52. (BoyxBoy)

52. Page 11.

Then he was sick. He was bent double, and a tumble of thick, yellow-y vomit spewed out of his mouth,continuously. It was kind of repulsing. Aiden made ugly moaning noises, and collapsed onto the ground: right next to the pile of sick, running through the tall grass. His face was a pale white colour, and contrasted with black jacket, which had previously hung loosely around him, but now tightly gripped around him. He was shivering, Matt noticed. Aiden was tossed in a heap on the ground, and seriously looked unwell.

Matt took a step towards him, carefully avoiding the puddle of sick. He looked down at the shivering boy on the ground, and bit his lip, unsure of what to do. He stood awkwardly for a few moments, his eyes shifting from Aiden to the surroundings. The sky was getting brighter, and most of the birds had shut up, but it was still pretty early. His gaze lifted to his house: would his parents be up yet? Did it matter? He knew he'd better get back soon, or else they'd worry. But he couldn't leave Aiden in the state he was currently in. So, he crouched down beside him, and steadied himself with his hand.

"I'm sorry. I just feel so . . . weird," Aiden apologised, unnecessarily. Matt nodded like he understood, when, really, he didn't have a clue. For a few moments, they stayed close to each other. Aiden breathing deeply, and still shivering and Matt just taking in the whole situation.

"Hurh-hugh," Aiden growled suddenly, as he tried to pull himself up, gripping onto Matt's shoulder. This sudden movement took Matt by surprise, but helped prise him up, nevertheless. Matt stood up, holding onto Aiden's arm. Then he grabbed onto his other arm, with his free hand, and tugged him up. Aiden was surprising light, and fell forwards into Matt - causing them both to fall over backwards, which made the whole previous event seem pointless. Matt laughed lightly, and Aiden joined in - forgetting about his overwhelming illness. The laughter grew slightly, into a heavier fit of poignant giggles, until it became an uncontrollable pound of pure emotion. It became apparent quickly, that they had forgotten what they were laughing at in the first place. They couldn't really stop, though, because it would turn awkward. They were both aware of each other, lounging across the grass. Aiden turned to look at his saviour, who turned to look at him. Conscious of their eyes meeting, Matt blinked and stood up.

"Come on," he mumbled, but still smiling. He grabbed Aiden's arm and started pulling him up (again). Aiden allowed himself to be lifted up, and obediently walked alongside - but slightly behind - Matt, up to his house. They slid through the forest of grass in an awkward, but relaxed, silence. Matt tried humming, but it sounded forced and stupid. He muttered something incomprehensible, under his breath, that Aiden knew wasn't really meant for him, so he didn't question it. Although the house was only a matter of minutes away, it took an age. Aiden's feet felt heavy and the short walk took effect on him. His already heavy breathing deepened and his legs began to ache. His nose and eyes watered, and the cold seemed to quilt him in a bed of frozen peas, despite the now heavy sun glaring down to Earth.

When they finally reached Matt's back door, he opened it carefully, and ushered Aiden in quietly. Like mice, the shuffled through the kitchen. Matt started pulling out a range of exotic breakfast cereals, but Aiden just settled on toast. As Matt fussed about making breakfast, Aiden wandered off to find the bathroom. There was still a fair amount of boxes and random items about, along with a few dozen potted plants. Obviously they'd only moved into the area quite recently. The inside of the house was quite compelling, and didn't quite match the exterior. It certainly didn't match the area. Granted, it was on the 'better' side of town, but it still didn't have a great reputation.

He crept past the boxes, and a few cans of paint, and entered the bathroom. He closed the door gently, and headed straight for the mirror. His eyes bore into his reflection, and his reflection's eyes bore into his. The mirror presented him as a ghost. The sight was ghastly; he looked a mess. He swore at himself, and turned the tap on. Cold water splashed out of the tap. He cupped his hand and filled them with water. He threw the water all over him, until he was soaking. He scrubbed his face hard, until it was clean. He ran water through his hair, and ruffled it up. Then he rinsed his hands thoroughly. He looked back up to the mirror: now he just looked like a slightly wetter version of the idiot he already was. The jacket he was wearing was covered in mud, so he took it off and rinsed it with water. His trousers had a few grass stains, and they certainly weren't coming off, but his shirt was clean (the dried in stains and all together yellowness of it was cleaner than usual). He was still wearing his school tie, but it had gotten all twisted somehow, so he took it off and refastened it.

Running his fingers along his spot-ridden skin, he wanted to cry.

Want. That was a new word. It didn't really feature in his vocabulary. He hadn't wanted anything in his life. Not really. He hadn't really wanted to die; he just thought it'd be easier that way. Anyway, if any normal person were to write a list of three things they wanted, crying wouldn't be at the top. It'd be power and wealth. Happiness, maybe. But not sadness.

So, maybe it wasn't sadness he wanted. He just wanted emotion - and sadness is a lot easier to come by than happiness. It was easier. Like when he had tried to kill himself, he always went for the easiest option.