5' 3"
Ethan was staring at the tribune and ran his hand over his hair. His mouth was dry. Thomson was trying to breathe slowly, however, his heart was pounding, demanding more and more oxygen, so that his breaths became fast and short. Ethan's whole body was slightly shaking, so he felt like the whole church was vibrating. That's why he was sweating, feeling nauseous, even though he was trying to abstract his mind from his anxiety. Thomson came here to tell the truth, which he hadn't had the guts to even think about out loud. Nothing could stop him now.
"There was one episode that happened in my childhood, which will remain unspoken, since it doesn't matter today," Ethan forced himself to begin, being on the verge of taking his mask off, which made it hard to breathe. "I'm just going to highlight the fact that recovering was long and painful. The main person who was helping me during that time was my mother. She invested a lot of time and effort in me. So, when people from my surroundings and I felt like everything was over; when I finally felt like life was easy and nice again, my mother was diagnosed with fourth-stage cancer. Metastases spread through her whole body. Several tumors were inoperable. Doctors didn't even try suggesting any options to help my mother feel better. Instead, they announced how much time she had left. Three to four months, that was what they said. Three to four months of pain and grief. And years and years of isolation and rebellion after."
Ethan let himself raise his eyes to look at the audience. People were listening to him attentively. Thomson was deliberately ignoring the part of the room where Noah was sitting. People who were in the church besides Morgan were too used to hearing about death, despair and amorality. None of them could be surprised by the facts that they had gone through themselves, partly or fully. Probably that was why Ethan attended these meetings of anonymous drug addicts. Not really because they prevented him from slipping, but because he needed to see that he wasn't the only person who was disgusted by his own actions. It was somehow encouraging. Every person was trying to fix his life and move on. Which meant that Ethan was also capable of it. So now all these people acted like Thomson's silent support, encouraging him to continue telling this unpleasant truth. If Ethan was alone with Noah, he wouldn't find power to tell him everything in every single detail. Thomson would probably try to make Morgan feel sorry for him; he would easily persuade him that it hadn't been Ethan's fault. Though it was pointless to lie to people sitting in the church. They definitely knew verbal gymnastics that people used in order to hide their own shit.
"My mother's soon decease was definitely a blow for everyone in our family. However, it was only my mentality that was put back together by my mother's careful hands. It was no surprise that this news broke my mom's efforts into small pieces, rolling me all the way back to the condition even worse than the one I had before the incident I had spoken about earlier. Personally, I thought it was over. I was wrong. It turned out that the only person who was handling everything was my mother. However, I… I was like a parasite, taking everything she gave me and never returning anything back. How much I could've done! How much I should've done... But I haven't. Instead, I turned her last years into hell, since I was sure I could make it up for her later. Now, the only thing I can do for her is plant some flowers on her grave. Not so much of a payback, huh?" Ethan laughed nervously. "However, it's not what we're talking about right now," Thomson started tapping his index left finger onto the tribune, trying to gather his strength back to continue talking. He didn't want to recall these memories at all. Though silent pictures from the past would always swirl in his head until the silent hysteria hit him again.
