keeping on keeping on

04. will grayson²

"You want Them.

You just want Them back."

- Dodie, Secrets for the Mad

there are only a few times that i wish i could trade my life for someone else's. don't get me wrong, i always want to die and be dead, but rarely does someone compel me enough to want to be the dead person so they could be alive.

but such is tom owens.

he's the type of boy to not only catch mild interest, but hold it in his grasp for a long time, twisting and turning it and keeping it fresh. he laughs when nothing's funny. he kicks a football around like the damn thing has a purpose. he kisses like there's no tomorrow.

well, would you look at that. looks like he didn't live to see tomorrow. (forgot to use past tense in reference to him. oops?)

this is why i don't fucking like people. i mean, people are shit to begin with, but the moment you let a person in -- finally, after years of not giving a shit — he ends up with a bullet in his head and his guts splattered across the dark asphalt your neighbourhood pays too much for. i wanted to blame tom owens for letting me fall in love with him, but that was all on me, and i'm not sure whether i can ever forgive myself for it.

today there's no school, and usually i'd be ecstatic about that but i'd sit through a hundred hours of school if it meant bringing tom back. okay, see. this is why i shouldn't care about people. i would have been better off minding my own business and talking to people who i knew needed something from me, and i needed something from. that way, shit stays uncomplicated and i can go on about my days as usual.

tom made things complicated. i didn't let anyone in after isaac and tiny cooper, two different kinds of falling, two wildly different kinds of people — one didn't even exist, jesus christ. isaac (maura) made things difficult. tiny made them slightly easier. (the other will grayson, who just so happened to be part of the already large "tiny cooper package" helped, too, i guess.) and gideon. god, that kid could almost give tom a run for his money.

but tom was different. he was bright despite everything else pointing to his darkness. i admired that. i admired him.

and he talked to me like my weird fucking suicidal manic depressive states were completely normal. after "befriending" (i use this word loosely — sometimes i still question whether they actually like me) a whole bunch of people from across town, i thought i'd reached my peak. but then this new kid moved in and no one really liked him except my "friends" which kind of meant i had to like him, too, right?

well, i did like him.

...a lot.

i tug on my black wool jacket and wonder when i'll feel the ache in my chest. if i don't feel it staring at his dead face right now, then when?

i mean, obviously, it feels wrong.

no more ,"you should try smiling more, you look way better."

no more, "is that how you shoot a basketball?"

no more, "i love you."

i feel something wet trickle down my cheek. i swipe at it with the back of my wrist and look around to check if anyone saw. not like anyone would care. no one here knows who i am, fortunately. just will and tiny cooper, who are off to the side, mumbling incomprehensible things. i look at tom. his brows are furrowed in the way that i'm used to — he was always a bit frustrated with me, which i found adorable. his skin is the palest i've ever seen it, which is unsettling; he'd always looked like he oozed with life, and well.

now he's dead.

fucking tiny cooper who introduced me to him. "i know you and i didn't work out, but he's totally cute and i think he could put up with your shit!"

he was right, though.

tom really did put up with my shit. i was madly in love.

i tear my eyes away from tom now. i feel like if i stare at him too long i'd be tempted to crawl in there with him and join him for the rest of eternity. (which honestly. not a bad idea right now.)

i take a seat in the opposite corner of the room from the other will grayson and tiny. this older woman joins them, her wild hair pulled back in a haphazard ponytail. she talks to them like i imagine an older sister would. i kind of just look around and take everything in and realize that if i were an occasion, i would be a wake. and that's sad. but i'm sad. so it kind of works.

"you're tom's boyfriend, right?" a boy who looks like you chucked tom into a time machine and made him a good five inches taller tugs at my sleeve.

my heart is in my throat. "i, uh —"

i mean, i'm used to the whole "faggot!" thing, but hearing it from a kid whose brother i was dating isn't really ideal for this particular setting. i'd rather mourn my dead boyfriend in peace, thank you very much.

"justin owens." he holds his hand out to me. "nice to meet ya."

"will grayson," i reply, taking his hand. "tom's brother?"

"yep. you didn't answer my question."

"...how did you know?"

"tom never shut up about you. he loved you. he stayed out late sometimes so he could spend time with you. which was okay, i guess. i could watch my cartoons alone."

"oh. sorry about that."

"it's okay. you made him happy."

"he made me happy."

"he does that." then justin does something only tom would do. he pulls me in for a hug, tighter and stronger than anything i could ever muster and lets me heave a bit into his small boy shoulders. when he lets go, he smiles at me, teeth a bit crooked. "he would have loved to hear that he made you happy. tom was really worried about you."

"he was?"

"yeah. so take care of yourself for my brother, please."

"i will."

justin snickers. "yeah. you're will." points to the opposite side of the room. "he's will, too."

sometimes, i smile. it seems like the special power of the owenses to get those wretched things out of me.