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there is something looming over him that he cannot shake. some sort of odd, pressurized feeling that has the hairs on the back of his neck sticking up.
it grows more pervasive as he nears cal’s house. it’s eerie.
he knocks on the front door and there is no response. he waits for a moment and then tries again, noticing the lack of movement and noise from the inside. cal knew he was coming over. he had asked him to yesterday.
something's not right.
andre looks over his shoulder back to the street, to his car. he turns back to the door and tries the doorknob to see if it’s unlocked, a chill running through him when it opens.
there’s an unnatural silence save for the mechanical clicking of the clock on the wall and the sound of running water.
it seems like he’s alone, like there’s no one home. it’s unsettling how detached it all feels, how isolated he feels. that innate ability to sense someone’s presence fails him; it’s not even there at all.
there is a humming inside his head akin to a dial tone, frequencies transmitting, waiting for somebody else to pick up. he glances up the stairs to where cal’s bedroom is and the humming fizzles out to nothing like the line has been disconnected.
he knows he’s gone.
it’s only then does he notice something slowly dripping down the stairs. he follows it until his shoes are in a big red-tinted puddle, its source steadily pouring from underneath the bathroom door. there’s a gap in the door, almost as if he’s being invited in.
he pushes it open with the flat of his hand, breath caught in his throat.
there is blood on nearly every surface, like cal had been at it for a while – hesitating, maybe – before committing entirely to it. the fog on the mirror is dissipating, an assortment of fingerprints and smears on display.
he hadn’t heard from cal since that morning. cal knew he was coming, that he would be the one to find him.
cal’s slumped down a little in the tub, nose barely peeking above the surface. andre sort of expects his eyes to open when he gets closer, but isn’t upset when they don’t.
the bottom of his hair is floating in the water, swirling around and blurred like he was fading into it. andre leans over and turns the faucet off, jumping when it makes a loud pop.
for a moment, all he can do is stand there and stare.
he isn’t sure how much time passes, but eventually he kneels by the bathtub and pulls cal up a little. he knows there’s nothing there anymore, but he still reaches for cal’s neck to feel for a pulse. the movement spills water over the edge, onto andre. it causes him to let go, and cal slides back down.
andre catches him before he’s entirely submerged.
the humming comes back. it’s quieter, now, but it’s still there.
cal is, was, light but he’s fully clothed, all waterlogged and limp and weighed down, so getting him out of the tub is difficult. andre lifts him out the best that he can, sort of turning him so he can hook his arms underneath cal’s own. he drags him out that way, finally being able to see what he can only assume is the reason that they’re in this position.
there’s tendons peeking through a large cut starting about midway up his wrist to the bottom, vertical and jagged. it looks mangled, still bleeding somehow. there’s more on his other wrist, less severe.
the blood makes the floor even slicker and worse to walk on let alone do this. he carries him in some half-drag all the way to his bedroom, having to stop once they reach the door. it’s then that he almost drops cal, having to shift his weight to one side so he could open it. they both almost go down, andre moving his arm to cal’s waist to keep him from hitting the ground.
“fuck, sorry.” there’s a particular humor to it when he realizes that he just said that to a corpse. cal’s not there anymore.
dragging cal to the bed and getting him on it is even more difficult than it was getting him there, but after a bit of adjustment and struggle he gets cal spread out on it. he’s on the wrong end, his feet near the headboard. his jeans had been pulled down a little in the process, his shirt pushed up. the skin between the two is bare, all bright white and untouched. it’s a harsh contrast to the rest of the skin that andre can see.
he watches again, waits for something to happen, for cal’s chest to start rising and falling, for cal to twitch. it doesn't happen. he reaches for cal’s wrist – the good one – and tries again to find a pulse, sighing at the lack of movement.
he should call 911, but he knows there’s no saving him. there’s no fixing this, or going back and preventing it. they would just call the coroner and cal would get taken out in a body bag and not on a stretcher, never to be here again; never to be with andre again.
he props him up like a doll and grabs a pillow from the other end of the bed to put beneath his head. he pulls his eyelid open with his thumb, gently like it matters, like he’s still alive, like he can feel it. his eye is a little glassy, but not much different than it was yesterday, just as blue and empty.
he picks up the other wrist and is met with no resistance. it’s even worse up close. there’s smaller cuts around it, mostly horizontal. he wonders how long it took for him to go through with it. he releases it and it drops back down, falling to hang off the edge of the bed.
