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Naim had a throbbing headache. He'd been trying to recollect anything that had happened for the past ten hours or so, after he'd left the store in vain, with Hunter nowhere to be found. He'd ran back home in the dark, terrified out of his mind.
Naim had struggled to make sense of his thoughts while running up and down streets to his house, but it had felt like he was being chased. Rationally speaking, he knew nothing was coming for him, but there was some demonic thing out there that had gotten both Ryan and Hunter attacked— and what made him so different from either of them?
The gas plant's flare stood out in the night sky like a beacon, brighter against the midnight blue instead of the light sunset earlier. Naim had darted past the landmark and burst through his door, panting and catching his breath. His mum was usually a heavy sleeper, but to his surprise, she'd gotten out of bed when he entered. He was frantically shaking and sobbing amidst her alarmed questions of where he was until now, what happened, and who got attacked, and you're not being ridiculous are you.
The police station had been a blur of cold white lights and bored-looking officers and his mum trying to keep him together as he bawled non-stop. What was worse was finding out about Hunter's remains after the sun rose, while he waited to be questioned. According to what he'd been told, hours later, it wasn't even his entire body— just his head. Naim felt sick, but he couldn't muster energy to throw up the acid sitting in his gut. All he could do was refuse snacks from the worker at the front desk, who glanced at him as if he was the one in need of serious help.
And so, they referred him to a social worker.
Admitting everything about him and Ryan to her was somehow as terrifying as seeing Hunter get dragged away, but he was glad he got through it if it meant finding answers to somehow avenge Hunter— even if it took a while to convince her that he wasn't in need of any help— because Hunter's death was his fault, but there would be no explaining that. He wasn't sure how an invisible entity would be documented by the police, but the town was inherently odd. Surely all this was about as believable as an all powerful god most of them praised, and the church could reverse the curse on Ryan before it was too late.
Despite his newfound hopes, he couldn't fully shake the cold fear from when he saw his mum talking with the social worker. Still, his mum probably had other things on her mind after witnessing an investigation of a child murder, and the social worker likely gave advice on how to help her son come out from a hysterical state after witnessing the very act that happened.
All he was doing now was sitting in the stiff chair at the police station, waiting for his mum to take a call.
More than anything, Naim felt utterly spent from his long night. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to get in his bed, drift off into sleep, and forget about every mistake he'd ever made, if only for a moment.
His mum was driving in complete silence. It wasn't anything too new, and really, it wasn't uncommon as of late. Ever since Ryan and Hunter's "healing," and his mum trying to hide her teary eyes in the car afterwards, she was acting awfully similar to the way she did back when Naim's dad died.
Naim swallowed, feeling like his throat would be hoarse tomorrow from all the screaming he'd done today. Yesterday night. It was all blurring together.
The sun was fully out now, and people were making their morning commutes. Meanwhile, his mum had needed to take off from work to bring him to the station and wait there the entire time they'd questioned him.
Naim glanced sideways at her, wondering if he would find any irritation or sadness in her gaze from the night's events. All he saw was a stony silence that could have meant any number of things.
He would rather her be upset at him.
He was certainly upset at himself. Upset didn't even cover it. He thought he'd doze off in the car by now, but the sunlight re-illuminated his anxieties and strained his eyes. He tried to conjure up an image of what Hunter's head looked like, ripped away from his body. He tried to think of where the rest of his corpse went. He was making himself feel sick, and he should've stopped thinking about it, but something about the rumination felt like penance.
Though no one seemed to believe him, he knew that he alone had to shoulder the full truth. This was completely his fault. Hunter's blood was on no one's hands but his own. The stony eyes of the Deliverance Healer haunted both his dreams and waking moments, and Naim was apparently haunting Ryan, and Ryan apparently was— or rather, had— haunted Hunter, and—
Before he knew it, they were parked in front of their house. Naim snapped out of his daze, blinking quickly and vaguely wondering if he should actually talk to his mum about anything that had happened. Whether she'd make him feel better or not was a different matter.
He did a double take as he looked out of the passenger window. Two unfamiliar men stood in front of their door.
"Who's that?"
Naim turned to his mum, who was looking resolutely ahead of her. An uneasy feeling grew in his stomach.
"Mum?"
"I've been thinking, Naim." She was finally looking at him now, with her signature expression, which was indecipherable. "Maybe there's always going to be kids who… hurt people like Hunter. People like Ryan." She paused.
"People like you."
Naim's heart dropped.
The social worker hadn't been on his side at all.
"That woman with the police says she sees it all the time. She reckons it's that kind of hate that killed Hunter," his mum explained, matter of fact, as if Naim's life wasn't being destroyed as she spoke. As if she had any idea what was actually going on.
Something about his mum's demeanor seemed too calm for this. It was much like the calm way she got before she suddenly announced that they were moving to Bandee in a week, giving Naim no time to process anything.
