Chapter One

When he awakens, he is most certainly not awake. There is water, encasing his body in brine and salt and suffocation. It is black-green, murky, too warm to be the pacific sea. His chest is screaming, frozen and aching as he flails, unable to keep afloat, even though he'd learned to swim at age two at the Long Beach YMCA.

The surface fades out of existence. There is no way to distinguish north from south, above from below. His heart rattles, like a small animal trying to escape certain death. It surges against his ribs, over and over, like something is punching him from the inside.

Is this what children experience, tight and secure in their mother’s womb? He supposes it could be peaceful, if hexagonal sunlight shone at the ocean’s surface. The weight of the water would press him into the mindset of the unborn. Quiet, patient, thoughtless.

Fire seemed to be the most painful of all unnatural deaths. He'd made up his mind about this as a little kid, when he sat in his desk in school, learning of the unspeakable things human beings did to each other during the Middle Ages. Fire consumed the physical until the death was so complete, ash and dust were the only signs that someone had once lived there, occupying space and wasting breath.

The most peaceful way to die is clearly in one’s sleep. You're not awake to experience it. There is only before, no after. But it is also the most cowardly way to go. Not experiencing the most final, real part of existing is the coward’s way out -- at least in Joseph’s opinion.

And so he concluded that drowning would be the next best thing. To sink into the depths with leaden boots on your feet, with your face tipped up to the light of the sky. The light of the sky, mellow and everpresent.

But here, there is no light. Only the churning, enormous sea, coughing his body back and forth like a softball. Dragging him to the surface only to slam him down again.

The searing lack of oxygen has begun to melt into a vague sense of panic. He no longer feels the anguish, only the primal instinct to survive no matter what it took. Joseph kicked, flailed, gasped for air only to receive a mouthful of water. His chest collapsed, his vision went black. He felt like he had been drowning for hours, when surely only a few minutes had passed.

He detached his mind from his body. There was only darkness, and faint pinpricks of silver, like a television that had lost reception. He no longer felt the crushing water around him. There was nothing.

A stinging slap rang across his cheek. Joseph gasped forward, clutching the side of his face. He groaned lowly, like a dying animal, turned to his side, and vomited. Torrents of bile and ocean water spilled from his mouth. He pushed himself onto his forearms and vomited some more, the muscles of his stomach clenching until there was nothing left to be emptied. He began dry-heaving, unaware that an ugly mix of snot and tears had begun running down the sides of his face.

He collapsed into his own mess, uncaring. He could hardly breathe. Robert blinked, staring down at him.

“Sephie? Are you dead…?” Robert nudged him with a foot. Joseph gave no answer. Robert sighed and clicked his tongue. He knelt, and pushed up one of Joseph's eyelids with a finger. An unseeing, grey eye stared back at him.

Frowning, Robert slipped his hands underneath Joseph's arms, dragging his limp body to the bathroom. With a short huff, he lifted the boy off of the ground, surprised at how heavy he was. Based upon looks alone, Joseph should have weighed far less.

Robert set him down in the bathtub. Joseph's head lolled against the edge. Robert propped Joseph's head back up, tipping his chin to the ceiling. Joseph’s head fell to the side again.

Ignoring this, Robert set himself to work. He hummed as he pulled Joseph's soggy t shirt over his head and tossed it to the side, followed by his cute little shorts. Robert sat and admired him for a few seconds. Human anatomy was quite interesting. Joseph was pale, but he was already sporting a tan line just by being in the sunshine state for a few days. His chest and arms were covered in freckles that trailed down his stomach and thighs. Joseph's thighs were a bit pudgy, and he had a small tummy too. At least he wasn't dead – his chest was rising and falling with the telltale sign of life – breath.

It was a shame. Robert wouldn't have minded the company, even if Joseph, essentially, was a little grumpy and lacked any sense of fun. Aside from causing occasional spooks, life in the museum was astonishingly boring. He supposed he should try keeping Joseph alive. Perhaps the he might return the favor. All in due time, of course. If there was anybody who knew about the delicate balance of a demonic deal, it was him.

