WELP this might not be the part two people wanted but hereâs what I wanted so~ enjoy!
(Part 1 ? is here)
((this got rly long so I had to stop but if u want a third part lmk đ„șđđ))
Neil made his first mistake by not bolting the opposite way when Coach Hernandez told him he had visitors. An Exy racquet to the chest and a single glance at those bright hazel eyes turned Neils entire world sideways in seconds. This couldnât be happening. Neil almost couldnât hold back the âAndrew?â that wished to escape his lips. Of course, this wasnât Stefanâs Andrew, but Neil knew that already. Life had turned Andrew Minyard into a man of manufactured emotions, a life of violence and misled decisions landing him on Coach Wymackâs pity party guest list that was the Foxesâ lineup. Andrew didnât flinch looking at Neil, and Neil begged the universe to have erased the memory of Stefan from Andrew mind. He hung around a motel, for Christâs sake, how many other people would he have met before and after Stefan? Neil Josten looked totally different, with puberty, hair dye and new contact lenses on his side.
The second mistake he made was not realising Kevin Day was going to be around. If Andrew wasnât dangerous enough, Kevin was even more so. Neil couldnât believe his eyes the moment he looked closely at the teams lineup from the previous year. Kevin Day would have forgotten Nathaniel Wesninski, he was sure of it, but to look across to a picture of the teams goalkeeper and seeing the short blond boy he met in California? It was a sure sign for Neil to stay the hell away from South Carolina.
Neilâs biggest mistake was deciding to push his luck and take a plane there to sign with the Foxes. He was signing a death wish; but he didnât care anymore. He was a dead man walking, living off stolen hours. It was only a matter of time before someone caught up with him. His mother was dead, god, his mom, Mary Hatford, the woman who taught him how to be. It wasnât just like Debby, who died leaving Toronto, or Alice, who died leaving London, or Judy who died on the train between Germany and Prague. This was permanent, and Neil didnât think he could run for much longer.
Andrew didnât say anything during their meeting, in which he had plenty of opportunities to at least look like he recognised Neil, or the features of Stefan still left on his face. Kevin didnât say anything either, and his words made it clear he didnât remember Nathaniel, either. Neil was walking a thing line between life and death, with Stefan on one shoulder and Nathaniel on the other, waiting to tip him over, to expose the truth, to leave him buried like his mother.
The first night Neil slept - or more so lay on the couch in silence for hours, brain filled with noise and regret - in Davidâs apartment, he couldnât stop thinking about Andrew. He couldnât stop thinking about the kid with white-blond hair and a toothy smile, who ran his fingers so gently over Stefanâs skin, like he would break if Andrew dared get any closer. He couldnât stop thinking about the playground, and the motel, and the kisses⊠and the punches, the kicks, the pulling of hair, the slaps across the face with yells to accompany them. Before Neil knew it he was stuck with his face hovering over the toilet bowl, his stomach threatening to burst at any moment. After a minute of gagging and spitting into the water, Neil washed his face and headed towards the balcony that David told him to smoke on if he needed to. This was one of those needing to moments.
Weeks went by without any indication he was going to be caught. Kevin looked at him like a stupid amateur, which was good for Nathanielâs sake, but for Neil? Neil, who fought like his life depended on the racquet in his hands? Neil, who ran like his father was hot on his heels every single time he set off down the court? It hurt him to be insulted so often, but Kevin was leagues above him when he played. Neil was never going to be good enough. Andrew avoided him as much as possible. Nicky told him that was just how Andrew was; if you brought him no benefit, or if you made him bored, he would put you on a high shelf and never look at you again. By the way Andrew only spoke to Neil when Neil stood up to Kevin, Neil thought it was obvious that Andrew didnât recognise him.
And then came the invite to Columbia.
âGet rid of the contacts, by the way.â Nicky had brushed off the realisation like it was nothing. It sounded like âyou have something in your teethâ but felt like a screaming siren above Neilâs head. It felt like a punch to the gut, like a gun to his head. âAndrewâs decision. And brown, Neil? Youâre so predictable and boring itâs adorable.â Heâd left a bag of clothes with Neil.