"This tragedy, together with my puberty and old trauma, made me find peace, or better say, a short distraction. Luckily, my friends knew what to offer. At first, there were cigarettes. Then there was alcohol. I was still in high school, and soon it was completely normal to show up at school wasted. I used to smoke several packs of cigarettes per day. Later, I became so arrogant that I started smoking in my own room. My father didn't have time to pay attention to what was going on with me, so I guess he wouldn't even notice the smell even if I was smoking right in front of him. I got tired of nicotine and alcohol. The impact was too low and too short, which made me find alternative ways of seeking oblivion. That was when I found the brave new world of drugs. [This phrase hints at 'Brave New World' by Aldous Huxley. Spoiler alert: there was nothing brave about that world, nor was about Ehtan's situation. :)] At first, I tried ecstasy. Then there was LSD. Then I tried methamphetamine. I didn't even notice when I got addicted to hard drugs. At the same time, I continued playing my role of the perfect son. My mom was still breathing. My father arranged a separate room for her, hired a nurse, took time out at work and was spending all the time with his wife. I also visited her room often. Though my sister was trying to stay away from that room. She was crying constantly. I saw that, while my mother and father, who almost never left the room, didn't see that at all. Probably, that was why I told everyone at school, whenever they found my drugs, that these drugs were my sister's, not mine. I was losing my humanity. I acted like a complete jerk. My mind, clouded because of drugs, decided that nobody would find out I had been lying. My sister used to go to the same school as I did. She had already graduated by that time, but still many people knew and remembered her. The rumors spread immediately. Our school principal notified my father. He thought I was telling the truth since I still maintained my grades somehow. Teachers turned a blind eye to my actions; they thought it was because of my mother's disease. The father was smarter than the principal. After speaking with my sister, he understood that the drugs were mine. Then some stupid show began. My father would block my credit cards. I would steal stuff from home. My father would lock me up in my room. I would get out from the window in my room. Once, after trying to escape again, I fell out of the window and broke my wrist, which didn't keep me from running to the nearest drugdealer and taking something quite strong. My father would place me under surveillance. It didn't help, either. These episodes would repeat constantly. My father would try to help, and I would ruin everything. I thought the whole world was against me. Only drugs could soothe the pain. My father didn't have the power to deal with me. On one side, he had an underage son who was a drug addict; on the other – he had a wife who was on the verge of death. Now, when I think about it, I become horrified at how much shit my father had to handle. You probably wonder, 'Why didn't he send me to rehab?' Because of my mother. He didn't want to tell her I was addicted. If I decided to go to rehab, she would definitely notice my absence since I stopped by her room every day. I promised my father that I wouldn't do drugs again. At least, not before seeing my mom. However… I remember almost nothing about the last month of her life. I was always high. And I made her find out about my addiction after trying to steal her medication. How? Why? For what? I have only some vague pictures in my head where my father ran into my room, grabbed my shoulders and yelled, 'What have you done?! She doesn't have much time left! Why did you do this to her?!'
Ethan bent down and placed his head against the tribune. He felt a lump in his throat.
"Ethan, are you okay?" he heard Paul's worried voice.
"I'm fine," Thomson exhaled, straightening his back again. He wasn't done. The worst was ahead.
"I was clean at her funeral, though I had agonies. My plan was to get high as soon as the service was done. My sister was crying. So was my father. The only emotion I had was irritation. I thought the priest was too slow. God…" Ethan sounded like the realization hit him all over again, making him shocked by his own lack of principles during that period of his life. "After my mother's death, I lost control completely, and when my father told me that he had finally decided to send me to rehab, I ran away, taking all the stuff my hands could take. Among the things I took, the majority belonged to my mother. I hate myself for doing that," Ethan said in a broken voice. "I hate myself for everything I've done, since I didn't stop sinning after stealing some things from home. I traded expensive things for drugs. When I ran out of things I could exchange, my dealer offered me a deal. He said I was quite handsome. He told me guys like me were attractive. He said I could just be nice and do the things they wanted me to do. I could be compliant. I could be polite. However, if I had wanted to be sure that I had always had enough drugs, he would've needed to test me. He promised me a hit if I..." Ethan choked on air but continued, "...if I..." the words were stuck in his throat, "If I went down on him."
Ethan felt his ears blocked; his nose bridge was under pressure. His temples were itching because of the growing headache. Thomson didn't stop.
"I was eighteen. I wasn't experienced back in my youth. The only experience I had was a couple of awkward kisses. However… I don't need to tell you the answer I gave, do I? I was nice. I was polite. I did everything I was told to. Of course, it wasn't the only case. My high brain decided that it was an easy way to get some cash. Yeah… Sure… The easy way. Can you believe it? I don't remember my first time. Or even my first ten times. I don't remember the person I was with. I don't remember whether it was a man or a woman. I don't remember how many people were there. I just remember the sense of triumph after I would get what I wanted. That was how I lived for two months, going from one drug shack to another. Soon there started to be fewer people who wanted to have sex with me. I lost weight, so I didn't look so attractive anymore. My clothes were so loose, like they were hanging on a rack. Horrible times…"
Ethan wasn't looking at the audience anymore. Instead, he was staring at the tribune, holding onto it, hesitant to look up.
