Page 7 of Icarus

Spin

Icarus was furious.

Angus’s words circled in his head as he lay in bed. Over and over again.

Angus wasn’t a real parent. It was like living with a college professor that Icarus didn’t know or like. He was fair and could be gentle, but he was also cruel and thoughtless. He had no idea what to say to anyone he was supposed to love.

He wouldn’t have to pick up “pieces” if he cared enough about taking these concerns seriously, Icarus thought bitterly.

The fact that his father had said it unflinchingly, without hesitation. Like Icarus being a sacrifice was an acceptable ending to any plan.

For a man who didn’t have much, Angus wasn’t being that careful with what he had left.

Dry

When the itch under Icarus’s skin got bad, he climbed up to the roof to smoke.

The roof was flat, white, and industrial. The sides curled up in a way that caught rainwater and held it for days, and the edges were covered in pigeon poop, but it was as good a place as any. Since they weren’t the apartment on the very top, he’d had to negotiate with their upstairs neighbor to let him install a ladder on the side of the building.

Celestina would like it up here.

Icarus used to spend his nights walking the streets trying to make himself tired enough for sleep.

But the harsh wind and wide sky were enough to cool his blood, now that he was older.

Icarus smoked sage and clove. Angus didn’t like the smell of tobacco, and traditional cigarettes caused more noticeable damage on canvas than Icarus’s herbs ever would.

The flame in the dark and the smoke curling into the night were both, also, enough.

Icarus closed his eyes and touched where Celestina’s fingers had gripped his chin, but the magic was gone. His own hands didn’t feel the same.

Icarus took another draw on his cigarette and blew the smoke up into the sky. Then he reached behind his neck and grazed his fingertips across his nape, tickling the short spiky hairs where Julian had curls, and finally, he shivered.

Bone

Icarus awoke to yelling. He gasped to full consciousness, alarmed to find himself still on the roof. He scrambled down the ladder and hoisted himself back into the house.

“You’re going to be late.” Angus seized him by the arm and frog-marched him to the kitchen, where a bowl of oatmeal was waiting for him.

His clothes for the day were neatly pressed and folded on the table and his backpack was set out on the chair.

Angus scowled, huffed air through his nose hard in irritation, and then disappeared into his workshop.

Icarus hadn’t had oatmeal in ages.

Angus stopped making it when Icarus had gotten old enough to get himself ready. He’d also stopped ironing and folding Icarus’s clothes and bringing his school things to the front of the house. Then, after a while, he stopped cooking at all.

This morning, as uncomfortable as it was, felt like stepping back in time. Maybe some parents are better suited to parenting children instead of teenagers, Icarus thought. Maybe all they know eventually just runs out.

Even though Icarus was late and clearly in a bit of trouble, he savored the taste of his oatmeal and let the steam warm his face.

Strict

There was a test in first period, so Icarus and Julian didn’t get to talk much. Julian did tell him that his hair was sticking straight up and handed him a double-cream hot chocolate, but that was about it.

Aspen was in class today. She slung her backpack on the floor by Icarus’s and settled into the seat next to him instead of behind him like usual.

“Hey.”