When Neil looked at his blue eyes, he felt too many feelings he couldnât describe, or name. He felt like he was looking at his father. He felt like he was looking into the mirror like he had the last time he was Nathaniel. The last time he was in Baltimore. Heâd cycled through the catalogue of contacts during his time on the run, but never once went back to blue. They were the icy eyes of a murderer, not the eyes of quiet, boring Neil. But at least they werenât green. Neil was worried about Kevin recognising him by his eyes, but it was going to be dark out by the time they left. Neil would just have to stay in the dark around Kevin, and hope he got too drunk to notice, too drunk to remember.
When Andrewâs group came to pick Neil up, there was a change in dynamic Neil hadnât seen before. Instead of Nicky being the middle man in their conversations, or Kevin being the reason to talk, Andrew was taking charge of their night. Neilâs heart raced every time he looked into his eyes. Every time he heard that voice it told him to run, the same voice as before, only deeper, emotionless. Neil couldnât imagine this Andrew crying. Neil couldnât imagine this Andrew being open, about his sexuality, or his feelings. If he didnât look almost the same only older, he would probably doubt this was even the same Andrew.
âOh! Oh, now, thatâs interesting!â Andrew had commented as Neil left his dorm room. Nicky, Aaron and Kevin had walked ahead of the two of them. When theyâd disappeared around the corner into the elevator down, Andrew turned and grabbed Neilâs face to inspect it. âWhat a change, hmm? Blue to brown is a bit drastic for fashion, donât you think?â
âIâve never liked my eyes,â Neil spoke through the fingers that rested over his lips. âIâve worn them brown most my life.â Andrew tutted as Neil spoke, but left that thought there. His features were angry, like Neil had insulted him, but he S miled like heâd been talking to his best friend. He placed a cigarette between his lips as they joined the others in the elevator.
Before long, they were walking through the doors of Edenâs Twilight, music pumping and swirling through the air, vibrating their bodies as they walked. Andrew motioned for Neil to follow him to the bar once theyâd found a table.
âShots on me.â Heâd come down from his manic high, waiting for his dust adrenaline to kick in. His smile was gone, but his tone and way of speaking was still the same. âWhat do you drink?â
âI donât,â Neil answered, having to yell over the music.
âSure you do.â Andrew waved him off. âIâm being polite. What do you drink?â He asked again, as the bartender came over.
âA coke for me.â Neil told the man behind the bar before he could ask Andrew. âJust a little ice.â
âSee, now, Pinocchio, when someone offers you a gift you say thank you and accept it.â Andrew turned towards the man. âRoland. This is Neil. Heâs a newbie.â
âI hear you,â Roland nodded, already placing shot glasses on the tray heâd put on the bar. âMy choice, with dash for the new kid.â He poured a clear spirit into eight shot glasses, and used the fountain tap to fill a larger glass with cola. Andrew passed cash over and waved off his change as a tip. Before Neil knew it he was heading through the crowd, Andrew balancing the tray on one hand held high above his head. They reached the table and nothing has spilled, and before Neil knew it, the shot glasses were stacked in a tower on the tray as Neil nursed his coke.
âYou donât drink.â Andrew turned to Neil after watching the others take to the dance floor, coming up on their high, dusting when they couldnât be seen. âWhy?â
âHate the taste, mostly.â That would be the truth if âtasteâ actually meant âfeeling of being out of control of my bodyâ. He shrugged at Andrewâs dissatisfaction with that answer.
âYou come to university and you donât drink?â Andrew scoffed. âDo you smoke?â Neil shook his head. Heâd tried an edible by accident once in some cafe in Europe, and got so paranoid they had to move on that night. He swore he saw his dad staring in the windows in the red-light district, a blunt between his lips, a smile made of murder wrapped around it.
âNot for me.â Neil took a sip from the cold coke. âHard to find when itâs not legal and I hate the cops. Takes too much effort to roll.â Neil lied, like he knew what he was talking about, but he just remembered watching people in the cities he went to, everywhere having their local stoners, the folks who sat in the parks without a care in the world.