"Everything's fine. If it's too difficult for you to continue, you don't have to…" Paul's voice said. He always showed empathy towards every speaker.
"No," Ethan shook his head, "I need to tell everything. I'm not standing here because I suddenly decided to share my fucking life story. I'm here today because of one exact person."
Ethan wanted to look up at Noah, but he still didn't have enough courage to do so, so he moved on, staring at the old tribune. There were so many cracks on it, it was easy to tell that this piece of furniture needed to be replaced a long time ago.
"The only reason why I'm going out of my way for you for the first time ever is the guy I like. Oh, by the way, I'm gay," he added quickly. "And my father has found out about it in an interesting way: when he was trying to find me, he once broke into one of the drug shacks and busted me earning the new dose. Haha!" Ethan chuckled sadly, understanding that his story was getting all over the place. "Though you don't have to be gay to... In this case, you just need to be a drug addict, right? Ugh, well, anyway. The guy. I really like him, but the worst thing is that he likes me too. The first time I saw him, I heard some people discussing how many dicks he had sucked with his mouth. They thought he was a whore. I remember thinking that, no matter how many dicks he had sucked, he couldn't beat me. Of course, those rumors weren't true. Mostly, people who suffer from these rumors don't usually deserve it. On the contrary, guys like me can live completely carefree, and no one would ever think that... Wait a minute, have I already told you about my father finding me with a dick in my mouth? Or... Wait," Ethan stuttered and ran his hand across his hair under the hood again. Was it always so hot here? "Well… Whenever my father got me out of the crib, he took me to rehab the same day. Unlike my classmates, I didn't spend my gap year trying to find my path and destiny. Besides, I failed all my exams, but it… Oh, yeah… While I was fighting my drug addiction, I was trying to treat the whole bouquet of STDs. My dad thought I was lucky. Seriously. He said it was a miracle I didn't get AIDS or hepatitis. Sure, dad, I just had syphilis, gonorrhea and chlamydia, that's all. Just a lucky boy I am!"
Ethan took several deep, long breaths. The worst part was over. The story needed an ending. Thomson took his thin, silver chain from underneath his turtleneck with a medallion on it. There was a Roman number III engraved on it. Paul handed Ethan that medallion.
"It's my fourth year of being clean, but you know well it means nothing. People slip after three years of sobriety. They do that after five years. Or even twenty."
"Not everyone slips. Some people never touch drugs again. You shouldn't forget the positive examples while focusing on the negative ones," Paul advised insistently. Ethan, to his own surprise, didn't get mad after being interrupted. He just nodded humbly and continued.
"When I started getting my consciousness in the clinic, I had a breakdown after realizing everything I've done. And… I still can't forgive myself for all of that. I can't get my head round my actions. Like I was locked in a body that was controlled by somebody else. It would be so easy to move on if it were true. Unfortunately, I can't shift the responsibility onto someone else, except me."
