Chapter Seventeen #2
I don’t know what I was expecting once I reached the rooftop, but it wasn’t as unremarkable as this.
A flat concrete expanse dotted with feathers and bird shit, a metal vent unit, and an aging generator that hums in a constant low vibration.
All around us, rooftops stretch out like the tops of neatly stacked boxes, their shapes and sizes varying in a tight, organized grid.
Traffic lights blink at intersections, while the distant whir of a drill carries over if I strain to hear it.
Above it all, a flawless blue sky spreads endlessly, the kind of sky that makes you think there might be something bigger out there, even if you’re not sure what it is.
At moments like this, I can take a step outside myself and see how small my world really is, how temporary every problem becomes when placed against the sheer vastness of everything else.
Huxley steps up onto the short ledge that borders the roof’s edge and lowers himself to sit, legs dangling freely over the side.
I join him, resting my arms on my knees while casting a glance over the drop below.
The air is unnaturally still today, the kind of stillness that makes every sound more noticeable.
I let it settle over me. The generator drowns out the scattered conversations down on the street, the odd coo from a pigeon and the flapping of wings slicing through the drone.
I should be disgusted but weirdly, this reminds me of home.
Of climbing fire escapes with a spray can in hand.
For the first time in what feels like weeks, maybe months, I feel something close to peace sitting above the world rather than being a part of it.
Without speaking, Huxley nudges my arm and tips his chin further down the street below.
I wait until he leans forward to follow my line of sight.
There’s a McDonald’s drive-thru across the road, and a long line of cars has backed up into the street.
As they inch forward, one person in particular grabs my attention.
It’s not just anyone, but Garrett, with his messy brown hair and unmistakable swagger. I squint and tilt my head.
“What the hell is he doing?” I mutter mostly to myself, but Huxley answers anyway.
“Our brother Dax is back in town for the week. He wanted some time alone with Avery, so he’s dared Garrett to get him out of the way for a while.
Garrett never backs down from a dare.” Huxley lifts his brow knowingly.
This just confuses me more. Not just because their set-up is strange, a group of grown-ass men who call each other brothers and share the same girlfriend, but also by the simpleness of it.
Pranks, dares, it’s all pointless, yet Huxley is smiling.
He looks like a man who has carved out a piece of life just for those he deems worthy.
He looks like he knows the answers to all of the important questions.
Shaking myself, I return to the scene before me.
At the front of the drive-thru, Garrett is wearing a cardboard car strapped around his waist by ropes hooked over his shoulders.
It’s been painted and taped to resemble a racecar with apparent sponsorship, complete with a hood, side panels, and a trunk.
A hell of a lot of time and effort has gone into the craft project.
Tin foil rims and mirrors catch the light, while cut out windows allow him to barter with the server.
Even from this distance, she appears exasperated by the animated, colorfully inked man before her.
Successfully receiving his order, Garrett lets out a whoop and starts revving his imaginary engine, zipping around the idling vehicles and screeching to a halt with his own mouth-made tire sounds.
He pauses dramatically for a mother and her kid to cross at the zebra crossing before tearing off on his legs again, vanishing around the corner to a chorus of angry horns.
“What a dick,” I roll my eyes before I can catch myself. A smile tugs at the edge of Huxley’s mouth.
“That he is.” Huxley nods knowingly. “Trust me, when I heard it was just me and Garrett returning to Waversea with Avery, I wasn’t exactly jumping for joy.
Life with Gare can be infuriating, definitely unpredictable, but never boring.
He’s family to me.” Huxley stares off into the distance, the faint humor in his features suggesting he’s reminiscing.
I leave him to it, burrowing further into my own confusion.
I could never live with someone as erratic as that, never mind share a girlfriend with them.
It would be like moving in with Rhys and Harper. Now that is a laughable scenario.
Huxley’s smart watch buzzes with some sort of reminder, bringing our sort reprieve to an end.
His attention is back on me after he silences it and fishes out a protein bar from his pocket.
“Here, eat.” He tosses it at me. I try to argue but he won’t have it, pulling out his own and taking a few lazy bites while watching the world unfold below. I sigh, and eat the damn thing anyway.
From up here, it’s like watching a chaotic performance on a stage.