âYou donât drink, you donât smoke, you wonât dust.â Andrew rattled off the options. âIs it molly youâd prefer?â And when Neil shook his head again: âPsychedelics? Benzos?â
âIâm just not interested.â Neil looked into his glass, focusing on the ice. If he kept looking at Andrew he felt like he would crack. âDonât we get tested before games anyway? Whatâs the point?â Andrew didnât answer before he heading back up the bar. Neil didnât follow this time. When he came back, there was ten shot glasses on the table. Again, eight filled with an unnamed spirit that burned Neilâs nose and twisted his stomach. The other two were cola.
âIâd hate for the new boy to feel left out.â Aaron, Nicky and Kevin had arrived back to the table for their shots. Andrew handed Neil one of his glasses. Neil knocked it back when the others did. It was ordinary coke, no surprises, no weird tastes, no reason for Neil to believe Andrew would have given him a shot of alcohol instead. That was, until he clinked glasses with the others and swallowed the second shot in a quick movement. He felt the alcohol burn his throat. It warmed his chest, but the familiar feeling wasnât what worried him. It was the taste of salt on his tongue when he hadnât licked any before hand. He quickly excused himself from the table and left for the bathroom.
Andrew had drugged him. He didnât know why, but all he knew was the crackers were already coursing through his veins with deadly adrenaline. He was sure his racing heart wasnât helping. It didnât help, either, when Nicky reached the stairs before he did, and pulled him in for a salty, dusty kiss. Neil pushed him off as discreetly as he could.
âNothing?â Nicky complained as he Neil bounced up the sticky stairs two steps at a time. Neil was sure he heard him say something about Neil being too hot to be straight, but the roaring anxiety in his ears was enough to drown it out. He locked himself in a stall and tried to best to throw up. He hadnât eaten before heâd left, and he hadnât drank anything other than he soda, so his attempts were fairly futile. A knock at the door interrupted him, and when he answered with a quick âoccupied!â He heard the door unlocking from the outside. Andrew pushed his way into the cramped stall and shut the door behind him. Before Neil could even begin to object Andrew had grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against the wall, Neil struggling to keep his balance with the toilet in the way.
âYou donât like the taste of alcohol or youâre afraid of losing control? Telling your truths?â Andrewâs drug induced smile had returned with mischief and malice. âLetâs see how this does!â His voice was low as he spoke, with an enthusiasm to his words that made Neil sweat. When he went to protest, Andrew covered his mouth with his free hand.
âShut up,â He clicked his tongue. âYou have spent your entire extended stay here lying to me and lying to poor, gullible Coach. I see the way you look at Kevin, too. Either youâre lying about not swinging or thereâs something deeper to that intimidation.â Neil tried to get out a âI donât swing.â Before Andrew shushed him again. âDonât keep lying, newbie! One last chance at honesty.â He lifted his hand no more than an inch from Neilâs mouth. Neil was sweating, his hands shaky, his mind turning into fog, desperate to cling to any sort of euphoria it could find. When itâs search came up empty, it filled his stomach, his head, his hands, his feet, with anxious buzzing instead. He couldnât ignore the nauseating feelings the drugs brought with them.
âI donât swing,â Neil stood his ground. âI donât.â Andrew brought his hand up to Neils hair and yanked him down to his level, hard. He kept an inescapable grip in his curls as their faces almost touched.
âStill donât know?â Andrew pouted in fake-pity. âTen years later and you still donât know?â Neilâs stomach wouldâve fallen from his body if itâs got the chance. His heart wouldâve went with it when Andrew continued. âThere better be a good reason for Neil existing, Stefan, and I canât wait to hear it.â
âWhat?â He tried, but it was no use. His voice failed him, cracking as the futile attempts at lying left his lips. âI donât know what-â
âShut up.â Andrew repeated. His grip not relaxing. Neil was worried he was pulling his hair from the root, but that was probably the least of his worries. Probably. âDo not lie to me again.â Neil searched his eyes for a sliver of doubt. A tiny, tiny possibility that he might think he was wrong. It wasnât there. Heâd been caught.
