The Boy With Tired Eyes

The music pounded behind him as he crept down the dark hallway. Light peered out from underneath the closed doors of the guest bedrooms that lined each wall. He just wanted to disappear behind one of the doors and bury himself in the sea of blankets.

Ryan could feel his head spinning and he found it hard to put one foot in front of the other. His knees buckled beneath his weight and he quickly found himself on the floor, on his hands and knees, his head throbbing much harder that it had been a moment before. A strangled laugh escaped his lips and he tried to force his smile further across his face. If he was honest, he would say he was scared. He was scared of what he was doing to himself, scared of what could happen if he couldn’t stop.

A chill ran through his entire body, grabbing hold of him and shaking him. He shook his head and pushed the stringy hair that fell over his forehead trying to rid himself of the fear and the sickness that had been endlessly rising within him all night. Shakily, he stood, keeping a hand on the wall for support. He pulled himself towards the first door and grabbed hold of the doorknob. He fell against the door, pushing it open. His blurred eyes and lagged mind didn’t notice the group of people sitting in a circle on the bed.

“Oh, sorry,” he finally stammered. He started to pull the door closed once more, but a voice stopped him.

“Hey!” it called after him. He stopped and looked up at the boy sitting cross-legged on the bed. He was smiling slightly, though his face was pulled into a concerned expression. “You okay?”

The breath hitched in Ryan’s throat and he began to hear his heartbeat pulsing
through his mind. He surprised himself be remaining on his own feet. “Ugh- yeah… I was just looking for a bed…”

“Oh,” the boy said. Ryan stepped backwards pulling the door along with him once more. “Do—do you want to stay in here?” Ryan furrowed his brow. He wasn’t sure what he found more strange, that this boy invited someone he didn’t even know in to sit with him and his friends or that this boy invited him to do so. “Just until you come down a little bit.” He smiled weakly. “You’re flying, kid,” he added with a short laugh.

Ryan laughed in return and looked down. He certainly didn’t feel as though he were flying, he felt as though he were dying. He looked back up at the boy with the green eyes and smiled, a blush certainly painting his cheeks pink. “Okay…”

The boy smiled back and wiggled over, making room for Ryan next to him on the bed. Ryan could feel the rest of the room watching as he climbed up onto the bed, but Ryan couldn’t bring himself to care. He was already lost in the eyes of the boy beside him. The boy put his hand on Ryan’s leg, as if to steady him.

“There you go,” he mumbled more to himself than to Ryan.

Ryan smiled up at him and then looked across the circle at the young man sitting opposite him. His eyes were narrowed and his lips were pulled into a tight line. He looked very thin, the way Ryan imagined he himself looked sometimes and his shimmering skin was pale as a fever. Ryan’s eyes then fell to what sat before him in the middle of the circle: a small mirror littered with white powder.

“What’s that?” he asked, leaning towards the green-eyed boy.

Before he was given an answer, he noticed the syringe in the hands of the young woman beside him. He felt his stomach churn uneasily and when it didn’t stop, he knew he was going to be sick.

“It’s, ugh…” the boy started.

“Never mind,” Ryan muttered. His skin was slowly becoming as pale as the addicts around him.

Ryan didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the pot or the pills that magnified his emotions, all he knew was that he had never felt so frightened in his life. He had never been so close to his future that he could reach out and touch its decaying skin and faltering spirit. He felt the uneasiness in his stomach rise up within his throat and his head grew faint once more.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Ryan mumbled and pushed himself from the bed, hurriedly staggering towards the bathroom. He heard the people on the bed sighing and bickering about him. He didn’t recognize the footsteps that followed him, but he knew who they belonged to.

He let himself fall to his knees in front of the toilet and tried to push out the fear and anxiety into the water along with the vodka. A strong hand was stroking his back and toying with the soft hair on the back of his neck. It was odd feeling so ill and comforted at the same time.
Sobs began to throw themselves from his body as he clung onto the white porcelain. He was embarrassed that he was allowing someone he didn’t know to see such vulnerability, but he was just so fucking tired of hugging his arms to his own chest to hold himself together.

“Hey, it’s okay,” the boy said. He knelt down beside Ryan, their bodies touching and he continued to draw long, waving circles on his back. Ryan took a deep staggering breath and rested his cheek on the toilet bowl. His eyes fluttered shut and he nodded slightly.

“Are you done?” the boy asked directly into Ryan’s ear. He felt a shiver tear through his
entire body.

“Yeah…” His voice sounded like a scratched record.

“Okay, let’s go… Let’s get you to bed…” Ryan thought this boy sounded as though he should be English.

The boy his hands underneath Ryan’s arms and helped him to his feet. Perhaps, Ryan thought, that he was too skinny. He laid his head on the boy’s shoulder and rested his hand on his chest, letting his fingers toy with the buttons on his shirt. He never once thought that what he was doing may be inappropriate. The boy guided him into another bedroom at the end of the hall that was still empty. He gave Ryan a little squeeze as he sat him down on the bed.

“What’s your name?” Ryan finally ask, his voice slurring slightly as he spoke. His knitted his eyebrows together.

The boy laughed and shook his head with amusement. “It’s John.” He stroked Ryan’s hair and let his hands trace down Ryan’s chest and stomach before tugging at his thin t-shirt, trying to pull it over his head. Ryan lifted his arms over his head in response. He smiled meekly when John looked down at him after tossing his shirt to the floor.

“That’s my friend’s name,” Ryan mumbled.

John laughed again as he knelt down. He reached for Ryan’s belt and dropped it to the floor with a soft thud before motioning for Ryan to stand. Ryan complied and watched, his cheeks growing hot, as John gently tugged his pants to the floor. Ryan’s breath grew ragged when John’s hands lingered against his skin a moment too long.

“Come on,” John mumbled, lacing his fingers in Ryan’s and guided him into the bed. He pulled the blankets up to Ryan’s shoulders before he seamlessly took off his own clothes and climbed into bed next to Ryan.

“Is this okay?” he whispered.

“Yes…” Ryan’s voice was barely audible over the music down the hall.

John hung his arm over Ryan’s waist and traced on his stomach, tugging at the small amount of hair on his skin.

“Just tell me if you don’t feel well, okay?”

Ryan simply nodded. He could feel John’s breath beating against the back of his neck and it made his hair stand on end. He wrapped his hand around John’s with uncertainty. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, relief swamping over him like a sickness when John didn’t move.