Page 64 of The Wicker King

“You need to calm down.”

“No! I’m finished fucking being calm. I’ve been explaining this for months. No one ever fucking listens! I have never known a time when he wasn’t there to lead. That’s why I burned down the toy factory. That is why I let him practically drown me. Because it was worth it. It’s so fucking simple. Why can’t any of you get it into your fucking heads: He is my only constant. My fixed point.”

30,000 LEAGUES

“… they found out that he had a tumor.”

“Wait, what?” He couldn’t quite hear over the roaring in his ears.

“Jack had a tumor pressing on a section of his brain,” the psychologist said slowly. “Six more weeks and the damage would have been irreparable. The hallucinations weren’t the illness itself. They were only a symptom, and as the tumor grew, the symptom shifted as well—hence, the progressive darkening of his vision from pleasant images to threatening and terrifying delusions. His condition is called peduncular hallucinosis. It’s rare, but thankfully it’s curable. He’s having the tumor removed next week.”

August stared at the floor. He clenched his hands into fists.

“You couldn’t have known.”

He laughed mirthlessly at that. “I always tried to do my best by him…,” August whispered.

The psychologist looked tired. “There was nothing you could have done—”

“Don’t. Patronize me,” August spat, looking up at her. “I could have taken him to a hospital, called his mom, talked to the school. Hell, I had the opportunity to get him to a psychologist for free. But I didn’t do any of that. I indulged him and I wasted time.”

“August—”

“No. We aren’t talking about this. I can’t talk about this right now. Take me back to my room.”

“If you would just—”

August got up silently, picked up his chair, and hurled it against the wall with astonishing violence. The wood splintered with a loud crack. “TAKE ME BACK.”

HOME

August barely ate the week Jack had surgery. He curled up into a ball of guilt on his bed, his eyes dry and prickly. He should have been finishing up senior year. Should have been laughing with Gordie and going to midterms and complaining about homework.

He missed his mom.

He missed real food, like lasagna and salmon and fresh vegetables.

He missed the woods and his fires and the look of thirst in Jack’s eyes when he was on a bender.

He missed Rina, with her sweet mouth and beautiful mind.

He missed the sound of silence.

Everything here rattled or beeped or groaned or yelled or cried, and August was fucking sick of it.

PLANS

They left him alone for a while. As long as he got up to shower and eat something at least once a day, no one spoke to him or asked him to do anything. He even got out of group therapy for a week, which was a relief. But it wasn’t sustainable. His case evaluation hearing was tomorrow.

August wasn’t sure whether he was ecstatic at the chance to get out of here, terrified about what waited for him outside, or entirely too reluctant to leave Jack behind. It wasn’t something he could handle while knowing that Jack was still recovering from brain surgery. And fuck if he would leave before saying good-bye.

Every day he asked the nice orderly when Jack was coming back, and every day she said she didn’t know. She wasn’t a higher-up, she was just an orderly; they didn’t trust her with that information.

That was okay. He just needed to be here when it happened. It was too cruel to turn his back on this place with his king still trapped inside it.

GRIFTING

The hearing came. August sat quietly in his chair and listened while they described him as “gentle, protective, and under a lot of stress.” Also, apparently codependency wasn’t in the DSM-IV, so he couldn’t be held for that alone.