by J M Hemmings
‘I’m sorry to hear that, lad.’
Jun exhaled a long, slow sigh, but it brought no relief to his pent-up tension; instead, his little hands curled into tight fists at his sides, and the muscles around his jaw tensed up.
‘I don’t think that my mother even breastfed me,’ he said softly. ‘They hired someone to do that, just like they hired someone to coach me in math, to tutor me in violin and piano, to tutor me in coding and physics while they worked seven days a week. I was forced to study three foreign languages from before I could even walk. I was left in the company of nannies and babysitters and tutors; those uncaring employees were the only real “parents” I ever knew. The pair of Taiwanese immigrants who fucked and produced me … I really don’t know what they are – were – to me, beyond my biological progenitors. The businesses they run are far more important to them than I ever was. Their piles of money, designer clothes, investments, stocks, and multiple bank accounts and luxury cars all matter more to them than me. I was another accessory to them at best, but mostly just an annoying expense and an inconvenience. Joining my school’s Environmental Club and going vegan were twin slaps to their uncaring faces from me. They regarded those things – innocent things, wouldn’t you say – as heinous acts of rebellion, as deviant displays of complete disrespect. And that’s exactly why I grew to love those things. In the beginning, I didn’t actually care about the environment, animals or veganism, or any of that stuff. I didn’t care about anything. Nothing, nothing at all. My soul was like … like the endless, empty vacuum of space. That came later, after I started to emerge from my shell, allowing my friends to, to get close to me, to explain things to me, to show me that life was about more than just grades, prestige and money … to treat me like an individual, like someone who mattered. I’ll always be grateful to my friends for that. Chloe and Paola, they actually cared about my opinions and my personality, not my grades, not how many languages I could speak, not how creatively I could code, not how virtuosic I was on the piano or violin. They were the first people, the only people I’ve ever met, who I could truly open up to, who I didn’t have to put on an act for.
The damage was done, though, long before either of them could do much to reverse it, to heal it. Because, you see, I’d long ago found the love I’d craved since infancy. I found it in infancy, but not in the absent breast of my mother, or the clammy hands of my father, who always seemed disgusted at the thought of hugging me, let alone touching me in any other way than hitting me. I found it in screens. In technology. Technology never had any expectations of me. It never forced me to do anything I didn’t want to do. It never berated me and shamed me for getting an A instead of an A+. It gave me attention when I needed attention, it gave me joy when I needed to laugh. It allowed me to relax and turn off my brain when everyone around me demanded that I do the opposite, even when I was so far beyond exhausted that I thought I was dying. It never told me that I was a disappointment, that I was bringing shame on my family for defying our cultural traditions, that I owed it a lifetime of wealth when I became a rich man one day; my only acceptable life path, in my parents’ eyes.
But now … things … have changed. Are changing. For the first time in my life, I’ve been deprived of the only real family members I’ve ever had: my tech items. I understand why it’s necessary, of course, after almost being killed by the Huntsmen, and knowing how easily they could track us if we were using phones out here. But that doesn’t make it any easier for me. Even though I can see that I was as hopelessly addicted to technology as you were to heroin, it does little to satiate my cravings for it. I miss my phone, my tablet, my video games and my computer more than I do my parents. And this might sound … well, twisted … but in a way, I’m glad my face is all over the news, that the world thinks I’m a terrorist. It’s a bigger “fuck you” to my parents than almost anything else ever could be. The only thing I’m sad about is that they now think they were right in their condemnation of my involvement with the Environmental Club. But it pales in comparison to the … the dark satisfaction I feel now, knowing that they are drowning in embarrassment and shame on my account. Good. Ah … I’ve, I’ve said too much, I’ve just gone on and on about myself, William … I’m sorry.’
‘No, no, it’s all right lad, it’s all right. I’m sure you had to let it all out and bare your soul to someone. And who better than a fellow addict, someone who understands your pain, yeah?’
‘Y-, yes. Thank you. Still, I, I didn’t mean to say so much. It all just came out. I, um, I only wanted to ask you, when you’re going through the withdrawal process … how long does it last, and how soon is it over? And, um, do you have any tips or tricks on how to get through it? Because I think that’s what I’m going through now. Withdrawal. Not like yours, but it’s bad. It’s really bad. I have … obsessive thoughts … about technology. I’m craving my phone, my computer, my tablet like nothing I’ve ever craved before. I feel like I’m losing my mind, and that’s no exaggeration.’
