Lean on Me [Quest/Fiona]

I don’t know what I would’ve done differently.

Coming back from eight, walking through the streets with this sort of pang in my stomach, electric. As though a part of me could understand what Oliver had been talking about but moving right past that to how society had made him feel that way, you know? That even as much as he had tried to be a good kid, to live his life in a shitty house, he’d been pulled to become someone else, rather than who he could’ve been. And I thought about how it wasn’t just twenty-three other folks that were going through it, though they sure as hell would feel the same sort of energy, same sort of wants and fears, too.

I guess it was good that Fiona came. We’d kept in touch better than anyone else since the eightieth, though I have to admit the majority of it had been one sided, up until recently. Fiona was the sort of person that always seemed to float, even as hard as life had been. She’d been the one to sacrifice herself, after all – which is such bullshit, having to prove how good you were through sacrifice. There’s the connotation that a good friend would give everything up about herself so someone else could live the way they wanted that didn’t sit right (because why couldn’t they both?).

But taking Fiona out to dinner at one of the nice little places where the silverware wasn't plastic, I couldn’t help but let my mind wander. I couldn’t tell you what we talked about over dinner and I wondered if she even noticed. It wasn’t like I was saying much, probably even less than usual, and it was nice to let someone else fill up the space. Allard had taught me that sometimes letting someone else take up space could sooth us.

I thought about it when I sat looking out at the street from the window of my apartment. Both of us had been tired, and I’d let Fiona know where to find everything she’d need (there was soap in the – wait for it – soap dispenser on the sink; glasses in the – gasp now – cupboard in the kitchen; and a towel hanging – are you sitting down? – towel rack).

My brother Ether had decided to stay at a friend’s while Fiona was here so that she could stay in his room. I’d warned him to take care of himself since his friends lived in a shittier part of the district, and he was the soft one, after all. Of course, he just laughed, saying it’s where all the artists lived, out by the manufacturing plants.

I think I told him smell you later, because I still wasn’t anywhere near being mature enough to be normal to my younger brother.

God.

I’d have taken the time to catch the skyline from the rooftop if I’d known. Or sat out on the fire escape with my heavy coat and watched the flakes of snow come down until they hit the sidewalks.

Except instead I’d brushed my teeth and thrown myself in a cocoon of sheets, pillows, and a heavy down comforter across my queen-sized bed.

I’d been imagining one of the old warehouse parties I’d gone to, right before volunteering in the games. Dreaming of a great empty warehouse with lights flashing, music pounding out across the space and through our bodies while folks danced. And I remember, when I looked out across the floor, seeing – Wilfred? My best friend, in the flesh. I remember, running, leaping into his arms and laughing when we both tumbled to the floor. I remember his smile, the way he stood underneath the strobe lights, bean pole of a man. How the music of the dream changed, base throbbing, and then -

Bang.

Thunder so loud the windows shook, and I tumbled out the side of the bed, my sheet and comforter cocoon toppling over me. Another set of booms sounded, this time carrying out and rumbling, until they came crashing right through the glass, spraying bits and pieces anywhere.

“Holy fucking shit!” I ducked underneath the sheet and held my head down to the hardwood floor. Bangs sounded again, muffled, distant. Sirens sounded, and the ringing filled my ears.

“Fiona!” I couldn’t tell how loud my voice was, my ears struggling to hear, and I stood, careful to toss the blanket out toward the door to clear a path where glass surely lay. I made it to the living room and could smell the acrid smoke.

“Fiona, are you ok?!”