"It's not your fault," Paul said, shaking his head. The majority of others supported him. "Addiction is—
"No," Ethan disagreed, "It's not the first time I hear that it was not my fault, apparently. I was a kid. I was vulnerable and amenable. And so on and so forth. Blah-blah-blah. However, it was my fault. It was my choice to do drugs. It was my choice to sell my body for a dose. Framing my sister and making her suffer from the rumors about her being a drug addict—it was all my choice. Selling my mother's belongings that we never got a chance to return—the choice was mine," Paul was about to disagree, but Ethan asked him to keep quiet with a gesture. "There were consequences to my actions. As you can see, I'm wearing gloves and a mask. Many people think I have mysophobia. That's not right. I'm not afraid of bacteria and I really want to be able to touch people. However, I get scared of a single thought that all this shit that my hands and mouth were diving in could get on someone else. I know it seems made up, but I always feel like there's some nasty smell coming from my palms and my lips. There's a fear inside me that someone else might also smell it," Ethan chuckled sadly. "And now my main trigger is the rain. It was constantly raining that year. And I usually worked on the streets. Cold raindrops were falling right on my head. My knees were numb because of the cold weather. Wet clothes were sticking to my body. It was disgusting. And…"
Ethan knew he was losing his courage. He couldn't speak about it any longer. He didn't want to remember everything again after talking about it. He had enough.
Ethan went down from the tribune, slightly shaking, and rushed towards the exit.
5' 8"-5' 9"
It was hard to take in everything he had just heard. It was impossible that everything Ethan told was true.
Noah froze for a second and lost his connection with reality. He recollected himself only when Ethan rushed by him towards the exit. Morgan needed several seconds to understand everything entirely, then he jumped from his seat and ran after Thomson with such a noise that everybody in the church turned around to look at him. It looked like they were way more interested in a guy Ethan had mentioned.
"Excuse me, s-sorry! Excuse me!" Noah was mumbling before he finally managed to get outside. Ethan was already in the car. Ethan was already starting the engine. Ethan was going to leave. No way! Noah ran towards the car and stood right in front of it, spreading his hands to the sides. Thomson had already pressed the gas, so he had to hit the brakes quickly.
"Are you nuts?!" Ethan yelled. You could hear his voice from the slightly opened car window.
"No, you are nuts!" Noah snapped back. "You're telling me this and then you just leave?! Is running away your favorite way of dealing with problems?!"
Ethan was watching Noah from underneath his eyebrows. Morgan rushed towards the passenger door and tried to open it. The door was locked.
"Open the Goddamn door!" Noah demanded, kicking the door with his foot.
Ethan looked at Morgan, completely shocked.
"Do you even understand how much this car costs?" he asked almost in admiration.
"Way less than my mental health!" Morgan was furious. "You brought me here. You'll be the one to take me away from here!"
He heard the sound of the door unlocking. Noah got into the car immediately and buckled up, just in case. What if Ethan decided to kick him out? Again.
"If you think you can manipulate me after hearing about my past—
"For God's sake!" Noah screamed. "Nobody's trying to manipulate you."
"You're yelling at me."
"Damn it, of course, I'm yelling at you, you've almost left without me!" Noah made a helpless gesture. "Why the hell did you leave?"
"I didn't feel well. I couldn't stay there any longer."
"Okay. I can understand that. But why didn't you call me to go with you?"
"I thought that after you've heard everything, you wouldn't…"
"Are you a psychic?"
"What?"
"Wait, no, are you a mind reader? Did you read my thoughts?"
"Me…No."
"So you don't know how to read people's minds, do you?"
"I don't," Ethan snapped.
"Then don't think you know what I think about. Ask me instead. Isn't it going to be more fair?"
Ethan was silent.
"Maybe," he finally said.
"Maybe," Noah mocked him, irritated by his words. "Is it your thing—running away at the most important moment? You did it now! You did the same on Friday!"
"I wasn't running anywhere," Ethan frowned.
"Sure, you just told me to get out of your car, and then you just left, leaving me with no explanation of what the hell happened. You're right, you didn't just run away. You just walked off into the sunset."
"I didn't see anything offensive when I asked you to leave. I didn't feel well, so I wanted you to...
"Couldn't you just tell me that?! Instead of saying, 'Get out of the car,' you could say, 'I don't feel well. I need some time alone. Please give me some space. On Monday we can meet and talk things through.' No?!"
Ethan flinched.
"You should read less romance books, Morgan. When people are upset, they don't have time for bowing and scraping. It's impossible to care about another person's feelings when you can't handle your own. I know everyone's trying to be tactful and polite nowadays. I guess it's a good thing. But if the person lays down with a leg that's been cut off, it's almost cruel to ask him something like 'please' and 'thank you'."
