The Perfect Act

Addled

THE PERFECT ACT

Four: Addled

Ivar sat bent over, elbows resting on his knees. His foot tapped involuntarily at rapid speed, but he was too focused on the dried blood on his hands to notice. Tearstains marked his face, accompanied by puffy, red eyes.

He waited for his parents; Arlen was finally being checked up after hours of relentless questioning. He was sent back and forth between officers, explaining his side of the story; his open wounds yelling for medical attention.

The doctors were almost as reluctant to help Arlen as the police were, asking the same questions over and over; disregarding any information the moment Arlen said he was unsure.

"They attacked us." Arlen had shouted down the halls. The police looked at him as if he was causing unnecessary trouble.

"Why would anybody just randomly attack you? This doesn't make sense." The officer debated, his partner nodding along. Ivar had sat a few feet away, listening intently at the same details for the fourth time.

"I already told you," Arlen shouted in frustration, almost pulling at his hair. "They were saying homophobic stuff!" It was the second time Arlen had told them what happened, their attentiveness disappearing the moment they found out Arlen was gay.

"You told us the deceased wasn't your boyfriend, so why would they do that? Are you sure you're not lying? Weren't you doing something...inappropriate?" The officer seemed very uncomfortable with his questioning, moving away from Arlen.

"It wasn't like that!" Arlen shouted manically. Ailey had tried to calm her brother down, pushing him to walk away. He paced back and forth between Ivar and the cops, tears melting away the crusted blood on his face. Ivar stood up and hugged the distraught man, feeling the strong guy crumble again. "It wasn't like that," Arlen whispered into Ivar's jacket.

"I know, I know." Was all Ivar could muster. He looked at Ailey, she was still trying to talk to the cops, but like Arlen, they twisted all her words. They looked over at Ivar and Arlen on the ground, their faces mirroring revulsion.

"Do you need help?" Ivar looked up to see a tiny nurse with a kind face. He nodded his head and helped Arlen up. "Let's get you sorted out." She spoke up, helping Arlen into a different room. That was the only nurse that stepped up and helped with Arlen's wounds that night; another face that coaxed Ivar to help the siblings.

Ailey ran after her brother, the realization that the cops weren't going to listen to their side of the story following her. With the uncomfortable eyes of the police on Ivar, he retreated and rested his elbows on his knees; that's when he first noticed the blood. He tried to roughly wipe it off against his jeans; the idea that it could be his dead brother's nauseating him.

***

"Ivar?" He looked up at Mike, shrugging, unaware of what was being said.

"What were you thinking about?" He shook his head, resting his chin on his knuckles. A new swollen bruise made it uncomfortable, so he changed to the other side, resting his jaw on his knuckle. It was still uncomfortable, so he sat back, folded his arms and huffed as they connected with a tender spot.

"Ivar...Your parents aren't listening; it's just us. You can tell me what is going on." He sighed, looking at Mike's face. His beard had little stubble now; maybe he was late this morning? Ivar thought. He looked anywhere but at the intense stare that the man offered. By now Ivar had already memorized the man's entire face – almost his entire face. There were barely any words spoken from Ivar's long stretches of silence. What would his parents do anyway?