“God, MOVE!”
Slamming on the horn, Terry could feel the obscure nerve protruding from his forehead that silently exclaimed “I’m angry.”
1. Terry lives closer to Philadelphia than New York City and yet works in the latter, making his daily commute at least a couple hours long.
Terry watched as the hunched over construction man who appeared to care more about a fascinating new jewelry billboard than directing traffic motioned another car to move forward with caution. Peering down at the dashboard the clock read 08:54. Terry let out a deep sigh, and couldn’t help but chuckle at his misfortune. “Well, crap.”
2. Terry’s job starts daily at nine. They have a very strict late policy.
The clock read 9:28 by the time Terry arrived at parking spot 54C. Terry emerged from his mysteriously scented car with coat and coffee in hand and started for the main entrance. His shuffle turned into a speedwalk, followed by a jog that was heavy enough to make a difference, but light enough to not mess up his hair.
“Hey Terry!” erupted from behind Terry just as he was grabbing the door handle. This voice could only belong to one person, and given the circumstances Terry wasn’t all too keen on turning around. Reluctantly he did, seeing Mario and his distinct buggish green eyes. Mario wasn’t by any means a bad guy, he was just quite a talker.
“Look man, you should hurry up there. Bossman REALLY isn’t feeling it today. You might be wondering why I’m out here, don’t worry I’m not late or anything, I just forgot my wallet in my car and you know how that can be…” Rambling, rambling, rambling. Terry could feel himself turning red.
“Mario bud! That's awesome man but you JUST said I should really hurry, no? So maybe, you should turn around and go to your car, and I can go inside to whatever “Bossman” has waiting for me. Sound good?”. Terry spat. He didn’t mean to come off as passive aggressive, he doesn’t think he usually does.
3. Terry likes to falsely reassure himself a lot.
“Alright Ter! Hope today is a good one!” Mario replied cheerily. Terry was left awestruck by this response before remembering just how overly optimistic and socially unaware Mario can be. Terry attempted a deep breath, and swung the door open. The “All Falls Down” by Kanye West blasting in Terry’s first generation Airpods was immediately replaced with exasperated, burdened, and louder than usual voices. Before he knew it, Terry couldn’t hear himself. Two burly hands placed themselves firmly on Terry’s meager shoulders, dropping his demeanor even further.
“Why don’t you turn around and follow me pal.”
4. Terry’s boss is an asshole.
Although Terry wasn’t literally grabbed by the collar and dragged out of the room into what would potentially be his demise, it sure felt that way. Just as he finished staggering into office number 448 and felt the first bead of sweat trickle down the side of his face, Terry knew he was in for a rough one. What followed was a profane list of insults that Terry had to give credit for, they were pretty clever.
“... and I am NOT having this in MY workplace. You’re done Terry. I can’t take this anymore! You’re fired.”
Woah. Terry knew his boss to be an impatient and mean guy, but not cruel. “Are you serious Fred? How am I supposed to get a job in this market? Nobody is hiring right now, you of all people should know. I was late today, sure, but think about all that I do for this place!” Terry barked.
“Like what? List five things you do for this place that I can’t replace in a day.” Fred replied with a smirk. Terry stared quietly. After a few seconds, he opened his mouth in an attempt to save his job but drew a blank.
“Get out.” Stated Fred.
“**** you.” Replied Terry before storming out.
5. Terry really, really needed that job
Terry was at odds with his circumstances, and yet was out of words. He swung the door open out of the office and trudged back to his car, for what would surely be a difficult discussion with his girlfriend, Marissa. Terry began his long commute home by turning on the radio to hopefully find some relief. Nope. Carly Rae Jepsen was hosting on channel 94.7 which was the only channel in range on Terry’s car ride home. “And who’s ready for a ‘Call Me Maybe’ MARATHON!!! Everybody up and off your couches let’s g-”.
Terry cut off the radio before Carly Rae could finish her line. He actually got a bit of a kick out of that. 1:24 was what the clock read when Terry’s 2004 Honda Accord rolled back into the driveway at 47862 Pleasantry Way.