"Your leg was fine," Noah grunted.
"Sure. I only felt like I was on the verge of dying or losing my fucking mind. Sorry that I felt so shitty I couldn't jump around you, explaining to you for several hours what was going on."
"You do understand, right, that you just needed to say a couple of words," Noah was still stubborn. 'I don't feel well; we'll talk later,' that was enough."
"And you, on the other hand, were too clueless when you saw me sitting in the car, holding onto the steering wheel, struggling to calm down?"
Noah decided to remain silent. Ethan sounded logical. He had nothing to prove him wrong. After all, what was the point? Morgan caught his breath and started thinking about what to do next.
"I don't care," Morgan said quietly and looked at Ethan. He looked darker than a cloud, staring at a honk like his life depended on it.
"Can you hear me?" Noah tried to make sure.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Thomson said. There was pressure in his voice.
"You're wrong. I'm perfectly aware of every word I've just said. Besides, I do understand every single word you've ever said: in the church, or on any other day," Noah said firmly.
"Doesn't it bother you that we always fight?"
"We don't fight. We talk, there's nothing bad about it. It's the best way to understand what the person actually feels," Noah noticed. "We're different. We think differently. We behave differently. So what?"
"Starting a relationship with a drug addict is similar to—
"You're not a nark anymore," Noah disagreed. "You said you've been sober for almost four years now."
"So, did you just decide to ignore the rest?" Ethan frowned, turning towards Morgan. "There's no such thing as a former drug addict."
"Which does not necessarily mean you're going to slip. That also doesn't mean that you need to give up on your life now," Noah objected.
"Go to the back seat," Ethan asked after being quiet for a moment.
"Jesus Christ!" Noah got angry, "You said you like me, so..."
"Go to the back seat," Thomson continued insisting.
"Fuck!" Morgan cursed, getting mad. Then he stepped outside the car and moved to the back seat. The thought of showing his pride and leaving the place hit him for a second, but he decided not to do something Ethan would do, escaping from the conversation. So, instead of leaving, Noah preferred showing how dissatisfied he was.
Ethan got out of the car.
'Wonderful,' Morgan thought, 'Last thing he could do is to leave me in his car and go away!'
Ethan opened the passenger door and sat next to Noah.
"What's he up to?"
Ethan sat on the back seat on the left-hand side from Noah. Morgan was a bit nervous. Thomson's way of thinking had weird logic, so Noah knew he could expect anything from Ethan.
Thomson looked at his palms for a couple of seconds and then shifted his gaze to Noah's legs. Morgan was wearing another kimono shirt (it was black and orange with several blue Koi fish) together with ripped skinny jeans. That was why his naked knees and some skin above became visible to the universe. Morgan didn't think it was a big deal until that moment. Ethan's direct stare confused him, so he moved one knee to another.
Ethan slowly took the glove off of one hand. Noah noticed his fingers were shaking a little. Thomson could stare at his palm forever, so Noah decided to give it a little boost and placed his left wrist on the seat, palm facing up. This move didn't go unnoticed for Thomson. Ethan sighed soundly and stared at his hand again.
'That's okay, no rush,' Noah thought, but decided not to say it out loud. He was afraid this phrase could make Ethan mad.
"What if I began to enjoy it?" Thomson asked, placing his hand a couple of inches away from Noah's hand.
"Hm?"
"I haven't touched a single person in a while. What if I lost control?"
Noah doubted that Ethan could really lose it. Thomson was trying to scare him on purpose.
"What would you do if you lost control?" Noah smiled.
"Hm…anything."
"Like what?" Noah continued insisting.
"Don't make me say it out loud."