With this in mind, Robert turned the bathtub’s rusted faucet. Lukewarm water streamed over Joseph's floppy, unconscious body. Robert held Joseph's head under the water in an attempt to wake him up. This did not work.

Frustrated but unyielding, Robert pushed Joseph's sopping, lank hair out off his face, shaking his head lightly. Joseph elicited a soft moan.

“Good boy,” Robert smiled, feeling slightly victorious. Joseph seemed a bit less dead. Though at least when he was unconscious, he was compliant.

“You're much more agreeable like this,” Robert stated. Joseph did not answer. Robert flicked his cheek. “I'm going to wash your hair, okay, Sephie?” He asked.

Still no answer.

Robert proceeded to wash Joseph's hair. He poured Kim’s overly sweet, strawberry-scented shampoo into his palm, then began to lather it into Joseph's black locks. Bits of seaweed came off in his fingers as he worked. He slipped a palm behind Joseph's neck, guiding him further into the water until he was almost fully submerged. Clouds of sand and suds lifted from his hair. Robert swiped some rouge soap away from Joseph's closed (albeit vulnerable) eyes.

Outside, the rain fell heavy and demanding. Lightning lit up the otherwise dark bathroom every now and again, painting every surface in a sharp, split-second glow. Thunder crackled hard. Robert sat back on the bathroom tile with his knees bent against the tub. He frowned as he stared at Joseph’s limp, boring figure. Without someone there to prop him up, Joseph began slipping lower into the water, until he was submerged up to his eyes. Robert watched as he inhaled the suds. Joseph’s eyes flew open, and he began coughing violently. He lurched forward and hit his forehead on the faucet with a thwack. All the fitfulness seeped out of him as he sank back into the water, groaning in pain and clutching at his temples. His grey, far-off eyes rolled back into his head. It seemed he was out like a light for what would be, perhaps, the millionth time in the past hour alone.

Annoyed, Robert rolled onto his knees and yanked Joseph up by the front of his bangs, draping his lifeless torso over the edge of the tub. He reached into the water to pull the stopper, and watched as the filth swirled down the drain with a gurgle. He stood, wiped his damp hands on his shirt, and threw Kimberley’s towel over Joseph’s shivering body.

“R-Robert...Help me…,” Joseph croaked, his eyes half-open and pleading.

Robert rested his hands on his hips, staring down at the sorry sight. His mouth quirked in amusement. So many things about this were laughable, but the punchline was how easy it seemed to be to reduce Joseph into a pathetic, quivering mess. Haughty until needy, this one was. Robert nudged Joseph’s forehead back with the toe of his chuck-taylor, so that he could get a better look at his sad, sniveling face. Thick, fat tears rolled down Joseph’s pale cheeks, leaving wet paths behind. Joseph stared up at him with glazed eyes, his throat working with sobs.

“You’re kinda hot like this y’know…” Robert mused.

“I-I think I’m dying,” Joseph whimpered, staring up at him miserably. The thought seemed to upset him all over again -- fresh tears began pooling in his big, childish eyes.

“Aw shucks. You know just what to say to make a guy blush, huh?” Robert knelt, his eyes suddenly serious. “You aren’t dying. And you have me to thank, y’know?,” he murmured, peering at Joseph closely. He pressed the back of his hand to Joseph’s face, feeling the heat, the energy of all things alive, pulsing beneath his skin. He cupped Joseph’s cheek. Warmth pooled in his belly at the alarm in Joseph’s eyes.

“I rescued you. What do you say, Sephie?” he purred.

“Th-thank you,” Joseph stammered.

“Thank you what?”

“Thank you, Robert,” Joseph replied, his eyes falling.

“Good boy,” Robert grinned. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he pressed his lips to Joseph’s soft, cherubic cheek in a simple kiss. The salt and fear on Joseph’s skin tasted electric. Robert leaned back, wrapped the towel tighter across Joseph’s shoulders, and hoisted the trembling boy up into his arms.

Joseph, in his exhaustion, did not protest. He rested his head against Robert’s chest, ignoring the eerie lack of a heartbeat. The fabric of Robert’s shirt was surprisingly soft, and his hold felt oddly securing. Joseph knew he was supposed to feel frightened. Based on recent history, any time Robert appeared was sure to be a bad time. But Joseph found himself too drained to be defiant. He felt like he was hallucinating, and for all he knew, that was probably the case.