âAndrew.â He wrapped his hands around Andrewâs wrist, the one hovering over his head, muscles tense from the grip on his head. âCan we talk without ripping my fucking hair out?â
Before Neil could react, Andrew had let go of his hair, but in doing so, had swung his head with full force into the side walls of the stall. His balance finally failed him, but Andrew caught him by the neck of the black turtleneck heâd been gifted. He heard a few stitches pop, but it didnât matter. The sudden movements turned Neilâs stomach with a violent wave, and he gagged hard, his stomach threatening to come out his mouth. He leaned over to spit into the toilet and bared his teeth at Andrew, breathing heavily through them.
âSo he lives,â Andrew smiled, his pupils blown, a white-knuckled hold on Stefan-Neilâs collar. Neil was afraid he was going to pass out. His body was on fire, his mind screaming like an emergency broadcast alarm. âTell me you didnât know, oh humour me! Iâd hate to think youâre stupid enough to come here still in possession of the memory from there.â
âI didnât think youâd remember.â Neil didnât break eye contact.
âSo you ARE that stupid!â Andrew pushed him back, letting go of his top. Neil tried to assess his escape routes, but it was no use. He couldnât get out of this. âI remembered little Stefan the second Kevin showed me your file. I didnât think it would be you, surely it couldnât be, but our little visit to fuckport, Arizona couldnât lie to me like you did. So is it Neil, or is it Stefan?â
âNeither.â He spat out the honesty, worried if he waited, another lie would take itâs place. âBut you can call me Neil.â
âOh, no, no!â Andrew grabbed him by the neck, holding his jaw in a way that could become a choke very quickly. âMaybe Iâll stick with Stefan. You donât get a say. You know, I thought mommy killed you.â A knife twisted in Neilâs gut.
âSheâs dead.â Neil tried to breath through his unwanted come-up. âThatâs the only reason Iâm here. Because she wasnât alive to stop me.â
âDid you do it?â He held Neils face like the world would end if he let go. He held even tighter when Neil tried to pull away.
âNo.â That was all he said. He thought about continuing, considering the fact he was a dead man already. But he stopped himself. How could he say it was his dad without saying he was the mafias right-hand-murderer? Was he wasting his time lying?
âDidnât think you did.â Andrew laughed, barely even blinking as he intimidated Neil. âNo balls then, no balls now.â
âI was twelve.â He spat through crushed cheeks. âWe were kids.â
âOld enough to be a liar.â Andrew let go of Neilâs face with a forceful push and turned to open the stall door. âYouâre going to lead us outside. If you deviate or try to run Iâll kill you. I will kill you.â So Neil did just that. He led the way in silence, down the stairs and towards the exit. When Nicky stopped and excitedly asked where they were going, Neil looked back to Andrew who waved his pack of cigarettes, a smile on his face, no essence of a lie present. Neil just kept walking, kept his head down, and tried to ignore the pain on the side of his head. When they reached the outside of the club, the brisk air biting their exposed skin, Neil turned to the first man he saw, a club-goer at the top of the queue, and swung a punch up. Andrew noticed the second his hands left his sides, balled up with a plan. The man threw a hefty punch back, shouting intimidations, knocking Neilâs short frame to the ground. As quick as humanly possible, Andrew had hoisted him up, wrapped his arms around his back and twisted his wrist in such a way that a single jolt would break it. He held him in that position with one hand, putting all his strength into keeping Neil still.
âHe gets crazy on tequila!â Andrew laughed, shaking his head as he took out his wallet and pulled out a fifty note. He threw it at the guy as compensation, his friends holding him back from beating Neilâs vulnerable, ballsy ass. He continued yelling as Andrew hauled him away. He grunted in pain as he refused to loosen his grip on Neilâs wrists. He walked him around the back of the club, to an empty, barely lit parking lot. He threw him to the ground so quickly he didnât have time to stop his fall.
