Chapter Thirty-Six - Ethan Hernandez & Jason Havelock
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Ethan Hernandez & Jason Havelock
THE SMALL DINER near campus was deserted. The hum of classic rock and a dishwasher somewhere in the back mingled together. Jason and Ethan sat in a corner booth when a tired middle-aged woman dropped a slice of chocolate mousse pie off, plates of half-eaten burgers and fries between them.
Outside, the night pressed against the window, condensation and frost formed, cold and dark.
Jason leaned and examined the pie, resting his elbows on the table. “This looked much more appetizing on the menu.”
Ethan let out a hollow chuckle. He stared out the window, his stomach roiling.
“So, what happened in there?” Jason asked, slicing off a piece of not-quite-thawed-enough pie.
Ethan shrugged, “He tested me for precognitive attunements. And then asked me about my mom and dad.”
Jason pulled the fork slowly to his lips, “Oh. How was that?”
Asako’s words had echoed in his head since their coffee: How well do you really know him, Jason? He struggled to admit it, but the more the question lingered, the more uneasy he felt. The truth of it was — he didn’t know much about Ethan at all. Not much about his past, at least.
Jason knew who he was now — kind, intelligent, with a sharp sense of humor, hardworking, and caring. He was thoughtful and attentive in a way that made Jason feel seen and understood. But when it came to anything before SSU, Ethan was sealed up tighter than a bank vault.
Jason picked at the slice of pie as he watched Ethan. He thought about all the times he’d tried to ask Ethan about his childhood. The answers always came in short, but polite deflections. “It wasn’t great, but I got through it.” Or, “I don’t really dwell in the past.” Ethan had a way of turning the conversation away from himself and back onto Jason.
Jason wondered if he should have pushed more. Ethan wasn’t fragile exactly — surviving these migraines and the news of these attunements showed him a lot of Ethan’s resilience. But Jason had seen glimpses of Ethan’s mood shifting like a cloud passing over the sun. He’d grow quiet, and distant, his gaze would fix on something Jason couldn’t see. When Jason asked if anything was wrong, Ethan would simply shake his head, smile weakly, and deflect.
Jason and Ethan rarely fought, which at first, Jason thought was a good thing. Disagreements were usually resolved quickly, and Ethan often capitulated before things could escalate. Jason chalked it up to Ethan’s childhood — years of having new households, new rules, and new people. Compromised must have been second nature to him by now. But, thinking back, Jason couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Was his tendency to acquiesce less about keeping the peace and more about self-preservation? Had he learned to give in to avoid conflict?
The more Jason lingered on the thought, the more he realized Ethan must carry so much inside. And do it alone. He knew Ethan had spent most of his younger years having no one stable to rely on.
Jason remembered passing comments about “coping mechanisms” and “boundaries,” Jason realized how much time he must have spent in therapy. But what Jason didn’t know — the gaps between those brief glimpses — seemed vast and impenetrable.
Jason sighed, taking another bite of the pie. The icy mousse is crunchy and cold. Ethan wasn’t going to open up without Jason’s help. Now more than ever Ethan was carrying the weight on his back and Jason wanted to be there to help hold him up. If Ethan wasn’t going to let him in, maybe Jason would just have to keep knocking until he opened up.
“Your parents?” Jason repeated.
Ethan’s eyes looked dark, and tired. “Yeah, it was honestly a lot.”
Jason fidgeted at the awkward pause as if waiting for him to say more, “Like he asked you to remember your parents?”
“It was more like he asked me to recall my parent's memories. He wanted to push and see how far back I could recall other’s memories. I was able to tap into my mother’s memories, but my dad’s were blocked. Almost like a wall had been built around them. It was weird. I blew up the light bulbs on his hypnotizing light bar thing,” Ethan said, taking a small sip from a soft drink.
A bolt of excitement shot through Jason at Ethan’s opening up, but Jason wanted to avoid any missteps, so he waited. Ethan rubbed his temples.
“Did Bellamy have much to say about it?” Jason asked, trying to seem casual.
“Not much. Just that we are making progress. And that I need to have another session with him,” Ethan said flatly. He continued looking outside noticing a white sedan parked across the street, his head twinged with a headache as he twirled the straw in his glass absently.
Jason’s lips thinned, “We need to take Bellamy seriously. He knows more about this than we do.”
Ethan’s eyes met Jason’s, his face was pale, dark circles under his eyes betraying his exhaustion, “You don’t think I know that? It’s my brain, Jason. My head feels like it’s splitting open every time someone thinks too loud or I’m forced to think someone else’s thoughts.”
“I’m not saying it’s not hard for you, “ Jason said, carefully, “But we’re in this together. Bellamy — well he might be our best shot at figuring this out.”
Ethan slammed his hand on the table, startling Jason. The silverware rattled against the plates. “You don’t get it, Jason! He doesn’t care about helping me. He cares about his research. He views me as some…some kind of specimen and I don’t need to be a mindreader to see that.”
Jason opened his mouth to respond, but a fork on the table suddenly slid across the surface as if tugged by an invisible string. Ethan’s eyes widened and froze, glancing at the utensil.
“I’ve been used by people my whole life! I know an opportunist when I see one. He wants me for something more than to help me control this,” Ethan’s voice escalated, his tone sharp.
The table began to shake, and the plates rattled.
As if reacting to his outburst, a plate on the table shot forward, shattering against the booth’s edge. Jason flinched, feeling a sharp sting on his hand. He pulled back, blood welled up from a thin slice on his palm.
“Damn it, Ethan!” Jason exclaimed, clutching his hands.
Ethan’s breath came in short, ragged gasps as he stared at the broken plate and the blood on Jason’s hand. “I…I didn’t mean—”
“I know you didn’t mean it,” Jason snapped, grabbing a handful of napkins from the dispenser, “But this is why we need Bellamy’s help. You have to learn to control this… whatever this is.”
Jason coddled his hand against his chest, the thin diner napkins soaked with crimson blood.
Ethan’s eyes flashed with anger, tears welling up. “You think I don’t know that? Do you think I want to be this…this lab experiment? I can’t even have dinner with my boyfriend without something happening.”
The table began rattling again, the forks sliding back and forth on the table.
Jason shook his head, his expression hardening, “I can’t keep doing this if you won’t let me help you.”
Immediately, Jason grabbed his coat and stood up from the booth, he grabbed a wad of cash from his pocket, throwing it on the table. “Ethan, what do I have to do to make you realize you’re not alone? You can’t keep pushing people away.”
Jason walked towards the door, and out into the night.
“Jason, wait—” Ethan called after him, but Jason was already gone, the bell of the door jingled as it slammed shut.
Ethan slumped back into the booth, his head in his hands. The diner was silent now, except for the faint hum of the radio playing another classic rock song. A waitress peered nervously from behind the counter, her wide eyes darting to the broken plate and spilled food.
“I’m sorry,” Ethan murmured, though he wasn’t sure if he was apologizing to her, to Jason, or himself.