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It didn’t matter.
And Theo doubted Auggie had worn the same pair of jeans today, which meant yesterday’s pair was on the floor where Auggie had left them.
It didn’t matter.
But Theo was already sliding out from under Auggie’s hand, settling his feet on the floor, his mind going dark—all lights off, everything powered down. It was easier not to think about it. Easier not to think anything; he was long past the time when he had to make excuses.
He found his phone and, with the help of the flashlight, searched the floor. He found Auggie’s jeans from the day before, groped the denim, turned the pockets inside out. Nothing. A little spark of panic. Had he flushed them? No, Auggie wouldn’t flush them. He might have hidden them until he could dispose of them responsibly. Where? Auggie was smart and creative, but he didn’t have an addict’s experience with hiding the good shit. In a drawer, maybe. But nowhere Lana could reach them—
And then Theo stopped. His brain was still dark, everything shut off, the place abandoned, because it was easier to live with himself that way. But that animal part was still awake. And the animal part knew he didn’t need to find where Auggie had hidden the pills because the doctor had given Auggie a script for Percocet, and Theo was sure one of the guys had filled it, not knowing that Auggie would have refused the script, not knowing that Theo would have given in to Auggie’s wishes.
In that moment, he was aware of himself: crouched in the dark, on the floor, half-naked, driven by something he was too afraid to look at in the light. No names, he thought. Tonight was the night of things he left unnamed.
He made himself stand and let himself out into the living room, and he was so quiet, so careful, easing the door shut so that Auggie wouldn’t even stir.
Emery sat on the couch, reading a piece of paper in the light from a single lamp. It took Theo a moment to realize the page was from his lesson plans. Emery looked up, and those amber eyes glinted in the semi-dark.
“Everything ok?”
Theo nodded. Then, because more seemed to be required, he said, “He’s uncomfortable.”
Emery said nothing.
“It’s not bad yet, the pain, but we want to stay ahead of it.”
After a moment, Emery nodded.
“He’s—he’s fine, really. He doesn’t even want to take something.”
“I see.”
“But I’m going to make him. Because he needs to sleep.”
Another of those fractional pauses. Another nod.
The conversation opened like a void under Theo, and he blurted, “How about you? Do you need anything?”
Emery shook his head.
Theo made his way to the kitchen island, where a white paper bag from the hospital pharmacy waited. He found the vial of pills and extracted two. He returned the vial, and the rustle of the paper bag was too loud in the house’s stillness.
On the way back to his room, he tried not to look at Emery.
“Theo,” Emery said.
At the bedroom door, Theo said, “Yeah?”
“I do have a question about this lesson plan.”
His fist tightened around the pills. They were round, but the edges still cut into his palm. He thought he could feel his heartbeat in his hand. He could say no. He could say tomorrow. He could open the door, and in the darkness, open the cage, and then the bad old days really would be back again.
“Theo,” Emery said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Sit down.”
Theo wasn’t sure how long the internal wrestle lasted, but he sat.
“Leave the pills on the coffee table,” Emery said with the sound of someone warming up. “This is going to take us all night. Let’s start with what has to be an intentional simplification of gender roles and societal expectations in the play. It’s hard for me to imagine why you’d willingly choose to minimize the significance of those elements, but the only other explanation is that you’re an idiot, so I’d like you to explain yourself. Then, once we’ve covered that, I think it would be interesting to hear your defense of the laughably incorrect proposition that this play is a proto-feminist piece.”
Theo hesitated.
