29. Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Twenty-nine
Matt
Time moves differently for me than it does for the others.
It feels like they’re all moving at top speed, their recoveries linear and bright, everything making sense to everyone but me. I’m dragging, haunting, stuck in a cycle of fine-bad-worse. One step forward, two steps back. Three steps back. Four steps back.
I laugh for the first time in so, so long. Loud and bright and nice inside my chest. I feel weightless, warm, alive.
The alive feeling doesn’t last. It drips right out of me, gone within the hour. Then I’m just empty. Lost. Again, again, again.
I’m just a ghost who was so stupid for thinking he had managed to leave the veil.
Ace brings me to his office. He plays music. I have a snack.
It’s better, he seems to always make things better, but I’m still a ghost, still wrong.
I’m just stuck holding my breath, waiting for the next wrong thing, the next step back.
Just waiting for it to finally be over.
Time moves differently for me
Dr. Singh says it just looks that way from the outside. He winks, reminding me about confidentiality before conspiratorially whispering, “They’re more of a mess than they look, don’t worry.”
Time moves differently for me.
Ace says, “Everyone will get their happy ending, one way or another. Maybe they'll get there before you. So what? You know what I think? If you treat the process like something positive, then maybe you won’t be in such a hurry to get to the ending anyway. What’s that cliché saying about happiness being a journey?
It’s like that. Who says you can’t be happy while you’re healing?
Who cares who’s doing it better or faster?
You’re doing it. That’s enough, you know?
You smiled again today. I saw it. That was something. That was more than something, Matt.”
And I write, THANK YOU, then, CHEESY.
He laughs, that deep, throaty sound that always seems to settle itself right in my chest and glow.
When I enter his office the next night, he’s somehow acquired one of those throw pillows with words stitched onto them: Happiness is a journey, not a destination.
I laugh almost as hard as I’d laughed in the kitchen that day Maison burned dinner. Ace’s whole face goes soft. Warm.
Then he says, real quiet, “That right there. See? That’s beautiful, and you’ve barely even gotten started.”
I hide in my corner until my eyes stop burning and it’s a little easier to swallow. I wait for the emptiness to come for me, just like it did in the kitchen that day, but it doesn’t. Maybe the wild animal of my heart in my chest chases it off.
When I eventually look at him again, he just smiles and asks, “How do you feel about Ella Fitzgerald?”
Time moves differently for me.
It doesn’t occur to me how lucky I’ve been to spend so much of that time in Ace’s office without being interrupted until Travis comes barreling in without knocking.
It’s my fault. That’s the first thing that goes through my mind as his voice passes over me in a wave of unexpected memories.
Ace always leaves it up to me to lock - or even double-lock - the door if I want to.
I’d forgotten. I’d felt safe enough to forget, just like I’d felt safe enough to sit on the couch tonight instead of going straight to my hiding spot.
I wasn’t thinking about hiding. I wasn’t here to hide. I just wanted to see Ace.
When did that start?
I try to sink into the couch, my stomach turning with nausea. Can I get to my hiding spot before he notices me? Should I just stay still? Should I make a run for it?
There’s movement on the other side of the coffee table. I flinch, bile rising in my throat.
Then I realize it’s not Travis.
Ace has wheeled his chair away from his desk to block the area between Travis and I, making it so that Travis can’t reach me without going through him first. I can't hide here, out in the open like this. There's nothing to tuck myself behind. No protection.
So Ace stepped in, hiding me himself.
I keep my eyes down, trusting Ace to handle this. He sounds so calm, so steady, when he asks, “Hey man, what’s up?”
There’s a pause where I think Travis might be looking at me, but Ace clears his throat and Travis asks, “You use those soy candles, right?”
“Yeah!” Ace says, using that same excited tone he uses when he tells me about a new snack he bought or a song he wants to share with me. “Are you finally listening to me? I tell ya, man-” And oh boy, that’s his rambling tone. Travis is in for a ramble. He better buckle up. Ace has the best rambles.
Except Ace is trying to explain about toxic chemicals when Travis stops him with an exasperated, “Yeah, yeah, I know. I wanted to show one to Carter. Can I borrow one?”
