L'Appel du Vide (Nocebo Effect P3)

this is when cannibalism occurs, right?

When Dallon told me we'd be journeying to his house in Bordeaux, I thought it would only be a medium sized cottage in the middle of nowhere, like any French house should be in my stereotypical perception of them, and it's no doubt in the middle of nowhere, but that's only because it's too grand to be plugged into a measly neighborhood. I had not expected such a massive display of decadence with the estate's luxurious acres, healthy grasses sprouted upon every terrain surrounding the building, everything from a movie.

It's still taken me a while to process all of this, all of the wonders I'll be experiencing throughout my stay in the house of strangers who I should know but don't, but even Dallon doesn't know them all that well, and they're his parents, so I should be fine.

Yes, they're a bit nerve wracking. Yes, they're a bit formal. Yes, they're a bit provincial. But that's to be inferred from people like this, people who Dallon abandoned partially for the same reasons I just listed, though we're back again, this time in their elegant dining hall with the producers of Downton Abbey chasing our tails.

Each plate strewn about the cherry surface is as immaculate as a woman's lipstick, shining and vibrant with the spear of porcelain edging through them. The chandelier suspended above us twirls a radiant beam towards us, onto every perfectly placed utensil and every napkin folded by Elle into a dexterous swan and every ember of prosperity for November flickering in our souls. Wine glasses spring from all spots at the table, enriched by a sparkling meteor shower of champagne that I would never have received back in America, which is a sign that chance is coming, and this is a splendid one that I'll welcome wholeheartedly.

Dallon's parents have left me alone for the time being, which my anxiety interprets as both a good and a bad thing, because they aren't tormenting me with questions I can't answer, but they may also be secretly conversing about me or may even hate me already. Dallon, however, is being the gentle boy I know he his by discreetly calming me down with reassuring mantras and pats on the knee mailed sporadically.

And for the time being, I think I'm fine. I really do, because Dallon is with me, but of course nothing lasts forever, and his parents' cunning attention is now on me.

"So, Brendon, tell me. Why did you make Dallon try to kill himself?" This is the first thing they say to me since the genesis of this lovely dinner, and it's a sentence so rotten that it then spoils the mood Elle strived so miraculously to assemble.

A blockage solidates my throat until I'm an amorphous container of gelatin with no emotions, no feelings beyond astonishment, because Dallon's parents could not be any more wrong than they are now. I did nothing to Dallon Weekes besides help him, and though that help did not succeed in the end, it's a fool's move to try and erase it.

But I cannot tell Dallon's parents these things, as I'm choked and stuttering with the only clear air I can expel. I have never been able to voice my opinion, not even now, as there's a physical obstruction in my lungs and in my stability and in everything that I was amassing in order to utilize, but all of those items are broken now.

Dallon recognizes my plea for assistance, face brushed with the sharp wind of offense, and he drags me up from the table before I can collapse entirely, shouting back to his parents in the coldest tone he can fabricate, "We're going to the bathroom."

Dallon's Point of View

My parents are insolent and blatantly disrespectful to the youth, but I didn't realize it would go this far. Brendon is unfamiliar to them, which means that they don't know the first thing about his personality, his morals, his character that's so developed that it's a wonder he's not honored in the Hall of Fame or awarded a medal for his valor, and the old people in this house should not blame Brendon for things they have no proof that he did or did not do.