Chapter Two-Hundred Forty-Six: Oakhaven Part Five
- Arthur
- 3 days ago
- 19 min read
Chapter 246
Oakhaven Part Five
Jordi stepped out of the bathroom wearing his black silk pajamas after showering. He toweled his hair dry and stood in front of the mirror, combing his hair. Ashley stood on the other side of the door, their heart pounding in their chest as they went to knock. What do I even do or say to him? They pondered, swallowing hard. I just… want to understand, they sighed and finally knocked gently on the door.
Jordi: “It’s open.”
Ashley anxiously sauntered into the room, looking down at their feet.
Ashley: “...Can we talk?”
They asked in a quiet voice with a trace of hurt.
Jordi: “Yes, I wanted to talk to you, too.”
He said, setting his brush down on the drawer and facing them.
He surveyed them for a long moment and heaved a deep sigh.
Jordi: “What Tristan said struck me. When you and Lazaros just ended your relationship, I offered you a place to stay and did up your space to your liking.”
He closed his eyes over.
Jordi: “I did that because you’re my friend. I didn’t do it because I was in love with you.”
He admitted and looked away. Ashley paused and bowed their head.
Ashley: “Oh…”
They pursed their lips, feeling foolish.
Jordi: “...But you took it that way, and I jumped on it because of my fear of being lonely, and that… was wrong of me. I should have told you that I wasn’t interested in pursuing a relationship with you. I was content with being just friends, but I feared being lonely, so… I went along with it.”
He admitted. Ashley recoiled with hurt and looked away.
Jordi: “I care about you, but I don’t think I love you.”
He said, knitting his eyebrows. Ashley paused for a long moment, trying to digest the weight of his delivery.
Ashley: “Oh… I see.”
They embraced themself.
Jordi: “This all happened… You and me… Whatever that was with Mattie was because of my weak boundaries and my unbridled fear of being lonely.”
He sat on his bed. Ashley bowed their head, looking hurt.
Jordi: “I think what I am trying to say is… I need to find myself and work on myself before I pursue a relationship… if that’s even what I want. I don’t know what I want. I may find out relationships are not for me. I went through so many, and none of them worked.”
He raked his fingers through his hair. Ashley paused again, taking all this in.
Ashley: “...Well, I hope you do find yourself, Jordi...”
They finally said, wiping their eyes. Jordi looked at them with a pained expression.
Jordi: “Me too… I’ve been avoiding that for years, and I think it’s time I stop running and look.”
He confessed.
Ashley: “...I guess we’re all looking for the light… everywhere else but inside ourselves…”
They swallowed hard.
Jordi: “I’m sorry for everything and all the pain I caused you. I never wanted this.”
He hung his head. Ashley pursed their lips and embraced themself.
Ashley: “I know…”
They nodded.
Ashley: “I hope you find what you want…”
They sighed. Jordi smiled sadly.
Jordi: “Me too.”
He straightened his pajama shirt out.
Jordi: “I am not kicking you out of my house, but if you want to leave, I completely understand.”
He said softly. Ashley’s eyes widened, taken by surprise.
Ashley: “...Do you still want me around? If not… I’ll leave.”
They murmured. Jordi took a deep breath.
Jordi: “Of course, you’re my friend. I am not kicking you out. I offered you a place because I care about you.”
He smiled. Ashley turned the smile.
Ashley: “Thanks, Jordi. I care about you, too.”
They said earnestly.
Jordi: “I’m glad.”
He whispered.
Ashley: “I believe everything happens for a reason, and we came into each other’s lives, and this happened for a reason… maybe we both needed to learn this lesson… and we were like mirrors for each other to see it? I don’t know?”
They pondered, looking at both of them in the mirror on the dresser. Jordi nodded.
Jordi: “Yes… It sounds like it.”
He drew a long breath.
Watching Ashley’s reflection in the mirror, he finally felt the weight in his chest shift—not gone, but rearranged. Seeing them there, standing in the doorway, he realized how much of his life he spent treating people like anchors to keep him from drifting into the silence of his own company.