âEvery moment I spend around you, you prove youâre much fucking dumber than I thought.â Andrew spat down, then crouching down to Neilâs level, balancing on the tops of his feet. Neil cradled his head, arms wrapped around the nape of his neck. He was sure he had a concussion. He could barely open his eyes through the pulsing blood rushing through his head, but forced himself to, to look up at Andrewâs smiling face.
âWhat happened?â Spit dripped down his chin, blood slowly trickling from the busted lip heâd earned himself. âWhat happened to that Andrew?â Andrew froze for half a second, and Neil noticed. âThe Andrew who cried because he was gay? The kid who actually fucking cared about anything?â
âOh, you are treading thin fucking ice for someone who doesnât know how to swim.â Andrew tilted his head. âMention another precious memory and I wonât hesitate to actually break your wrist next time.â
âWhy?â He spat blood at Andrewâs feet. âAfraid somebody might remember what youâre actually like when youâre not pretending to be a sociopath?â Andrew opened his mouth at the challenge, a smile creeping up one side of his face. âAre you afraid to actually have someone around you know anything about you? Iâm a threat. Thatâs all you care about.â He continued. âWhat, do you think Iâll use it against you? Youâve been treating me like shit since we met. If I was going to stab you in the back Iâd have done it already, asshole.â
âSince we met, again.â He corrected the most irrelevant part of Neils sentiment.
âLet me go now and Iâll move on. You wonât ever see me again.â Neil bargained. Andrewâs eyebrows twitched ever so slightly. âThis time Iâll get a chance to say goodbye.â
âNo,â Andrew stopped him. âYou donât get to arrive in to my life like a tornado and disappear. You donât get to dig your own grave and push me into it.â He bent down to get closer to Neils shaking face. âYouâre going to tell me exactly what happened first. Tell me what she did to you.â
âNo.â Neil strained. âI moved on. You were dangerous. You almost got me killed.â
âBoohoo, do you hear my tiny violin, liar?â Andrew grabbed a hold of his hair again. Neil let out a cry of pain, trying to pry Andrewâs fingers from his scalp. âTalk. Talk or I will get you killed.â
âMy father is a very dangerous man. Heâs murdered more people than there are days in a year.â Neil wiped the blood from his lips. It stung as he did so, but it didnât matter. He took out a small stack of IDs from his wallet and threw them across to Andrew. For a second, anyone wouldâve thought they were real, but closer inspection killed that thought. Andrew was holding a driverâs license belonging to Chris Angle, 21, from New York. A European passport card signed by George Debois from Paris. A gym membership from Seattle, an employee pass from Toronto, two more drivers licenses from cities across the globe. All the names were different, but they didnât belong to different people. They all had pictures of Neil on them. Some he had long hair, short hair, an unfortunate buzz-cut. He wore a beard in some, the baby face of a teenager in others. âYou arenât the only one Iâve lied to. Donât think youâre special.â Andrew snapped the IDs with angry force. Neil took a deep breath, knowing the last memories of his mother were buried in the face of Christopher Hart, snapped in half, just like that. He continued searching through his wallet. Deep into the card pockets of the tattered leather. He didnât look up when he heard Andrew drop the scraps of his identities on the ground. Neil found what he was looking for and threw it again, across the space separating them, it clattering by his feet. âIf my mom found that sheâd have killed me herself. We ran so she could protect me. I made that so much harder on her by meeting you.â Andrew inspected the card heâd been thrown. An under-eye twitch and a slow inhale accompanied his realisation. âYou want to hate me for what she made me do, fine, but it was inevitable. You were never going to be the reason that made us stay.â
Neil had given Andrew something he couldnât bare to part with. His old wallet stayed buried deep, deep in his belongings, so well hidden his mother hadnât even known it existed. He usually kept his current IDs on his person, and never in a wallet. It was a ticking time bomb, but Neil needed something. He needed a reason to feel, and if that was the memory of the good day his mom had had when they finally showered after weeks of baby wipes and deodorant, it was something to hold on to. Neil had to stay grounded in some sort of reality. He was on the run, sure, but the people he met, the things heâd done? They were real. It hurt to see those memories snapped on the ground like trash, but Andrew didnât snap the memory he held in his hands.
