The Story of Us

Interlude: Lotor

Lance has been gone. For...a while, now. I have all his notes, but Romelle thinks he died or something. I really hope that's not the case.

She clings to my arm as we walk up the steps to Lance's front door. If he's here, his mom will probably let us see him. I knock, three times. Each one seems to resonate throughout the emptiness in the house and on my other side, where Lance usually resides. 

Mrs. McClain answers the door with a kind, sun-worn smile on her face. She looks at us, and the smile fades a bit. The excited light in her eyes seems to dull a bit when she sees the sullen look on my face and the frantic one on Romelle's. 

"Oh my god! Please, can we see Lance? I promise we'll be quick!" Romelle is quick to rip herself off my arm and attach herself to Lance's mother, who is now looking sadly and the ground. 

"Lance...isn't here right now, mija. I'm sorry," 

I've never heard her sound so sad. 

All at once, the realization hits me. We'd know if he died. The school would have an assembly. But the bullying, and the shitty body image, and that fucking bitch Nyma. Lance probably got overwhelmed. Every time he would come to school with cuts in his wrist, and cry in the bathroom during History, and we brushed it off because we were scared of what he might do next. Well, I guess he did what we were afraid of.

"Did he...try and kill himself?" My voice is soft and low, I almost don't even register I'm saying something until the tears in Mrs. McClain's eyes begin to drip down her face. 

"Oh, no," Romelle whispers. She's not this sober and solemn very often. It's amazing and grounbreaking and horrifying. 

"Come in, his phone time should start in a few minutes. He's coming back soon, but I don't know how long it will be until he's back in school. I hoep you two will help him catch up?"

We follow her into the kitchen, where their landline is hanging on the wall. She goes to work pulling out some sort of ingredients for dinner, and I can hear Lance's younger siblings yelling upstairs. Something about a wrist...? A doll. 

The phone rings, jumping on it's hook. I grab it and hold it to my ear, taking a deep breath. 

"Lance?"

"Wh-Lotor? Why are you at my house?"

"I came to see you, dummy. You're coming back soon, right?"

Lance's voice is tight when he responds. "Yes. Yeah, of course. Did, uh. Did Romelle come too?"

I chuckle. "She's right here. Wanna talk to her?"

I don't wait for a response before handing her the phone and making my way to the living room. On the mantel above the fireplace, I can see pictures of Lance at soccer practice, posing with teammates. There's a picture from when Romelle dragged us to a Got7 concert and we screamed until we got hoarse. Pictures from his birthdays and him and his siblings in frames that have colored macaroni noodles pasted onto them, bringing together the homey look their house has.

The couch is worn and old, but comfortable nonetheless. I sit on the familiar seat, remembering when I would throw popcorn into Lance's hair when he used to wear it curly and up, like an afro. I can almost hear him giggling and telling me to stop it. I remember when he sat me and Romelle down on this couch, stood in front of us and his family, and told us all the he liked boys. I remember when he invited us to a family reunion and Romelle learned dances with his younger cousins and I sat here and watched him interact with his extended family, all crammed into this house and his grandmother's next door. 

I remember when we painted Romelle's nails twenty different neon colors and hid the nail polish remover so she couldn't take it off before school. I remember when we declared that se could no longer cuddle on the couch because we would possible die from rolling off and hitting our heads on something.

This was where Lance grew up happy.

This was where Nyma slapped him and called him a fat faggot when she infiltrated one of our sleepovers.

This is where Lance feels safe, and Nyma tried to take it away from him.

And I'm going to make sure she never takes anything from anyone. Ever. Again.

heh. hello. okay sorry *hides behind distractions for another few months*