Taking Hits

Chapter 15: What Are You Doing?

Troye opened the door just a bit wider now, then turned around and stepped away from it. "Come in if you want," he muttered, his back facing Connor. "I just ordered food. There's plenty if you want some." He motioned to the cart that Connor had seen the lady wheel in.

Connor pushed the door open just enough so he could step inside, then closed it quietly. He stared at Troye's back. Even with the overly large sweaters that Troye always wore, Connor could tell the boy was even smaller than usual. His shoulders were slightly hunched, and the way he carried himself was different - sadder, wearisome, hopeless.

Connor didn't know if he wanted to see Troye's face again. If it looked even half as tired as the rest of his body, then it might just send Connor over the edge, or spark a psychotic break, or make him collapse awkwardly in the middle of the room while Troye looked on indifferently. At least that's the scene that played out in Connor's mind at that moment.

Troye didn't even sound the same. He sounded hollow, like he hadn't known what emotion was in years. He sounded like an auton, a slave to this world of brokenness and insignificance.

Connor wanted to heal him, to remind him who he was - who he had been - to show him that there had to be something better, something that was worth it for him out there somewhere. But he knew already that Troye wasn't going to let him in - not that easy, perhaps not even at all.

Troye grabbed a plate and filled it with random things from the cart, taking it to the bed and picking at them randomly. Connor followed suit, but sat on the ground instead, his plate resting between his crossed legs. They ate for a few minutes in silence.

"I didn't think you were coming," Connor mentioned, raising a spoonful of mashed potatoes to his mouth.

"Yeah," Troye responded.

A few more minutes passed awkwardly. "How have you been?" Connor tried. But Troye just shrugged. Connor was going to lose it, he knew he was. He told himself to leave now before he said something stupid or sent himself hurtling towards Troye's feet bawling and begging forgiveness. After all this time, after everything they'd been through, here they were, maybe with a chance to fix things - even just a little - and Troye was evading him completely - pretending they had nothing at all to talk about.

One more attempt. Connor would try once more and then let himself out. He couldn't stand this. "Troye," he said a little more forcefully than he should have. "Aren't you even going to talk to me? About anything?"

Troye shook his head. "There's nothing to talk about," he said in his low, emotionless voice.

There it was. And he couldn't help it. "Nothing to talk about?!" Connor exploded, standing up. "I haven't seen you in over a month! I've heard nothing from you, not a call or a message or even a simple text that you're ok! I had to call your parents and then bug your sister to basically stalk you for me and make sure you were all right!"

Troye stood up too. "You know what? You're the one who left, Con!"

"You told me to leave! You threatened me!"

Troye took a deep breath. "Maybe you should go," he said evenly.

Connor also breathed in a few times, then walked out of the room still fuming. Troye shut the door behind him, and Connor made it down to his hotel room before he started punching and throwing pillows, then trying to use them to stifle his screams and cries.

An hour passed, and Connor didn't move from his bed. That is, until he heard a faint rapping on the door. He walked over to open it, not wanting to think about how red and creased and wet his face probably looked. He cracked the door open and stuck his head out, but stepped back upon seeing who it was. Connor kept retreating from the door, so Troye let himself in, closing it behind him.