Cancer

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Brendon's apartment was on the top floor of the building--penthouse. I rode the elevator all the way up, focusing on the light moving from number to number, approaching 16 at a torturously slow pace, to keep from worrying. It didn't really work.

I was out of the elevator as soon as the doors slid open, and then I was there at the front door of the only apartment on the floor in another split second.

I knocked once, frantically, and then before I could get anxious enough to knock again, the door flew open and an unfamiliar boy about my age stood there in the doorway, looking almost as tired and worried as I did.

"Where is he?"

He jumped to the side to let me in, shutting and locking the door behind me firmly. "Back here," he muttered, and I followed him on a winding path through the darkened apartment.

There were no lights on anywhere in the whole apartment; random clutter took up every inch of space on every table and was piled haphazardly in corners. I had to watch where Brendon's roommate stepped to avoid tripping over all the shit crowding the floor: discarded newspapers and magazines, dirty clothes, empty cans of Red Bull and the harder stuff. Navigating Brendon's apartment at three AM was like stumbling through on obstacle course from hell.

"What's going on?" I asked.

Brendon's roommate (I never bothered to ask his name) just shook his head. "He's just been acting kind of crazy. He came in late tonight and woke me up--throwing things, breaking shit, yelling about fuck knows what... Then he went out on the balcony, like he was gonna jump or something."

My heart beat faster. It felt like it was up in my throat somewhere, suffocating me.

He noticed my panicked expression. "I don't think he would, but... I was gonna call 911, but he told me he'd jump if the cops showed up. And he just kept saying your name over and over again, so I found your number in his phone and called you. I think you're the only one he'll listen to right now."

I hoped so.

Eventually we came to a big room with the door thrown open. Through the doorway, I could see a guitar and some CDs without cases on a huge bed in the middle of the room, with more garbage strewn about than there had been in the whole rest of the apartment combined. The bedside table was crammed with nothing but glass bottles and metallic cans of varying shapes and sizes.

I could see more in here, because the far wall was made up almost entirely of glass. The moonlight streaming in through the huge windows cast a sihllouette of a figure against the messy floor.

Brendon's roommate paused in the doorway and turned to look at me for a moment, biting his lip with indecision. Then, finally, after a great deal of concentration, he seemed to come a conclusion. He leaned in closer and whispered to me, "I think you should go in first."

I swallowed hard, took a deep breath to steady myself, and stepped into what I assumed to be Brendon's bedroom.

On the far wall, huge glass double doors opened out onto a balcony. The doors were thrown open, letting the sharp evening air blow into Brendon's room and framing Brendon's shape, his dark form barely outlined against the night sky. He was standing on the railing of the balcony facing away from me, both hands hanging at his sides and clasped into fists.

I was afraid to say anything, or even move closer--to make any sound at all. What if I startled him and he fell, completely by accident? We were sixteen stories up. He wouldn't survive the fall.

Or, worse, what if he saw me and jumped? On purpose? Because of me?

I could never live with myself again.

I glanced around wildly and Brendon's rommate was still standing there in the doorway. He must have read the hesitation in my eyes, because he urged me on with a hand gesture.

So I kept walking forward.

Once I reached the double doors that led out onto the balcony, I stopped. He stood completely motionless; he still didn't know I was there.

I mustered up every ounce of courage I had left and said clearly, "Brendon?"

I shut my eyes immediately, terrified of seeing him fall--but when I opened them again a few seconds later, he was still standing there, as still as ever. At first, I thought that maybe somehow he hadn't heard me.

Then he turned his head slowly, shuffling his feet around on the railing until he stood facing me.

The cold wind blew his long, unkept hair about his face. His pale skin, lined and weary, seemed to glow in the moonlight. His full lips hung open in a blank expression, and his dark eyes just blinked at me, once, twice...

Then he hopped down from the railing lithely, crossing the balcony until he stood just a few feet away from me.

"Kelsey," he breathed, awestruck. His facial expression shifted from one of listless indifference to one of wonder.

"Brendon," I sighed in relief. And then, before I could think, before I could even stop myself, I closed the distance between us and threw my arms around him, holding him close to me and burying my face in his chest.

It was so odd, holding him like that--so different and yet so familiar. His arms still encircled me the same way they always had, though they shook more now as they touched me. His shirt smelled the same but it was rougher now, more wrinkled and worn, as if he had slept in it. His hot breath on my face felt the same as it had all those years ago, but now it carried with it the sharp, unmistakeable smell of alcohol.

I pulled away from him and steered him inside, away from the balcony. I put my hands on his shoulders and pushed him down onto the side of his bed. He went willingly.

I knelt before him on the floor. "Brendon, are you okay? What happened?"

He just shook his head, his jaw still hanging open in disbelief.

I got to my feet and sank down onto the bed beside him. "What's wrong?" I asked him softly. "You can tell me."

He could only stare at me in stunned silence.

"It's okay now," I whispered, stroking his hair away from his face and out of his bloodshot eyes, trying my best to comfort him. "Everything's okay now. I'm here. I'm here."

-----

I tried to get him to talk to me for a long time, but he never said a word. Finally, after a good half hour, I gave up.

"You should get to bed," I said, standing up again. "It's late--"

"Don't leave me!" he burst out suddenly.

The desperation in his eyes was not hard to read. If I left, he would return to the balcony--of that I was sure.

"Okay," I said slowly, carefully. "I'll stay. But you need to get to bed."

His expression calm again, he nodded.

Brendon's roommate--who had been lurking in the doorway throughout our rather one-sided exchange--helped Brendon change into something to wear to bed and then excused himself. "I'll, uh...I'll let you guys talk for a while," he mumbled, backing out of the room. He shut the door behind him.

Brendon crossed the room slowly and climbed onto the bed, dumping the guitar and CDs onto the floor unceremoniously. "Sorry about the mess," he mumbled in a slurred voice.

"That's okay." I tried to smile at him and failed.

I pulled the covers back and insisted that he slide underneath him. I tucked him in a like a small child, but he never protested. It was still completely dark in his room.

"Turn the lights on," he said.

"If I turn the lights on, you won't be able to sleep."

"I don't want to sleep."

"You need to sleep," I told him sternly. "You're exhausted. I can tell."

"I'm fine," he grunted.

Before I could argue with him further, he struggled to sit up in bed enough to reach over and turn on the lamp on the bedside table. The soft lamplight filled the room, illuminating his features at last.

The circles around his eyes were so dark that it almost looked like he had two black eyes. The lines around his eyes and mouth were even more pronounced now than they had been when I'd last seen him. His hair was unwashed and unkept, hanging lankly about his face. His complexion was unnaturally pale, sickly.

He looked awful, to say the least.

"Brendon, what's wrong?" The pleading note in my voice was unmistakeable as I touched his arm softly.

At first I was sure he would not answer, but I was wrong.

"I miss you."