In Case of Rejection

CHAPTER SIX

He woke up feeling cold. The soft light coming from the lamp on his bedside table colored the place yellow. He rolled over, now feeling the warmth of the apartment on his skin and squinting into his bedroom. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, two figures came into view.   

"He's waking up," someone familiar said.

"Thank you for your help, Olive," his Mom said. Matthew squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. Still blurry, but he knew his Mom was at his side, sitting up at the edge of his mattress.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Matthew," Olive said from somewhere by the door, her shadow passing through into the hallway. He wanted to call out to her, but the words wouldn't come.

"Be quick," Jean said to her. A few seconds, then from afar, he heard the front door snap shut. Jean breathed out sharply, her warm hands reached for the sides of Matthew's pale face.

"What's happened to you? Are you feeling alright?" She asked concernedly, her hands patting around, feeling his forehead, under his chin. He waved her away, using what little strength he could muster.

"I'm fine," Matthew said, his voice warbled and the words confused. He still felt very faint for reasons he didn't understand. He blinked hard again. Things started to roll into focus.

Jean leaned over his face, observing him closely. In this light, her under-eyes looked dark, and her cheeks were pale and drawn in at the sides. She looked more tired than before, and Matthew's guilt seeped into his heart. He sat up hastily in response, uncaring of the way his stomach churned with nausea.

"Not so fast!" Jean urged, reaching for his shoulders to help him up. He waved her away, using his other hand to push himself up against the back wall.
"It's fine, really, I just got dizzy," he said.

"Yeah, Olive says you passed out. Sit back, your lips are blue," she said, and he nodded in a daze. His head thunked against the wall, and he let his whole body sag. He looked around the room with his eyes, comforted in the feeling of being closed in. His mind flickered to the window. His thoughts returned to the billboard.

"Did you eat today?" She asked.

"Yeah, of course," he said.

"I can't be worrying about you when I'm at work, Matthew. I need you to take care of yourself, you're too old, now," she said, all in one exasperated breath.

"I know, I'm sorry," he said, voice low and almost quiet. Jean's shoulders dropped.

"Oh, don't be sorry," she said, swiping an affectionate hand over his hair. He wasn't paying much attention.

"I just can't afford anymore tragedies in this family," she laughed, but Matthew couldn't laugh with her.

A wave of darkness fell and swelled around them -- tangible like murky water filling the room. Matthew decided that if it were daytime he felt like he could deal with something like this. Everything feels more painful at night.

"I forgot to ask how work went," Matthew started up, changing the subject. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and looked up again in the direction of the window. The apartment across the street was dark and empty.

The street below was illuminated in a harsh white light, and the tip of a white figure bobbed in the corner of the window. Matthew's hand traveled up to his forehead in his mounting anxiety.

"Oh God, how did Olive get me back here?" He asked, suddenly overwhelmed with embarrassment and guilt. He thought about poor, skinny Olive, dragging him by his underarms, down down down the stairs.

"She came and got me, we brought you down together," Jean said, eyes flitting up to the ceiling, as if she could see straight through to the terrace.

"Did you happen to see Fran?" Matthew asked again, slowly taking a stand from the edge of his bed. Jean cringed as she watched him, reaching out like she expected him to topple over again. He steadied himself, planting his feet into the floor and trying to push away the feeling of sleepiness. He brought his hand up to the wall at his right.

"I didn't go to the Birds' apartment," she said, "but it's eight-thirty now. So she should be home, it's half past curfew." Jean nodded to herself, like she was rationalizing it all in her head.

"It's already eight-thirty?" Matthew asked nervously, putting his hand to his forehead. He stepped closer to the window, the light coming from it now covering him like a sheet.

He could barely see the corner of it from down here, but the image itself was burned to his mind. GO BLUE. He couldn't forget it.

"Yes, you were sleeping for a while. I almost called a doctor," she said. He barely heard her, he was still thinking about the billboard family, their foreheads glowing like beacons over Sector 18. Matthew groaned.

"Oh, don't look at it," Jean said, and she stood up too beside him. She put a hand on his shoulder, remembering for a fleeting second when he used to be shorter than her.

"What is it?" Matthew asked.

"I don't know, but it doesn't look good. Just put it out of your head," his mother said, and she turned him back towards his bed. He flopped down onto the corner.

"Are you hungry?" She asked again, and Matthew shook his head.

"No Mom, I'm fine, really. I'm probably just going to go to sleep," he said. Jean nodded, straightening out the far corner of Matthew's sheets and walking to the door.

"Don't stay up too late, alright?" Jean asked, disappearing down the corridor. The door shut with a soft click behind her.

Matthew turned off the light beside him, laying on his back. He stared blankly up at the ceiling, faint mental pictures coloring the world around him. He coughed out into the quiet. Despite feeling cold in his insides, Matthew had broken out into a sweat in his stuffy room. It was always like that, warm in every room, no escape from the heat of the outdoors. They were living in the era of the Eternal Summer, or more colloquially known as the 'point of no return', where cold weather scarcely existed anymore. There were rumors that even the cold weather up in the First Five was just a simulation. Even then, Matthew imagined for a moment that a simulation was better than nothing. He imagined what kind of large-scale, new-age tech would be required to pull that off.

He held his father's letter up under his nose in the shadows. He must've read it ten times over already, but he liked to look at his handwriting. He must've sent the letter just in time, for the timing to be so perfect. This concept of new technology felt so unnerving to Matthew. It was easier to grasp Bots when he was younger because he was just that -- young. Inexperienced, able to sponge anything up that was presented to him. Now that he was older, it was almost unfathomable.

His thoughts were all floaty and abstract, growing fainter by the second as his will to sleep overwhelmed him. He fell asleep that night with the letter still in his hands, and he had strange, feverish dreams.