Immortal Healers/Solangelo

Chapter 5

TW: mentions of depression, minor character death, suicide, abuse, homophoebia. okay that doesn't sound very good but i'll put a border of these ~~~~ when it's safe.

"I'm 24 years old. I'm an only child. My mom wanted more children but my dad was a soldier and that's how they met. My mom was an army nurse." Will sounded out the words carefully, like he was pulling daggers from his heart without causing more harm. "He was a soldier trying to save his injured colleague. The first few years after my birth they were happy. When I was 5 years old however, my father was sent out to Iraq. He was supposed to be in service there for 3 years."

Will's eyes were starting to glass over. He looked up at me but his eyes didn't see me, they saw a different time, distant memories. "The only memory I have of my dad is from just before he left. I don't know how I remember this. It's his voice telling me to stay strong and that I would one day change the world."

"3 years after he left, the month he was supposed to return, my mother received a letter." Will drew a shaky breath and continued, looking down at his folded hands. "It explained that my dad had gone Missing In Action. During an attack my dad and some other people were cut off from the rest. When the rest went back to search they found three bodies, but two were still missing. They declared them MIA."

"For two years all my mother did was stare out the window. She still cared for me, but she became distant. Every time someone was at the door she looked up with a mixture of hope and fear. Hope that my father had returned, fear that it was the military coming to tell us the dreaded news."

Will's shoulders were shaking and tears glittered on his cheeks. "One day my mom had gone out for some groceries. I was watching television when the doorbell rang. I got up and opened the door. There on the front steps was a big, bulky man, dressed in a military uniform, decorated with lots of medals. He asked me: "Is your mom home, kid?" I simply shook my head. "Can I come in?" I just let him. The fact that you shouldn't let strangers into your house wasn't present in a 5 year old's mind. I did understand that this man was here because of my Dad."

Will told the story as if it happened just yesterday. Tears stained his cheeks and pooled on the table. The story was close to his heart, but he shared it with me.

"My mom came home. She saw the man sitting on the couch. She dropped the groceries and broke down crying. The man stood and guided my mom to the couch. He slowly took off his hat and spoke softly to my mother: "sorry that I have to bring you this news ma'am, but during a search through an abandoned warehouse we found your husband's body. He was executed." He left but gave my mum and me the details about the funeral. A military funeral."

"After the funeral she fell into a depression. She couldn't look at me anymore. I looked too much like my dad. I learned the hard way how to care for myself."

"When I was 15, something changed. My mom became aggressive. She started beating me. Meanwhile at school I was the new target. The faggot. My mom found out and almost threw me out. The only thing holding her back was that I took care of the house. I paid bills by working three jobs outside of school."

Will's voice became quieter and quieter until it was closer to a whisper. "My mom had a car accident when I was 17. After 24 hours on the intensive care she was officially declared dead. The only thing the paramedics could give me was her phone. It contained a text, directed to me:

'Faggot. Pack your bags and leave. I've got a job. Leave b....'

"The text was written seconds before her accident. I blamed myself for her death. She was about to send a text to me, her worthless son."

"So I did what all the kids at school told me to do. I tried committing suicide. First overdose. Then slitting my wrists. My third and last attempt was jumping of a bridge. I survived all of those. I don't know how. The doctors send me to a psychologist. He helped me get back on my feet. I started displaying my feelings through art and it worked.my paintings sold well and my life slowly started to get back on track. However, I still lived in my childhood home, surrounded by childhood memories, which wasn't helping me recover. Until last week. I packed everything I owned and left."

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Will smiled through the tears, but it didn't quite reach his startling blue eyes. "I moved to New York, put everything into a storage unit and started painting. My plan had only one big flaw. I don't have a place to stay."

The food stood in front of us, forgotten and untouched. My cheeks were wet and my eyes were watering. I had lost many people, dying in wars, simply leaving or disappearing, but to hear a story that didn't quite seemed to be finished and was already filled with sorrow, was heart-breaking.

"Will if you need a place to stay, I have a huge apartment that I don't share with anyone yet. You can live with me until you've found something." It came out of nowhere, but it seemed a good idea. I would be able to slowly reveal the truth about me and his fate.

Will, who had been staring at his clenched fists that lay in his lap, looked up, eyes filling up with hope and gratitude. "Would you really sacrifice part of your privacy for someone you just met?" I nobbed. This time the smile hit his eyes, and it lit up the room.

"I would gladly."

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it's getting better. soon the sparks will start and you'll all hear the prophecy.