cal is still warm, still gradually bleeding out. andre has to keep reminding himself that he’s dead. his hair is wet and a muddy shade of pink, dried blood clumped throughout it where the water didn’t meet.
the tips of his fingers are wrinkled, fingernails clean.
when andre steps back, he notices a journal on the bed, hidden beneath one of cal’s legs. it had been left open. andre takes it before it could be ruined even further, but he can just barely make out his name and a few words that hadn’t been smeared and ruined. he throws it to the side.
it doesn’t matter now anyway.
and when he looks at cal, there’s no pain there. there’s no hurt, no anger. he’s at ease, vacant. he could almost swear that he’s smiling. he knows he’s not. it’s just a body.
he takes cal’s hand into his own and sits there for what felt like a lifetime, long enough that the light shining in through the window had shifted the shadows in the room. he’s running out of time.
“i’ll be right back.”
he’s covered in blood and soaking wet but that doesn’t matter now either. he goes outside to his car to get his pistol out, not even bothering to hide it on the walk back in. he’ll be gone before anyone shows up.
the door to cal’s room is standing wide open when he comes back, and cal is there. he’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, staring at his arm. he looks up when andre crosses over the threshold.
“i was getting scared you weren’t coming back.”
andre does not know how to process this. cal was gone, that was real. the amount of blood he had lost, how long it had been. he hadn’t even been breathing.
“are you –”
“no,” cal cuts him off like he knows what he’s about to ask, “i’m still dead. i’m pretty sure.”
“is it really you?”
“yeah, it’s me.” cal looks at him funny, as if there is anything normal about any of this, as if andre is the dumb one for asking that.
andre’s still standing in the doorway, gun in hand. he shifts his weight, unsure of what to say next.
“where did you go?” his brain only supplies him with questions, a hundred of them that he knows he probably shouldn’t ask.
“nowhere. there was nothing. then i was back, but not really. and now i’m here.” he looks back down after that, then pokes at something beneath the thin layer of shredded skin. “i watched you get me out, you know.”
“are you mad at me?” he hopes he doesn’t sound as desperate as he feels.
“what?”
“for not trying to help you.”
“no.” cal smiles, then, and it’s weird. “i wanted you to find me. i knew you wouldn't try.”
andre walks over to put the gun down on the table by cal’s bed, closer to cal but not within reach. he’s still lost.
“are you scared?” cal asks softly, his head tilted. he doesn’t seem like he’s trying to be mean, to make fun of him, and andre can’t swallow down the lump in his throat.
“i’m confused,” is what he says, because confused is the only word that comes to mind. i’m terrified and don’t know what any of this means, is what he wants to say.
“yeah, me too.” they make eye contact and it feels like andre’s made of nothing but pins and needles, sharp and stabbing his insides. cal bites his bottom lip, then sits up a little straighter. “can you help me?”
“how?”
“i need to change. i’m freezing.”
andre waits for him to elaborate, because he isn’t sure how he could help.
“i tried to while you were outside, but i couldn’t. look,” cal turns to grab the pillow andre had put under his head and his hands phase through it, “i just can’t – i don’t know.”
“okay. yeah. i get it.” andre swallows, already moving to the dresser to get a pair of clothes.
cal stares up at him while he takes his shirt off, eyes wide. there are spiderwebs of pale blue veins underneath his eyes, sprawling towards his temples, and there’s a translucent glow to his skin. andre can’t remember if there had always been something like that to him, some sort of light, or if that was new.
he is ice cold to the touch in a way that he shouldn’t be. he was warm just a few minutes ago.
“it’s okay, it doesn’t hurt now.” cal whispers when he hesitates at getting the sleeve past his wrist.
those same spiderwebs are painted across his chest.
andre pulls the hoodie over cal’s head before he can think about it for too much longer. cal shakes his head when it’s on, one hand going to mess with his hair.
“are these okay?” andre holds up a pair of blue plaid pajama pants. cal nods, uncrossing his legs.
his hands are shaking when he curls his fingers around the waistband of cal’s jeans. he turns his head when starts to pull them down, which makes it take much longer than it really should.
they fall to the ground by the puddle of blood.
“you can look.” cal says. it makes andre pause for a second, pajama pants almost over cal’s knees. he doesn’t take the offer. cal laughs at him like he’s caught him. “thanks.”
