by Dan Ackerman
He walked to the lab. His fingers shook as he picked up a shot glass. Twelve lapped over the sides of the glass and over his fingers when he poured. The shot nearly gagged him, the slippery bitter taste unfamiliar after so long without one.
Immediately, it became clear he couldn’t handle a full shot anymore.
He made it inside the shuttle before his legs gave out.
He spent hours on the floor beside the couch, motionless. Numb inside and out, sick to his stomach from skipping dinner, warm and too high to care who saw him or what they’d think. He stared at the ceiling, his hands folded on his chest. All he could do was breathe. In and out, slow and shallow.
Sometimes he forgot to breathe. His head would spin and he would gasp.
People walked past him but didn’t interact.
He heard voices, so many voices, outside the shuttle. Laughing.
He turned his head to the side.
The carpet, stiff and rough, dug into his cheek. He barely felt it.
A mouthful of stomach acid worked its way up his throat and trickled through his parted lips.
He closed his eyes.
Arden hadn’t had a clear thought in four days.
He’d made it off the shuttle floor and kept himself more responsibly numb. Winslow disapproved and Oggie wouldn’t talk to him.
Arden didn’t care.
That was the point.
In six hours, barring any unfortunate test results, they’d be free to leave the bay.
He couldn’t be like this when that time came.
He found Maggie.
Twelve made it easy to tell her, “Dump the rest of it.”
She frowned at him. “Your Eminence, I don’t follow.”
“The rest of the Twelve. I can’t have it in here.”
He’d taken a shot right before breakfast. He’d be desperate for another one by lunch. Not physically, he hadn’t gotten back into bodily addiction that quickly, but he liked being empty more than the way broken glass ground in his throat whenever Oggie walked away from him.
“You’re sure?”
“I can’t be like this out there.”
Maggie made a face he interpreted as agreement. “I’ll take care of it.”
He nodded and walked away.
He melted into the couch for as long as he could.
The Twelve wore off.
Anxiety clawed its way up his throat and lived in his mouth. He swallowed it back down constantly as he went over what would happen with the Terrans.
An hour before the end of quarantine, six people from the Transition Committee came in. They acquainted themselves with the Terrans and presented the orientation program developed during the quarantine. A few weeks meant to help them adjust and familiarize themselves with Eden.
The Terrans grew quieter and quieter.
Their silence rang in his ears.
He’d sent out a speech for Rhys to read in his stead a few days ago. Apparently, the citizens of Eden had taken to the idea of newcomers better than the upheaval to the class system. After all, who hadn’t stared down at Terra One and wondered what still lived there?
Whether they could come together to make a common people would take time to figure out, but Arden felt some small degree of hope about that at least.
Productivity would dip initially, with new mouths to feed and new workers to train, but projections looked good as long as the Terrans took well to work crews.
He hoped they would.
Their return had quieted the idea that the workers had conspired to kill Arden and throw a coup. Rhys reported people had settled a lot during the quarantine. A few holdouts maintained they kept Arden in quarantine because he was a dupe and his plastic surgery still needed to settle.
Despite how numb he’d kept himself, he found that conspiracy thoroughly amusing.
Oggie wouldn’t look at him when he approached, so he left him alone and walked out of the bay on his own.
Rhys stood about ten yards away.
Mara came over and punched Oggie in the arm. She immediately laid into him.
Arden wanted to intervene but Oggie turned his back to him when their eyes met.
The Transition Committee moved the Terrans away in a noisy rush of directions and reassurances.
Arden announced, “I’ll be in my rooms until this evening. Should anything arise, please, come to me as you would have before. I’ll see you all at the Welcome Dinner.”
He walked away.
Rhys trailed behind him, wordless and light-footed, but so familiar that Arden sensed his presence.
As soon as the door to Arden’s room closed, Rhys grabbed him.
Arden flinched.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Rhys demanded.
“I’m sorry.”
“You can’t do things like that!”
“I’m sorry.”
Rhys crushed him close. “I worried about you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that.”
Arden swallowed. He twisted his hands in Rhys’s shirt. “I’m so sorry don’t be mad anymore I’m sorry.”
Rhys sniffled. “Tell me you’re okay.”
He couldn’t make himself say it. He started to cry.
Rhys wrapped an arm around him, the palm of his hand cradling the side of Arden’s head. He kissed his temple. “I hate it so much when you cry.”
“I’m sorry,” he sobbed.
“What the fuck happened?”
“Everyone’s mad at me.”
Softly, Rhys assured, “I’m not really mad at you.”
Arden kept crying, useless as ever.
Rhys rubbed his back. “I’m glad you’re back. That’s all. I’m glad you’re home safe.”
It felt so nice to be held.
The sound of Rhys’s heart steadied him almost as well as a shot would have. It made it a little easier not to ask for one. It reassured him that he hadn’t completely undone the progress he’d made.
Four days wasn’t enough to fall into a full-blown addiction.
He could get back on track, go back to taking a shot when he needed it, not to lock out the world.
