Page 65 of The Boy Who Loved Wicked
“Plato. Your favorite. Which dialogue are you on, again?”
“The Apology.”
“Ah. Socrates’ trial. Condemned for the injustice of inquiring into things below the earth and in the sky. For making the weaker argument stronger, and for teaching others to follow by example.” He sobered up at my surprised expression. “Another thing I’ve learned is to take interest in the interests of the people that interest me.” He winked, pretty proud of his linguistic gymnastics. “Got that from one of your scare-shares.”
“Yeah,” I said, choosing not to call bullshit.
“So. You and your mom are hitting the road tomorrow?”
We’d be spending the next six weeks before I needed to move into the dorms “globe surfing,” as Danny called it. “Yeah. First stop Paris.”
“The others will be floundering here without you. And they’ll be gone by the time you get back.”
I looked to the others now. Danny, Jules, Theory, and Juan played chicken at the other end of the pool. Mom manned the grill chuckling as Danny called for her to turn up the music. We’d all matured a great deal and experienced many things together. Now it was time for us to examine ourselves apart from one another. To embark on a new chapter of our lives.
“How about we go win this chicken fight?” Mason said, and I snorted, slipping onto his shoulders and joining the fray.
Chapter 21
Sebastian
“An unexamined life is not worth living.”
~Socrates
Isank to my haunches in front of Alex’s grave, running my fingers along the inscription on the tombstone.To our beloved Alexander. Until we meet again.
I dug a shallow hole and situated the flowers I’d brought, then pulled a photo of us from my inside jacket pocket. We were disheveled and sweaty after I’d had to grapple with him in order to take the photo. He hated taking pictures. After finally wrapping my legs around him from behind to hold him in place, I’d raised the disposable camera in front of us to take the shot.
He considered me through the photo. Chin inclined, green eyes daring, silently telling me that I would pay for this. But Alex couldn’t hurt a fly, and he didn’t have the ability to stay mad for long. I’d snapped the picture then stripped him of his clothes, through his weak protests, and made love to him.
Then my father had walked in.
Grief for me could be compared to being crushed under a house and pushing against the pressure, fighting to survive. Grief compounded by guilt was lying there and taking it, because I didn’t deserve to make it out alive. I deserved to be suffocated by it.
I’d had no intentions of getting past what happened to Alex. The idea made my guilt even worse. I found more peace in my suffocation than I ever did when faced with the opportunity to breathe. The words “what if” and “if only” were old friends of mine and welcomed me as such.
“I’m sorry.” I placed the photo near the flowers, then retrieved a business card from my other pocket.Dr. Kristin Abbot.“She says you would’ve wanted me to move on. Is that true?” I guess I expected an answer to carry on the wind. I laughed mirthlessly. “There’s a support group for loss survivors. I’ve been attending weekly. It helps to talk to people who’ve been through similar struggles.” I leaned in and whispered, “I’m choosing to believe that you wouldn’t want this for me. This never-ending pain that resides at the forefront of my mind. And so I’m here to say goodbye, and to tell you that I’ll never forget you.” My throat clogged.
My grief, I was learning, had become a way for me to quantify my love for Alex. I desperately missed him, and more than anything I wanted to feel connected to him. So I’d begun to associate my pain with a feeling of closeness. The more I’d hurt, the closer I felt to him, and subconsciously, there was a small part of me that hadn’t wanted my pain to go away, because it might’ve meant my love would go away too. But what we chose to focus on would be what we experienced, and it was time for new experiences now. Time to heal. “Watch over us,” I said, and a light breeze blew through my hair and fanned my skin.Alex.
“Sebastian!”
I shot upright in bed, and through the open door I could see into Emily’s bedroom across the hall. I’d started sleeping in the nursery to be closer to her after three close calls with the baby. One of which saw her waking up in a pool of blood. After that, Emily’s doctor had sutured her cervix and ordered her to twenty-four-hour bed rest for the duration of the pregnancy.
She groaned, listing to one side, a hand protectively holding her belly. I tore the covers away and ran into her room, falling to my knees at the side of her bed. “What’s wrong?” In answer, she pulled the white comforter away.So much red.“Shit, I’ll call the doctor.”
After hanging up with instructions to bring her in immediately, I wrapped her in a clean blanket and ran with her to the car.
I scanned the busy emergency room entrance for help, Emily’s arms clung weakly around my neck as I held her aloft. A nurse and an attendant hurried our way pushing a gurney.
“Place her here,” she said, and I did so reluctantly. The doctor approached at a fast clip, firing off questions as he checked Emily’s vitals.
I held her cold hand and jogged alongside them as they ushered her through the winding corridors. Her grip slackened with every second, and all my prior acquaintances with fear suddenly paled in comparison.
“He’s here, Sebastian. We did it.” Emily was colorless and fatigued but smiling from her hospital bed. “You can go be happy now.”
“I am happy.” I cooed at the bundle in my arms as we made our third circuit around the room.