Noah was doing his best; however, he burst into loud laughter. Of course, Ethan was hinting at sex. Noah should've probably gotten scared, though it just amused him at that moment. Considering his previous relationship with Matthew, Morgan should've probably been worried. But… Firstly, he somehow knew that Ethan would've never let himself cross the line. Secondly, Noah wouldn't mind if Ethan crossed it a little. Whenever he was alone with Ethan, he didn't have the same fears as when he was with Matthew.
"Did I say something funny?" Ethan frowned.
"It's just funny to hear something from a guy who's literally terrified of touching my hand," Noah said with a smile.
"I'm not terrified," Thomson disagreed. "Well… I'm not scared of touch; I'm scared of consequences."
"There will be no consequences," Noah assured him.
"You should better think about what these hands have touched before."
"I don't care. Even if that had happened yesterday, I wouldn't care," Morgan emphasized the last part of the sentence.
Ethan snapped his teeth irritatedly, still convinced that Noah didn't understand the extent of the problem. However, Morgan understood everything. He knew that the size of the issue was smaller than Ethan had imagined himself.
Noah felt something slightly touch his hand and almost screamed out of happiness. Ethan rubbed Noah's finger slightly with his thumb and exhaled soundly. He lifted his wrist, faced the palm down and almost placed it into Noah's hand. Thomson stopped an inch away from Noah's palm. However, even that distance let Morgan feel his hand's warmth. Noah wanted to cheer Ethan, but instead, he decided to wait patiently, since he was afraid to scare him off.
The actual touch finally happened. Ethan's warm, sharp palm lay down into Noah's hand. Unfortunately, Ethan tried to take it back almost immediately. When Morgan felt this intention, he squeezed Ethan's hand, not letting him go so easy. Thomson was shocked and stared at Noah, fully terrified.
"Let me go," he said.
"Do you really think bacteria have a timer and wait until they can stick to a new surface?"
"No, I'm afraid that…" Ethan stuttered.
"You're afraid of what?"
"That yohastckout" Noah was mumbling some gibberish.
"I don't get it."
"I'm afraid that your hand would stink out!" Ethan yelled. Noah didn't even blink. Instead, he lifted Ethan's hand up to his face, not giving him a chance to snap his hand away, and ran his nose across the wrist, inhaling deeply with his nose. Thomson's facial expression changed as if he was about to have a stroke. Noah strangled a laugh and said:
"It smells like your leather gloves."
"Jesus, Morgan!" Ethan screamed, snapping his hand away, trying to find something in his pockets. A second later, Noah was given a pack of antibacterial wipes. However, Noah, in order to fix the result, ran his tongue across the place where Ethan's palm had touched his just a couple of seconds ago. Thomson looked pale.
"Now all yours is mine," Noah said, moving away from Ethan's urge to wipe his hand.
"Are you kidding me?!"
"Not at all."
"Wipe it off!"
"Should I wipe my tongue, too?"
"Of course!"
"No way."
And again, Noah moved away from Thomson's new try to sanitize his hand. Ethan was uncompromising. He grasped Ethan's wrist with a hand that had a glove on and started pulling the guy towards himself. Morgan did the opposite thing: he tried to turn away from Ethan, but he overrated his strength and lost the balance. As a result, Noah fell onto the car seat, pulling Ethan together with him. In order not to fall on Morgan, Thomson had to dig his hand into the seat a couple of inches away from Noah's face. The other hand was still holding a napkin.
"Morgan, you're insane!" Ethan hissed. He definitely wasn't trying to make a compliment.
"The insane one says," Noah grunted. If Morgan was in some romantic love story, that scene would definitely lead to a kiss. But Ethan didn't move, and Morgan wasn't sure that he hadn't crossed the line already. That was why he didn't let himself do anything else, fulfilling the lack of physical intimacy with emotional one.
"So, does that mean I fulfilled your conditions and we're a couple?"
Surprisingly, Ethan, who didn't rush to change his position until that moment, moved away like he didn't believe his ears. However, a moment later his surprise changed into a smile, which Noah noticed was beaming in Ethan's eyes.
"Yes," Thomson affirmed quietly, "we're a couple now."