Compared to where he’d been, this was a slip-up, not a relapse.
He settled down. He squeezed Rhys. “I…”
“You can tell me,” Rhys said.
“I fuck everything up.”
Rhys brought him over to the couch. He kept an arm around him and their hands together. “What, specifically, did you fuck up this time?”
“You’re supposed to tell me I don’t fuck everything up.”
“So what did you fuck up?”
Arden sighed. “Oggie’s mad at me.”
Rhys huffed. “Good.”
“Rhys!”
“Arden, he’s—”
Arden pulled away from Rhys. He wiped his face one last time. “Can I really talk to you about this?”
Rhys nodded. “Sorry. Yes.”
“I love him.”
Rhys made a face.
Arden smacked him. “Don’t!”
“Fine.”
Arden crossed his arms.
“Well?” Rhys prompted. “I promise, I’ll be good.”
Arden gave him a doubtful look.
“I swear.”
“Fine.” Arden huffed, sighed, then related what had happened between him and Oggie on Terra as best he could. He tried to explain his feelings, his suspicions about Oggie’s feelings, and what Oggie had outright admitted.
Rhys didn’t say much. He listened and nodded. When Arden had exhausted the topic, he only said, “I’m not good at stuff like this.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“I told you, I’m better as a friend. I always have been. I don’t…”
Arden raised his eyebrows.
“I love people, but I don’t fall in love like other people do. I don’t know if it’s because I’m too cynical or if I was just born a little…off. But I don’t. I don’t understand these things.”
>
“Hmm.”
“But maybe drugging yourself senseless and avoiding him wasn’t the right thing to do.”
“Maybe,” Arden admitted.
“You should find him before the Dinner cause after tonight we’ve got about a hundred things to talk about more important than your personal life.”
Arden looked around the room. He’d imagined this differently. He’d imagined coming home with Oggie and finally kissing each other silly in the privacy of their rooms. Dressing up for the Dinner like Mama and Mother had. He remembered them standing in front of the bathroom mirror together, smiling at each other, helping each other button things, fastening necklaces, and Mama insisting the Autarch let her put on just a hint of color on her lips.
He stood up.
Rhys said, “Uh. Maybe bring him flowers.”
“What?”
“I like flowers. He might, too. I bet no one’s ever brought him flowers.”
Arden bought flowers. He went to check Mara’s apartment since he couldn’t think of anywhere else Oggie could be.
He wasn’t there, but someone pointed him in the direction of someone they’d seen Oggie with earlier.
Arden followed the breadcrumb trail of Oggie sightings through most of deck eight. No one he talked to seemed at all surprised to find a peer tracing Oggie through the Quarters. A few people even mentioned the flowers were a nice touch.
Finally, he reached a door that someone swore they’d just seen him go through just a few minutes ago. “Have you seen Oggie Nielsen?” he asked for the thirteenth time in forty-five minutes.
The woman who answered the door looked at Arden and the flowers he carried. Her face twisted between worried and apologetic, but not at all surprised. “He’s…”
“Can you ask him to come talk to me?”
“You, uh. You want me to interrupt him, Your Eminence?”
“Is…” Arden didn’t know how to answer that. “What’s he doing?”
“They just closed the door, they’re probably not…you know. Yet.”
“If you don’t mind.”
The woman nodded. “I’ll…Just. I’ll be right back. Unless you want to wait inside?”
“No, thank you.” Arden didn’t like being inside the homes of workers. He hadn’t visited many, but they all shared the same shabby cleanliness. Cluttered and crowded, but scrubbed spotless, the same as the workers themselves. Workers prided themselves on how well they could do a load of laundry, how long they could keep a set of clothing wearable, or how sturdily they could mend a pair of shoes.
The woman stepped back inside and gingerly closed the door.
About five minutes later, Oggie came outside with his shirt half-tucked in and buttoned crookedly.
Arden held out the flowers.
Oggie stared at them like he’d never seen flowers before and didn’t understand what they meant.
“I’ll be really busy soon. I didn’t want to leave things however they are right now.”
Oggie kept staring at the flowers.
Arden held them out a little further. He almost said, “Rhys told me to bring them,” but caught himself in time. “They’re for you.”
Oggie took them.
“Can we please talk?”
“Are you asking me or is this an order?”
“I’m asking.”
“I don’t want to talk to you.”
Arden pressed his lips together. He nodded. He couldn’t leave yet. His feet wouldn’t move.
“Fucking say it, whatever you came down here to say if you’re not going to leave,” Oggie snarled.
“What I said to you was wrong.”
Oggie frowned.
“There are so many things you give me that I couldn’t find anywhere else. I know I hurt your feelings. I understand why you’re upset.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I said I loved you and then I said something that sounded an awful lot like I could replace you with anyone who’d sleep with me and bring me drugs. That would hurt my feelings too. Especially…”
“If drugs and sex were all you brought to a relationship?” Oggie guessed.
