Own Me

Chapter Eight

♔ Chapter Eight ♔

I couldn't see anything, but a stirring darkness. Loose, droopy shapes, rippling in the corners of my unconscious mind like water. Even then, I could still hear things in the distance. They sounded more like echoes, far off, like I was standing on the edge of a chalky white cliff, and I could hear his screams ululating from the fall below. Just as I reached the edge, his fingers so close to mine, reaching out, not far enough, too slow to stop him, to save him.

Other voices crashed in around me, voices I could hardly recognise. They sounded so far away, miles away, like whispers. Yet they felt so close, I could almost make out what they were saying.

"Is he awake?" someone asked. I knew the voice, though I couldn't remember where from.

"Of course he's awake, he's fine. Just had a bit too much to drink, I was only putting him to bed," another voice chimed in, sounding almost afraid.

"Yeah, I'm sure you were," the first voice replied.

"I was! I wasn't going to do anything, I wasn't going to... touch him. What do you take me for, a fag?"

"Don't use that word," the other cursed. "And let me guess, you're not gay? You can't possibly like guys - or maybe you only like them when they can't find back, am I right?" There was a short pause. "If not, then why were you here? Out of the kindness of your heart? You saw him, how fucked up he was, and just decided to put him to bed? As if. I see right through you, you little shit."

"Fuck you, man."

"Wait a minute, have you given him something?" I felt someone's cold hand rest gently over my clammy forehead. I tried to move my arm, to reach up, but I was hardly even conscious. "Did you put something in his drink? He's way too fucked to be drunk."

"N-no." There was another pause, after that. I heard something shatter, like glass, and something else, something heavy, hit the floor. Then I heard footfalls, rushing from the room, and a door slam harshly behind them.

"Shit!" that same voice cursed. "Right in the fucking head, the wanker."

That was around the same time that reality hit me, only for a few seconds. I could feel the heaviness in my eyes, but I managed to keep them open for a second, long enough to see a familiar face in front of me, the face of my rescuer. It felt strange, seeing those derelict eyes, once so cold and malicious, actually looking afraid. The way he looked over at me, it was a look I'd never seen on his face before, not even around Tom. It was almost like, for a second, hidden away behind the coldness of his eyes and the seriousness of his face, he was worried for me.

"W-what are you doing h-"

I didn't finish the sentence. My head fell backwards again, and the darkness came back. This time, longer, and deeper, like a kind of sleep. I think I dreamed for a while, of blurry faces that made no sense, and chalk-white cliffs hanging on the cusp of the world, and of a boy teetering at its edge. I dreamed of Tom, standing there, smiling for once. His eyes seemed lost, trapped, like they always used to look. Tormented. But it was his smile that had always caught my eye. I always thought it was one of the most beautiful things about him, a smile that could end the world.

It wasn't one of those perfect, carefree smiles that most people pretended to wipe over their faces. Tom wasn't one of those people, he was so unlike anyone I'd ever met. He had a kind of sad, nostalgic smile. The only smile I craved, and the only smile that seared into my dreams, and greeted me on a morning.

It was the smile of someone who'd lost so much, who'd suffered so much, and who let it all show on their face. But he was dead, and even now, his smile should mean nothing to me. But that didn't stop me remembering it, to remind myself what a real smile actually looked like. A beautiful, tainted, imperfect smile. It was one of the only things I'd clung onto, when I was at my lowest. One of the few thoughts about Tom that made me happy.