Supernovas & Escapism

Chapter Thirty-Eight

      Conflict wells up tight in my chest.

     On the one hand, I want to know everything about Xavier. I want to know what his hopes are, and what he fears. I want to know what wakes him up in the middle of the night and the first thing he thinks of when he wakes up. I want to know every insignificant detail that has led to the creation of Xavier Sutton.

     But on the other hand, I don't want to know. Knowing will shatter this illusion that I've built up and make whatever this is feel more real. As selfish as it is to want to be with him, it is equally as selfish to try and shun him because I can't cope.

     Xavier is as much an unsolved puzzle to me, as I am to him. Upfront he's uncomplicated but the more you decide to dig, the more nuanced he decides to become. He's like an onion—all layered and ready to make you cry at any moment.

     Shrek analogies aside, he has the face of a serious man locked into his features right now.

     And I'm feeling a little like an idiot because all I can do is grimace back at him with this poser half-smile. I feel like such a fraud right now. Sure, we talk, but all the talking we do is relatively on-the-surface sort of stuff.

     Out of nowhere, familiar words reach out and grab me by the throat.

     "Has he told you what happened? The last week of junior year."

     Ever since that conversation, I'd been doing my best to try to avoid the question. Mostly it felt that as soon as the words were out in the open, that Xavier would feel dependent on me. But now that he was ready to bring it all up by himself without needing to be pressured, it made me feel light-headed.

     This existent thing of ours was only told through the shadows of the night. We were there for each other, but only in the present.

     How could I even begin to comfort Xavier on things that I was so clueless about.

     This is me though; unrealistically selfish in spite of all the progress made. It's not that I didn't want to be there for him. I did. Believe you me, I really wanted to reach over and cup his face and reassure him that things would be fine.

     Without saying a word, I sigh, my chest heaving out an uncomfortable amount of air.

     The cold steel of the car sends a shiver up my side as Xavier scoots in closer, grasping my hand tighter and tighter with every inch he clears. His dark eyes look sad, almost glassy. I'm positive if I squint hard enough I would see my own reflection—hesitant and feigning sympathy the best way that it could.

     Taking a moment, I manage to swallow down some of that retched pride that has built in my throat. All it takes is four words to set us on a new course.

     "Tell me about her," I say, doing my best to hold his gaze whilst wanting to look away the entire time.

     My need to look from him probably stemmed from my natural instinct to things I feared. I'd spent so long trying to look at the ground, or look at the sky, that just looking at people became near impossible, especially when they had so much to share.

     The times I did look up, there awaited only a cold, hard fistful of reality.

     Xavier's normally sharp features seem to melt a little. It feels like If I reached across the small gap, I could sculpt his face into a smile. "She was so unlike my dad," he starts, his eyes looking away from mine.

     As much as I don't want to have this heavy conversation, I can stand the thought of him turning away from me even less so. Without even thinking, I'm lending my hand across to brush against his chin, softly turning him so he is facing me. This façade of a smile that I'm wearing seems to bolden into a genuine smile.

     "The definition of a perfect mom," he says in a voice that's so soft that it almost get's lost behind the beautiful alto voice that's crooning from his car stereo. Small tracks run down the length of his face, his cheeks flushing ever so slightly. "I mean she wasn't perfect, but she was mine, you know?" His voice is cracking and I feel my heart skipping a few beats every time I hear him strain his lips across a word.

     The tears on his face fell so slow that by the time I'd thumbed them away, they felt like nothing more than drops of dew.

     Part of me wanted to cry for him. But this was something he needed to do. He'd said so himself. You can't go from an overly emotional kid to one who shuts off the emotional dam without there being some sort of backlash.

     I pushed my own body against the car to come closer to where he was. My forehead was pressed against his and all at once I could feel that magnetic heat, threatening to draw our bodies closer. However, in moments like these, even the tiniest bit of restraint was going to do a whole world of good.

     "Hey." I wrapped a free hand behind his head, pushing it closer and tighter against my own. "I'm right here," I reassured. "We don't need to do this."

     Slowly, his dark eyes creeped back to mines once more.

     He sniffed once, giving me this weak smile that made me want to just take him home. "Yeah Garth, I kind of need to."

     With a slow nod, the words left my mouth so gentle that for a few moments afterwards, I'm not even sure I asked the question. "What happened to her?"

     "Drunk driver," he said without missing a beat, sniffing again. His words showed a stoicism that I would have expected. The picture on his face was a different matter altogether

     The words crashed into me, a wince drawing on my face. But he wasn't done.

     "She was the one driving," he said slowly, closing his eyes against the harshness of the night. "All her life she was sick, but not in the way we know."

     All at once, my stomach drops and I want to throw up. People always see death as this clean-cut thing, even when it's the furthest thing from. But this, this comes under that classification of messy.

     She left everyone behind. In one moment, she was here and the next she wasn't. Her own sickness overwhelmed her to the point where all it took was a tragic accident to end it all. Whilst addiction was not the bullet in the chamber of her life, it was what had pulled the trigger at the end of everything.

     Xavier's body shook against mines and like an idiot I didn't know what to do.

     It all made sense. All of that anger, all of that bitterness that raged inside him. Why his mother only seemed to be a ghost in the family that had apparently loved her.

     Only when he started weeping these heavy sobs did I kick into gear. Pulling him in tighter, I let his head rest against my chest, my arms struggling to wrap around his much larger frame. One hand remained still against the nape of his neck, whilst my other hand rubbed through the back of his short-cropped hair.

     My head tilted down to meet his, kissing against the top of his head and breathing in so much of him that I almost feel like crying myself.

     But I didn't do that.

     This was his moment, and he needed to get everything out of his system. With all that anger latched inside him, what he needed more than anything was to let go.

     And for once, I wanted to be there for him when he untethered himself.

     So I hold Xavier there, even as the moon decides to descend on the skyline and bring about a brand new day.