max, d9 [fin.]

When I was fourteen I saw something I don’t think I’ll ever forget; I saw the stars in someone’s eyes.

It’s what made me hesitate, pause within the confines of the darkness to creep to its edge to investigate. Peering outwards I glimpsed his face once more if only to assure myself that my brown eyes had not deceived me. But as ever they remained faithful, and so I crouched down low, breathing light as I watched the scene unfold. To my surprise, there isn’t one but three of them, each of them wearing the same face. But as I watched, I could see that at first my eyes had almost seemed fooled. They were different people, if only with the slightest of differences. The boy with the bright eyes stood opposite a tall man; a mean man. It seemed to me that he was the leader of the three. The air was thick with tension, it pressed against me, warning me to stay hidden if I valued my life. But my life was never a bargaining chip to begin with. I remain where I am because it is what I do. Unseen, unneeded, unwanted. It’s always been better that way, it’s those that are noticed who are hurt, better to remain unknown, an anonymous figure that cannot be blamed, hurt nor hunted.

Not even the darkness of the late afternoon could hide what was happening, shadows crept along the ground, stretching outwards until they encompassed the street. I could tell, from what I could see, that this wasn’t a chance meeting, but rather a negotiated deal that was taking place. You learned to observe when you chose not to compete in this game called life, but rather to simply survive it. It hadn’t taken long for me to learn how to read the way people moved and how it showed what they wanted and how they felt. No matter how much you tried to hide it, it always shone through. Whether that was from a stony gaze, or the slightest clench of a hand, the loosening of a breath, the flickering of the eyes. It all told a story. The talking seemed to become heated, words swapped causing shoulders to rise and gazes to narrow. I shrunk further into the darkness, fingers sliding over the cool stone.

It was an all too familiar scene, I had seen it a thousand times before. Mother standing before Father, staring into his eyes, fists clenched by her sides defiant of everything he said. The words that came along with it were always the same –“You were with him again, Carla,” he’d spit. He noticed, he always noticed when she was late home or when she wore a smile that wasn’t directed towards him. He always noticed when her hair was up when it was down when she hesitated too long to walk inside the house. He noticed the way she averted her gaze, the way her eyes widened whenever he took a step closer, the way she grew silent, fearful of him anytime he was around. “I wasn’t, I promise, I wasn’t.” She’d begged, beg not with her words alone but with her body, pressing her knees to the ground, hands reaching forwards, as always a failed plea to ease his anger.

I watched, for a moment longer, ready to turn away and leave before being noticed.

Bang.

It isn’t the chilling sound of a bullet being fired that makes me turn, but rather the dull thud of the body hitting the ground and the sickening silence that follows. When I turn it’s the same. Mother’s on the floor, blood pooling around the wound on her head, dripping into the dirt. There’s a stunned, sad look etched into her pale skin, a look that matches my own. Ah. She’s dead, Father would tell me. Dead he’d say over and over again as though it was supposed to mean something to me, as though it was supposed to hurt me as much as it hurt him. Dead. She was never coming back, he’d said, turning to the lonely figure that stood in the corner. I’d watched, bare feet chilled by the Winter breeze that crept into the house through the rips in the walls. I’d looked past the figure on the floor, past the kind woman who had grabbed the world with both hands and demanded she’d be known, and towards the man who sobbed over her fallen body.

“No.” He’d yelled. “I hadn’t meant to-“ He hadn’t meant it, to kill her, I knew that; I could see it. For a man so good at noticing, he never seemed to notice me. It seemed that I was quite good at pretending to be nothing, to be nobody. “Help me make this go away,” he’d asked.“Help me, I did nothing wrong,” the words had lingered at that point, his eyes turning to stare directly into mine, rooting me to the spot, “I don’t deserve this.” He’s not to blame.

Even as the howls of the Peacekeepers grew closer I stepped forwards. Finger’s slipping off the stone I moved out of the shadows. It couldn’t be helped, I’d decided. Father hadn’t been to blame, he hadn’t meant to kill her, Mother had simply become too noticeable. Bad things happened to those that were noticed. Bad things happened to those that did good. And to those, like me, who remained an enigma, they stayed in balance, fairing from the good, hiding from the bad. These three boys had done no bad. I glanced towards them, brown hair falling past my shoulders, masking part of my face. They’re not to blame. I stepped closer to the dead body. The disgust and shock was evident on their faces, the sudden terror and unknowing was even worse. They didn’t know how to deal with this, stop covering themselves and make themselves go by unnoticed before the Peacekeeper’s arrived. I did.

Make it go away, father had said. It had been easier then I had first thought. Scooping her body up, hands curling under her arms and making her disappear. I paused at the body, eyes lingering over the figure, noticing the way the scars marked his hands and his stomach poked out past his pants.

”Leave,” I said. Good people didn’t deserve to be punished.

It was better, I decided all those years ago, to see it go away. It was better to pretend that it had never happened, to make sure no one would know it had ever happened. And when Father died it was just as easy to make him disappear. No questioned what they could not see. Mother hadn’t been as heavy as this body, but then I hadn’t been as big either, I’d grown taller since then. My slime frame hadn’t managed to adjust to be much more, but I was still stronger. I’d heaved, pulling the body until I reached the manhole, not five meters away. My fingers dug into the earth, yanking until the metal gave way. The smell had my eyes watering, the burning familiar. It reminded me of pouring those chemicals over mother’s body, one after another until there was nothing left of her, not even bones. Father had taught me exactly what to use, being a cleaner had its benefits he’d said with a bitter laughter.