Robert carried him down the hall, navigating flawlessly in the dark. He nudged Kimberly's bedroom door open. Joseph winced as the hinges creaked loudly, but Kim seemed to have slept through the noise. He could hear her heavy, slow breathing.

“Stop shaking,” Robert hissed against his ear. Joseph didn’t answer. Irritated, Robert dropped Joseph onto his bed, smiling when Joseph cried out in surprise. He pressed his palm over Joseph’s mouth.

“Quiet, Sephie,” he murmured lowly. Joseph could feel the cadence of Robert’s voice against the side of his face, warm and controlling. “You don’t want to wake anyone up, do you?”

Joseph shook his head, his eyes going big. Robert removed his hand, and Joseph sucked in a heavy breath.

“Do you want me to get you some clothes?”” Robert asked softly, stroking Joseph’s jawline with his thumb. Joseph nodded, his eyes sliding to the side.

Robert bent to the foot of the bed and began digging through Joseph’s suitcase, muddying his meticulously folded t-shirts and shorts and jeans. He grabbed a pair of briefs and a sleep-shirt with long sleeves and a ringed collar.

“Sit up,” Robert instructed, and Joseph complied, allowing Robert to dress him even though it felt incredibly patronizing. He could feel his face burning, even in the dark, as Robert’s thumbs lingered over his hipbones as he helped him slip into his underwear. Robert’s fingers dug into the meat of his thigh as he guided his legs. The whole thing felt uncomfortably intimate… but not entirely unwelcome. Joseph felt dizzy, his head reeling in attempt to deal with the stimulation while running on such low energy. His mind felt fuzzy at the edges, and his tongue sat thick in his mouth.

A wave of pathetic longing rocked him. He hadn’t realized how much he ached for someone to touch him. Robert’s possessiveness was equal parts flattering and humiliating. Even if Robert slapped him to wake him up, he’d still tried to wake him in the first place. It matter more than being left to die. Which would have been nice, but these circumstances seemed to be second-best. It wasn’t like he deserved much better than this anyhow, but the ache for careful attention had bloomed in his chest, heavy and disheartening. Robert must’ve noticed the change in his demeanor just then. His mouth was quirked into a pensive smile, his eyes darting mischievously between Joseph’s lap and his face.

Joseph felt daring, not that there was much to lose anyhow. Robert’s mouth looked inviting, and his hands were still resting on Joseph’s hips. He felt a powerful, undeniable craving for affection. Without giving it much thought, Joseph darted forward and kissed Robert clumsily. Robert laughed audaciously against his mouth, and Joseph jerked back , his face burning in shame.

“Sephie...have you ever kissed anybody before?,” Robert asked, his eyes glittering darkly with laughter.

Joseph shook his head, mortified.

“Aw, don’t be upset now. It was funny.”

“That wasn’t exactly what I was going for…,” Joseph mumbled, refusing to look at him. His stomach panged, heavy with gloom.

“Well, c’mon. You at least deserve a decent time, if it’s your first kiss and all,” Robert murmured, tilting Joseph’s chin up to look at him. “Would you like a first kiss, Joseph?” he asked sweetly. Joseph blushed, the skin of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose turning a lovely shade of pink.

Taking that as a good enough answer, Robert kissed Joseph. His mouth moved with uncharacteristic gentleness, soft, oddly alive. Joseph could hardly collect his thoughts. There was only Robert’s hands, one clutching at his waist possessively, the other cupping the dip of his cheek. Joseph twisted his fingers into the fabric of Robert’s shirt, sighing against his kiss. Robert’s hand fell lower, squeezing Joseph’s thigh, grinning against Joseph’s mouth when Joseph elicited a needy sigh. He took the opportunity to be daring and slip a bit of tongue. Joseph mewled quietly, endearingly kitten-like. Robert could feel the sound on his tongue, hot and inviting. He pushed Joseph into the mattress, leaning over him so that he could take in every single detail of Joseph’s vulnerability.