Naim realized a tear had trailed down his cheek. His head was filled with a buzzy static, his heart was pounding, and he wasn't sure when he started crying, or why there was a pit in his chest, or why there were strangers in front of their house. He was trying to decipher their identities when his mum spoke again.
"I just… I can't lose you too."
Naim really, really hoped this wasn't what he was thought it was. He looked out the window again, and faced the most blood chilling sight he'd witnessed since the sunrise.
"I'm sorry."
The old man who had haunted Naim's thoughts was calmly standing in front of his door, between the other men who were walking towards the car.
Naim's mind went into overdrive, wishing he'd realized what was happening sooner.
"Mum, no, no, you can't do this," he begged, frantic, as she refused to even look at him. This couldn't be happening right now, not after everything—
She mumbled something to herself, something sounding an awful lot like, "Please, I can't."
"No, you can't do this mum—" Naim decided he could only make a run for it, but it was too late. The men grabbed him as soon as he left the car. He tried to run forwards instead of struggle against them, but their grip on his arms was merciless.
He was somewhere between half screaming and half sobbing his last pleas as they dragged him into the house. "Mum, they killed Hunter! You don't wanna do this!"
The men tried to placate him, telling him to settle down, and that it was okay, but Naim knew the whole thing for what it was. A lie. A death sentence, one he was going to take now. He'd lose nothing by trying to fight his way out of it.
But any jabs with his elbow or frantic screams to appeal to his mum were in vain, and he kicked at the floors as he was dragged inside, scuffing up the wood in the way his mum would hate, but it didn't fucking matter now, did it, nothing mattered, he just needed to get out—
But they'd managed to drag him all the way into the bathroom. One of them closed the door shut, and Naim found himself being held against the wall as the men tried to still his thrashing. It was over, but he couldn't help but put up a last ditch attempt at a fight.
Ryan with the marks dotting his torso, hand denting his neck. Hunter's body, suspended in the air. Naim couldn't possibly fight that. But if he couldn't fight this, he would have no choice.
The Healer pulled his flame out, and Naim frantically remembered that nothing had happened until Ryan and Hunter looked at the flame. He tossed and turned side-to-side frantically, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth against the rough hands on his body, holding him to the hard wall. If he didn't see the fire, he could be okay.
A cold voice rang out in the air."Look."
Naim turned to the side, keeping his eyes squeezed shut, but a hand suddenly grabbed his chin, facing his head forward. The shock of it made his eyes fly open.
"Look."
It was too late. His body knew it before his mind did, going as stiff as a board when his eyes fixed onto the flame.
Naim's mind had also started to stop its protests. It had gone blank and fuzzy, waiting for the inevitable commands out of the Healer's mouth that Naim ran over and over in his mind since witnessing Ryan and Hunter's ritual. He couldn't do anything but take the dread, fixed to the wall as nothing but a trapped deer in front of blinding headlights.
"Two fires, oh Lord, one to defile, and one to reform."
The sharp sound of the lighter closing echoed in Naim's skull. He felt his body shoot up in temperature within a second, so opposite of the ice cold room a moment ago.
At the same time, his throat became strangled, as if a hand really was closing on it. But the pain was so intense that it felt like someone was strangling it from the inside. He could hear himself gag on bile as it burnt up in his throat. He was throwing it up excruciatingly slowly as the Healer's words softly rang out as background noise.
"Sons of Aaron, brought the fire to please themselves, they worshipped as they willed."
Naim felt himself hit the floor, and his vision started to shake and tilt as he went down. His throat was burning up hotter than the rest of him, expelling hot spit out of his mouth, dripping down his chin like gasoline.
"And so the fire of judgement fell."
He writhed on the cold tile, seeing the three men look down at him. They were stone still and stoic as he backed into the corner and let out a scream of anguish. His head was on fire, and he slammed it against the wall. He felt like his brain was getting carved out of him as flashbacks of everything before this moment flew through his mind.
He wanted to apologize to them, to his mum, to anyone for this. Repeating "please" didn't budge any of the men. The Healer simply took a breath and started to repeat his mantra again as Naim pressed his cheek against the tile for any reprieve— only, the tiles didn't feel cool anymore.
Naim's stomach started to hurt as he thought about Ryan writhing on the church floor, and he thought about how he'd kissed him, and then he thought about burning down the mill where they'd laid together and taking himself out with it.
None of the thoughts stopped his thrashing and aching and burning up. He vaguely wondered where his mum was, and started to call for her, but there were only the blurry shapes of the three men above him.
The door remained closed and uncaring as he turned on his back to look at it. He'd never felt claustrophobic in his own bathroom before, but it felt like the walls were closing in on top of him, compressing all the aches in his bones as his limbs twitched.