Andrew held the library card of Stefan Montgomery. It had a faded black and white photo on it, scratched out with time. He had begged the librarian to let him have the card without taking a picture, but she had insisted it was necessary so people didnât have more than one. In the photo was a scared little boy, a gash on his cheek, with crispy curls and a skinny face. Neil remembered walking to the library when he couldnât find Andrew, taking out books to help him learn any of the languages he needed to know. The library in Oakland taught him about the history of Spain, and the culture in France. There was something about Stefan that Neil didnât want to forget. Heâd kept that library card safe as if it were a lifeline, like he knew it would come in handy some day.
And then Andrew threw it across the empty parking lot like a frisbee.
âShe didnât see anything.â Neil tried, as if it would help. âWe left because I made a friend. Not because⊠you know.â
âI was not your friend.â Andrew stood up and put a cigarette between his teeth. He lit it, one puff, two puff, three puffs until it burned red. âI was never your friend.â
âYou were.â Neil struggled to stand up and join him. âDonât lie to a liar.â
âYou remember it wrong!â He took a short drag and flicked ash as he spoke. âYou were a toy to play with when there was nothing else to do.â
âYou couldâve went home.â Neil took the cigarette from Andrewâs fingers. âBut hey, I wasnât the only one who needed to escape heavy hands, right?â He pulled the smoke into his lungs and breathed out before flicking the barely smoked cigarette away. âYou were my friend. You had Stefan killed because I cared about you when Stefan wasnât supposed to care about anybody.â
âBe quiet.â Andrew pulled another cigarette from the packet and squared up to Neil who was standing so close he could feel Andrewâs breath hot on his face. âYou didnât care.â
âAre you listening?â Neil spat again, the heat of the cigarette having hurt his cracked lips. âWe left because of you. Because I let you in, and Iâm sorry you were collateral damage in our war against the world but fuck, we didnât have a choice. Do you think I wanted to leave? I was going to leave you a note, but she wouldnât leave my side until we were in another city and Stefan was just another name in the pile. Fuck you if you donât want to believe that. I donât owe you an explanation but youâve got one anyway. Tell me to leave and Iâll go. Tell me you understand and Iâll go, Andrew.â
âI waited for you.â Andrew exhaled honestly through cigarette smoke. âEvery day! The fourth day I tried knocking on the door of your motel room. Fifth day a random couple opened the door and I knew you werenât coming back. Why should I give you another chance, hmm? When you so easily could run away before, whoâs to say you wonât do it again?â
âIâm not asking for another chance,â Neil head was pounding. He felt like he could pass out, his ears ringing and body jittery. âI donât know, maybe Iâm asking you to remember what I meant to you.â Andrew pursed his lips at that. He was struggling to keep his composure, like the memory of before was chipping away slowly at this version of Andrew. He was holding himself together with twitches and small fidgets.
âI hate you.â He said, coldly. He had lit his cigarette and smoked through half of it before speaking again. Neil just stood, suddenly thinking about if Kevin were to find the IDs scattered on the floor. He didnât even think he could lie to Nicky about that. He would pick them up in a moment, but he couldnât afford to lose Andrewâs interest in the conversation. If Neil got distracted now he could ruin every chance he possible had at reconciling some sort of relationship with Andrew.
âI hate what the world has turned you into.â Andrew snorted a laugh at Neilâs dramatics.
âOh, you are a pipe bomb.â Andrew started to walk away, but when Neil grabbed his arm to stop him, in a quicker movement he had twisted Neilâs arm in some sort of self defence move that hurt. âYou donât have a right to touch me anymore. Keep your lying hands to yourself or Iâll break every one of your fingers.â He didnât let go immediately.
âDo you miss it?â Neil searched Andrewâs eyes for something, anything. âBeing vulnerable? Being comforted instead of being alone, blaming the world for your problems?â Before Neil could even think to keep going, Andrew had used his free hand to manoeuvre a knife from his arm bands and hold it up to Neilâs face.
