‘It changes everything! It does! It will, because you didn’t know. And it helped! You didn’t know Frederick, you didn’t know Fred either, you didn’t know any of them, any of the— They’re all made up. They’re all fake! But you, you had no clue, so he was— He could come alive again. The real him! You were bringing him back and it helped. It helped me! But now it’s all ruined! It’s— It’ll get all blurry, because you’ve read the lies. They’re in your eyes now. In the way you’ll look at me!’
He can’t see Loris’eyes. Only the front-page photo, filtered with faded colours for dramatic effect, to transform Frederick Ledwell into a figure worthy of being canonised. The picture of obedience and ambition, his lips curved up by the strings Milton was pulling.
‘All I read was—’
‘Lies! All you read was bullshit! Because they bribed people and rewrote history after the accident! That’s what you read? A tragic unfortunate accident. The patch of ice and the sideslip beyond his control. Poor Frederick, robbed of such a promising future. That’s the tearjerker you read, isn’t it? You didn’t read that he was pissed out of his mind? That he went— That he stole the keys of a street rod not meant to be driven by a guy trying to speed the fuck away from his life! There was no ice! He was unhinged! He was drunk! Drunk and speeding and— He was— He—’
Was he?
Charles lets out a wheeze of pain, his brain splitting into pieces that don’t fit together.
‘Charles…’
Loris is near him, but his voice is muffled.
The voices were muffled too that night, behind the door of Milton’s study. From the bottom of the staircase, Charles couldn’t make out what his parents and the police officers were yelling about. He had no context, no one had shattered his world yet. The step he was sitting on felt like quicksand, but he wasn’t aware that it was about to trap him in a suspended state of half-truths.
‘If you say it’s bullshit, I believe you. Whatever you tell me. I trust you more than some—’
‘But you can’t trust me! Don’t you get that? I don’t know! I’m— I don’t remember! I thought I knew, just then, I knew, but now I don’t know. It’s all fake again. It’s all dark. And it’ll stay dark because youknow! It’s— I’m—’
Charles tugs at the collar of the polo shirt and gasps for air, but there’s none left in the flat. The walls thrusted it all out when they shrank. He stumbles aside, plucks his pen out of his coat and starts clicking it frantically.
‘Slow down, Charles. Please, slow down and breathe.’
‘I can’t, I—’
‘Look at me. Hey! Look at me!’
Charles blinks to chase the specs of light twirling between them. Loris is right here again, hesitant to touch him. But when Charles nods, afraid his legs might give way, Loris slides a hand behind his neck and wraps the other one around his fist to cover his thumb.
‘I’m here.Respire.’
Loris prevents him from clicking the pen too fast, forces him to wait for the next exhalation and to adapt to his pace.
‘Doucement.’
His voice is blowing away the echoes coming from Milton’s study, but Charles’ distress increases.
It’s the debilitating situation he wanted to avoid at all costs.
‘Don’t do that. Don’t… care like this.’
‘Bit too late for that.’
‘Don’t care like I’m… Like I need to be cared for. I’m…’ Charles shuts his eyes closed, his head spinning. ‘Why do you have to know that I’m fucked up?’
‘Charles, listen to me.’
‘I was less fucked up when you didn’t know that everything is.’
‘Listen to me!’ Loris holds him firmly as they sit down sideways, facing each other. ‘I’m gonna tell you a story. It’s important, I need you to listen.’
‘A story?’
‘Are you listening?’
‘Hmm…’
