"He said I was his friend."
He didn’t see Antony for a while after that. That was until the funeral. At seventeen years of age both Antony’s and Norman's fathers died in the explosion.
As most families were too poor for a separate funeral in their small mining town, every victim was mourned at one ceremony. Some mourned more than others, that was for sure. Thomas Blackwater was a good respectable man who would surely be missed, that's what the priest said, and he was right, but he also said it for his father and he knew that wasn’t true.
Though he would never admit it, some part of Norman was glad that he was gone. He’d never touch him again. He’d never live in fear of him lurking in the corner of his cramped house,waiting to pounce. He’d never hurt him again, at least not physically.
Thomas was buried on a separate side of the graveyard to the rest of the victims, next to Twill. His grave was matching the girls.
Even distracted by grief Norman still recognized him. Standing, head low, in a slightly too big suit, probably his fathers. His mother stood mournfully next to him weeping into a handkerchief as she clutched her son's side.
They had lost more than Norman ever could and yet he was still lonelier.
Norman waited there for a while, for the right time to go speak to him. But it never quite came. Time wasn’t an issue, Antony was going nowhere.It was dark now, Mrs. Blackwater had reluctantly left her son's side. However, Antony wasn’t looking at the grave anymore but something in the distance, in his direction.
He could see the outline of his features, his soggy black hair covering his dark eyes. His pale skin glowing in the moonlight. He was paler than before, he’d always thought of him as sunkissed. Now, his skin was mimicking the moon above him. He was still searching for something his way. Maybe he, too, recognized him. It was a selfish self centred thought.Still, he headed over.
“Antony.” He stood with his hands in his pockets, sucking in a deep breath. “I’m- I’m sorry for the way things happened back-”
“Stop..”Antony was staring at him with familiar, nostalgic, intensity, but he couldn’t meet his eyes.
“No you don't understand I should’ve gone somewhere else, the bloody hospital for christ sake.”He huffed a short humourless laugh.
“Norman just forget it.” Antony dismissed him, still staring daggers he presumed.
“No you-”
“Norman not now ok?!”Antony met his eyes with clear reluctance, but he was angry.”Not today Norman, not now. You’ve had fucking years to do this. Not today.” He started to walk off. Norman's mind was a blur. His conscience was shouting at him to not let him go. Again.
“Can’t you see what it's doing to me?” He wasn’t lying. Over the last four years Norman had been eaten up by guilt till there was almost nothing left of him. Insomnia ridiculed him night after night leaving him in a constant state of hazy consciousness that he wished just ended.
He’d pray to god for some sleep so he could spend one waking moment without the weight of a child's death on his shoulders. And for his sins he answered. He found sleep. When he first closed his eyes his body fell limp with glorious relief but it was short lasting. Nightmares plagued his subconscious mind. His father, Twill. All of it. All of it came back in his dreams to haunt him till he was hollow. He found himself wishing for the insomnia to return.
Antony stopped in his tracks and turned around. Though he didn’t speak, he looked at him dead in the eyes, the intensity fading into exhaustion.
“I’m so fucking sorry Antony. I really am. I know you don’t want to hear it and I know you’d rather hear about how she haunts me and how everything fucking haunts me because I deserve it. It's my fault. And..and you don't have to do anything about that. You don't have to forgive me..you could push me into the mud, stomp on me till I suffocate. You could punch me."
Antony’s eyes widened. Norman stared back with a crazed expression.
“Do it.” His voice was raised now. “Please god just punch me I know you want to! I know you need to Ant! Punch me and get it over with. Hell you could kill me, then atl-
Antony was moving fast now. He held his breath as he approached, the sound of his boots hitting the wet earth seemed to be the only sound for miles. He grabbed him by his shirt collar and just stared. His face was riddled with pain and anger and resignation all blurring into one harrowing expression.
Then he dropped him, and walked away.