"Stop, stop, please," he whimpered out weakly, uselessly, for what felt like the hundredth time. He didn't expect this to go on for so long. Maybe it was what he deserved for running out on Ryan in the middle of it all that day in the church, while he looked into his eyes as the other boy shook on the floor. He felt a sudden wave of shame for thinking that he deserved to escape this.
The burning pain in Naim's body had weakened, letting him think more clearly, but it was replaced with something throbbing mildly all over, from the cavity of his chest to the insides of his bones. He realized that hot tears had been streaming down his face. His hands felt too weak to try wiping them away.
The Healer was looking down at him now, his piercing ice-blue eyes betraying the same emotion as earlier, which was nothing. Nothing at all. His lips were straight, pinched, and then began to move again. "Sons of Aaron…"
Naim screamed out again. Whether it was in frustration or pain was unknown to him, both feelings burning up hot in his nerves. He learned his lesson, he wanted to say, but the flames started to lick up into his head again, going back to that sharp pain from the beginning, causing him to writhe on the floor. There was a sharp keening sound echoing off the tiles, like whining from a dog, but he realized that it was coming from him.
Ryan's face flashed through his mind, lazily grinning and blonde-haloed.
Naim felt an inexplicable surge of anger for a moment before the room turned blurrier than it already was, and then completely black.
Ryan is dipping his head down as if to kiss him. His skin is glowing and tan in the rays of sunlight, and Naim's eyes are halfway closed. He looks angelic, as always, and Naim's ready to be blessed. He doesn't shut his eyes all the way, wanting to savor the sight of the boy above him for a little longer.
He feels a jolt. Instead of Ryan, Naim embraces a metal pipe, crushing his chest and flattening his body until he can't breathe anymore.
Naim had been dressed the entire time after being cleaned in the bathtub, but he still felt stripped naked, even though it had been hours.
Outside his window, it was as sunny as it had been yesterday. The ravens that usually perched on the trees crowed on the branches.
Naim wasn't sure of how he got to sitting up in bed with a plate of food in front of him. It only registered to him that he really was in the present moment when he'd taken a bite of his now cold toast.
His stomach still felt sour, but he was slowly replaying the events of the morning as he nibbled on a nauseatingly sweet tart. He'd passed out after what had happened, but became half conscious when his mum had cleaned sweat and puke off of him in the tub. He was saying something, and so was she, and maybe she sounded a bit distressed, but he didn't remember a thing she said. It all felt like some long gone dream.
His body didn't hurt as much as he thought it would, but that didn't give him any relief. His muscles were still sore and stiff from yesterday's struggle. He'd woken up with his mouth tasting oddly bitter, having slept through the entire afternoon and night, stomach clenching at the sight of his mum sitting by his side. He'd tried to ask her what exactly happened, but she just rattled off a clinical list of events (you passed out, I washed you, dressed you, and you slept) and gone off to get food, telling him that he should probably drink some water.
Naim didn't ask any of the burning questions unspoken and heavy between them. Asking "Mum, what the fuck was that?" would get him nowhere, and he knew it.
His mum seemed to always have an inkling of something, and had probably talked about it with his dad. It was one of those things he never had proof of, but felt innately in the way she would question his music, clothes, aspirations, and tastes in movies. In the way she wouldn't say anything at all about them, mostly. Conversations were cut short with silent disapproval, so at some point, Naim stopped talking about anything he'd enjoyed.
Now, his worst, dirtiest secret was fully out. The thing he'd been trying to hide for years since averting his eyes in middle school locker rooms, from ads of underwear models at the mall— the wrong kind of models— his browsing history in the dead of night, the sketchbook drawings of a nice boy that he'd talk to at school, until they moved here.
For a moment, he wanted nothing more than to die, so he wouldn't need to keep thinking about any of this, but then he realized that would be exactly what would happen to him now. It just probably wouldn't be in the swift and painless way he'd like. Naim felt his chest shake with quickened little breaths, panicking at the images of Ryan and Hunter held still by invisible forces— and they could stand their ground against someone, at least, what chance did he have—
And Naim didn't even believe in heaven, or anything like it. What a waste. For the first time in his life, his heart sank as he started to really, seriously think about what hell would be like, because he was destined to go there. Did his mum know that? Did she think this magical ceremony would save him from that?
Did she want the lighter's flame to be his own private hell, so he could get a taste of the real thing and be scared of it? Because he was scared. He was fucking terrified. He supposed she did a great job of that.
This feeling would need to stop now, he figured, if he wanted to survive. Not survive hell, he wasn't afraid of that— at least, if he didn't think for longer than a minute about it— but staying alive right now was the first step. If he did what they all asked of him and changed his ways, his heart, his mind— maybe he would have a fighting chance.
The problem was, he couldn't lie away the warmth he felt when he thought of Ryan, even in the moment. That sort of warmth would never be like the fire that invaded his head the night before.