I peek up at him through my lashes. I kind of want to glare at him. I glared at Maison a while ago, when he made Nolan upset, and that was nice. Very therapeutic. He was never a master, though. Never my master. Travis, on the other hand…
I settle for thinking about glaring at him. It's still pretty satisfying.
Ace was so excited to tell him about the soy candles. Aren’t they supposed to be friends? Why wouldn’t he listen? If he’s excited enough to show Carter the candles, why isn’t he excited to hear facts about them?
Ace shrugs it off like he isn’t hurt. Maybe he’s not. Maybe that’s what he’s used to.
He shouldn’t have to be used to that.
He tosses Travis a soy candle. Travis barely says thanks before he’s gone again.
Ace gets up right away, walking over to the door and switching both locks. I get to my feet and follow.
His eyes are wide when he turns back to me, only getting wider when he sees how close I am. He puts his hands up like I need to be reassured that he means no harm. Like I've ever, even in the beginning, been afraid of him. Like he isn't a safe place. Like he isn't my safest place.
"I'm sorry, Matt. I get it if you want to leave. I won't stop you. Christ, I'm so fucking sorry. I should have seen him coming. I always see someone coming. I can't believe-”
He stops when I put a hand on his chest.
I don't think he even breathes.
I want him to breathe.
He’s so good at making it easier for me to breathe.
I tap my fingertips against the soft fabric of his sweater and suck in a dramatic breath, meeting his eyes to try to show him that I want him to do it with me.
It takes him a few seconds to understand, him watching me pointedly exhale and inhale again before it clicks.
His shoulders drop a little as he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I'll breathe. Yeah.”
I tap him again with an arched eyebrow because he's still not breathing.
He laughs, the sound soft and a little shaky, but then he inhales with me. We keep looking at each other as we hold it. Same for when we let it go.
There are very faint freckles on his nose.
His facial hair has grown from stubble to fuzz.
He smells sweet, almost fruity - like his strawberry licorice.
When he's breathing easier, I step back and sign, Want you to tell me, before pointing to where he has another candle sitting on his desk.
He perks up, that big puppy energy that’s always clung to him making a return. “You want to know about my candles?”
I nod with as much enthusiasm as I can muster for a conversation about candles. It’s not about the candles, anyway. It’s about him.
“Yeah. Yeah, sure. Of course. Really? Cool.” He sits back down in his chair that’s still between the coffee table and the door. I sit down on the couch again instead of climbing into my corner spot. Just a minute ago, I would have given anything to be hiding, but now I don’t want to. Not from him.
I want to be close while he lights up with his excitement. I want to bask in the warmth of it. I kind of want to see if maybe I can give him some warmth of my own. Wouldn’t that be nice, if he could get something out of this thing too?
“Alright, so I don’t know if you’ve noticed this yet, I’ve kind of been pretty busy and haven’t been able to enjoy myself much, but I’m a bougie fucker, you know?
I mean, as I established just now, you may not know, but yeah - me, Ace, bougie fucker.
I love the good things in life. I mean, you spend enough time wading through the kind of shit this world has to offer, you might as well enjoy what you can, you know? ”
I do know, so I nod.
I nod and it makes him smile.
And there’s that warmth.
I give him a smile of my own.
He’s warmer, once I do.
The whole world feels so bright.
“Anyway, I went through this phase where I was obsessed with scented candles. I didn’t know they even existed and suddenly I could make my bedroom smell any way I wanted.
It could smell like the fireplace on cold nights or the blueberry scones we’d have at breakfast on Sundays.
There was one that smelled just like the fancy coffee Kea - uh, my friend- would always order just to piss our - his brother off.
One smelled like the garden out back. One smelled like fucking Christmas, even if it was the middle of summer.
One smelled like birthday cake baking, which I always thought was cool because I never got homemade birthday cake, you know?
I mean, you didn’t know, but - uh - you know now.
So, yeah. I didn’t know what my birthday cake smelled like when it was baking, but there was a candle that let me experience it still.
It was the best. I was obsessed. I had so many. ”