It was almost… uncomfortable, the lack of control Robert felt. Joseph lay sprawled beneath him, the back of his hand flat against his forehead. His cheeks noticeably flushed, even in the dark. The glittering of his half-lidded eyes. They looked silver in this lighting, intense, inviting. Begging.

Joseph groaned, upset at how lengthy this pause seemed to be. Robert smiled despite himself. Joseph really was quite cute, in an unconventional way. His dark hair made for a lovely stark contrast against his face, and his eyes were always slanted with worry.

“You’re adorable,” Robert breathed, immediately regretting having said such a thought aloud.

“Don’t say stuff like that…,” Joseph mumbled, his eyes sliding to the side.

“Why?”

“It’s embarrassing,” Joseph answered, his voice soft with exhaustion. He shifted to the right, where the bed sat flush against the wall, curling into himself.

Robert pushed Joseph’s shoulder back, turning him over so that he had no choice but to look back up. Joseph’s eyes flicked up to study him.

Robert rolled his thumb against Joseph’s belly, right above the waistband of his briefs. He felt pensive with this random sense of awe that had caught him off guard. Joseph was… pretty. Long, fluttery eyelashes, a tiny button nose, pointed ears and soft, soft skin.

“St-stop looking at me like that,” Joseph stammered. Robert chuckled, dipping lower to press a kiss to the column of Joseph’s throat.

“Like what?,” he asked, his question humming against Joseph’s skin.

“You know what,” Joseph huffed.

Robert smirked, planting quiet, pensive kisses over Joseph’s right shoulder, enjoying the trembling mess of a reaction he seemed to be receiving. He slipped a hand back underneath Joseph’s crisp, clean t-shirt, splaying his fingers over the pliable, slight pudge of his stomach. He reached up, pulled Joseph closer by the nape of his neck, and kissed him deeply.

Joseph moved shakily in his inexperience, every slight shift wary, as if Robert might push him away. His body seemed to be ahead of his thoughts -- somewhere in the back of his head, he recognized that this was wrong, that Robert should be trapped behind a glass case, beneath stuffing and spooky stories and bullshit. Not this. Not… such a real, human manifestation. Though he kissed like a person, he acted like the devil himself. Confusing, manipulative, charming. Uncomfortably charming, yet terrifying at the drop of a hat.

Joseph used to think of himself as strong-willed, hard headed and difficult to sway. But clearly (and quickly) he had been proven wrong. All it took was a wolfish grin and some rogue touches to reduce him to an absolutely pitiful, subservient shell of a person. He could feel that wolfish grin against his tongue, could taste the power and the subsequent fear that it sparked in his subconscious. He wasn’t strong. He wasn’t powerful. He wasn’t anything when he was like this. Just a trainwreck of emotional instability. He could feel himself falling down the rabbit hole of emotional attachment. The solace of knowing Robert was tethered to this place, that he couldn’t speak to others even if he wanted to, made him feel safe -- and that was scary. He should be feeling the opposite of safe, being kissed thoughtless by an entity capable of things he could barely imagine.

But the feeling of being chosen was delicious. He felt like a marionette, flinging himself this way and that at the whim of a puppetmaster. Robert was kissing him deeper, his fingertips dug into his hips harder, hard enough to leave purple marks in their wake. Even in his pathetic lack of skill, Joseph felt in over his head, like he was watching himself from the outside, not quite making any of his decisions for himself. His mouth seemed to react on its own, sounds escaping from him that he immediately was dying to take back. He couldn’t breath, and for once, it wasn’t anxiety.

It felt good.

And then Robert pulled away, unexpectedly and certainly uncalled for. Joseph whined unabashedly, tugging at the edge of Robert’s sleeve in a feeble attempt to bring him close again. Robert looked down at him with an unreadable expression, though he looked oddly put-off. His hair stuck up in the back where Joseph had pulled at it, and his cheeks, though tan, were redder than usual. His eyes flickered from anger to fear to sadness and back again. Joseph blinked up at him, unaware of his own tousled appearance. Robert looked...pained, his eyes almost glassy, as if he were suddenly tearing up. Sadness was so out of place on his face that Joseph felt taken aback.