6. Terry found it ironic that he lived on a street called Pleasantry Way. Terry didn’t think his life was very pleasant.
After taking a moment to gather his thoughts on how he would break the news to his girlfriend, he opened the door. The Whitman’s Chocolate Sampler platter that was intended to be a peace offering quickly ended up on the floor. You see, when you walk into 47862 Pleasantry Way you can see directly into the bedroom at the back of the apartment. Marissa had left the bedroom door open just enough for Terry to see the silhouette of another man twirling her hair. They must not have heard him come in.
7. Now this one, this one really hurt.
“FIFTEEN MONTHS!” Could be heard echoing around the house, and maybe even the neighborhood. Terry had already successfully demolished two TV remotes, a vase that he and Marissa got in Egypt, one table, and one window that had stood strong through hundreds of strong storms. Terry didn’t know what to say sometimes, and this was one of them.
“I’m sorry Terry, I should’ve told you earlier.” Marissa whimpered as she sobbed. “No you aren’t. Wai- wait, what do you mean told me earlier?” Terry said sternly. The tension was inescapable. Then, out of the corner of his eye, the silhouette in the bedroom turned into an unfortunately recognizable face.
“Clint?” Terry coughed. His face dropped.
8. Clint and Terry met in 7th grade, and had been best friends ever since.
You walk.
You’ve been walking for hours. A path stretches endlessly ahead of you, twisting and climbing deeper into the forest. It’s dark; you assume it must be nighttime, but it’s hard to tell through the thick canopy obscuring the sky. Your inhales, exhales, and methodical footsteps are the only sounds in the air. The trees are all holding their breath for you.
You've been walking for so long, the soles of your shoes are worn thin and your feet are blistering. It doesn’t bother you much, though, because you’re too focused on watching the spaces between the suffocating trees. You don’t feel alone here. Ever since you treaded down this path, you’ve had a weird feeling. Like something was watching you.
As if on command, a hand on your shoulder startles you and confirms your biggest fear.
“They’re coming,” the voice says.
You scrunch your eyes tight, heart hammering in your chest. “Who’s coming?”
“Don’t be stupid,” the voice snaps. “Keep walking.”
“That’s what I’ve been doing.”
The stranger inhales sharply. There’s a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach that you can’t quite place, like a scratch underneath your skin. You swallow. “Where are we going?”
No reply.
“What-”
“We need to run for it,” the stranger finally says, and it’s closer to you this time. Their steps are in tandem beside you.
You tilt your head slightly so you can get a look at the stranger. You see a boy - around your age, you think, but it’s hard to tell with the black mask pulled up over his mouth and nose. Dark hair falls in curls over his forehead, wild and unkempt, slightly damp, like he’d been running. His eyes are little moons in the dark, green and bright.
“What?” you breathe.
The stranger shakes his head. “We need to go, now,” he urges. His hand moves to tug desperately at your arm, eyes wide and pleading.
“Why?”
“Because we’re going to make a run for it.”
The stranger looks at you, looks through you. You swallow again, that feeling rising in your stomach, gaze drifting to the trees behind the stranger. You swear you can see shadows moving, but your thoughts are bleeding into reality and you can’t tell what’s real anymore.
“We have to go now. Are you ready?”
“Where-”
“Go!”
The stranger’s shout is thrown into the wind, a scream to the Earth’s very core. You both swerve right, hard and fast. Ahead are the ghastly trees, stretching endlessly into the horizon, dark and pale in the absence of light. You don’t know where you’re going; away, you think, from whatever the stranger was talking about. Doesn’t matter. All you can hear is the roar of the wind in your ears and you’ve never felt more alive.
You spare a quick glance over your shoulder. The stranger is trailing behind. His hair tosses wildly in the wind, legs staggering forward in exhausted determination. “Keep running!” he shouts. Your eyes drift farther back, and you’re terrified to see dozens of shadow figures pursuing you. They flock in the dark, a horde of black nothingness, advancing like predators to prey.
“Turn around and keep running! You have to keep going!”
They catch the masked boy first. The panicked footsteps cease, followed by the crack of bone against metal and a muffled cry. Your steps stagger at the heart-shattering sound, so much that you nearly fall. There’s tears streaming down your face, but you don't even dare look back. You squeeze your eyes shut and keep going. There’s no sound now except for your frantic heartbeat and the fortissimos of bitter sixteenth notes chasing you.