“you’re welcome.”
“nobody's going to be here for a while.”
“oh.” that’s not a bad thing, or a good thing. andre doesn’t know what it is. “where are they?”
“visiting family. i told them i didn’t feel good.” cal leans back on his hands, and then he glances over at the gun. andre had forgot about it. “i hope no one saw you.”
“i didn’t see anyone outside.” andre lies, easily. he hadn’t even been paying attention to that. “we should be fine.”
cal frowns, going back to pick at the open wound. he looks like he wants to say something but can’t find the words for it. “what were you going to do with it anyway?”
“i was going to make sure you were actually dead. what do you mean? what else would i do with it?” he puts his fingers into the shape of a gun and points it at his own head, mimicking shooting himself.
cal lights up at that, smiling with teeth.
“that’s pretty romantic.”
andre can’t help but roll his eyes. he wants to be annoyed, but he can’t find it in himself to be.
“do you think this is a second chance?”
“a second chance?” cal repeats, head tilted again.
“for.. you know. for us.”
“um, no.” it makes cal laugh, but andre can’t find anything funny about any of this. it actually kind of hurts, that blatant rejection. “this isn’t a movie, andre. i’m dead and hell is real and this is my punishment. i can’t escape life even when i kill myself.”
the hurt must be written on his face because cal stops talking for a moment when he looks at andre, who really has nothing left to say.
“i didn’t mean it like that. i just, i don’t think this is good. we don’t even know what this is, or how long we have, and i don't think god would bring me back just for us to have more time together. he kind of doesn’t like us.”
it’s perfectly rational. andre gets it, he really does. it doesn’t change how much he doesn’t want to hear it.
“we were supposed to be together.” it comes out of his mouth before he can give it another thought. “can i sit with you?”
cal nods. andre notices how the bed isn’t dipping underneath him. is he really even here?
except, when he sits down next to him, he can feel him. there’s no heat radiating off of him, but he’s there. his body is there, he can feel it.
andre holds his hand out and waits for cal to intertwine their fingers. cal smiles again when his hand doesn’t just pass through andre’s. he feels like he’s getting colder.
“maybe this is supposed to be goodbye.” andre finally says, not even bothering to look at cal. he’s staring at the ground.
the phone downstairs rings and they both flinch.
“it’s probably my parents.”
andre gets up and cal trails behind him, hands still locked. cal lets go when they get to the phone, but he presses even closer to andre as he picks up the receiver.
“hello?”
“oh, hi, andre. we were just calling to check in. where’s cal?”
cal is looking at him, watching. it makes it hard for andre to even listen to the other end of the line.
“he’s um, he’s in the shower right now. i’ll let him know you called.” cal laughs and it takes a second for andre to realize why. “he’ll call you back later. i have to go.”
he hangs the phone up before cal’s mom could respond, which probably didn't help any of this. he doesn’t have time to think on it, because cal is so close and so alive.
“when are they going to be back?”
“a couple of days.”
andre’s head is pounding, his mouth dry. he starts back upstairs wordlessly, but cal knows to follow.
the bed is damp. he’s still damp. none of this registers to him as he crawls into the bed to lay down. he raises the blanket up, waiting for cal to get in with him.
“please come lay down with me.” he feels weak for the first time in a long time. he doesn’t like it. he didn’t feel like crying when he first saw cal, but it’s all coming to him now. “please.”
“i didn’t think you would care this much.” cal says, back pressed to andre’s chest. he pulls andre’s arm against himself, who just holds him even tighter.
andre buries his face into cal’s hair.
“i just need some more time.” with you.
—
andre wakes up to the sound of sirens blaring down the road. he turns to look at cal, but he’s not there.
andre’s on the floor with his back pressed against the bed. he looks up and finds cal’s wrist still danging off the edge of the bed like it was when he put him there.
he pushes himself up off the ground and peeks out the window from behind the curtain to see a group of people in a half-circle outside of the house with a police officer talking to them.
someone beats on the door downstairs.
“oh, fuck.”
andre grabs the gun off of the table and takes one last look at cal, still in the same t-shirt and jeans andre had found him in. he’s just a little paler now than he was then, still just as beautiful.
he slides back down on the floor, head beside cal’s hand, and brings the gun up to his mouth. his finger twitches on the trigger as the knocking gets louder.
he pulls it, then, and there's nothing.