Still, he wasn't sure how to weigh that feeling against his imminent death. He selfishly hoped that if he got killed by all this, it would be before Ryan did, so Naim didn't have to bear any heavier guilt.
Naim watched the sun set outside through the window. It was duller than usual, or maybe he was just being biased. Evenings were sometimes nice in Bandee, but he missed seeing tall buildings and lights in apartments in the cityscape. He felt like he'd miss that even more tonight.
His mum came in his room again, for the first time since the morning. Naim figured she went to work, or maybe she was just going to go to work now. He didn't bother to question it.
She sat on his bed. It dipped under her weight as she smiled at him. "How are you?"
Naim blinked. He didn't realize how unprepared he felt to answer that question.
"I'm okay," he said, his voice soft from disuse. "Uh, just hungry, a bit."
His mum nodded, glancing to the side. "Dinner will be ready soon. I have to go work now, but should I get you anything else before I go?"
Naim just sat there, looking at her dumbly.
Why'd you do this, mum?
Naim opened his mouth, the question floating on his tongue. His mum got up.
"I'll go make dinner now," she said, walking away. "Don't want to be late."
Naim wasn't even sure if he deserved to feel upset about her silence, when his own inability to keep his mouth shut had led to all this.
Naim was still shivering, despite the fact that he was curled up under every blanket he had. He felt like sleep could take him at any moment if he surrendered to it, but he refused to. The more his thoughts spiraled, the more his heart raced, thinking of the handprint on Ryan's neck or Hunter being dragged away into nothingness.
Naim's mum had wanted to keep him safe, but she had no idea of anything he'd seen. Naim could figure out several lines of thought for why Hunter's parents would call for the ritual. Naim wondered what Ryan's parents thought when they decided to do it. Ryan tended to divulge little about himself, which annoyed him, though he'd let it slide for Ryan's attentive face whenever he heard Naim spoke. Now, Naim was annoyed all over again, wishing he had a substantial rant from him to work with, to glean something deep from the other boy's life before everything went to shit.
Sheets pooled around Naim as he tossed and turned, sweating against his shirt. He started to wonder if Ryan lay in his bed like this, drained and disoriented, trying to rationalize everything in the darkness. If he cried for his mum, or his dad, or if they both left him alone. If he couldn't eat. If he regretted kissing Naim that day.
He waited with held breath for some force to take him and slam him against the wall, or drag him out the window, but nothing came. There wasn't so much as a breeze outside, and the crickets sang a soft song, eventually lulling him to sleep.
Naim shakes his head, staring at the ceiling, relaxing from the high settling into his veins. "I think my mum would like you, if I told her we hang out. I mean, she knows we do. Uh, she doesn't really know what we do, but—"
Ryan hums, smiling and looking pleased. His eyes are closed. "Of course, yeah. Hi Mrs. Reid, I'm Naim's friend who's had his tongue down his—"
"Fuck off."
"Nothing friends don't do," Ryan says easily, smirking. Naim has butterflies in his stomach. He's hopeless.
Ryan holds a joint, eyes turned away from Naim as he takes a hit. "They ask about you, you know."
Naim frowns, confused. "Who?"
"My folks," he says, looking at Naim now. His eyes look dead. "They know. They ask about why you did this to me."
"Did what? Ryan? Ryan, what—"
Naim backs up as Ryan stands, walking towards him with an eerie calm.
Ryan's staring at him with a cold fury, face getting closer as he bends down to Naim's level. "Had to ruin a good thing, huh?" is all Naim hears before his fist cracks against Naim's face.
Naim often thought about an odd period of time when he was a child, scared of monsters in the dark. This fear lasted for several years, despite his parents best attempts to reassure him.
The trouble was, he was ten when he still had this fear, and it was apparently too old for him to be scared of monsters and ghosts lurking in the shadows.
He couldn't help it. He'd always been a strangely imaginative child, spooked at the condensation on the car window looking like an odd face, or the buttons on his jacket looking like eyes in his room in the moonlight.
He'd kept asking his mum to stay by his side at night, at least for a bit, but she would almost never oblige him, not even from the start, when he was around five.
One day, when he hadn't outgrown all his night time uneasiness and wide-eyed shivering at ten, his mum seemed to be at her last straw. "I don't know how you're going to make it in the world," she snapped, and promptly left his room, leaving Naim with a fresh wave of pain that overtook all his thoughts of things in the dark.
He felt five years old again. Completely puny and fragile, incapable of doing a single important thing by himself.
A day and a half had passed with no great fanfare. Naim had laid in bed and read random things on his phone, watched some movie with a sad ending that didn't make him feel any better or worse, and looked at his sketchbook without opening it, all while ignoring the homework he didn't do. The morning was unbearable, with nothing but memories and flashbacks swimming in his head, but the night of sleep he'd gotten was oddly peaceful.