They catch you next, deathlike hands grabbing your shirt and pulling you into the dirt. Your knees and hands scrap against the sharp rocks, tearing open the delicate skin. They roll you over and though you can’t see much through your teary vision, you can feel their cold, lifeless eyes looking into yours. When they press hot metal to your temple, you know two things.
One. You don’t want to die.
Two. They don’t hesitate to pull the trigger.
x
The first time Elijah met Joshua Verlice was in a bathroom, of all places.
Elijah was skipping class to smoke in the bathroom, leaning in the back corner and exhaling into the cool air. This is a frequent occurrence; smoking is about the only thing that relaxes him anymore. He can feel it embrace his lungs and wrap itself around his brain, suppressing his alarming thoughts in a chemical massacre. He doesn’t have to think. He doesn’t have to force himself not to think. Everything’s numb and he’s protected by this masquerade of tranquility.
He’s taking his fifth puff when the door slams open, ricocheting off the wall and causing a clash that echoes horrifically off the ceramic. A boy lurches in, stumbling to the sink, grabbing it with shaking hands. He grips it like he’s on the edge of a cliff, his knuckles a ghostly white as his fingers tighten around the dingy porcelain. “That’s not me!” he shouts into the mirror. “That’s not who I am!”
Elijah freezes. He’s paralyzed; he doesn’t dare to even blink, nevertheless breathe. His heart is hammering so loudly in his chest, the boy’s hands might as well be wrapped around his heart. The boy, though - dark hair sweaty and losing his left shoe - just continues to tremble in front of his reflection, so engrossed in whatever he sees that he doesn’t even notice Elijah cowering in the corner. It isn’t until several moments later that Elijah finally dares to break the silence, taking an uneasy, hesitant breath.
The boy immediately flinches, jumping backwards into one of the stall doors and staring wide-eyed at El. Now that he’s facing him, Elijah can see that the boy’s eyes are red and his eyelashes are wet. He’s been crying.
The stranger’s eyes - bright green, like a forest in the summer - flick down to Elijah’s hands where he holds the joint, and then back up. “What,” he says, swallowing like there were rocks in his throat. Elijah’s not sure if it’s a question or a statement.
At a loss for words, and chronically awkward, Elijah tells him, “Your shoe is missing.”
The stranger’s eyebrows furrow, and he quickly wipes his face with his sleeve, sniffing definitively when he looks back at El. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Elijah nods, still holding his breath.
The stranger stares at him for a little longer, and it’s when they’re making this prolonged eye contact that Elijah realizes, oh, shit, this is Joshua Verlice crying in front of him. The curly dark hair, floral print shoes, letterman jacket. Elijah stiffens, gripping his backpack tighter. “Are you okay?” he asks, very carefully.
“Yes. No.” The brunette takes a deep breath, blinking profusely like he’s trying to clear his vision. “I’m not sure.”
Their eyes meet again for a split second before Josh shakes his head and steps forward to the sink, turning the water on and splashing it onto his face. Every bone in Elijah’s body is telling him to run. But that would be wrong, wouldn’t it? It’s a human obligation to comfort your fellow human beings. Elijah was just never good at that, or human beings, for the matter.
Desperate for something to do, Elijah takes another puff of his smoke and continues to watch Josh through the mirror. The boy won’t stop scratching his hands down his face, like there’s bugs crawling out of his eyes and festering in the soft skin of his cheeks. That’s a very badass image, he thinks. Maybe if this boy weren’t having some sort of mental crisis it would make a hell of a good drawing.
“You shouldn’t smoke, you know.”
Elijah hadn’t realized that Josh had turned the water off and was now looking at him through the reflection. He exhales the vapor and straightens himself against the wall, meeting his gaze. Josh’s cheeks are red and raw now. “Doesn’t matter,” El replies.
Josh turns around and leans against the porcelain. From this angle, the bathroom light shines like a halo above his head, highlighting the sharp cut of his jaw. His forest-green eyes study him, squinting like he’s far away even though Elijah could touch his hand in just a few steps. “Who are you?” he asks.
“Nobody,” Elijah confesses. It’s the truth.