Robert touched Joseph’s face gently, his hand shaking. He shook his head, smiling sadly, and stood up.

Flustered and confused, Joseph pushed up onto his elbows. Robert left the room, his footsteps ghost-silent.

“R-Robert…?”

Joseph fell back against his pillow, utterly exhausted -- mentally, physically and emotionally. Too tired to make anything of the events that had take place over the past few hours. There was only the familiar pang of loneliness that encompassed most of his nights.

But tonight it was different. Not worse, but different.

It was abandonment. Something he didn’t have the emotional capacity to deal with.

So he allowed sleep to overtake him instead. Too tired to fight it.

Lead in my capillaries and arteries,

Sugar and spit in my veins,

Anger and pink in my sinews and calves,

Down feathers red with paint in my head,

Legs too heavy to lift from the ground,

Arms too heavy to lift to the sky,

Eyelids too heavy to see good sights,

Mouth pressed shut to hold back white lies,

Fingers curled around needles and thumbtacks,

Bees swarming in the intestines,

Upset,

Angered,

Provoked,

Partying,

Silver heart, valuable, but still not gilded,

Glass mind and bullet skull,

Shattered, dumb, moronic thoughts,

And an Ugly polyester soul.

"Pass the potatoes."

I pass the potatoes to Aunt Shelly, the one who never really liked me.

When I was twelve years old, I did something really bad, and she told me I did it for attention, though really I did it because there was nothing left to do. After that, I didn't stay over at my cousins' anymore.

And now that I'm seventeen and things are different (though not by much), I'm still able to look her in the eye and pass her the potatoes.

I watch her ladle them onto her plate. They smell heavenly, richly bathed in thick gravy, peppered with sprigs of fresh rosemary. Aunt Rebbeca's husband is a marvelous cook.

My mouth waters. But I'm not hungry.

Every year we sit around and we eat, and I'm the only one who feels bad and dirty. Everyone else is used to me, and that's what makes me feel the worst. The fact that they have come to expect this of me and it's normal to them.

I remember kissing Abby. Her mouth was soft and she held my face in her hands and her hair tickled when she leaned in. And even though it wasn't me she wanted to kiss, I was okay with being second because it was better than being my usual self, which was nothing.

And when I hung up my colors in my room my dad told me it was against his ethics and that I had to take it down. So I folded the flag up and put it in my closet. There was something ironic about it, and deeply infuriating.

To shove that part of me way back in, so that we could all eat dinner in silence and be thankful that I kept quiet about my thoughts and my heart and my anger and my feelings and the disrespect that scorched my skin.

And it wasn't a secret that I had no secrets anymore. And sometimes I still wish I kept quiet about it.

The ceiling was white and he stared at it for 48 hours straight,

And in the morning he felt indifferent, and he packed his bags, and he went to school, and everything was the same.

She said she understood.

And she laid on her back,

And the mattress was crinkly.

And she stared at the ceiling.

And it was white.

And he visited her because he thought he understood.

He told her, "nobody has understood before, quite like you."

And when the visiting hour was up, he left.

And when her time was up, she left.

They put all her things in a plastic drawstring bag.

There were shoes and a notebook and a sweater.

And these things walked with her, talked with her, and kept her warm.

And three thousand miles across the country,

She settled into her own bed,

And she stared at the white of her ceiling,

For 48 hours straight.

And after that,

He didn't talk much to her,

And she didn't say much to him,

And life went on.

The light is tired,

The light is hungry,

The light is fading,

Waiting,

For somebody new to flip the switch,

The bulb is burnt out and the filament is torn,

The dust of time is bitter and worn,

The dullness of thought is a child stillborn. 

Safety pins and scotch tape can't really hold together,

Every single time I felt I was falling apart,

Each time I stared at the white of the ceiling,

Acting like the realization was new,

That I was done.

There were three times I felt most alone in this world:

Within the laughter of others,

There was something soft spinning and lifeless,

The kindness of it never reaching the creases of their eyes.

And at parties celebrating things I was supposed to care for,

And I noticed I couldn't quite bring myself to care at all.

But I felt most alone,

Out of all these things,

In the knowledge that I am not the only one.