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Kyle turns away.
Elias’s phone buzzes again. He lets out another huff, says, “Fucking pests,” and silences it once more.
A moment later, Kyle hears movement. When he turns, he finds Elias holding a donut, chocolate iced, near Kyle’s frowning lips. Kyle had cherished them as a kid. Parents would splurge, get the family a fresh dozen for breakfast on a random Saturday morning. He and Kaleb, racing to eat them, ravenous. Felt like a reward for merely being alive.
Why does he only seem to recall the good things about his family ever since they’ve been gone?
“It’s fresh,” sings Elias, wiggling the donut.
There is an unfamiliar kind of heaviness sitting on Kyle’s heart right now, different than what he felt this morning when watching the sunrise seemed like a good idea. It saps away his conviction. Ruins the mood. Breaks his determination to say goodbye to this world and every wretched thing in it.
It’s a frustrated, new weight upon his chest that demands to be solved somehow.
Nothing about his life feels right anymore.
Even dying.
“What’s on your mind?” asks Elias.
Kyle peers at the window again. The bird is gone. “I don’t think you could possibly understand.”
“Have you seen this gorgeous, busted-up face of mine? Try me. I understand the hard stuff. I’m a fucking miracle worker.”
Elias’s voice may have a soft, velvety quality, but his energy is forceful, crackling, sharp. His eyes seem to be at a constant burn, searching Kyle for answers, intent on connecting to him one way or another.
That intense scene in the desert this morning must have changed Elias’s tune, because he has shifted from wanting Kyle gone to wanting to know every damned thing about him.
Kyle wonders if they might have a bit more in common than he cares to admit.
He lays his head back. “I’m just … tired of hiding.”
“You don’t have to hide. Not here with me.”
“You don’t know yet what I’m hiding.”
“I may not like people to know my personal stuff either, but hey, I clearly got an issue keeping my mouth shut. It’s part of the reason for my busted-up face. Speaking of, open yours.”
Kyle feels the heat on his skin again like a haunting, deadly memory, everything stinging mildly. Like part of him is still out on that desert right now. Some other version of him in another reality where Elias and his bloodstained shirt wasn’t there to save him, a version that turned into ash under that wretched morning sunrise, right down to the bone.
Maybe something did burn up on those sands.
Something inside Kyle.
“You okay?” comes Elias’s voice, closer. “You look …”
Kyle shuts his eyes. Then, to his surprise, he’s fighting back tears. “I’m … I’m tired of … of …”
A warm hand touches Kyle’s head, gently, thumb stroking his hair. When he opens his eyes, he finds Elias even closer, studying his face like the page of a book.
Kyle stares back, disarmed. Elias’s coal black eyes had once seemed impenetrable. Now they’re sensitive, warm, curious.
Unlike Tristan’s eyes which penetrated him like a needle, Elias’s are inviting and sincere, like an opened front door with the aroma of a fresh-cooked dinner wafting out, a fireplace with a couple of soft armchairs awaiting, wood crackling, a place to feel safe and among friends.
Elias calmly retracts his hand. “I know we just met … but you should know something about me … just one thing. My younger brother … he died. Senselessly. It was an accident. I could’ve been there, could’ve stopped it, maybe, possibly … but I’ll never know, because I was too busy fucking off in college, living it up, flunking all my classes, being a party boy.” Elias’s voice cracks on those last words. “I … have to live with that. It’s on my mind. I think about him a lot, especially around this time of year. It’s … part of the reason why I went out to the desert. Why I found you.”
Kyle can’t explain why, but at once, he’s overwhelmed with a sense of trust. It is inexplicable, but absolute. He knows for a fact, without evidence or reason of any kind, that Elias’s words are honest and trustworthy.
Where is this certainty coming from?
How is he so sure?
“So I’m of the opinion that no one deserves to die before their time,” says Elias, meeting Kyle’s eyes. “Even if they want to.”
“I’m sorry about your brother,” says Kyle.
“Me too.” Elias lifts the donut again.
Kyle hesitates, then takes a bite. Tastes like nothing, which is no surprise, but even so, he recognizes the firm yet soft and chewy texture of a fresh, perfect donut.
He can almost imagine he’s savoring one with Kaleb again. Both of them at the breakfast table, silly grins on their faces.
“My younger brother is gone, too,” Kyle decides to say.
Elias gazes back. His eyes falter. “Oh … I’m sorry.”