He hadn’t lasted long after mother. And soon I’d been following up his proclamation with another display of the skills he’d taught me. Chemicals took time, though, and there were other ways and other means of getting rid of a body, of making sure no on ever saw it again. The body toppled at the edge of the manhole, sliding down to land with a splash into the sewer. The Peacekeepers were getting closer, the sounds of their boots echoing within the silence of the evening. Jogging over to the place the man had been killed I grabbed the rocks smeared with his blood, long, lean fingers stuffing them into my pockets. Eyes dashed over the space once more, before I dove back into the safety of the sewers, pulling the manhole over with me. Once the Peacekeeper’s were satisfied nothing had happened it’d be easier to dispose of the body. Easier to remain unnoticed when they were no longer suspicious of strange activity.

It’s like those times mother would stand poised at the door, breath held hoping that she’d have one day of rest. A day where the thud of father’s boots, or the creak of the door didn’t send her almost running into the basement, the door locked behind her. I closed my eyes for a moment, unlike my mother, I was not fearful of what was above me. I did not fear the sound of boots on gravel, of the muffled exclamations and frustration of no results. I held my breath simply to remain invisible, to feel as little as I could in those moments. It’s as close as I can get to being nothing, when I don’t see, when I don’t breathe.

By the time they’re gone the sun has vanished. I don’t mind it, instead, I find comfort in the darkness that enveloped me as I crept out of the hole. To my surprise a figure shrouded in darkness awaited me. It’s the boy with the stars in his eyes. They reflect the ones currently above us, and for a moment I’m frozen in place, suddenly aware that I’ve been noticed. Suddenly dreading what was to come next. I’m not strong enough to fight someone like him. He was my age, taller than me and wider and bigger. Had I done the wrong thing? Just as Mother had done? A good deed did good for no one. That'd teach me. Remain hidden, remain safe. I’d lived through nights of aching and pain, of hurt, it wasn’t something I was fond of. Is this how mother felt? When she walked in and met father’s eyes? A deer caught in headlights.

"Where'd you learn that?" He asked.

I stared at him. Weary, tense, ready to try and run, ready to fight, ready to disappear. But as the silence stretched nothing happened. He simply stood, patiently waiting for my response. So I shrugged, turning my gaze towards my bare feet. “It’s easy to make things disappear,” I said.

“…You don’t gotta home?” I shook my head; I hadn’t stepped foot into it in years. Soon after Father had died the Peacekeeper’s had claimed it, giving it out to a newly wed couple because apparently, I didn’t exist. “...I got a lotta money yeah? And I don't got parents either so if I get you a place to stay can you keep protecting us 'cause... we'd be dead if-“ He stopped himself, looking at me, those eyes drilling into my skull, pressuring me, forcing me to look upwards and met that gaze. Words had never come easy to me, I found it easier to remain quiet, say little, get the point across in as few words as possible.

”A place to stay…” I echoed the words, my expression changed to one of confusion. What was he suggesting? What did he want from me?

”You're kind,” he'd said. “I haven't seen a kind person for a long time.” What a strange person. He didn’t know who I was and yet here he was making this assumption. Noticing me. It was that thought that had me taking a quick step backwards, suddenly fearful of what might happen.

“Bad things happen to people who are noticed.” I said, looking around, expecting something to come out and attack us, dragging me down until I couldn’t breathe, reminding me once more that I was nothing. It was balance. It was what I needed, a constant reminder that good meant suffering. Why else did the kindest people of this world suffer the most?

The boy stepped forwards, eyes dancing, voice serious, “then I'll protect you,” he proclaimed, “I’ll make sure no one does.”

He looked at me, raising a hand to show me his palm, “I'll sign in my blood, if you want.” Alarm filled my veins and I raised my own hands, signalling him to stop. “No,” I didn’t want him to hurt himself “don’t.” I couldn’t live with myself if someone was hurt because of a choice I made. Especially not this boy, not with those sincere eyes and that determined expression.

”You’re good,” I murmured, ”you’ve got the stars in your eyes.” And the stars had never hurt me. Never done me any wrong. They'd protected me, guided me in the dark.

The boy looked downwards, it was as though my words had struck something within him. He sighed, as though coming to some decision, “...I wanna be, somehow at the end of all this, I wanna be a good person.” He looked at me, looked at me like someone worth protecting. And for a moment I didn’t feel as though I had to be afraid. It didn’t matter that he’d noticed me.

“So I'll protect you and maybe that'll help me be a good person, yeah?”

The words didn’t catch in my throat as I spoke, instead, they were unusually clear, unusually hopeful, “I’ll help you.”

“Then I promise,” he said, offering me his hand, “and I never break a promise.”

I hesitated only for a moment before reaching forwards and clasping his in mine. Shaking on a promise that I knew I wouldn’t regret. He smiled, it was gentle, safe.

“I’m Tate.”

“Max.” I said.