“Especially if people treated me like that’s all I had to offer,” Arden corrected gently. “What I wanted to say was that…was that literally any item you’d procure for me I could get without you so you didn’t have to worry about me using you for things, like tangible things. But I shouldn’t have said it and especially not the way I did.”
The paper of the bouquet crinkled as Oggie moved.
“When…If.” Arden tried to think of what he wanted to say. “Come home. When you’re ready. And no matter how busy I am, I’ll make time if you change your mind about talking.”
“You didn’t talk to me,” Oggie reminded. “You wandered around that stupid bay for days and days and you didn’t say a single word until now.”
“…I was high,” Arden offered weakly. “Like. Like I missed the toilet when I went to sit on it high. And you kept walking away from me.”
“Lost your tolerance?” Oggie guessed.
Arden nodded.
Oggie glanced over his shoulder toward the apartment. “Funny how old habits come right back.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Not really.”
“Me neither.”
Oggie examined the flowers. He crushed a few petals between his fingers. The scent flooded the air between them.
“Come home,” Arden offered again. “Please.”
Oggie sighed.
“If you’re ready.”
Oggie ripped the bloom off a flower and crushed it in his fist. He systematically destroyed the entire bouquet with a calm focus. He stopped when one remained. He extracted it from the remains of the others, his fingers dyed and sticky with the fluids from its brethren. “The guy inside, he, uh. He treats me like shit. Every time. I can’t think of a single nice thing to say about him, not one fucking thing, and if you hadn’t come down here, he’d probably already have fucked me. I fucking hate him. I mean, I really do, and somehow, within five minutes of seeing him, I’m getting undressed.”
Arden didn’t know what to say.
“And you’re actually really nice to me and I wouldn’t talk to you because you misspoke. I knew what you meant. And I knew you wanted to talk to me, and I watched you take those shots. Left you on the floor when I wasn’t even sure you were breathing.”
Half a word slipped past Arden’s lips, meaningless and unconnected from his thoughts.
“I don’t think anything can fix me. I think I’m going to be like this forever. Fucking people I hate and intentionally hurting people I love.”
“I still want you to come home.”
“I shouldn’t.”
“It’s your home, too, Oggie.”
Oggie looked at the ruined flowers around his feet. “You should probably get me into therapy sooner rather than later.”
“In the morning.”
Oggie sighed.
“And really, Og, no one can fix you if you don’t put the work in.”
Oggie started walking.
Arden followed him, not sure of their destination or if he was meant to follow.
On the stairs, Oggie said, “I should actually probably say thank you.”
“For?”
“Coming to look for me.”
“I thought if I left you alone for too long…”
Oggie glanced back.
“If I didn’t tell you now, I don’t know when I’d have gotten the chance and then it would have been too long and you’d probably really not have wanted to talk to me. You would have taken it as confirmation that I’d gotten bored of being with you.”
Oggie paused and turned around. He leaned against the railing.
Arden came to stand on the step below him. “Which isn’t true. I think we’ll be together for a hundred years before I’d think of getting bored of you. And not because you’re salacious or wild or anything like that. Because you�
�re smart and funny.”
Oggie pressed his lips together. He blinked and started walking again.
“And you’re a liar. Liars always keep you on your toes.”
He spun around.
“Someone checked on me that night on the floor. Winnie can’t bend down like that and a Terran probably would have freaked out. A medic would have brought me for treatment. That kind of only leaves you.”
“You were high. You probably imagined it,” Oggie sniffed. He marched up the stairs and all the way to their rooms without looking back.
Noisily, he prepared a bath.
In Arden’s bathroom, not in his.
He brought his clothes from his closet and laid them out on Arden’s bed.
“What did you plan on wearing?” Oggie asked.
Arden hadn’t thought about it. He shrugged.
“I need to know so I know what to wear.”
Arden searched his closet for something that would satisfy workers, peers, and Terrans. Elegant and eye-catching, but not too showy, and now apparently, not too dark or shiny.
He found a pair of gray trousers and paired it with a muted lavender top, and a dark silver-gray jacket with a hint of metallic shimmer. Formal and functional.
He laid it out on the bed.
Oggie put his hands on his hips.
“You don’t like it?”
“I like it.”
Oggie nodded toward the bathroom and walked away.
Arden followed him. He watched as Oggie slipped out of his clothes. His hair had grown a little shaggy over the past few months, curling around his face.
“Are you going to stare at me or get in the tub?”
“Is both an option?”
“No.”
Arden started to peel off his clothes. He tried not to look at himself in the mirror. He’d only seen photos or caught glimpses in the small shuttle mirror.
Oggie came up behind him and draped his arms around Arden’s shoulders. He kissed the side of his head.
The sudden sensation of skin against skin made Arden close his eyes. The tenderness of his touch melted him.
“Look at yourself.”
Arden opened his eyes.
Oggie turned him toward the mirror, still wrapped around him. “Look,” he urged gently. He put a finger under Arden’s chin to lift his gaze. “Look at how beautiful you are, sugar.”
Arden didn’t see it. He couldn’t.
No matter what he weighed, thin or fat, he never saw beauty.
