Don't Worry, I'll Keep You Warm

When he went back to work the next week, he seemed to be in luck. He walked in the door and Mr. and Mrs. Quinn were just getting ready to leave.

“We’ll be back probably in about forty-five minutes to an hour,” said Mr. Quinn, jingling the keys in his pocket. “We trust you to work here by yourself.”

“Just sweep and vacuum all the rugs, and then if you have time, I’d really appreciate it if you could load our dishwasher and wash the ones that don’t fit by hand. Thank you, Vic,” said Mrs. Quinn with a smile.

Vic nodded, taking in all they said with great attentiveness.

He meant to do everything they had asked him to do. If he was going to do the job, he wanted to do it right and earn the pay that they offered. But as they left and the door shut behind them, Vic turned away and focused his vision on the stairs. Taking a deep breath, he walked swiftly to the closet where the vacuum cleaner was and dragged it up the stairs.

If he was going to do what he wanted, he had to be quick. The Quinns never specified whether or not he had to start with the top floor or the bottom - and he meant to make it look like he’d done the top first. As soon as he was on the second floor he found an outlet and switched on the machine, running it over the rug that covered the hardwood floor. They were dusty, but it didn’t take very long.

Since he knew they weren’t home, he went in to their bedroom as well. He kept his eyes to the floor. For the most part, it was spotless. It wouldn’t take him very long. He only allowed a few quick glances up to the walls and a desk; just long enough to notice wedding pictures and baby pictures and images of the son that was now lying in a hospital bed, possibly sleeping forever.

He shook his head, not allowing himself to stand in that room for more than a few minutes. Back out in the hall way, the sun was shining through the windows with a certain intensity. He could see the dust particles swimming in the air. And through them, he saw the door. It even seemed darker compared to the others, even though it was the same style, same wood. As he crossed over to it, he couldn’t help but feel as though the door knob was a little colder than it should have been.

It pushed open without a creak or any sound at all. He stepped in, looking around at the room he’d barely gotten to look at for more than a minute last time.

“Wow,” he breathed. It had been two years since Kellin’s accident, and but his room looked like he had just been in it hours ago. On his desk there were papers; closer inspection revealed it was a homework assignment. An uncapped pen was thrown on top of the desk.

While he wanted to leave the room untouched, Vic couldn’t bare it. He placed a hand on top of the paper, picked up the pen that Kellin had once held. Did it even still work? He smirked at how significant something so small meant and placed the pen back down as he had found it, as if Kellin might walk in any moment and notice that someone had screwed around with his school work. Was he a good student?

What kind of person was this boy? That’s what Vic was trying to find out by standing in his room, looking at the dark curtains pulled over the sun. Above his bed hung a blink-182 poster. He noticed Good Charlotte CD’s and Green Day records on Vinyl. Whoever he was, he was cool in Vic’s book.

The worst part about this place was the silence that Vic couldn’t bring himself to break. It was a dead silence. It was like the walls were watching him with interest; asking him who he was and why he wasn’t the rightful owner of the room.

The last thing that Vic noticed was the paper box next to a cup that held all the writing utensils. Being the curious boy that he was, it went against his moral code not to open it and he slowly reached for it, gently pulling the top off the neatly constructed box.

What he saw made his blood run cold. His eyes widened; his heart rate increased. Gently he used two fingers to pick up the chilled piece of metal and turned the blade before his eyes.

—

An hour or so later, Vic was in the kitchen. He did all the tasks without thinking. The first thing he did when he got to the sink to wash the dishes was scrub his fingers, and he didn’t have a good reason as to why. Something about touching something that had once ripped across the skin of someone else didn’t sit well with him. It made him feel sick to his stomach.

At the very least, it peaked his interest in the boy. He wanted to know more. He wanted to know everything. And if it weren’t for the door slamming open in the living room, Vic might have gone right back up to his room in order to find more.

The sounds and crashes in the living room, however, were enough to take him from his dishwashing. He grabbed a towel to dry his hands and made his way to the living room where sounds of crying were heard.

“Why didn’t he see us?!”

“Why didn’t it work?!”

“I don’t understand! Two Years, TWO YEARS!”

The shrieks were coming from none other than Mrs. Quinn. She cried in to her husband’s chest, almost falling to the ground on her knees.

“What happened?” Vic asked softly, looking at the large, sorrow-faced man in front of him.

He took a deep breath, considering his words. “They did a routine brain scan of my son,” he murmured. “There was more activity than usual; its a sign of a patient about to wake up. They explained to us any sort of stimulant might have a chance of shocking him back in to conscientiousness… The encouraged us to talk to him, touch him. Nothing worked.”

“My baby!” she was nearly screaming now, and Vic got the feeling that maybe he should step away, give her room; give them privacy. “My baby can’t even hear my voice!”

For a moment, Vic allowed his mind to wander up to the paper box in Kellin’s room. He wondered if she knew about the thin metal blade and the red stain that lined the edges.

“Mrs. Quinn, please… I learned about comas once in school. Sometimes they take a while to wake up from when they start,” Vic said gently, kneeling down next to her as he spoke. “I bet he heard you, he just couldn’t show it.”

She looked up at him gratefully. “Thank you, Vic.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said softly, wishing up to some higher power that Kellin would wake up soon. Not just because he wanted this couple to have their child back, though. It was strange, but Vic felt an overwhelming urge to meet him too that he couldn’t explain.

She steadied herself, gently wiping the tears from her eyes as he her husband wrapped a supportive arm around her shoulders. “I think that, if Kellin were here, he’d like you,” she said, offering a small, sad smile.

The remark made Vic happy. “Well, maybe one day soon he’ll be around to meet me.”

“Soon,” Mr. Quinn agreed. “Well, this was eventful… Have you got everything done that we asked?”

Vic nodded his head. “Yeah, I was just doing the dishes. Only a few left.”

The older man nodded, and Vic took it as an invitation to finish the job as quickly as he could. And when he was done, he was free to go home with a day’s worth of pay that he had already mentally spent.

On his way home, his mind wasn’t on money. It was on Kellin all over again, and those thoughts were just all over the place. He hurt himself at some point; for reasons unknown that Vic definitely wanted to make known. There was a chance he may actually wake up and Vic would get to know that gorgeous face. His parents, who would obviously know him best, thought that Kellin would like him if he were around.

Vic was gay, no denying that. But was Kellin? It was a question he wanted an answer to, but he didn’t want to ask. It was a mental mess he wanted solved.

And something told him he’d get his answer if he went back in to Kellin’s room next time. God knows the secrets that place contained; and Vic wanted to learn all of them. It was clear his parents had left it untouched.

Was it weird though, having this one way friendship? What exactly would Kellin think when he did finally open those blue eyes?