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it's all just raging disappointment
Aiden wasn't seen for the rest of the session.
It was a few hours later he was finally released from the room in the house that was basically just a room with a lock on the outside, a quiet room of sorts. It might as well had been Aiden's second home.
He didn't kick the door or bang his head against the wall this time, though. Instead, he thought. And waited.
It was night when Aiden found her, gently knocking on her room. They had a lot more freedom here than they did a hospital, that was for sure--no nurses patrolling, anyway.
"Hey," He's opened the door somewhat ajar, peaking his head in but not looking directly at the bed (it's the same setup for all of them). Tracy's asleep, anyway. "Heather. Get up, I want to show you something."
It was a few hours later he was finally released from the room in the house that was basically just a room with a lock on the outside, a quiet room of sorts. It might as well had been Aiden's second home.
He didn't kick the door or bang his head against the wall this time, though. Instead, he thought. And waited.
It was night when Aiden found her, gently knocking on her room. They had a lot more freedom here than they did a hospital, that was for sure--no nurses patrolling, anyway.
"Hey," He's opened the door somewhat ajar, peaking his head in but not looking directly at the bed (it's the same setup for all of them). Tracy's asleep, anyway. "Heather. Get up, I want to show you something."
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"Dangerous, I mean."
And he's grinning from ear-to-ear.
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That knife-edge smile is inches from her face, close enough to tear her apart, but she won't move. Won't back away.
"What about you, Aiden? Are you dangerous?"
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Aiden's shrug is small, but definitely there to prove a point. "Says I need to watch my temper."
And the grin is back: "But you know what doctors say. They're all full of shit."
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"But sometimes they're right."
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Her eyes open again and she looks up up to him, her gaze big and dark.
"Do? Not did?"
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"I mean, look at this," He's pulled away now, standing up on the roof. Getting closer and closer to the edge. "It's the same shit everyday, you know?"
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He moves closer to the edge, fearless, until he's right on the edge. Has much as she wants to write it off as posturing he's scaring her, and she grabs for his hand.
"It doesn't have to be."
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Aiden's looking back, holding her hand. He's tempted to push her off--very tempted. Instead, that slow blink is back.
"Let's just jump, dude. Break our fucking necks. We don't have to deal with the same shit everyday if we just disappear."
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She half expects his hand in her back, a quick drop for her foolishness. And who would blame him? Hell, who would even know? She finally gets that diagnosis - whoops, depressed, shame we didn't catch it earlier - and that would be an end to it. It doesn't come, and she takes a step back, shaking her head.
"Too easy. Cheap."
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Aiden considers this, considers her words. The one who walked in on her dead dad, the one who didn't jump because she had stuff to do. She wasn't done, that's why they weren't jumping--that's why it was just them and Heather talking him out.
She's genuine, though. This isn't a trick, this isn't something to get him to settle down.
"When I die," He says suddenly, "It's going to be going down in a blaze of glory. I don't know what yet, but it's going to happen. And everyone's going to think 'there goes Aiden. What a cool fucking kid."
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The words are out of her mouth before she thinks to stop them, tumbling out when she knows she shouldn't.
"People never think of you the way you want when you die. They just make you into what they wanted you to be, turn you into a symbol. The second your heart stops it's like you don't exist anymore. You're just a myth, and it's never the one you would've wanted."
The eulogies they'd written for her dad that had almost nothing to do with the man he'd been. The letters left for her by kids at school, kids she hadn't even known but had been so keen to make gestures, to seize on grief and feel a part of it that they hadn't even waited for her to turn up dead.
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"You won't," he points out. "You'll always know."
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The idea's so strange she laughs along with him. She can't imagine knowing him, not really. She can't fit him into any of the boxes ner brief time in the system's already shown her. He doesn't have the bovine stupidity of the users, the pigheadedness of the bullies. Arrogance, yeah, but the kind that comes from knowing your smarter than at least half the people around you.
"I'll keep the faith. Keep your name alive."
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"And everyone could just do anything they want. Just do whatever. If they want to be safe, then they can be safe. But if they want to burn themselves with cigarettes then who the fuck are we to stop them?" Because Aiden has--under his long-sleeved shirts, under the moonlight of the roof--and he sees nothing wrong with lancing the wound every now and then. It's healthy, he protests, grabbing Heather's hip with his other hand, dancing like he's seen in movies.
When he dips her, it's straight down and completely over the roof, letting go of her hip, her dangle by only one hand.
"Maybe now you'll give a shit," He says honestly. "Thinkin' I can drop you the moment I get tired of doing this."
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She forces herself not to struggle. Not to scrabble at the edge of the roof with her feet, not to pull at him. Not to close her eyes. She can't help her gasp of fear, the strained tone of her voice, but she can keep her gaze on his face.
"Don't ever accuse me of not caring." It's taut and terrified but it's angry, in her viscera, in her marrow. Thrumming through her like she's a tuning fork he's just struck. "Don't you ever."
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"That's why you're different. You got no reason to be in here 'cause you've already been through hell and back, you don't need to relive it. If I fall..."
Aiden's tic is back--blinking. He doesn't even realize it's happening, but he's leaning towards the edge, almost going to fall, almost, almost--
--he doesn't slip, he launches himself. But it's at Heather with such ferocity and fierceness that when they careen on the roof and Aiden's hugging her as tightly as he can.
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After being worn into numbness, the terror is a relief.
"Jesus Christ." She mumbles against his neck, into his long hair. "You are crazy."
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Because to Aiden, there's a fundamental difference. There's a rational reason for the way he acts--even when he violently slams his head against a wall or picks a fight with someone much bigger than him. Even if he plays baseball and swings the bat at someone's head. Even if he has a knife, and he's ontop of his mother, and all he can hear is screaming screaming screaming and then a sick gurgle as the knife pierces through her windpipe, as her head lolls to the side as lifeless as his sister.
Aiden leans forward and kisses Heather, slow and soft and surprisingly sweet.
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She doesn't stop shaking, but she does kiss him back.
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And all Aiden can think of is the screams of his mother, wondering if Heather sounds exactly the same.
When he pulls away he touches her bottom limb with his thumb, gently--his own is split but he didn't seem to even acknowledge the pain from Mike earlier--and the lazy smile turns into a smirk.
"You're on my side, right, Heather?"
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"Aiden." She shakes her head, not a no but an I can't believe this. Her voice is quiet. "I don't even know what your side is yet."
She bites her lip, a press of teeth where the pad of his thumb has been.
"I'm not on the other side."
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"My side's interesting, that's all. You'll like it." He nods to himself, slinking down to move to the window once more.
"But we need to get back in or the nurse whatsherbitch is gonna check the rooms and find we're gone."
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"So what's the penalty for getting caught out of bed? I think they're trying to ease me in. Told me what I can't do, but not what happens if I get caught doing it."
Somehow Heather has the feeling that Aiden's experienced most of those firsthand.
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"Most of the time it's just the quiet room, though. Don't feel like going back, just spend all day there."
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