While the World Ends Around Us (Make Believe With Me)

Two sides in a storm seek control by contradiction

I came to the place that I try to find division
Two sides in a storm seek control by contradiction
I want to feel alive, I want to feel alive
I want to feel alive, I want to feel alive
- I Want to Feel Alive // The Lighthouse and the Whaler

Lucas throws himself onto his mattress, the slam from his door echoing in his head. He buries his face in his pillow, swallowing with a dry throat, and wills himself not to cry in case his dad comes in to yell some more. Lucas can feel himself shaking, trembling, his unsteady breath muffled the pillow, his fingers clutching at the thin fabric of the pillowcase.

He blocks out the sunlight, wishing for the sky to darken, and he loses track of time, laying there and waiting. He wishes he could fall asleep, but even in the deafening silence of his room, even with his eyes shut tight and the pillow blocking any kind of light, he can't. His heart is still pounding, and he can hear it, thudding like rhythmic thunder in his ears.

He can hear his door swing open even with the ends of the pillow held over his ears and he turns his head without really lifting it, just barely able to see over his shoulder. It's still mostly light.

"I'm going out," his dad says in a gruff voice, and instead of responding, Lucas turns his head back, closing his eyes. His dad clicks his tongue and huffs, and Lucas can imagine him rolling his eyes that way he does, with no playfulness or simple annoyance in them, just anger. Lucas half expects to hear a sharp "Don't ignore me," but a few seconds later, the front door shuts loudly. Lucas groans into the pillow forcefully, his body tensing with withheld anger.

After a second, he gets up quickly, stumbling as he lifts himself off his mattress, and leaves his room, going through the short hallway to every door his dad left open and slamming them, as hard as he wants, as hard as he can, his brows pulled together with concentration and fury. He mumbles quietly.

"Fuck you."

Slam.

"Fuck you."

Slam.

"Fuck you."

Slam.

At first, it's to his dad, but as the kitchen door shuts with a bang, a part of him thinks it's to the apartment. It's like he's another thing, left at the bottom of a cardboard moving box, forgotten about. When he gets back to his room, after he swings the door shut with as much strength as his arm can manage, he realises he's crying.

Tears are streaming down his face, and he turns away from the door, wiping his face harshly enough that the fabric of his sleeves makes his cheeks sting.

"It's fine," he says to himself quietly, crossing the small room to open his window before picking his laptop up from a box and tossing it onto his mattress. He sniffs, wiping his eyes again, and sighs as he falls onto his bed. He feels calmer, but he can still feel his heart beating in his chest like it's right up against his skin. He takes another shaky breath as he turns his laptop on, and then as it loads, he reaches behind himself, sliding a hand between the mattress and the wall until he finds the packet of weed.

After lighting a pre-rolled joint and carefully hiding the packet in its home, Lucas opens his emails, leaning back against the wall after propping a pillow up. There are a few notifications about new math assignments (Lucas ignores them, rolling his eyes), and an email from Ms Peeters, he opens it, inhaling the smoke and holding it in his lungs until he exhales.

Hi, Lucas!

Lucas would smile if he had it in him. Ms Peeters is the only teacher thus far to appear so friendly, actually talking to him rather than acknowledging his presence for the sake of attendance and then moving on with the lesson after he joins the meeting. Not to mention that when she addressed him, it was Lucas and not Mr Van der Heijden. He hates that. That's what people call his dad.

I moved around a bit when I was your age and I know how hard it can be, but I can't imagine it at a time like this. I know it's hard making friends in new places and it must be even harder when you can't see them face to face, but there are some really good kids at this school and in your class. If you want to try and get to know some people, here are the emails to everyone in our class! (And if you ever have any questions or need any help, feel free to let me know) ☺
- Ms Peeters

Lucas takes another drag of the joint, letting the smoke fog his brain, and he scrolls, finding a list of names and email addresses.

Liam Janssens
Luciana Maes
Elena Lambert
Arthur van Damme
Louis Mathieu

Lucas rests his head against the wall, watching the names scroll by, remembering a few from class, from seeing the names under the student' boxes. Olivia de Coster had had a tye-dyed tapestry behind her head. Mohamed Abadi wore thick glasses and his room was dim. Hoa van der Walle had a cat.

He stays like this, smoking and scrolling, reading every name, remembering every student, until-

Jens Stoffels

Lucas stops, taking the joint out of his mouth and exhaling the smoke, reading the name again. A face flashes in his head, a face he saw in class. A pretty face.

The corner of Lucas's mouth quirks like he's about to smile, and he leans back, looking from the name to the wall in front of him. He remembers him clearest, because it took a little while to stop looking at him. He, Jens, tapped a pencil on his face while he looked at the screen, while he watched Ms Peeters talk, while he read the slide she'd presented. He'd smiled while Lucas chatted with Ms Peeters, a soft smile. There were fairy lights on the wall above his head.

Without thinking, Lucas is copying Jens's email address and pasting it in a new draft. But he stops when it's time to actually write it, taking a slow drag off the joint as he stares at the blinking curser.

He bites his lip as he exhales the smoke through his nose, wiggling the joint back and forth between his fingers as his brow furrows. He doesn't really know how to talk to someone other than Kes and them. He hasn't had to in a while.

He lets his head fall back, hitting the wall lightly, and lifts the joint to his mouth, taking in a deep breath before holding it, lifting his head, the joint dangling from his mouth as he types.

He hits send without letting himself read over it again, pushing the laptop away and turning to look out the window. He raised the blinds earlier today. (He hates the blinds. He wishes he could have curtains. If he could, he would get yellow, a soft summer-y, morning yellow. Or he'd buy several different colours and change them every once in a while.) The sun is starting to go down and the sky has turned pink, the clouds wispy, floating over the buildings. It's quiet.

A breeze comes in from the window, blowing smoke back into his face, and he shuts his eyes.

When he opens them the sky looks like it's glowing, and he's colder, his room having darkened, the wind having sped up. He shuts his window before relighting the burnt down joint, taking in a breath as he opens his laptop again, ready to open Netflix, or anything that will make some noise in his nearly echoing room. He pauses, his email inbox still open, and his heart stutters in his chest when he sees Jens's name.

Jens Stoffels

He almost whispers it to himself, looking over the name again. He'd almost forgotten he'd emailed him, and certainly wasn't expecting a response so soon. He opens it hesitantly, exhaling smoke in front of himself.

hi! youre rly lucky i was doing homework i probably wouldnt have seen this until like next week
but if you text me ill probably respond a lot sooner :)

Under the message is a phone number, and Lucas almost drops the joint in his rush to grab his phone, sticking it between his lips as he leans across the mattress to where the phone is plugged into the wall. He scrambles to add a new contact (just Jens; he might change it later. Most of his contacts have emojis or nicknames, like Kes💩 and Ies( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)), but he freezes when his fingers are over the keyboard, ready to text him, just like when he was sending the email. He sucks in a drag from the forgotten joint, reaching up and taking it from his mouth, looking at the emails. Jens seems nice enough. Friendly. And the way he smiled during class...

Lucas places the joint between his lips again as he types.

hey this is lucas :)