Chapter 6
Helen the Spiral does not
Mind
The Dark;
It
Does not
Care about
Silly little shadows that dance and play and consume, consume, consume with
Hungry
little
Greed.
It is much
Like herself,
A starved thing,
Looking to play
A game.
But…
Pesky Helen, old Helen, the Helen who was, was, was, was, was, was,
(WASBUTNEVERWILLBEAGAINTRAPPEDTRAPPEDTRAPPED)
Refuses to quiet inside now-Helen’s head.
She is Afraid of
A Great Many Things.
It’s a wonder she walked into the corridors like she did,
Instead of being consumed so much earlier.
Oh, she was ripe fruit
Filled to bursting with all that delicious fear.
Pesky, then-Helen may be, but she is…
Helpful.
In a way.
She notices things
NOW HELEN (the only Helen)
Cannot.
Spirals twist themselves,
(twist and twist and swirl and swirl and laugh and laugh and laugh and scream and howl and pray and sob and giggle and mourn, there is no end, no end to this luxurious dance of the curling hallways, it is heavenly hell and there is no escape to be found besides Michael, Michael who escaped, Michael who defied like then Helen wishes to--)
Ah.
Yes.
Now-Helen lets itself be distracted all too often, but now it remembers it’s place, it’s rage,
And
Oh,
SHE resents Michael,
And IT resents Michael,
And together they
Both
Resent the
Boy
(cruel boy Helen has always hated boys they pull her hair and cry in corridors and make ever so many messes it was a boy who trapped Helen and made her into a housewife made her scream and rage and smile it was a boy who trapped her in this hell this new form this new being who hates like she hates and if she wasn’t so afraid she could hate him even more)
Who ruined them in
Some way,
Or perhaps,
Another.
They HATE
Him.
And they hate
THE FRAGILE PEACE
He has found.
And they hate
The way
The GREAT EVERLASTING SHADOW
And
The EYE THAT FOREVER SEES
Watch over
The Book Hunter
Who is not
The Book Hunter
In Michael’s new
Twisted world of
Greed and
Addiction
And
Desire.
Yes, they hate the
Watchful gazes,
And the way they taint
Michael’s
Rotting meat, who greedily holds
A piece of Itself within him.
He is Spiral-made.
(there is something inside him that is too broken, too human to ever be welcomed back into the arms of the never-ending halls because minds do not break but hearts do and Michael is mourning souls who are dead here and alive there and oh its so very funny to watch him grovel at the feet of his faithless book burner who paints and smiles and Sees too much with a head that was made so very wrong when he was so very young and he was given a gift born out of loss unadulterated loss and She and It adore to see the way Michael struggles to break free and build himself a new life away from the Fear silly silly man oh he is so amusing to Helen)
Michael is yet
A creature of
Lies.
Helen cannot wait
To watch
Him
Burn.
-
Gerry wakes up with a nauseating headache and a near primal need to piss, tangled up in a clump of too-hot blankets with the sun hitting him smack dab in the face. Temporarily blinded, he groans loudly, attempting to stand up and get a grip, but manages to instead tangle himself up even more, flopping directly onto where Michael is supposed to be sleeping.
“Oh, fuck—” he garbles, feeling out the floor beneath him as he tries to roll over, ears ringing already, majorly regretting the alcohol. The floor is cold and empty beneath him, which is a blessing, and the question of ‘where’s waldo’ or in this case, ‘where is the 6’1 blond twink’ is answered as the sound of the door scraping across planks practically screams through the apartment. Seconds later, hurried footsteps skitter over to him, Michael kneeling down beside his prone form.
“Good god, Gerry, what the hell happened?”
“Fell,” he mutters into the floorboards, and there’s a choked off snort as Michael turns him over, quickly untangling him from the blankets. His face is red, like he’s trying his hardest not to laugh as Gerry sits up, groaning again. Michael turns an even deeper shade of red, his voice shaky with amusement as he speaks.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I was trying to get up, but gravity had-ouch-other ideas,” he says, rubbing his shoulder where it collided with the floor, and Michael bursts out laughing. Gerry locates his glasses, shoving them on, and can only stare as Michael collapses in a fit of giggles. He leans back against the frame of the cot, wrapping his arms around himself as he grins, eyes glittering. His face gets all squished up when he’s truly laughing, eyes half shut and ‘fangs’ on full display.