He was just sitting at the dining table now, his food untouched, staring at his mum as she worked on some files. A few years ago, he would've told her that he was in a bad mood, or that he'd had some problem with a friend. He would always complain about teachers, or stupid news headlines that made him mad. When was the exact moment her bedtime stories and complaints about work had turned to feverish prayers and chanted hymns? When did movie night become some test of faith, as their beloved films suddenly turned demonic? When did the knowledge and scrutiny in her eyes go from assuring to threatening?
His mum didn't look up from her work until she realized he was still staring at her.
She broke into one of those rare, sweet, reassuring smiles, her eyes going a bit soft. It wasn't an expression Naim had seen in… he couldn't remember. It could have been a year, or only a few months. Before Naim knew it, her face went blurry as he started to tear up.
"Oh, Naim…" Her arms were open, and Naim moved before he realized it.
He collapsed in her arms, crying softly, unable to care about anything he'd felt before this. Her embrace was warm, and she was rubbing his back. He felt small. He felt fragile. He felt five years old again. Puny and helpless and so, so pathetic. But his mum was here, and she hadn't been here in a while.
They were both silent for a moment, with Naim sniffling in her arms. Then she gave a sigh.
"Life's not always easy. You and me, we know this."
Hollowness crept back into his chest. Her arms, though still comforting, were starting to feel like a vice.
"You're a strong kid. You'll be okay."
Naim just kept sniffling until his breathing evened out, unsure of how to dignify his mum's reassurances with any good response. He never thought of himself as strong. He didn't feel that his mum did, either.
Somehow, it felt liked he was being lied to.
His mum separated from their embrace, her eyes studying his face with a pinched expression.
"You haven't been out of your room this entire week."
Naim glanced down, finding no point in saying that yesterday, she was the one who didn't want him to even leave the house, citing his safety. He had snapped at her, and she shut him down, and that was the end of that.
She sighed, mouth pressed tight, seeming to read his thoughts. "At least step outside for a moment. It will be good for you. It will help your mood." She left with two taps to his shoulder, opening the front door and looking at him expectantly.
Naim moved forward, feeling like a zombie. There wasn't any real reason or desire that he had to go outside and "improve his mood", but he didn't have much else to do. He stopped right outside the door, barefoot and soaking up the heat on the warm concrete ground. His tears had become tacky on his face, cooling in the outside breeze.
The sun was as it always had been. It was only moderately different from the view through his window. Naim stared straight into it and wondered if it was possible to blind himself, but it wasn't nearly bright enough in the haze of the unclear skies. The grass fields were in the distance, and he found himself looking in the direction of the mill and the fields where he'd met Ryan. He wondered if at that moment, a snake was eating a frog out there, or something else.
Naim turned back inside and walked past his mum, looking forward to taking another nap.
They walk to the mill together, because they decided to abandon their bikes to attempt a hike. It's Ryan's idea. Naim finds it stupid, and he's trying not to start panting miserably, already out of breath.
But Ryan keeps asking him about his life, and the city, and what he prefers. He asks what his mum prefers, and Naim has to think about it while catching his breath.
"I dunno, she seems happy here. I think she was happier in the city with my dad, but she likes it more here now that he's not here anymore."
Ryan nods as he kicks a rock on the ground. "I talked to her, y'know."
Naim stops, turning to look at him. "Wait, what?"
"Your mum." Ryan stops walking too, staring at him with a small smirk. His eyes lack the good-natured mischief that usually came with it. "She and I didn't agree on a lot, except one thing. You're a fucking liar."
"Ryan, I don't— please, if it's about Hunter, I can explain—"
"Save it," Ryan snarls, lurching towards him, and Naim runs into the field, the grass turning endless. He turns behind him, and Ryan's still at his heels, eyes rabid. Naim trips, and the world goes black as he screams.
His dreams were absent of Ryan. He wasn't sure why he was hoping he'd show up there, or what he expected his mind to conjure. Naim used to have a decently sharp memory of his dreams. Now, he felt like he still had them, but he'd wake up with nothing but vague hazy memories of laughter and screaming and grass fields.
When Naim was awake, every moment shared with Ryan played in his mind like a film, all hazy grain and soft breath and warm voices. Their laughs mixing, their shared highs and kisses, Ryan's arms holding him down. Naim was starting to regret not taking Ryan's offer to go further than making out, because it didn't prove useful for anything Naim had felt. Where had all his hesitance gotten him now? Clearly, he hadn't been taught a proper lesson, because instead of shame, Naim just felt a bit pissed off. What big act of lust had Naim committed in the Deliverance Healer's eyes? Jerking off quietly in his room the first day he'd come back from the mill, heart racing and unable to sleep?
What scared Naim the most, back then after coming back from the mill, and now, cold and curled up on his bed, is that he didn't think anything could have saved him. If a time machine existed, or if he had the gift of prophecy, Naim didn't think any of it would have been enough to refuse returning that kiss, no matter how badly he wanted to now. Even if he told himself now that he wouldn't have done any of it, he found that all his ruminating never lined up with what he really did.
