Orange Crush

Chapter 1 - Real

***ALEX***

Last time Jesus died, they made a public spectacle out of it as only the bloody Romans could. And then, when he quote-unquote "breathed his last" or "gave up his spirit," depending on whose Gospel you're reading, all those present who'd been watching made such a show of expressing sorrow and regret. Performative fucks.

That's how I remember it from the last time I was at church on Easter weekend, anyway. Can't remember exactly, though I'm pretty sure it was before Gabe came out. That was the point where I stopped going to church regularly out of solidarity with him, because he wanted to delve more into his demonic and gay sides...and you already knew that. Maybe not all of it, because that's not the story I've been here to tell all this time. It's barely even my story to tell anyway.

No, but the point is that Jesus died and so few wept genuine tears for him two thousand years ago. I believe it happened. I may be a lapsed, even ex, Catholic, but I still believe. Though I more than believe in the death I saw right before Christmas. I know it happened, and again, few are genuinely crying for him. In the months since then, I've tried to keep my chin up. I've tried to keep a smile on my face. I've tried to feign interest in the studies that, increasingly, I've felt are taking me nowhere.

But I haven't stopped crying myself to sleep every night.

Congratulations, Elliot Graziadei. You finally found the one death that leaves me the most broken I've ever been. And you want me to believe you made me broken as I am, don't you? Autistic and increasingly prone to anger and all that bullshit. And yes, I blame you. You and all your omnipotence, and yet you sacrifice your son? Again? It didn't hurt enough the first time? Or did it hurt at all?

It didn't, did it?

I bet it didn't, you heartless sack of shit.

"Alex?" Mom opens my door and takes one look at me before averting her eyes. And, no doubt, wishing she could rewind the last couple of seconds and not have to remember seeing me in my underwear. Not that she hasn't seen me in less - she's my mom, after all - but after a certain age, my body is really not meant for her consumption anymore. Even if it's inadvertent.

Oh yeah, that's why I was thinking about Easter. Mom's about to go to church.

"I'll start making lunch soon, I promise," I tell her.

"And I told you we were gonna have Panda," Mom responds. "You sure you don't wanna come with me?"

I shake my head. "Sorry. That ship has sailed."

Mom turns around, and I get off my bed, padding around my room to put my clothes on. Not exactly my Sunday best, but such a thing has never graced my wardrobe. I had a tux for prom last year, but that was a rental, so it doesn't count. Also, I may have stepped on it once or twice after throwing all its component parts all over the floor in that Bearville hotel room-

"You don't need to think of that to get me out the door," Mom says with a snicker. "Still, though, Alex...I do feel like you not going to church-"

"What? Empowers Elliot to strike me down sooner and harder?"

"If you wanna believe that's what he wants to do." She shrugs, waiting for me to finish dressing myself completely before I give her a kiss goodbye. "It's your life, Alex. Make the most of it."

I put on my speaker set and attach it to my phone just in time to play the very opening of "Spaced Out." "'Yeah. Wulf.'"

"It always gets me how much that Cornish Hen guy reminds me of Gabe." She may be my mom, but sometimes she's damn good at dad jokes.