Michael is such a radiant thing when he’s full of joy.
Gerry grins back, head still pounding, but it’s worth it to see Michael so carefree for the first time, and he has to wonder if this was what he was like before his accident in the institute, before all the mysterious hardships he refuses to talk about. “It’s not that funny,” he teases, nudging Michael with his knee. Michael presses a hand over his mouth, smothering a smile, he’s goddamn infectious like this.
“I’m sorry, I really am, but you should’ve seen your face,” he wheezes, pushing his hair out of his eyes and taking deep breaths to quiet his laughter, but the smile is still there and the flush on his cheeks is high and beautiful. “I brought you coffee,” he says, pointing at the cups he abandoned on the coffee table to assist Gerry. “I brought some to Berta Jeane as well, just to give you more time to sleep, but I see I should’ve stuck around to cushion your fall.”
Gerry can’t help laughing over that, watching as Michael stands and extends a hand towards him. Taking it, Michael tugs him to his feet, stronger than he looks with that skinny frame and all that slim muscle. Gerry holds on for a moment too long, eyes in line with Michael’s mouth, his height a bit more considerable than Gerry’s, and he can’t help but notice what a nice mouth it really is. Clearing his throat, he releases his hand, stepping back and trying not to trip again as he moves to the table, looking at the words scribbled on the side of the cups and taking the cup off black coffee and two sugars. Michael takes his chai and sits at the table, pulling off his jacket, the ugly green one he always wears instead of the sturdy blue one hanging in the bathroom, and Gerry feels a bit disappointed that he didn’t share the one he loaned, perhaps it would’ve smelled like Gerry when he put it on. His mind begins to wander down that path, sharing clothes with Michael, seeing him in his things, it makes something flutter in Gerry’s chest, and he coughs.
“So, how’re you feeling today?”
“I’m quite alright, not so hungover as you, and Olivia sends her best.”
“You spoke to her today?”
Michael nods, taking another sip. “Yes, I brought her some candied energy drink thing when I took Berta Jeane her coffee as well, she’s also significantly less hung over than yourself. Her place of employment is only a 10-minute walk from Ms. Craye’s, and I thought she might appreciate a pick me up.”
Christ, he’s so thoughtful, isn’t he?
“I’m sure she appreciated that,” he huffs around a swallow, letting the caffeine absorb itself into his system and make himself feel more alive.
“It was halfway gone by the time I left.” He smiles, tucking a bit of hair behind his ear. “She’s a vacuum, I’m a bit afraid for her nervous system if I’m being honest, there was already two coffee cups by the register.”
“That’s nothing, you should’ve seen her in Uni, she would pound back tequila and five-hour energy shots every night and still make it to 8 am lectures.”
“Ah, so it’s her liver that I should be worried for,” he states, smile widening when Gerry laughs.
“Yeah, that. That’s more accurate, spritzers are nothing to her steel forged internal organs.”
There’s a comfortable silence between them for a moment before Michael asks, “so, you two went to university together?”
Gerry nods, setting down his cup. “Yeah, we were housemates for a bit, when I was in my rebellious phase, trying to act like I knew it all, I moved out of mine and Gee-Gee’s place for a while. Before that I shared a dorm with Jonah, you met him last night. We were all art program kids, Liv got herself a degree in fashion too, I went into traditional arts, and Jonah went into graphic design. He’s done a lot of cool websites and logos and stuff, I might get him to make me some business cards if this commissions thing really takes off.”
“Oh, yes, the commissions, you didn’t get to work on them yesterday, did you?”
“No, but that’s okay, I’ll get a taxi home, work on them there.”
“Or you could stay,” Michael says suddenly, but he doesn’t meet Gerry’s eyes. “You could work on them here. It’s your studio, I’m sure it has better light than your place. All the windows, y’know.”
“That would kind of defeat the purpose of taking all those canvasses to my place last night, wouldn’t it?” Gerry says, teasing him slightly, just to see his face go pink.
“Well, I-well—” Michael stammers, looking embarrassed, and Gerry laughs.
“I’m just teasing you, Michael. I’ll work on them here, I just want to head down to mine to check on Gee-Gee, it’s her day off, and to grab a fresh pair of clothes.”