He told them how he felt. The words felt jagged coming out, like pulling teeth, but hearing them hang in the air was a relief he didn't know he needed.
“I don’t love you.” It sounds cruel, but it’s the kindest thing I’ve said in months. It’s the first time I’ve stopped using someone else to mirror back a version of myself I thought I was supposed to be, he thought.
Ashley called them “mirrors,” and Jordi agreed that they’re right. They were just reflecting each other’s fears, bouncing their loneliness back and forth until they convinced themselves it looked like love.
Now, there’s this quiet space in the room. It’s terrifying, the idea of finally being alone in this house, of facing the evenings without the frantic need to fill the air with another person’s presence. But for the first time in as long as he can remember, the silence didn’t feel like an enemy; it felt like an opportunity.
~
Listening in on them, Blair nearly leaped out of his skin. He rushed down the stairs so quickly that he almost fell over himself. Bolting out of the lodge, he began dancing and bouncing around the patio while Fabien watched him with amusement.
Blair: “OH YEAH! TEAM BLAIR WINS! JORDI AND ASHLEY BROKE UP!”
He threw his fist in the air.
Blair: “And they did that because I did something nice! I showed them I love them despite their big, big bum!”
He beamed. Fabien burst out laughing.
Fabien: “Fuck, man, you think you had just won the lottery.”
He said wryly.
Blair: “I did! I showed Ashley what a nice guy I am! I showed them Jordi cheated on them because he doesn’t love their fatness, but I do because I am so nice!”
He chirped.
Blair: “I’m going to be the light they were looking for! I'll plan a huge, romantic picnic tomorrow with balloons, clowns, and a magic show! Maybe it will be a teddy bear picnic! I'll even buy those big heart-shaped chocolates because they sure love to eat! I mean, look at the size of them!”
Fabien rolled his eyes, taking a long, slow drag.
Fabien: “You’re really going all in on this delusion, huh?”
Blair beamed, oblivious to the mockery.
Blair: “Thanks, Fabien! This is destiny!”
~
Still on the upper balcony, Tristan sipped chamomile tea, smoked a cigarette, and read his book. Hearing footsteps on the wooden planks, he looked up to see Fabien strolling in with a bottle of beer in hand. Fabien claimed the seat next to him, stretching out and resting his bare feet on the railing.
Fabien: “Blair is having an aneurysm over Jordi’s and Ashley’s breakup.”
With a snort, he pressed the neck of the bottle to his teeth and drank. Tristan observed his actions and curled an eyebrow.
Fabien: “You would think the motherfucker won the Toyz World is Us lottery or something.”
He drawled.
Tristan: “How much pot have you been smoking, Fabien?”
He asked as he slid his bookmark into his book and closed it. Fabien turned to him.
Fabien: “Uh, I dunno. Why do you care?”
He laughed awkwardly.
Tristan: “Because you’re my friend.”
He said earnestly. Fabien blinked, the word “friend” hitting him like a physical weight. He let out a sharp, jagged laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.
Fabien: “You don’t mean that. People don't just say things like that to me.”
Tristan: “I do mean it, Fabien.”
He said gently. Fabien stared at his feet. His mind raced with a dozen cynical rebuttals, searching for the angle Tristan was playing, the hidden cost of such a simple admission. He waited for the punchline, for the shift in tone that would reveal the joke, but the silence remained heavy and sincere.
Fabien: “A lot. I smoked a lot.”
He finally admitted. Tristan nodded.
Tristan: “Why is that? Is it the aftermath of being kidnapped on the island or being in close quarters with someone who hurt you and Celeste?”
Fabien pursed his lips and curled his toes.
Fabien: “Both?”
He winced and raked his fingers through his hair.
Tristan leaned back, his expression softening rather than judging. He didn’t push for details; he simply let the silence fill the space again, this time with less tension.
Tristan: “That’s a lot to carry, Fabien. Especially on your own.”
He took a slow sip of his tea, keeping his voice low and steady.
