tired and the boys leave soon aftr she does. Then I'm alone with Tommy. He seems nervous.
"You're doing the right thing." He says and there's an expression on his face I can't exactly read.
I sigh, "I have a lot of help."
"Something's bothering you, I can tell." Says Tommy, "I know it's not just because I'm leaving."
He's right, he's always right. I look at him. I don't even know how to begin. He adjusts himself in his seat.
He says, "I've got twenty minutes... if you want to try."
The wine has gone straight to my head.
And so I do. I tell him about Imogen's mother (my sister) and how Imogen has always been kept from the truth. I talk about how the system built me and how her mother go away without a scratch. I talk about losing my sister and my mother. He just listens. No one ever just listens. When he responds it's only to aknowlege how I'm feeling and not to make me feel insane or dismissed. 
Then he's looking at his watch. He sighs when he looks up at me, "It hurts to say but my night is ending."
It hurts me too, Tomorrow is not going to be easy but I had him. I never have anyone more that myself. I watch him put on his shoes and walk out the screen door. All the lanterns and candles in the world couldn't keep him here. Still, what a beautiful mind. I think today is the best day of my life. Everything's going to be alright. I don't know and I can't replay. You've got stars, I've got scars they don't see.
It's like Imogen said today, "Yesterday all I wanted to do was die. Today I'm just happy to be alive.'
Then I'm alone in my kitchen and the orcestra of life is made up of critters who live out in the dark and surround my house. He leaves and I'm all alone with my thoughts. I think... I think today is the best day of my life. I gather the dishes and drop them into the washer. Then I step outside beathe a sky full of stars and I'm complete. I'm happy to be alive.
The stars all swirl into one and I sit up in a puddle of blood. Why is it that I'm always covered in blood? The purple sweat shirt I'm wearing clings to me and my fingernails have dirt under them. I'm cold. It's early morning and the world is that silver blue and I'm down in the forest. There's a trail that leads down about a mile from the cabin and out here is a pool I had built last year.
There's a waste high fence much like the one surrounding the pool by the house. I'm outside the fence on the stone flat top I had them lay out over the leveled ground here. There's a puddle of red around me and I'm beneath the shade of the hay awning to the cabana bar. I wanted to feel like I had the beach at home and it works. When nights like last night don't happen. My phones in my pocket, I pull it out.
I have no missed calls or messages. The appointment at the institution isn't for a few more hours. There's only one question on my mind; 'Who's blood is this?'
My mind hovers for a moment over Tommy. I go to call him. It rings once. Twice... I hear a soft buzzing coming from inside the gated area. My chest tightens. I rise up onto my feet. I'm unsteady and my head swoops from the sudden impact of gravity. There's a cut on my forehead and a chance some or most of the blood is my own. I can only hope.
I shake as I reach out for the latch. It pops open with an ease and I spot the bloody hand print on the inside of the gate. I hold my breath. I walk through the archway to a glass table kept beneath the awning. There's a bloody yellow beach towl wadded up on it's surface and the buzzing is louder. My hand pulls the fabric away and sure enough... it's Tommy's. So where the Hell is he?