Josh looks at El for a little while longer before saying, “Me, too,” and walking out of the bathroom without another word.
x
Joshua Verlice is not nobody, and Elijah can prove it.
Being nobody means you see things other people don’t (can’t). Like the way the most popular girl in the school, Sienna, looks at her best friend like she hung the Moon. Or the way the art teacher never brings lunch, yet gets skinnier every day. Now you’re no longer seen by society, that veil that humans envelope themselves in is magically lifted, and you can finally see the things that you couldn’t before.
Joshua Verlice’s veil is this; a seventeen year old boy entering senior year in high school. He has a great deal of friends, or at least acquaintances with the right people - and this is largely because he’s the captain of the basketball team. Of course, his adorable laugh and charming smile did great favors, but that’s hardly the only factor. He is euphoriant, always smiling that heart-stopping smile and warming the air with his mesmerizing laugh. He is smart, too; Stanford-bound in the fall on a full scholarship. Everybody liked him, and if you didn’t, you were either visually impaired or mentally deranged. His veil was constructed flawlessly.
Elijah’s impressed, not blind.
There’s another person there, behind the mask. Elijah knows. He sees it. If he had to guess, he’d say this fake character Josh had constructed was purely of shame. El wonders why he’d want to hide himself; is his true self really that bad? Does he have some tragic backstory to justify all this? Everytime Elijah sees the boy, these questions itch underneath his skin.
And although he knows this, he still cannot see through that mask. It’s the first time that he has not been able to read someone just by their mannerisms. What are you hiding, Joshua Verlice? Whatever it is, he knows it’s catastrophic.
That night in bed, Elijah takes out his notebook and flips to a new page.
Things I know about Josh:
17, senior
basketball player
likes floral print
Then, underneath, Elijah takes out his red marker and presses it into the page until the ink bleeds.
Why do I keep dreaming about him?
x
The second time Elijah has this dream, he’s alone, and Josh is nowhere to be seen. Unlike the previous dream, there isn’t a forest. Around him is empty space, a void of black that presses in on his chest and makes it ache. He blinks, hoping maybe he’d be able to make out anything. All that greets him is the same bleak expanse.
Elijah had learned once that sound traveled in waves. When you speak, the sound starts as a tiny vibration in your throat; your vocal chords. As the vibrations move from your mouth through the air, it causes the particles in that medium to vibrate as well, creating this domino effect. Quite literally, the air is shaking. As long as there’s matter in that space, sound can travel through anything.
He opens his mouth to make a noise, but nothing escapes. Elijah’s eyes furrow and he tries to call again, his heart beginning to quicken in his chest. He screams until his throat burns, but there’s still no sound. There must be quite literally nothing here if he can’t even speak - then, it dawns on him that if that were the case, he shouldn’t be able to breathe, either.
At the thought, it’s like a vacuum is switched on. His breath is ripped from his lungs, and he chokes, grabbing at the collar of his shirt and fisting it in his hands. His eyes widen as he desperately scrambles for air, but it’s like breathing fabric.
When he looks up, Josh has wandered into view, lingering a good distance away. For a second, he doesn’t move, just continues to stare at Elijah with narrowed eyes. His hands twitch at his sides, curling and uncurling into a fist. Elijah’s heart lurches and he stumbles forward, but the words on the tip of his tongue never actually leave his lips.
Of course, he probably looks like a fish out of water, eyes all bulging and pleading as he reaches out with clammy hands. Josh just tilts his head and squints at him.
A sickening feeling begins to spread through El’s chest as Josh starts to walk forward. He stops when they’re face-to-face, close enough that their noses are practically brushing. It occurs to Elijah that he should be able to feel Josh’s breath on his face, but there’s nothing - just this vicious cold air that creeps over his skin, finding his pores and burrowing itself into them, absolving into his muscles, bones, nerves, blood, until it’s everywhere all at once. Elijah shivers violently. He tries to stumble backwards, but he finds himself paralyzed. He’s left to stare into Josh’s dark green eyes, choking on air that isn’t there.
For the first time since they’ve met, Josh smiles. “Welcome home,” he says, and then grabs Elijah’s head and presses his thumbs through his skull.