Hello, Goodbye

15: Saxon

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He experiences the numbness again. After saying Nothing, Grace had stood up and walked out. He hadn’t bothered following. Why bother?  She’d led him on, certainly, but she felt nothing. Maybe it was his own fault. He’d been stupid enough to tell her about his father’s stupid job which involved travelling all over America.

“Saxon? Bed time, already.” He stares numbly at the wall. “Sax, you want to talk?”

“No.” His mother sighs. “Turn the light off on your way out, please.” She sighs again, louder. “What do you want me to say, mum?” he demands. “That Grace can’t trust me not to hurt her because I could pack up and leave at any given moment? That all I can think about is how many times I’ve been rejected and hurt by her and yet my siblings won’t go talk to her?

“What am I meant to say, mum? That all I can do is feel pain and then just nothing? A never ceasing numbness?” He has tears running down his cheeks. His mother’s already beside him, patting his back.

“That’s exactly what you had to say, Saxon,” she says, her voice soothing and gentle. As had his been to Grace on a number of occasions. “It’s okay, you know? There’s plenty of fish in the –”

“I don’t need to hear that speech again, mum.” She looks surprised. “Jemila. How many times have you said that to her, again?” She lets a quiet laugh slip past her lips and, despite everything, so does Saxon. “Goodnight, mum. I love you.”

“I love you too.” She stands and walks to the doorway, her hand poised gently on the light switch. “If you ever want to talk, you know I’m here all the time, don’t you?”

“I know.” He lays down and slides his blanket over his body, resting his arms over the top of the thick cover. He presses his eyes closed after hearing the click of the light switch and seeing everything around him darken.

He dreams of Grace. That much was expected.

Monday morning; coffee in hand, hair in his eyes and as a dishevelled mess, messily thrown on clothes, and dark bags beneath his eyes. He had forced himself to look in the mirror, to see the aftermath of a weekend of four hours sleep total and caffeine fuelling him. He takes a sip of the bitter substance. He yawns.

“You don’t look too bad, Sax.” Zeya looks fresh; beautiful, even. He attempts a cocky smile. She grimaces at his failed attempt. “But really, are you okay, Sax?”

“I’m fine,” he mumbles.

“Remember last week, when I was like this?” she asks in a quiet voice. She sounds like a mouse, weak and squeaky. He nods lazily, leaning against his closed locker. “Is this about Grace?”

“See, Zeya, that’s the only thing we have in common.” Her eyebrows knit together and he explains, “Grace. We care about her. And, also, she gives us many sleepless nights.” Zeya almost smiles. “But, I have to forget all of that tonight. I have to down about five hundred coffees and then go to a freaking party. Eliza invited me. Said I could bring someone.”

“A Monday night?” she sounds and looks disbelieving. His mouth twitches, borderline smirk.

“Said it’s the only night her parents wouldn’t be there.” Zeya chuckles. “She expects me to be there. James told her I would be, and that I’d be bringing a plus one.” Zeya raises an eyebrow. “Well, who the hell am I supposed to take, if not you?”

“Grace?” He stares at her as if she be a perfect stranger. “Scratch that, I’ll go. Time?”

“Six to however late…” He sighs. “I wish I didn’t feel so bad about disappointing people, you know? If I’d just been less caring, maybe I’d have gotten sleep this weekend and maybe I wouldn’t be going to this stupid party,” he says aloud, mostly to himself.