Tristan: “I’m not going to lecture you on your habits. But if you ever just need to be somewhere where you don’t have to be on guard… you’re welcome to be here. Just… exist.”
Fabien stared out at the dark horizon, his knuckles white where he gripped the neck of his beer bottle. He refused to look at Tristan, terrified that if he did, he’d find either pity or an expectation he couldn’t possibly meet. He wanted to make a joke, to shatter the earnestness of the moment with something sharp, but the words died in his throat.
Fabien: “You’re a weird guy, Tristan.”
He forced a lopsided, self-deprecating grin. Tristan gazed at him. Fabien cleared his throat.
Fabien: “Most people would just tell me to go to rehab or grow up.”
He took a long, jagged drink, the cold glass clinking against his teeth to hide the slight tremor in his hand.
Tristan: “Most people? You mean… your father?”
Fabien paused and laughed a hollow laugh.
Fabien: “Yeah… Him.”
Tristan crossed his legs, leaning back into his lounge, resting his folded hands on his chest.
Tristan: “I had a parent who would issue beatings on me because I was something that didn’t align with her standards of me.”
He admitted.
Fabien: “...Charlotte?”
Tristan winced at the sound of that name and let out a deep sigh.
Tristan: “Yes.”
He drew a long breath. Fabien gazed at him.
Fabien: “Father discussed her and your grandfather, Gaston.”
Tristan looked sullen.
Fabien: “He visited him. Gaston was a hunter, yeah?”
Tristan nodded.
Tristan: “Yes, he was. Narcisse still is. Papa always hated that, and I agree with Papa. Killing animals to showcase as trophies is cruel and unwarranted. Only a psychopath could do such a vile act.”
He said sharply. Fabien nodded and took another sip of beer.
Fabien: “Anyway, he said that your grandfather was weird around Charlotte, and he felt Narcisse was a serial killer in the making.”
He explained. Tristan embraced himself.
Tristan: “Weird around her? In what respect?”
He asked, shifting uncomfortably. Fabien pursed his lips.
Fabien: “He said that Gaston was probably molesting her.”
He told him. Tristan crushed his cigarette in his ashtray and rose to embrace himself.
Tristan: “Well, that’s… not shocking. The Beaumonts were always strange.”
He laughed, trying to mask his conflicted feelings.
Fabien: “You okay?”
He asked him. Tristan drew a long breath.
Tristan: “I apologize, Fabien…”
He turned to face him.
Tristan: “This is a difficult subject to discuss for me. I’m not surprised that Gaston and that thing were doing inappropriate things together, nor am I about what Basile said about Narcisse.”
He threw his hands up.
Tristan: “The rumors in Clerteaux are that Narcisse killed his parents—my grandparents. Of course, he did. Narcisse will eradicate anyone and everyone who steps in his way!”
He flared hotly.
Fabien let out a slow, grim whistle. He didn’t offer empty platitudes, knowing they’d ring hollow here.
Fabien: “Sounds like you come from a special kind of hell, Tristan.”
He took a long, steadying drink, his eyes fixed on the darkness beyond the railing. Tristan raised his eyebrows and inhaled sharply.
Tristan: “That’s an understatement.”
Fabien: “I get it, though.”
He set his bottle down and fanned his toes out.
Fabien: “Father would beat the fuck out of me because I wasn’t a clone of him. I didn’t have any friends growing up… I never did until I met Celeste and you.”
He said with a smile. Tristan gazed at him and smiled in return.
Fabien: “I guess what I’m trying to say is you’re not alone in this. We all need each other.”
He paused.
Fabien: “Except Jiro. Fuck that guy.”
He huffed.
Tristan let out a short, dry chuckle at the sudden pivot.
Tristan: “Agreed. I believe that Blair certainly makes the list of people I’d rather never see again. Jaxon has his issues, but he’s trying. He heals wounds like none other.”
He leaned back, the tension that had been coiled in his shoulders for the better part of the evening finally beginning to unfurl.
