The Smell of Coffee and Paper: A Hamilton Au

Chapter Seven

Being one so close to write upon my arm

-             -            -

A testament I've since torn apart

Alexander Hamilton IV

I wake up, and rub my eyes, reaching to turn off my alarm clock that wasn't ringing? Where am I, this couch is way too nice to be something I own. Wait, I think back to last night, am I, dead? I check my hoodie pocket, the gun isn't there.

"You won't find your gun in there buddy," an unknown voice calls from behind me. I must be dead. A small smile creeps onto my face, the balance was restored. Mom would have him back and the balance would be all right because I was gone. A full smile and a little laugh escape me.

"Aw," a different voice says from behind me, this one has a French accent, "He has such a cute smile."

"Like a little kitten," the other voice said.

"More like a small hedgehog." the French accent replied.

I slowly turn around, not sure what I was going to see-- it was the afterlife. And I'm greeted by, John's friends from Denny's yesterday?

"Ah, and he finally, turns around," the french guy says. The other guy elbows him in the ribs and whispers something in his ear.

The other guy, the one in the suit, asks, "Do you want something to eat or drink? You're probably hungry."

"Who are you?" I ask pointing at them, ignoring their question. It was the afterlife. Everything was in balance here, no need to worry. And anyway he wasn't here to come and mess with me if I messed it up. I never did get how everyone else kept the balance so easily. I should ask someone while I'm here. "And where am I?"

"I'm Hercules Mulligan," the non-french guy said, "and this is Lafayette. His name is very long and a pain to say so we just call him by his last name or just, Laf. And you, Alexander, are in my apartment. It is 10:00 am on Tuesday."

"Your apartment?!" the panic starts seeping into my tone, and I can feel the knot growing. This would mean that the balance was all off. So very very off, "I need my gun."

I don't care that they would know. I just need things to be set right, they need to be set right. THEY NEED TO BE SET RIGHT.

"I NEED TO SET THINGS RIGHT," I shout, not realizing that my mumblings had turned into shouts.

Hercules started approaching me, palms out so he knew he wasn't going to hurt me. I always wondered why there wasn't something that you could say that'd be an equivalent. Saying "I'm not going to hurt you" could be twisted by what the person's definition of 'hurt' was, or just the 'I'm' loophole in it.

"Alexander, you aren't killing yourself. I'm still not entirely sure what you'd think it'd fix, but let me assure you it wouldn't. Now I'm going to keep your gun on me. Is that okay?"

The balance is so off right now, I can't say anything. It's so messed up, I messed it up. I couldn't even kill myself and I tried to call myself an Alexander. I was an Alex.

"Call me Alex," I mutter softly. It hurt to say, but it's what the balance needed.

"Why?" Lafayette called from the kitchen, "You obviously don't like it. Why go by something you don't like."

Hercules glared at him, but asked the same question, "Yes, Alexander, why do you want to go by Alex, you obviously hate it."

"I don't deserve Alexander. Alexanders can actually kill themselves, Alexanders keep the balance in check. I can't do that, I'm an Alex."