“Alright, that sounds like a good plan,” Michael huffs, giving him a faint smile. “I’ll be heading to work soon, she gave me a few hours off this morning, I’ll be back around 5 or 6.”
“Alright. Do you have any plans after that?”
“No, why?”
“Would you like to head down to the gallery and look at my painting? I know you were curious about it.”
Michael’s eyebrows lift. “Would I-yes, Gerry, of course I’d like to,” he smiles, looking pleasantly surprised. “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing, I just want to feed my hubris,” Gerry grins, feeling a sense of déjà vu as they sit at this table and drink coffees, making plans together just as they did yesterday.
“Then feed it I will, I-I’m quite excited,” Michael says, finishing his chai. “Now, I’d best get ready for work, I have to be there by 11, and its,” he checks his phone, “10:32.”
Fuck, Gerry really did sleep in.
“Okay, I’ll just get my stuff from my place and spend the day here.”
Michael nods, standing and giving him one last smile before heading down the hall to finish prepping for the day.
-
Michael has begun to think that he’s somewhat of a sadist.
The past day and a half has been just chock-fucking-full of self-destructive choices, getting coffee with Gerry yesterday morning, going to that dinner party, giving him his coat, letting him stay over, sleep in his bed, stay in his house all day today. Jesus in high heaven he’s doomed. Gerry was drunk and needed him, he tells himself, angrily stuffing Ms. Craye’s trash into the bin behind her house. Gerry was drunk and worried about his grandmother, and it’s not like Michael wanted to drop him off, meet Gertrude at the door, watch him walk away and not see him for another few weeks until his rent is due.
If he’s being entirely honest with himself, he just wants to spend more time with Gerry, and wonder of wonders, Gerry seems to like spending time with him too. He laughs at Michael’s bad jokes, he eats his shitty microwave food, he fills Michael’s silences like it’s natural, like his counterpart hadn’t ignored Michael and let him do all the talking, like he doesn’t mind Michael’s strangeness and his habits and all the silly, stupid things he does.
He wonders if Gerry secretly minds all these things.
He wonders if Gerry really likes him.
He wonders if Gerry thinks that tonight is going to be a date.
(Is it a date? It might be a date. Michael can’t tell if he wants it to be a date, he both hopes it and dreads it in equal measure.)
“Michael?” Berta Jeane calls as he comes through the back door into the kitchen, wiping the mud off his shoes.
“I’ll be there in a moment,” he calls back, trudging through the kitchen and into the quite frankly ridiculously large and ornate living room. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes, quite, I just wanted to know if you’ve seen Albert around today.”
Albert, the ancient and, in Michael’s opinion, morbidly obese Craye cat has thankfully vacated the premises or just the downstairs area for the day, leaving Michael and his ankles safe from the beasts dastardly claws.
“Unfortunately not, ma’am,” he says, not sorry at all for the lack of a cat in the area, giving her a sympathetic smile. Michael is, after all, very good at lying.
“Let me know if you see him, please? Merrie is coming over today, and you know she loves that dear old cat.”
“Dear old cat indeed,” Michael mutters, moving to the China cabinet to retrieve her tea set. “I’ll start some water boiling. Would you like earl grey or the peppermint today?”
“I think I’d fancy something with a bit of lavender, actually.”
“Lavendar it is.”
Fifteen minuets later, Merrie has been ushered into the parlor for tea and cards with Berta Jeane, and Michael is left to sip his own mug in the study while they gossip. After giving the room a quick scan for the cat, he moves to the desk, sitting in the massive leather chair and kicking off his shoes to tuck his feet up under his thighs. Pulling out his phone, he checks his messages, smiling as he realizes that Gerry’s texted him not once, but twice.
Hey! Hope work is going well :) Olivia asked me for your # so if she texts u out of nowhere that’s who it is lmao
And the other:
Painting is going well, thx 4 letting me use the studio. Can’t wait 2 see u tn
Michael’s chest feels tight, reading and re-reading the last sentence, heart fluttering as he taps out a reply.
Glad painting is good, work is going fine. I’m excited to spend time with you as well.
Throwing down his phone, Michael picks up his mug and chugs the rest of it, already overthinking the period at the end. Somewhere across London, Gerry Keay picks up his phone and smiles, heart tapping the same staccato rhythm as Michael’s.