Tristan: “I’m glad you’re here, Fabien. Truly.”
He took a final, quiet sip of his cooling tea, the warmth of the mug grounding him.
Jordi stepped out onto the patio.
Jordi: “Evening, gentlemen.”
He announced.
Tristan: “Good evening, Jordi.”
Fabien: “Yo.”
He nodded. Jordi pulled up a seat next to Tristan.
Jordi: “Ashley and I broke up.”
He told them.
Fabien: “I know. Blair told me.”
He snorted. Jordi’s grimace deepened.
Jordi: “And how did he know?”
He asked with irritation. Fabien shrugged.
Fabien: “I guess he snuck in to hear you with Ashley and ragefap?”
Jordi rolled his eyes.
Jordi: “This is NOT a joke, Fabien!”
He snapped. Fabien laughed.
Tristan: “How did it go, Jordi?”
Jordi turned to Tristan and rubbed the back of his neck.
Jordi: “I think they were hurt. I think they thought I loved them.”
Fabien shrugged.
Fabien: “I dunno, man. You gave that impression when you agreed to date her and then fucked her. You don’t think I hear that shit?”
He asked bluntly. Jordi glared at Fabien.
Tristan: “Jordi, why did you date Ashley?”
Jordi turned to Tristan. His eyelids dipped.
Jordi: “I never loved them. I like them as a friend, but I never loved them. Lazaros hurt them so deeply, and they were awestruck by me. I didn’t want to let them down, and I thought…”
He said with pain.
Jordi: “If I did this, I would eventually fall in love, but I didn’t.”
He confessed. Tristan gaped disbelievingly at Jordi. Fabien burst out laughing.
Fabien: “Man, that would be like her fucking and dating Blair because she didn’t want to hurt his feelings, thinking it could turn to love. That’s what you did.”
Jordi stared at Fabien, his face twisting in sudden, painful realization.
Jordi: “...That’s… a really fucked up comparison, Fabien.”
He paused, his voice quieter, stripped of its earlier defensiveness.
Jordi: “I don’t view Ashley as they view Blair!”
His voice rose.
Tristan: “Jordi, he’s not wrong. What you did was terrible! They are clearly NOT from this planet, and it’s evident that their species values love and bonds, and you broke that because you didn’t want to hurt their feelings?! What on Reona do you think this is?!”
He queried sharply. Jordi’s jaw tightened, and he grit his teeth, feeling attacked.
Jordi: “How do you know they come from another planet?”
Tristan: “How could a feeble man like Blair effortlessly break their arm? The strength of our planet is one hundred times—or more—greater than that of others from other planets, so we are stronger than Ashley, wherever they come from. The natural ombre, the fairies in your garden, and not understanding how things work on this planet.”
Jordi fell silent, the revelation sinking into his bones like lead. He looked at Tristan, then at the night air, suddenly seeing the world differently. The pieces—the strength, the confusion, the innocence—snapped together into a horrifying clarity.
Jordi: “I knew they were… different.”
He looked down at his hands, the same hands that had held Ashley, the same hands that had comforted someone that he hadn’t even truly recognized. He let out a sharp, self-loathing laugh, the sound grating in the quiet night.
Jordi: “God, what have I done?”
He stood abruptly, the chair scraping harshly against the wood. He didn’t look at either of them; he just stared into the darkness, his mind reeling with the weight of his own ignorance.
Tristan didn’t rise immediately, letting the silence settle between them before he finally broke it, his voice low and steady.
Tristan: “You couldn’t have known, Jordi. You’re only guilty of being human—and humans are notoriously bad at seeing what’s right in front of them until it’s too late.”
He watched Jordi.
Tristan: “Ashley isn’t a puzzle for you to solve. They’re a living, breathing person who has been trying to navigate this world as best as they can. They’re living in a world that doesn’t take kindly to aliens. If it got out that Ashley was from another planet, they and their people would be killed. Their kind is living amongst people who could kill them at any given moment.”
Fabien remained quiet, swirling the dregs of his beer, the air on the balcony heavy with the weight of the new reality.