âI dare you to keep pushing.â His words were casual, but a threat nonetheless. âStop trying to control a life you left. I wonât be a scratching post for your mommy issues, runaway.â
âWhat did Jakub do to you?â Neil brought a memory out from the depths. As soon as the name left his lips, Andrewâs entire body hardened and his eyes turned to glass. He slashed a cut into Neilâs cheekbone without hesitation and proceeded to let go of his arm and jam a thumb into the fresh wound. âWhy did you spend your childhood alone in a playground?â Neil spoke through gritted teeth.
âIf you want to keep your fantasy alive I advise you to really shut up now.â Andrew pushed him backwards, a final squeeze in the gash as he did so. Even more blood dripped down his face. Andrew wiped his hands in his pants and picked up the ignored cigarette heâd dropped in the altercation. âYou are going in circles. This is your last warning.â
âMy mom nearly broke half the bones in my body trying to get rid of the memory of you.â Neil took his spot back up so close to Andrews face he could practically see every one of the pores in his face. He still had freckles scattered across his face, his skin soft, with faint acne scars here and there across his cheeks. âI never stopped thinking about you.â
âYou should have.â Andrew threw his cigarette at Neil. âMake your choice. Run like youâre used to.â He looked him up and down one more time and turned on his feet back towards the club. Neil didnât follow. He started to pick up the remnants of his past and he felt his nose ache in psychosomatic pain, remembering a nose-breaking punch his mother threw when Neil dared asked if they could stay. He spat again, still trying to get the salty taste out of his mouth. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely hold onto the shards of plastic evidence of who he used to. After picking them all up he had to stop, and sit down. He was afraid he was having a panic attack, and he couldnât tell if it was because of the drugs still ravishing his system, or if it was because of Andrew. Maybe it was both. It probably was. He didnât think he couldâve spoken the truth if he wasnât high, but God, if he were sober it wouldâve been so much easier to run. High Neil was emotional Neil, empathetic Neil, hurt Neil. Heâd only had the experience of being really, genuinely high a few times, and every single time just reminded him how much he hated the feeling of being out of control. Of his nerves, his feelings, every fibre in his being misfiring and doing the opposite to what he wanted. His brain was begging him to feel the chemicals it was pumping out, but all it did was amplifying the aching feeling in his chest. He let out a noise that didnât quite resemble a cry, or a sigh, or a grunt. It was a noise born from pain, a mixture of anxiety and heartbreak, maybe. He wasnât sure what that felt like. Maybe this was it.
He tried to steady his breath and he stumbled across the empty lot. The booming bass from the music at Edenâs practically shook the ground as he walked, at least, it sure felt like it did. He stumbled as he reached down to pick up the library card so carelessly thrown away. It hurt him even more looking at Stefan, feeling this pang in his stomach that wished things couldâve been different. He didnât think he liked Andrew like that, and being on the same team was just the destruction of a childhood crush. Neil tried to come up with excuses in his head to how Andrew felt, but it was obvious he had thrown Stefan into the bad memories pile a long, long time ago. Neil showing up again just ripped through Andrewâs closure, and knowing he had feelings beneath what he showed, he was probably hurting too. It didnât seem like it, but maybe he was. Neil had put the ID away, and looked around. He had no real idea where he was, or how to get home. Before he knew it, he was sprinting away from the club, going nowhere, going anywhere but there. His head wasnât in a place to decide that he should stay. Heâs worth it. His heart raced at the thought of Andrewâs face, looking down at the long unused library card. Heâs worth it. Neil couldnât look back. He was wondering what Andrew was telling the others, and if they would believe him. He wondered if heâd told Nicky about Neilâs Idontknow sexuality, and thatâs why Nicky thought it okay to kiss him. But he didnât feel anything with Nicky. He didnât look at anyone in the way he looked at Andrew. He ran and ran and ran until heâd sweat out the drugs, until his head was more focused on trying to breathe than it was on Andrew, and his mom. It took a while, and he was lost when he stopped. Unfamiliar streets, him a stranger in someone elseâs hometown. Maybe that made things worse. This feeling was too familiar. Lost, lost, lost. Sometimes lost became familiar, became home. He didnât think he could be un-lost again.