Page 50 of Icarus

The streetlights blocked out the stars, and they streamed as they flew by. Beams against the black of the sky, and they were beautiful.

Luca was so strong.

Icarus’s arms could barely hold anything, the world was so dizzy, but his thighs were clamped round Luca’s waist and he knew he was being carried.

It was Luca’s hair that smelled like girl perfume. It must be his shampoo.

The ground found his feet, and his keys found his hands, and they were stumbling up the stairs, fast and clumsily. Celestina fell down a few and they had to tug her up.

The neighbors were yelling. Sorry. Sorry. I can’t help it, I’m too happy. We’re too happy.

The house was warm.

Celestina looked incredible on his bed, in his room, her smile hitting him like a big brass band. Luca was pushing in behind him. Closing his closet door, stumbling down into the soft mattress. His hands so big as they tugged Celestina closer to them both.

His nose was cold as it nudged in behind Icarus’s ear.

Luca sighed. “You smell like lavender here.”

Eden

Icarus woke up to the sound of loud snoring.

His head felt like it had been beaten with a bat and his mouth tasted terrible. He rubbed his eyes, then let his arm flop down.

“Ow.” A soft voice.

Icarus’s eyes snapped open.

“No. Nonononononononnono.” His heart was going to burst out of his chest. He was going to throw up.

“Dude, please talk quieter,” Luca panted. “My head is killing me.”

Celestina turned away from the closet door, where a sliver of light was peeking through.

They couldn’t be here, they couldn’t be in this house, in this room, in his bed. He didn’t know what to do. There was no way to get them from the closet to the front door without them seeing at least fifty things they shouldn’t and he didn’t have answers for these kinds of questions. He was so stupid. So fucking stupid. He wanted to die.

Icarus could feel his chest tightening as he fought to breathe. He couldn’t even run away without making this worse.

“Fuck. Fuck.”

“Hey, are you okay?” Luca shifted in the dark and a hand landed on his back.

The reprieve that last night’s drinking had given him had worn away, and he felt the touch like the crack of a whip. It was the last straw.

Icarus hid his face in his hands and sobbed.

Eggshell White

Celestina and Luca sat at his breakfast table while Icarus cooked eggs and hash browns. Celestina kept her eyes on his back, while Luca took the opportunity to drink in everything around him. Icarus couldn’t decide which was worse. His father’s art looked so obsessive under these circumstances: a thousand of his mother’s eyes watching them.

The kettle whistled and Icarus pulled it off the fire.

“I’ve never had tea before,” Luca mused, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

Icarus didn’t respond. He placed steaming plates in front of them and went to get sugar and cream.

When he finally settled and the table was full, milk, water, tea, orange juice, and Advil spread out before them, Celestina reached across the table. She didn’t touch him, she just put her hand out flat on the wood like it was a substitute for his arm.