Jordi: “I made everything worse after Lazaros broke their heart.”
He cupped his mouth.
Tristan watched Jordi for a long moment, the cool night air doing nothing to soften the hard edge in his expression. He didn’t offer a hollow platitude; he offered a mirror to Jordi’s own self-pity.
Tristan: “Guilt is a useless anchor, Jordi. It’s only valuable if it keeps you from drifting into the same mistakes again. Dwelling on the past won’t change the fact that they are here, vulnerable, and potentially in danger.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze pinning Jordi in place.
Tristan: “You want to make it right? Stop thinking about your own conscience and start thinking about their safety. They are living in a world that doesn’t understand them—and wouldn't be kind if they did. If you truly care for them, you protect them. That is the only penance that matters now.”
Jordi closed his eyes, taking in everything Tristan said and pondering it. That’s what I planned to do, he thought. I took them in after Lazaros threw them out and did this, so how am I any better than he is? He wondered.
Jordi: “I wouldn’t blame Ashley if they never forgave me.”
Tristan: “That’s up to them, Jordi. Forgiveness is earned; you’re not entitled to it.”
Jordi nodded.
Jordi: “Yes… I know…”
~
The next day, Blair paraded along the beach, carrying a picnic basket in one hand and an overstuffed teddy bear dressed in a yellow princess gown in the other. He was attired in a boater hat, a striped blazer, a white butterfly-collared shirt, a blue bow tie, light blue shorts, white calf socks, and brown-and-white saddle shoes.
Blair: “Well, this picnic basket is heavy, and this bear is awkward to carry, but that’s because the basket is full of food for Ashley. I stuffed this teddy bear to be as fat as they are!”
He smiled.
Blair: “And the teddy bear has a song I recorded for them to let them know I love them despite how fat they are!”
~
The heavy curtains in Fabien and Celeste’s bedroom were drawn tight, but the afternoon sun still managed to bleed around the edges, turning the bedroom into a dimly lit, hazy cocoon. After smoking too much pot, Fabien was paying the price.
He lay tangled in the sheets, wearing only his green plaid pajama pants. His hair was plastered to his forehead with a cold sweat. Damn, what did I get myself into? He thought, his stomach rolling. This wasn’t just a high; this was a complete green-out. The world felt like it was spinning too fast and too slow at the same time, a familiar, wretched sensation.
Every blink felt like a sledgehammer against his eyelids. The room wasn’t just spinning; it was tilting, sliding away from the anchor of reality. Then he sniffed the air and smelled the horrible stench of Deimos’ feet.
Bile rose in his throat, hot and metallic—a warning shot his body fired before the catastrophe. Fabien shifted, the sheets sticking to his clammy skin like wet adhesive, but the movement was a mistake. The world lurched, and suddenly, the bed was no longer a safe harbor.
He swallowed hard, desperate to keep the nausea at bay, but his stomach gave a treacherous, involuntary spasm. It wasn't a choice anymore; it was an eviction notice. He scrambled to push off the bed, his movements disjointed and heavy. The floorboards felt miles away, oscillating beneath his feet. He stumbled, catching himself on the doorframe, his breath hitching in his chest.
He had to move. He had to make it to the bathroom.
He lurched forward, one hand clamped over his mouth, the other blindly grasping for the doorframe to steady himself. His head pounded in sync with his racing heart, each beat a throbbing reminder of his own excess.
He reached the hallway, the bathroom door looming ahead like a finish line he wasn't sure he’d cross. He lunged for the knob, but just as his fingers brushed the cold brass, the door swung open. Jaxon stepped through, wearing just his silk dragon robe, completely unfazed, and sauntered inside, closing the door right in Fabien’s face.
Fabien: “Hey, Jiro, wait—”
He gasped, his voice thin and strained, but the lock clicked with finality. He hammered a frantic, sweaty fist against the wood.
Fabien: “Jiro! Open the fucking door!”
Jaxon opened it a crack, flipped him off, and slammed it in his face.