Even now, Naim thought about Ryan's hands on his body, his lips pressed to his, and no amount of twisting in his stomach removed the thrill that planted itself in his ribs. The spark, the headiness of want, the easiness of which he was able to return the other boy's smile.
Naim cried into the crook of his elbow that night, on the verge of praying to a god he didn't believe in, begging to be anything but this.
Naim's eyes are closed as Ryan's lips move against his. His hands are around Ryan's back, and he wonders if it would be a good time to slip his hands under the other boy's shirt like he's been wanting to for a while.
But his thoughts are interrupted as he feels wetness against his face. Startled, Naim pulls away. Ryan has started crying, and by the time Naim realizes it, the other boy's face has become completely soaked in tears, flushed red and quivering.
"Hey, hey, Ry, what— hey, c'mere—"
Ryan tucks himself into Naim's embrace, head tucked into the crook of Naim's shoulder.
"It hurts," he sobs, "It keeps hurting me. I don't know what to do."
"Ryan, I'm sorry," Naim says, feeling dread pool in his stomach. "I'm so sorry, Ryan, I—"
Ryan's hands hold onto the back of Naim's neck. His nails are blunt against the skin there. "Would you be happy if it got me for good, huh? Is that what you wanted?"
Before Naim can respond, before he can scream that this isn't anything near what he wanted at all, Ryan's hands rip into his throat, tearing out his windpipe, and it burns, it fucking burns—
That morning— whatever morning it was, because Naim couldn't be bothered to keep track— was set to pass as uneventfully as usual. Naim figured he'd be pushed to go to school next week, not this one, and he felt a sense of gratefulness to his mum for that, at least. He'd take any scraps he could get.
Any gratitude he felt towards her was swiftly destroyed by her words at breakfast.
"Hunter's funeral is tomorrow. It's in the morning. We're going."
Naim froze and focused on the wall behind his mum, not caring to look at her face. Like everything else, the decision had clearly been made for him. He thought of faking an illness, or saying he couldn't go, but his mouth felt glued. Words kept getting stuck in his throat, with no outlet. Any energy he'd spend on protests would be as pointless as every other thing he'd ever done.
He felt nauseous, but unlike all the other times he'd been so this week, he actually had to run to the restroom and gag over the toilet. Nothing came out, but the sickness he felt seemed to be stronger now as flashes of Hunter's struggling body and whispers about his severed head came to him all at once.
That fateful talk with Hunter's parents about him and Ryan, born out of Naim's hurt and envy and fear that had seeped into his bones like the cold rain.
Hunter's death, brought on by Naim's foolish, foolish hands.
The same sentence him and Ryan carried now.
Naim lay slumped on the floor, ignoring his mum's exasperated pleas from outside to finish his food later when he felt better.
He wrestled with strangely overlapping thoughts. He didn't feel as terrified for himself as he thought he did, anymore. It had been a few days since the Deliverance Healer had cursed him, but nothing had actually happened to him. His sleepless nights and paranoia of some strange monster killing him felt stupid now, much like the fears he had when he was little.
All that relief didn't change the fact that he was nervous to be at Hunter's funeral after everything. The guilt he'd been trying to shut out for the past few days came back at full force. Was it better for him to go, to man up and see the damage he'd done? Or was it better if he quietly stayed home, undeserving of looking anyone in the eye?
He got up, feeling lightheaded, and wobbled unsteadily on his feet to leave the bathroom, devising a plan to stuff the rest of his breakfast down the trash when his mum wasn't looking.
Naim had only ever been to one funeral in his life.
His dad's wake should have been something more memorable, but Naim couldn't recall many details besides his own tears. That wasn't notable. He cried at anything. It would be shocking if he wasn't a blubbering mess at the end of that funeral.
But his mother didn't shed a tear throughout the procession— not when they brought out the casket, not when giving her speech— which was so well written it brought Naim further to tears— and not when they both left, driving back to their house that had become one thirds more empty and colder.
It was the after that Naim remembered the most. He knew he shouldn't have done what he did, but he was growing almost angry with his mum the more stoic she looked, driving back silently and fully composed. To think that her friends were worried about her driving herself back— she clearly could manage just fine. He felt downright stupid for being a snotty, blubbering mess beside her.
At home, his mum curtly told him there was lunch in the fridge that he could heat up. She promptly went to her own room, shutting the door. Naim heard the lock twist.
Naim heated up his food, but he didn't take a seat at the dining table. He tiptoed outside his mum's door and pressed his ear to it. Her stifled sobs rang out softly. Naim just stood there for a few minutes, feet frozen to the floor, hearing her anguish quieten.
