What Happened in Winter [boyxboy]

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Jayson POV

There are so many things I wish I could've said before I left.

To mom and dad.
To Greyson.
To Angel.
To Craft.

Death puts a lot of things into perspective. Now, I have all these words, but I can't even say them anymore because I do not exist. They just lay stagnant in this worthless husk, an explanation that can never be heard.

My clock stopped ticking before I could even tell what time it was.

I wish I could've just been honest. I wish I hadn't been so selfish. I wish I had more time.

Craft POV

A week passed and Craft and River still hadn't spoken. It wasn't that Craft hadn't tried to talk to River, he tried to catch his attention every chance he got. But, the black-haired boy would slip through the throngs of students in the hallways like a spirit.

Craft wasn't even sure what he would say to River if he finally caught him. He had tried to think of a way to talk this through with River, but none of it sounded right. Craft was just making one excuse after another, blaming his insecurities on his dead best friend/lover and shitty, uncaring parents.

There was also that memory...

There was no doubt in Craft's mind that the little boy in his memory was River; a happier, brighter, innocent River that seemed to know Craft like the back of his hand and looked at him like he was made from gold and stardust.

"I love you, Craft," he had said with such a blissful smile, his cheeks and nose bitten by the winter snow. Even as small children, they could distinguish the difference between feelings and friendship.

"Where did you disappear to all those years ago, River? Where did you go?" Craft whispered, standing outside in the chilly autumn air, the setting sun bathing the sky in tangy oranges, passionate pinks, and fading to a deep-ocean blue. Craft couldn't remember exactly when the two boys were separated from each other, but another memory bubbled up from the recesses of his mind.

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"Mommy? Why don't I ever get to play with River anymore?" Craft asked, five years old and tugging at his mother's shirt sleeve.

Gwen Johnson slowly turned her gaze towards her son, her red glossy lips in a severe line. Her eyes were dark, shadowed by her hair and furrowed eyebrows.

"Because Mommy is very, very upset with River's mommy right now. Ms. Maggie refuses to help herself or take help from others." Gwen's body started to tremble and she grabbed a fistful of her hair, her voice shaking as she said, "And... Mommy has humiliated herself in front of God and made a fool of Daddy again. And so has her son."

Craft pulled at his mother's blouse harder, tears brimming his eyes. Panic began to grip his tiny heart with cold claws. "No, Mommy! I want to see River and Ms. Maggie again! I love them! I love River, Mommy!"

Gwen pushed her son backwards and as he tumbled down, laying in shock on the cold kitchen floor, she screamed, "I DO, TOO, CRAFT. DO YOU NOT SEE HOW I SUFFER WITHOUT HER?!"

Gwen clamped her mouth shut and in a daze, rummaged through cabinets, knocking over a salt shaker and multiple rattling pill bottles. She finally found what she was looking for: a bottle of a thick syrup, the color unnamable and pale. Gwen grabbed her son's arm and pulled him forward, forcing the bottle to his lips.

"Why? Why, Mommy?" Craft sobbed, trying to push her firm arm away. He was choking on his tears, begging her to stop.

"Sleep. You need to just forget. Go to sleep," his mother hummed, pulling his bottom jaw wide and pouring the syrup down his throat. It was sweet and sugary and bitter, making his teeth and cheeks flare up in pain. Immediately, his mind started to dim, his eyes going black. His breathing slowed and he had fallen asleep, taking that terrifying memory with him into the deep vats of his brain.