The Treehouse [BxB]

twenty

"How are River's parents?" Mickey asked from across the dinner table.

Dominique hesitated for a moment, "They're okay." She replied, "They're still...well, struggling. Understandably."

"Yeah." Mickey murmured in agreement. He didn't know what else to say. They had lost their son. That's a pain unimaginable to most parents.

"Are you going to lots of parties?" Audre interjected, pushing her food around with her cutlery in disinterest.

"Yeah, some."

"Have you got a girlfriend?"

He laughed, "No."

"Audre." Dominique looked at her, then back at Mickey, "Your brother has something to tell you."

She glanced at her big brother curiously, and Mickey sighed, "Yeah, uh..." He cleared his throat awkwardly, "I was telling Mum earlier about how I think I'm bisexual."

"Oh." She nodded, prodding her food with her fork, "So, you like boys and girls?"

"Yeah."

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Nope."

"You should really try and stick to girls, Mickey." She told him authoritatively, "Boys are really gross."

"Yeah, they are, aren't they?" He agreed.

After dinner, he snuggled up on the sofa with his family, and they watched an old film. Audre fell asleep on Mickey's shoulder, and he brushed his fingers through her hair affectionately. He missed this. The simple things, like watching films and eating dinner together as a family. He loved university, but nothing would ever compare to this.

His Mother and sister eventually retired to bed but Mickey remained on the sofa, the TV flickering dimly in the background as he worked on his laptop, writing out notes from his lectures. When his eyes grew blurry with sleep, he shut the laptop, turned off the TV, and headed up to his bedroom.

Moonlight filtered through the blinds as he changed into an old t-shirt and stripped out of his trousers. He grabbed the pile of post of his desk, and sat on the end of his bed as he flicked through it. It was mostly junk mail and bank statements, just as he had suspected. Until he got to the last envelope, and instantly recognised the handwriting.

He tore it open with shaking hands. It was a postcard. On one side was a picture of a sparkling blue lake surrounded by tall mountains and green trees. On the other side, there was an address, and two words written beneath it.

I'm okay.

Mickey felt so dizzy he almost passed out, rereading those two words over and over again.

I'm okay.

River was okay. He was alive. He was safe.

Mickey studied the address.

He was in Italy.

River was okay. He was alive. He was safe. He was in Italy.

Mickey didn't know whether to laugh or cry, and so he did both, hugging the postcard to his chest as tears slipped down his cheeks. Relief washed over his tense body, and the weight that had been holding him down for over a year was finally lifted. River was okay. Nothing else mattered anymore because River was okay.

He wondered how long the postcard had been sitting on his desk, waiting for his return. It could have been there for weeks. Or maybe only a day.

He looked at it again, this time at the photo. The scenery was vast and gorgeous, full of sunlight and happiness. He turned it over, scanned the address, then typed the name of the town into google, and pressed search.

It was a small town in Northern Italy. The photos online showed it to be a place of beauty; full of olive trees, cloudy mountains, sparkling lakes, and terracotta roofed houses. It looked warm. River liked the heat.

He hoped that River was happy there.

Then, without a moment of hesitation, he started searching for flights. There was one leaving in two days. It was cheap, probably due to the time of year. He could tell his family he was going back to uni, and tell his uni friends he was staying at home for a few extra days. Plus, he only had a couple of lectures scheduled this week — he could easily skip them, and ask someone to send him the notes he missed.

Mickey finally knew where River was. He had to see him. He needed to see him.

He booked the flight.

And then, he fell asleep, hugging the postcard to his chest. And for the first time in over a year, he slept soundly.

He spent the next two days with his Mother and sister, relaxing, chatting, eating. He walked to the skatepark one day. He wasn't sure why. It was almost subconscious. And maybe, deep down, he was hoping to see Riley there. Just to lay his eyes on her and know that she was doing well. But he knew she wouldn't be there; she was on a gap year, travelling around Southeast Asia.

When he got there, it was full of strangers. A new generation of skaters, halfway to the point of developing nicotine addictions and desperate desires to be seen as 'cool'.

On his way back, he walked past the petrol station. He couldn't help himself.

He peeked through the window as he passed and saw a middle aged woman working behind the counter. He didn't know what he expected. Of course Casey wouldn't be there; he'd been arrested.

Mickey wondered how River would react if he knew that Casey was in police custody. Would be be relieved? Or would he be upset to find out that Casey had hurt so many more people?

He remembered that day, mid-August, beneath the sunshine, standing outside the petrol station with bloody hands and bruised knuckles. The feeling of burning hot anger that roared in his chest. The feeling of possessiveness he held over River. It was scary. He was scared of himself, of confronting what he was truly capable of.

When Mickey got home, he helped his sister with her homework, and then, he helped her bake a cake. Apparently, baking was Audre's new hobby. She wasn't very good at it, and neither was Mickey. They made a mess, the cake came out burnt, and their Mother scolded them for wasting so many ingredients.

The next day, Mickey went over to River's house. When River's Mother opened the door, she gave Mickey a cuddle, hugging him as if he were her own son. In a way, he was the next best thing. She invited him in, made him a hot chocolate, and offered him a snack. They sat at the table, Marly's head resting in Mickey's lap as he scratched her behind her ear, and Mickey found that he could hardly bring himself to look at River's Mother. Her eyes were too similar. It was painful.

She asked him about university, about his course, about his new friends. He told her everything. He knew she was lonely. And she missed her son. Of course she missed her son. Who wouldn't?

He wanted to tell her about the postcard. To tell her that River had contacted him. That he was safe. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed them. It was cruel, and it was horribly selfish, but he wanted to keep this piece of information all to himself. He needed to. He couldn't explain it, but he just needed to.

And plus, he figured that if River wanted people to know where he was, he would have told them himself.

That night, he crawled up the ladder to the treehouse, and climbed into the little wooden shelter. It felt bigger when he was up there alone. It was too spacious for one person. He looked down at the neighbourhood below, and even though he lived in a city now, he still felt as though Axminster was the whole wide world, and he was sitting right on top of it. He stayed there until the cold weather reached his bones and he began to tremble and shake. Then, he climbed down, went back to his bedroom, and began to pack.

He had his last family dinner with his Mother and sister that night, and the next morning, his Mother drove him to the train station. She gave him a big hug, told him she couldn't wait to see him again at Christmas, and then she drove away.

But instead of getting on a train, Mickey called a taxi.

And with his passport in one pocket, and River's postcard in the other, the taxi drove him to the airport.

END OF PART THREE