Much later, when she finally came out to see Naim's food still untouched, and him still at the table, she cut him a slice of cake and gave him a small smile. Neither of them commented on each other's red eyes.
Naim shrugged on his dad's blazer, trying to smooth it out where it had gotten slightly unpressed. He glanced in the mirror, and almost laughed in genuine amusement that he didn't possess the last time he wore this suit at his dad's funeral. He didn't exactly match up to his dad's proportions. They did both share a similar lankiness and height, though. His mum always pointed that out.
The suit wasn't unsalvageable on him, but it was somewhat ill fitting, and he expected his mum to comment on it when he stood in front of her, hands awkwardly hanging at his sides.
His mum was silent for a bit as she stared at him from his doorway, giving him a quick nod of approval. "You look nice. Come, eat something quick before we go. I don't know if they'll have a lot of food."
Naim stood for a bit longer, looking at the mirror once again. He expected to feel more weighed down when his mum quietly handed him the blazer to wear that morning, maybe even burst into tears at the first brush of the fabric. But he'd strangely felt comforted by the weight of the padded fabric on his shoulders.
That feeling faded away as he tried to get through his breakfast, suddenly weighed down once again by the thoughts of going out and meeting people and seeing Hunter's family and Hunter's casket, if they'd have one at all for him. They didn't make caskets just for heads, did they? Maybe they'd have no real choice but to cremate him.
His stomach turned. Naim had heard of the concept of fasting for repentance, and figured that he may as well start doing it unintentionally, because food wasn't getting through his throat without him feeling like he was going to gag on it. His mum was still in her room, so he tossed his breakfast into the trash, covering it up with paper towels.
Naim sat in his chair, waiting for his mum to finish getting ready. He didn't know how long it had been, with him spacing out and fidgeting with his hands, until his mum finally stepped into the room to tell him it was time to go.
His mum sat beside him, trying to lean forward to be in his view. Naim finally turned to look at her. He didn't know what she read in his face.
"Naim. You will be okay. I know things aren't… always ideal," she said slowly, as if she wasn't gravely downplaying many things, "but you're safe now. I didn't tell anyone what happened. If anyone asks why you weren't at school, just say you were sick."
When he didn't respond, she took his hands and grasped them. "I pray for you every day and every night. You're safe now, Naim. You will be okay."
Naim just shook his head in quiet disagreement, a hiccuped sob threatening to burst out of his throat. He had no words left in him, and any fight he once possessed had been extinguished by that cursed lighter. There wasn't anything that he could conjure up to explain how fractured he'd felt for the past few days. Even if no one knew anything that had happened, he was worried everyone would see the rot of his heart now, ugly and burning acrid with fear and lust and blood on his hands.
When he didn't give a response, his mum sighed and stood up. "Come on now. Let's get in the car."
Naim's lungs felt locked up the entire drive. He breathed in and out, trying to remind himself that there wasn't another ritual waiting at their destination.
Pastor Rod and his wife greeted them both. Naim's eyes kept snapping up and down, unable to look in their faces. He got out a quick "Sorry for your loss" after his mum gave a more thoughtful spiel, hoping it would suffice. His mum handed them a plate of food, and then they proceeded to sit inside a larger room where rows of chairs were set up. They sat in the second row.
For a few minutes, as more people kept trickling in, Naim kept trying to crane his head around and see who came. He hadn't seen Ryan here, and it was making him feel worse. If something had happened to him, and his mum didn't tell him about it, he would never forgive her or himself. For all he knew, Ryan could have been dragged out into a field, choked against the corner of his room, or thrown into the nearby pond.
Naim had no more room to ponder about Ryan's absence when the ceremony started, since at that point, it wouldn't be acceptable to keep glancing back. Pastor Rod and other elders in the church proceeded with somber introductions as to why they were gathered, and long prayers asking for Hunter's soul to be guided to heaven. Naim wondered how many people were thinking about the ritual, not so long ago in the very same place they were gathered, and if they had any doubts about where Hunter would end up now. Or did they think the ritual had guaranteed him a spot in heaven, even if it had been his end? If they saw what Naim had seen, would they still think it was better it happened?
Naim didn't want to know the answer. He'd been feeling alright so far, but he was starting to get swayed by the heavy atmosphere everyone was gathered in. When the hymns started playing, with crooning tunes and keening notes of desperation for salvation Naim couldn't understand— he felt like closing his eyes and swaying along, or putting his hands up, just so that he'd blend in and contribute something.
Naim had been holding it together so well, even as Pastor Rod gave his speech, and Hunter's mum followed. Both had tears running down their face, and Naim had a lump in his throat, but his eyes were miraculously dry. That is, until Izzie stepped up to speak.
She looked downcast, tucking her bottom lip into her mouth, but she seemed to take a breath and look out at the audience, eyes bold. Like her parents, she held a paper to read from.