People crash into each other without looking up from their phones, some barreling through the crowd like they’re on a mission.
A pair of women in workout gear strut by, gossiping while speed-walking in sync, and more than one guy turns to check them out as they pass.
A rottweiler drags its frazzled owner down the street, straining to catch up to a chihuahua being pampered inside a designer handbag.
After the longest time, Huxley finishes his snack and pushes the wrapper into his pocket.
“We’re not so different, you know,” he finally speaks.
I look up to the sky, wanting to snip back with, ‘there it is.’ I knew there was a reason he brought me up here, and it wasn’t to watch the perplexing spectacle that is Garrett.
“I’ve experienced a trauma in my past too.
I might not know yours, but I see the haunted look in your eyes.
For a time there, I stopped eating, stopped caring if I woke up the next day.
I kept waiting for something or someone to pull me out of it, but it doesn’t work that way.
Even if you’re surrounded by people who want to help, you have to be your own reason to keep going.
You have to want to keep going. Otherwise, we might as well jump and let fate have its way with us. ”
Huxley’s eyes lower to the steep drop between our feet and the sidewalk. His legs shift slightly, a ripple of tension passing through his shoulders. There’s no barrier on this ledge, no fence to stop either of us if we truly wanted to push off the edge.
Sadly, the only reason I can think of not to is the fact that my grant money will stop and my mom’s state pension won’t cover her care home costs.
Other than her occasional moments of clarity, she wouldn’t even realize she’d lost both sons and could continue living blissfully unaware inside her mind.
“I’m telling you this because there is no quick fix,” Huxley continues.
“Only small steps that start to nudge us in the right direction.” Reaching into his other pocket, he pulls a few hundred-dollar bills and pushes them towards me.
I rear back, lurching away as if his offer is an insult that has physically burned me.
Heat pulses through my cheeks, pride setting my jaw on edge.
“I don’t accept charity,” I growl harshly. Huxley is unaffected, most likely expecting my reaction.
“And I don’t accept someone punishing themselves to the point of starvation for the past. I don’t need to know your story. Everyone makes mistakes. I can tell you’ve paid for yours, it’s time to start forgiving yourself.” He pushes the money my way again and I cross my arms like a child.
“I’ve not nearly suffered enough,” I grumble, pity lacing my tone. Shrugging, Huxley places the bills under a rock between us and returns to stare at the horizon.
“Suit yourself.”
In the next second, Huxley’s hands are on me, shoving me off the ledge by my hoodie.
I gasp, twisting in shock as my body slips off the ledge.
My hands catch the wall just in time, the brick cutting into my palms and panic floods my vision.
The handfuls of cotton Huxley still has in his grip strain as he yanks me back up.
As soon as my forearms brace the ledge, I scramble onto the rooftop, rolling in the pigeon shit with my chest heaving and eyes wide.
“What the fuck is your problem?!” I yell, disturbing a nearby nest. I kick away from the ledge, putting a distance between myself and the psychopath who coolly turns to face me. Huxley lifts the rock, adds a folded piece of paper to the pile of cash and slides it towards me once more.
“This isn’t charity, it’s a loan, and it comes with a condition.
You have to take part in the life coaching sessions from my friend, he needs them for his coursework.
” When I don’t immediately move, Huxley reaches over and tucks the money into my hoodie pocket.
“Top up your restaurant card, replace those god-awful sneakers. My number is there, message me when you’re ready to pay me back. ”
Rising, Huxley walks to the rusty fire escape. I lie still, trying to still the pounding beat of my heart, watching him descend. Just before he disappears from view, Huxley stops and lifts a brow,
“Oh, and Clayton? Hold onto whatever reason that just made you cling onto that ledge.” He disappears then and my hand sinks into my pocket.
I crease the money in my fist and fall flat onto my back, focusing on shallowing my breathing.
My limbs tingle with aftershocks, my brain catching up with the possibility that it was nearly cracked open on the sidewalk. That my mom was almost left childless.
No longer lulled into a false sense of security, clarity breaks free.
Huxley is a fucking lunatic. In fact, I’m certain there are no sane people left in the world, the disjointed reality provided in video games and movies distorting people’s rationality.
But, crazy as he is, Huxley is right. Something forced me to latch onto the ledge, and now I have the burning need to find out what it was.