Close Your Eyes and Count to Ten

The moon was a silver disk in the glass surface of the water. It exploded as an amber bottle sliced through the reflection, spikes of light becoming shrapnel against the sides of the pool. Brendon’s glassy eyes followed the movement, his posture stiff despite the amount of alcohol he’d consumed. He almost laughed, thinking that there was probably a metaphor in the little waves rising and crashing until they simply disappeared, but without his greater interpreter, it was lost on him.

Loosening the tie around his neck, Brendon kicked off his wingtips. One landed in the water; the other flew straight over the pool and into a line of bushes. Brendon trudged forward to the concrete edge. He let his head fall back so he could stare at the moon.

“This is what you said,” he told it. Holding out his arms, he leaned forward until he lost his balance. As he crashed into the water, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath; the liquid flooded his lungs.

Bony arms circled Brendon’s torso, and he opened his eyes. Around him, the world was at peace, tall trees fragmenting silver moonlight. Sliding his hand down one of the arms, Brendon tangled their fingers together. The arm turned; the wrist said, “Thin as a dime.” Brendon twisted around between a pair of long legs.

“Ryan,” he breathed. Ryan smiled at him, brown eyes catching the glint of the moon. Brendon reached up with his free hand and pressed it to Ryan’s thin cheek. “I missed you.”

Turning his head, Ryan kissed Brendon’s palm, mumbling against his skin. “I missed you, too, Bear.”

“It worked,” Brendon said. He blinked hard to combat the stinging in his eyes. Ryan pulled him tight against his chest, allowing him to hide his face. “I love you. So much.” He wrapped his arms around Ryan’s ribs, squeezing so hard it had to hurt. “I'm so sorry.”

“Sorry for what, B?” Ryan asked, burying his nose in Brendon's hair.

“Not seeing it sooner.”

Ryan forced Brendon back so their eyes met. He put his hands on either side of Brendon’s face, long fingers curling in his hair. “It wasn’t your responsibility. No one, no one blames you.”

“I do,” Brendon whispered. Shaking his head, Ryan put their foreheads together and closed his eyes.

“Close your eyes, Brendon,” he said. Brendon hesitated.

“I don’t want to.”

“Close your eyes,” Ryan repeated more firmly. His fingers rubbed soothing circles at Brendon’s temples. Taking a breath, Brendon let his eyelids shut. He could smell the vanilla Ryan always wore; feel his hair hitting his cheeks. “Count to ten.”

Brendon took another breath. “One.”

His hands clutched Ryan’s shirt. “Two.”

Ryan leaned impossibly closer.

“Three.”

Tears started forming behind Brendon’s eyelids. “Four.”

He forced them back. “Five.”

Ryan slid his hands down to Brendon’s neck.

“Six.”

Brendon swallowed hard. “Seven.”

“It’s okay,” Ryan muttered. Brendon nodded.

“Eight.”

The tears spilled, and his voice broke. “Nine.”

Ryan kissed his forehead.

“Ten.”

“I love you, Bear.”

Brendon opened his eyes and attempted a breath, but his lungs contracted. He rolled onto his side, coughing up chlorinated water. Hands clutched his arm, and the background noise focused into a frantic voice. Between hacks, Brendon recognized Spencer above a rising siren.

“It’s okay, Brendon, just breathe,” he said. “Just breathe.”

After the blur of paramedics and doctors and even a psychiatrist, Brendon was back in his too-empty, too-quiet home, where mountains of food were piled in the kitchen. He ignored it all in favor curling up in bed, wrapping the blankets around himself until he was smothering himself in weak vanilla. The framed picture on the nightstand mocked him until he finally closed his eyes. With every breath, he counted, up to ten and back to one, but when he opened his eyes, he was still alone, with a glossy Ryan laughing at him.