"Hunter was my first friend. Even if I'd never admit it, back then when he was born— when I was a little girl wondering why I couldn't have a little sister."
The attendees broke out into soft chuckles, and Izzie smiled before continuing. "There's a lot I didn't tell him. Things I regret now, but—" her voice cracked as she got choked up. Naim felt his eyes start to water. "But I'll never regret all the time I had with him. Even every argument, or every prank he pulled on me— a lot of things were his way of showing he cared."
Izzie's voice started to waver as a tear rolled down her face. She sniffled before speaking again. "A lot of people never saw the side of him that I did. Every time he trusted me with something, whether it was a secret or some dumb purchase he didn't want mum and dad to know about, usually some sports card— I had his back. And he had mine. I hope he knew that. There's a lot I hope he knew, like how much I admired his talent for music, or sports, or his ability to do math that I could never get. The way he'd remember my favorite food and bring stuff to me when he noticed I was sad."
Izzie looked up from the paper. "There's a lot more I'll always hold near to my heart, even if I don't share it with anyone. I've been so devastated, so, just— just beyond words, because I can't believe he's gone. It's hard to accept that I'll never hear him humming while walking down the hall, or tell me some— some stupid joke. But I pray, and it helps. I pray that he's in God's kingdom, being treated kindly by everyone he meets there. I pray he sees our grandma again, and our uncle, and that he never goes a day feeling hurt or scared. I know he won't, because he's in God's kingdom now, and He will love him as much as, if not more, than we all did."
Everyone clapped softly as she smiled at them, before going back to sit down. As she turned to sit, her face suddenly became pinched as she started to cry more, biting her lip to muffle herself. Naim realized there were tears down his own face. At some point, he'd started to forget the Hunter that had mocked him and sized him up, and started to get absorbed in the life of a big sister who had lost her only brother.
Izzie glanced at him for a split second from the front row, catching him off guard. Naim wasn't sure what the right words would ever be to comfort her or her family. Words had never been Naim's forte, but he'd never been so lost until now. As bad as it had been, it had been much easier to be at a funeral as the family of the deceased. He realized, with a jolt of dread, that he was here now as an executioner. He was the one who'd taken away the boy that used to live in this house and play the guitar and breathe.
There were more words and more hymns that slipped Naim's mind, and then everyone dispersed to eat lunch. The atmosphere was still somber, with no laughs and few smiles, and lots of hushed whispers. Blessedly, Naim was able to get away to sit on a secluded bench in the hall without his mum bothering him. His palms were clammy, and his head felt floaty, and he was worried that if he had to interact with anyone here, he would choke up.
He was thinking about Ryan now, and how he'd not seen him yet, but he did spot Ryan's mum. So things were fine, right? Maybe Ryan couldn't handle showing up to Hunter's funeral. That would be fair. Maybe it was that, and Ryan wasn't being choked to death outside in some corner.
His mum suddenly came to his side, and Naim felt blunted irritation course through him, cutting through his stupor. He stared straight ahead, hoping she'd get the hint to leave him alone to deal with the fucked-up mess his mind was.
"Hey." She had a plate of something, and she was crouching to try and show him it. "They have those sausage rolls, the ones you like."
Naim's stomach turned. Not even those rolls could save it. His thoughts ran wild again, filled with images of Ryan with scars and bruises all over himself. What if he was just sitting here, moping around while something terrible had happened again?
"They have pizza too, but it has olives on it."
Naim was starting to feel his chest hammer with fear, but he'd also had a spark of anger. His nails cut into his palms. He wasn't sure how she could still do this, still act like—
"I took the olives off."
Naim couldn't do this anymore, any of it. He had already abandoned proper etiquette today by refusing to have a conversation with anyone, so running past his mum to get outside and away from everyone and everything couldn't make the list of the worst things he's done. He stepped into the sunlight and greenery, and then stopped as he looked up.
He spotted a shock of blonde hair past the fence, near a tree. A puff of smoke was fading into the air, veiling the leaves and sunlight.
His heart leapt despite everything, relieved to see Ryan standing and smoking and looking alive.
He didn't want to further destroy Ryan's life, or upset him, or bring more pain to himself. But Naim had always been a little selfish. He at least had to make sure that Ryan was okay, and explain that the same thing had happened to Naim.
This wasn't smart. Naim knew this. He wasn't sure if he cared at all. There had been a gaping void in his chest that he didn't think could be filled until he saw the sight in front of him. He could pretend he just wanted to generously check on Ryan, but he also craved to hear his voice and look him in the eyes despite everything. Maybe he'd confess his own sins. Maybe he wasn't ready for that yet. Still, he wanted something that took away the sting of everything else— something nice to mull over in his head on his lonely nights.
He walked towards the blonde-haired boy slowly, hesitant, but feeling more hope than he had in days. There would only be one person in this town who understood him now. Maybe there only ever was.