Fabien: “OUVRE CETTE PUTAIN DE PORTE, CONNARD! JE TE DÉTESTE, BORDEL! J’ESPÈRE QUE TU VAS CREVER!”
He bellowed, pounding on the door. Tristan was downstairs reading a book and raised an eyebrow at the obscenities Fabien screamed. Fabien rushed back to his bedroom.
Blair was outside under Fabien’s window with a blanket set out, the picnic basket, and the teddy bear. He played a stereo and held it over his head. It was Blair singing, “You are my fat sunflower, you make me happy when skies are gray! Jordi left you, but I still love you, despite how fat you are! The police hate you because they have never seen a girl with an ass so fat, but I love you! I will always love you, my fat sunflower!”
Fabien stumbled back into his room, the world spinning in nauseating, violent arcs. The rhythm of Blair’s distorted singing from the yard below acted like a jagged needle scraping against his already raw nerves. You are my fat sunflower... The lyrics hit his ears with sickening clarity, each syllable sharpening the cramp in his gut until it became an unbearable, throbbing knot.
He didn’t think; he just acted. He threw his window open. Blair stood there, triumphant and oblivious, holding the radio like a holy relic.
Fabien leaned over the sill, his breath hitching as his stomach finally gave up the fight. He lurched over and hurled all over Blair and his radio.
He watched, his head spinning, as the contents of his stomach found their mark directly on top of Blair’s striped blazer. Fabien didn’t even have the energy to laugh. He just gripped the windowsill, trembling, his chest heaving as the remaining bile burned in his throat.
Blair froze, the stereo still clutched in his hands, now slick with the vile aftermath of Fabien’s green-out. The jaunty melody of his song continued to warble from the radio, contrasting sharply with the thick, pungent reality now dripping from his striped blazer and the brim of his boater hat. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the distorted, tinny music and Blair’s own sharp, panicked intake of breath.
Blair: “OH! OH MY GOD!”
He shrieked, dropping the radio onto the blanket with a wet, heavy thud that cut the song short.
Blair: “WHY DID YOU DO THIS?!”
He bawled and frantically tried to wipe the grime off his sleeve, only managing to smear it further across the delicate fabric.
Blair: “I WAS GIVING THEM A SERENADE! I WAS BEING ROMANTIC!!”
He stomped his foot, sending a spray of liquid flying from his saddle shoes.
Blair: “I AM TELLING GRANDPA! I AM TELLING EVERYONE! YOU ARE RUINING MY ROMANCE!! I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY BEST FRIEND!! YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO BORROW MY SPIDERMAN OR ORBS CARDS!”
In a fit of anger, Blair launched the teddy bear away with a sharp kick, sending it rolling into a pile of dirt. He turned toward his lodge, his stride frantic and slippery, his boater hat finally sliding off his head to land in the puddle of vomit, where it slowly began to soak up the mess.
Fabien watched him and wanted to laugh, but it hurt to laugh. He stumbled to his bed, where he collapsed.
His eyes fluttered shut, and then he heard the click of the bedroom door. He struggled to crack an eyelid. Celeste stood in the doorway. She was a vision of contrast—her hair pulled back loosely, and she wore a short, crisp white nurse’s dress with a zipper down the front (already unzipped halfway) and red cross patches on the pockets. She wore a little nurse’s cap tilted on her green hair. In her hands was a cold washcloth and a tall glass of water.
Fabien let out a groan that was half misery, half sheer appreciation.
Fabien: “Celeste, what… what are you wearing?”
His voice was weak.
Celeste: “Nurse Celeste is in!”
She pressed the cold, damp cloth to his forehead, and Fabien sighed, his whole body finally starting to relax into the mattress. His eyes were fixed on her.
She dabbed the cloth along his neck. She gently lifted his head and brought the glass of water to his lips.
Celeste: “Here, tiny sips.”
He drank, the cool water hitting his parched throat like a miracle.
