Slate | ✓

TWENTY-ONE | ATHENA

Through the lens of my camera, Charlie Slate looks like someone with authority. He and Lizzie pose at the kitchen table. She sits as he stands with a hand on the back of her chair. They look tough, like they've both seen some shit. 

I like this version of Charlie better— there's little ambiguity to it. No past, no future. For once, I don't have to think about what's being omitted, I can just accept what I see for what is. If I don't like what I see, I can change it. I can edit, I can delete, I can ask them to say cheese and shatter the whole illusion. Art makes life a lot fucking easier, and I'm in control here.

I stretch out my neck as I continue to snap pictures. I've discovered that Will's bed is only slightly better than John's in terms of not being a fucking rock. Though, it's done little to help my poor back. When I complained about it over breakfast, Annie rolled her eyes and said I'm worse than the princess and the pea.

I flipped her the finger once her back was turned. It made me feel a little better.

I'm busy clicking through the scroll of pictures when the front door opens, and I twist around to see John enter. He urgently crosses the room as Darcy trails behind. John dresses like he just rolled out of bed, but his shoes are wet from outside and his hands ball in the front pocket of his hoodie. He's clearly tired. Darcy, too. They both look dead on their feet. "Where's Victor?" John addresses me without acknowledging Charlie or Lizzie.

"He's around." I glance between the two of them. "How'd your interview go, Darcy?"

"Victor!" John yells, agitated.  

"I think it went well. I should know if I got the job by tomorrow." As Darcy tells me this his hand rises to John's upper back. He tries to keep my brother steady. 

Charlie makes his way around the table to stand across from us. Everything about him screams uncertainty. 

Darcy fixes Charlie with a cold look. "You used to wear your hair long," he says, after a long pause.

"I guess I did." Charlie's hand absently rises to rub against his shaved head. "It's good to see you."

Darcy blinks at him. "Can't say the same."

"You're sure he's here, Athena?" John presses.

"Yeah," I nod, "he was just—" I cut myself off as Victor walks in from the hallway with Annie a step behind him. Both look alarmed. 

Victor pauses where he stands when his chalk grey eyes fall on John and Darcy. His lips part with an unspoken question.

John's attention focuses on Victor as his shoulders bunch up despite Darcy's hand.  "I need to talk to you."

"Okay." Victor looks at John over his reading glasses. "Right now?"

Obviously.

John nods at him. His face is ultra-alert despite the exhaustion. "I went to go see Will this morning, and he's not doing so well."

The weariness leaves Victor's face. It's replaced entirely with concern. "He's with his friend?"

"Yeah," John says."He's hurting. I think he's in the middle of a depressive episode, but I also think you know that already." His words are sharp. "The panic attacks I just learned about, so I don't know how long he's been trying to deal with that by himself."

"John—" I speak up before I even know what I need to say. I have some half-baked sense of duty, but I just don't know to what. Will? Victor? Some inclination that this isn't something that should be said?