Page 54 of Jonathon, After All

The years became a bright, numb blur, with cocaine and other drugs drowning out the pain. The throbbing exhilaration and the racing of his heart was the closest thing to the rush Jonathon felt when he came with Leo’s hand locked around his throat. But that was all he could feel until he woke up a few days later, scorched and raw. He would stumble back to the Olympia and up to 6A, sunburnt from the inside-out and hollow, to face Muriel and Tilly’s worried faces.

“Where have you been, my boy?” Muriel would ask, fretting with bleary, bloodshot eyes.

“Just out with friends,” he’d lie and kiss her cheek on the way up to his room and Jonathon would throw up and cry in the shower until he was too exhausted to remember where he’d been and who he’d been with.

He would sleep until Tilly and Muriel threatened to send for a doctor or tell him it was time to pack for another trip. No matter where Muriel took him or who she threw him at, Jonathon couldn’t outrun memories of Leo and the cycle would repeat itself.

The glitzy frenzy of posh parties, travel, drugs, fashion, sex, gossip… Jonathon was suspended and floating in an ugly snow globe, relying on bumps and strange men to shake him up and keep him numb.

Jonathon hated every moment of it, but not as much as he was afraid to be alone. He had been so independent and happiest when he was exploring, reading, or painting. But after Schönbühel, Jonathon ached most for Leo and the past when he was by himself. No matter how many times Jonathon painted memories, he couldn’t wish them into portals and put himself back into those moments with Leo at Schönbühel.

He was locked away, far out of Leo’s reach, in a tower of broken promises and glittering trash. Sabine had laid the foundation with her lies, but Jonathon had added the rest of the bricks himself.

How, in the aftermath of Leo’s return, did Jonathon go about dismantling that tower? Going back to his old life with Muriel wasn’t an option, but Jonathon hoped that they might make a fresh start.

Upstate New York had always sounded nice, or Seattle. But the odds of convincing Muriel to live anywhere in the United States but Manhattan or Water Mill were close to nil.

“Maybe Ireland?” he mused.

Moody, cozy, green, whimsical… Everything Manhattan wasn’t. He recalled that Muriel knew an Irish lord with a castle by the ruins of an old abbey. She often said that she wanted to visit Ireland more and that he’d promised she could stay there whenever she wished.

“I think I could paint there,” Jonathon said and smiled as he imagined a portrait of Muriel and Calista with a dramatic Irish castle in the background. “It’s time I looked after Muriel. She’s taken care of me long enough.”

Perhaps this was closure, learning that he hadn’t been abandoned and easily forgotten. Jonathan no longer felt the sting of rejection and the silence had been lifted, revealing a truth that was simply…disappointing.

Jonathan knew how to recover from disappointment. With the exception of Muriel and Tilly, Jonathan had been let down by nearly every person he had known. His parents had done him a favor by never being anything but absent so he never had anything but low expectations for them.

He learned quickly not to get attached to nannies because they never lasted long. His parents couldn’t afford to keep one for more than a few months. And the decent nannies were in a hurry to move on because Jonathon’s father drank heavily when he was at home and couldn’t keep his hands to himself.

None of the kids wanted to play with Jonathon after he moved to the Olympia with Muriel. The little clique of children that used to congregate in the courtyard and loitered in the lobbies and on the sidewalks outside had shunned Jonathon. On more than one occasion he had heard a parent whisper “Stay away from that Hawthorne boy. He’s no good.” as they steered their precious offspring away from Jonathon and his corrupting influence.

It continued to happen at parties and openings when Jonathon would escort Muriel. Thankfully, people rarely acknowledged him or batted an eye when he helped himself to a glass of wine or champagne. He could amuse himself for hours if he was tipsy, silently roasting rich assholes who had more money than taste.

That was how he entertained himself before Schönbühel and Jonathon had appreciated that the drinking age in many parts of Europe was sixteen or eighteen. He had thought himself a man of the world at barely twenty, living on the fringe of society as Muriel rubbed elbows with minor European royalty.

But even at twenty, Jonathon had been a naive child who would have been better served if he had more friends. A decent penpal could have changed Jonathon’s life by telling him he was in way over his head with Leo and Sabine. Friends, Jonathon was finding, made all the difference in the world. He had told himself that Muriel and Tilly were enough and that it hadn’t been worth the effort to change people’s minds about him.

He learned how wrong he was when Riley rescued him after the gala. Hiding with the Ashbys and having their support was infinitely better than whatever Jonathon would have come up with. He had no idea where he was going to go after he stuffed his toothbrush, some clothes, and cash in a bag. Jonathon would probably be hiding in the Olympia’s basement, sleeping on boxes and eating cold pizza.

I could ask for his advice now.

Jonathon sat up, glancing at the clock on Milo’s desk and cringing. It was just after midnight. He decided to see if Riley or Giles were still up, reasoning that some fresh air might help him sleep if they weren’t.

He climbed down and silently slipped out onto the balcony, leaving the sliding door cracked behind him so he wouldn’t wake Milo when he returned. It took Jonathon just a moment to climb over the low wall and make his way around the apartment’s large living room balcony and around the corner to Giles and Riley’s wing.

A soft giggle made Jonathon pause when he reached the wall of topiaries. He cleared his throat loudly, announcing his presence. “I hope I’m not interrupting,” he called quietly, squeezing his eyes shut and praying he hadn’t caught them in an intimate moment.

“Not at all!” Riley said before his hand reached through the narrow shrubs and snatched Jonathon’s wrist. He was yanked and Jonathon laughed as he stumbled after Riley, offering Giles a wave once he was on the other side.

“Make yourself at home,” Giles said from his spot on the daybed. He was sitting cross legged with a quilt around his shoulders and it appeared that they were playing chess. A blunt burned in an ashtray on the coffee table and there were two glasses of red wine.

“It looks like I am interrupting. You two are having a lovely evening,” Jonathon noted, backing away, but Riley grabbed his hand again.

“And it’s even lovelier now that you’re here,” he insisted and Jonathon was deposited on the daybed, bundled in a quilt, and given a glass of wine while Giles set the game aside for later.

“This is all too much,” Jonathon protested but opened his mouth obediently when Giles offered him a hit from the blunt.

“There you go…” Giles crooned like he was soothing one of his children. He gave Jonathon a fond pat on the head before returning to his spot. “Can’t sleep?” he asked and Jonathon nodded as he exhaled.

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