Fabien: “That feels amazing…”
He sighed. Celeste set the water down and brushed a stray lock of white hair from his eyes. She continued to apply the cool compress, her tough exterior melting away into tenderness. The contrast between her playful costume and the soft, focused concern on her dark face was intoxicating to him. As the immediate panic of the green-out began to fade, a different kind of fog started to roll into his mind.
Fabien: “You look amazing.”
His eyes finally focused, taking in the curve of her large bosom and the zipper of the nurse’s dress.
Celeste: “I know.”
She traced a finger down the zipper. He tried to push himself up, but his arms felt like lead. He flopped back with a chuckle. She leaned in closer, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to his forehead.
Celeste: “You need to rest, Fab. Just breathe.”
The room was quiet for a while, just the sound of their breathing and the rhythmic, soft dabs of the washcloth. Celeste stood up briefly to adjust the curtains, and from his vantage point, Fabien had an impressive view of her legs and feet. When she sat back down, she rested her hand on his bare chest.
Celeste: “Do you feel any better?”
She asked with worry.
Fabien: “Yeah."
He said, and it was mostly true. The dizziness had subsided to a dull buzz.
Fabien: “I think I can manage without the water for a bit.”
Celeste: “Good.”
Celeste shifted, settling more fully against him. She carefully navigated around his sensitive stomach and lay her head on his shoulder. Her little nurse’s cap pressed against his cheek. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close.
Celeste: “Just remember.”
She whispered, her lips right by his ear. Fabien shivered.
Celeste: “Nurse Celeste has very strict check-up protocols once the patient has been cleared for discharge.”
He laughed, a real, full laugh this time.
Fabien: “I think I’m feeling much better, Nurse.”
Celeste: “So…”
She began.
Celeste: “Why so much pot, Fab?”
She finally asked. Fabien paused.
Fabien: “I don’t know, the aftermath of that fucking Viking weirdo ex of Jiro’s kidnapping me and her and that big bitch tickling my feet nonstop… Covering me in leeches.”
He shuddered. Celeste knit her eyebrows, feeling a spark of rage ignite within her when he told her this.
Fabien: “And Stewart makes us go on a vacation… with Jiro.”
He said the name with disdain.
Fabien: “I fucking despise him.”
He growled.
Fabien: “The only reason anyone keeps J-Rock Blair around is that he heals better than Deimos. Otherwise, he offers jack fucking shit to the group. He sits with his thumb up his ass, whining about nothing, and is a general parasite.”
He huffed.
Fabien: “You don’t like him, I don’t like him, Jordi sure as Hell doesn’t, not sure on Deimos, and Tristan tolerates him.”
Jaxon stood outside the door listening in. He wore a red leopard print button-down shirt, tight black jeans, and Chelsea boots. He stood in the doorway and gaped at them.
Jaxon: “What’s that?”
He pointed to Celeste.
Celeste: “A nurse’s outfit.”
Jaxon’s bottom lip trembled.
Jaxon: “You never did this for me when I was sick. You never did ANYTHING for me!”
He cried and slashed his hand through the air.
Celeste: “Yes, I did, Jax, but you were moping about your true love!”
She fired back.
Fabien: “Man, Jiro, fuck off. No one here likes you. No one likes you or Blair.”
He hissed.
Jaxon: “I AM NOT LIKE BLAIR! FUCK YOU!”
He cried and slammed the door shut.
Fabien: “What a little bitch.”
Celeste closed her eyes, nestling into Fabien.
~
Jaxon went outside to Deimos, who was gathering firewood.
Jaxon: “Deimos, do you like me?”
He embraced himself. Deimos gaped at him.
Deimos: “We’re not doing that again, Jaxon.”
He dropped the wood to his feet.
Jaxon: “I don’t mean that! Do you like me as a friend?”
Deimos nodded.
Deimos: “Yeah, you’re a good musician.”
Jaxon: “YOU CAN’T EVEN TELL ME YOU LIKE ME!”
He bawled and ran down the shoreline. Deimos watched him go.
Deimos: “He’s in one of his moods, I guess.”
He muttered.