It takes three seconds for the comment to compute, but they seem to last longer. It feels like his father is losing it in slow motion, like Charles would have time to duck. But it’s just an impression, and when Milton throws back his arm to increase the strength of the upcoming blow, it’s already too late to dodge it.
Fortunately, Alice must have foreseen it. She screams a guttural ‘Don’t!’ and grabs Milton’s fist to push it down.
Charles exhales the breath he was holding and steps back towards the arch, where Loris’ shielding arm grasps him around the chest. He casts a look at Alice, who’s standing speechless and deathly pale, and glares at Milton.
‘Make peace with all of it. Because I won’t go to war with you. You’re not worth crashing into a tree for.’
His eardrums buzzing, he drags Loris along into the entrance hall but comes to a dead stop when his legs start throbbing. The floor is covered with black tiles. More than ever before.
Loris presses his shoulder. ‘Let’s get out of this place.’
‘Have you packed my bag?’
‘I stayed right here, Charles.’
‘Oh, you did… So you… Anyway, I— We need to go to my room, I have to grab Fred’s book. And my notes, and— If I never come back, you know, I have to—’
‘Okay,’ Loris whispers, massaging his neck. ‘Okay, then…’
Charles makes for the stairs, his head reeling in two different orbits.
What else does he need to get to safety, a long way away from the fireplace? His collection of sheet music. His flash drives. The cufflinkbox Elsy gifted him. It’s empty of cufflinks but holds memories of all their adventures. And… what else? What if he remembers about an irreplaceable treasure once it’s too late?
Charles’ hands are shaking so much as they reach the landing, he wrings his fingers with a halting inhalation.
‘Maybe we should just go, you’re gonna—’
‘I’m fine. I’m trying to focus so I don’t forget anything. I really need to focus. I can’t forget anything important.’
‘You’re right. You focus on that. What key is it?’
‘The small one.’
Loris unlocks the door and turns on the lights. Charles rushes in, only to freeze again, struck by the ridiculous surface area of his bedroom and the amount of belongings in it.
‘What can I do? Charles?’
‘You can… There’s a suitcase in that wardrobe and… Clothes. Pack anything. I don’t care.’
But all the carefully curated items in his room? Would Charles care if he could stop shaking and focus?
It’s been his shelter for so long, the one place where he managed to breathe and regroup, but now he’s struggling to breathe because he can’t figure out what made him feel safe here.
The lampshades? Yes, the shadows on the ceiling helped, but he can’t take the lamps with him. There’s no space for them in the flat. There’s no need either, with the LED lights projecting glowing paint onto Loris’ back.
The silence he could soak in was salutary, when he was finally alone at the end of a tedious day, free to dream, hope and create. Except he no longer needs to be alone for silences to be soothing and inspiring, while Loris sketches his face on a sheet or vows on his skin.
Ultimately, whenever his inner voices shattered his dreams, hopesand ideas, Charles would find comfort in the certainty that his most efficient means of dissociating were all within easy reach. But his inner voices have grown supportive since Milton’s access to Charland has been revoked. Charles hasn’t blanked in ages.
And the answer leaps out at him.
The contents of his room are threatened by a bully, but the only source of comfort he would risk breaking a bone for is the one that never belonged here.
‘I have you.’
Loris turns around, holding a stack of boxers. ‘Me?’
‘Yes. I have you. It’s enough.’