‘I won’t lie and say it’s easy, because, quite frankly, it’s not,’ William said. ‘It’s difficult, and even though I’ve been through the worst of my withdrawal, it’s still bloody hard, and it’s going to be hard for some time to come. I’ve got to just grit my teeth and try to power through it, like I have a couple of times before. That’s the only way to do it, lad – you have to fight through it. You have to battle through the pain, the sickness, the nausea, all of the physical symptoms that make you wish you were dead … but that’s the easy part. Now, I’m not an expert by any means, but I don’t think that your withdrawal process will involve the kind of physiological hell that mine did, but I imagine that the mental part is just as hard if not worse, and that, Jun, is the real challenge. You have to want to overcome the addiction. You have to want to get clean. You have to want it more than anything, and you have to force yourself to accept that that sweet, beautiful hit that every molecule of your body is craving, that drop of pure heaven that your fucked-up mind is screaming out for, that your drug-addled brain is howling for, saying that it’ll take away all of the sickness, pain and misery … is exactly what’s brought you here, is what’s turned you into a pathetic, burned-out shadow of your former self, is what’s robbed you of everything that was once good, noble, brave and decent about yourself. Aye … you need to force yourself to go against every ounce of your desire, and accept that hard, hard truth. Embrace it, as terrifying as it is, and commit to it with every fibre of willpower and raw grit in your being, and maybe you’ll make it through. That’s the truth of it, lad, that’s the scary bloody truth of it.’
The jaw-clenching, muscle-straining tension seemed to leave Jun’s body, and his bony shoulders slumped forward as his form slackened, almost with defeat, yet a paradoxical gleam of hope shone now in his dark eyes.
‘If you can get through what you got through,’ he murmured, ‘I can get through this.’
‘That’s the spirit lad, that’s the spirit. I can’t give you much more advice than that, but I’ll help you in whatever way I can. I know you’ve got to be feeling pretty alone here, but I’m glad you came and talked to me. Now at least each of us knows that there’s someone here who understands what he’s going through, yeah?’
‘Yes,’ Jun said, a faint echo of a smile creasing his cheeks. ‘Thank you.’
William returned the boy’s smile with a beaming grin of his own; the simple act of helping Jun had done wonders to lift his spirits in this time of darkness.
‘Have you asked Lightning Bird for help?’ he asked. Jun shook his head. ‘Don’t be afraid to do so,’ William continued. ‘He doesn’t only heal physical wounds, you know. His healing skills work wonders on a weary, hurt mind and soul as well. And Njinga, as spiky and abrasive as she comes off as being sometimes, she’s a healer too, in her own way. And Zakaria, well, he can patch up a battle wound or apply a field dressing with the best of them, but he can also help you to get better in a different way. I’ve seen Daekwon training with him, an
d Chloe too, sometimes. Maybe you should think about joining ‘em, eh? Get your blood bumping, your joints moving, all that. It does wonders for one’s mood, it does. Or, hell, come for a hike with me, or a good swim in the river, as cold as this water is. I know that you don’t feel like doing much but moping – and when I say I understand, you know that I, more than anyone else here, gets that feeling – but in the same vein, you need to understand that that stuff will help you, especially when you feel like it’s the last thing you want to do. So, any time—’
‘What are you doing down here, Jun?’
The beastwalker and the boy both looked up in surprise at this interruption, and they saw Chloe walking down the trail towards them. William perceived quite clearly that she wanted to add, ‘with this junkie’ to her question, but she refrained from doing so. The implication, though, was written quite plainly in her icy, tight-lipped parody of a smile and the flinty hardness of her eyes.
‘We were just talking,’ Jun answered, sounding almost guilty, although he had no cause to be.
‘Well it’s lunch time, so Njinga sent me to find you.’
The ‘you’ was directed solely at Jun; again, the implication that William could just as well float off down the river and disappear over the edge of the enormous waterfall a mile downriver was delivered with biting clarity. Despite the veiled insult, he held his tongue, smiling warmly at the teenage girl as she approached, without any hint of mockery in his grin. He refrained from making any comments, heartfelt or otherwise, and instead simply dipped his head in Chloe’s direction, a gesture of greeting that she made a point of not reciprocating.
‘I’ll see you later, Jun,’ William said when the boy stood up.
‘Yes. Thank you, William, for the talk.’
Chloe stood at a distance from the two of them, her arms crossed with blunt defiance across her chest, a scowl smeared across her face, her many piercings bright with a mocking glint in the midday sun. She glared at William while Jun walked over to join her, and then spun around with a dramatic flourish and marched off with him in tow.
‘What the hell were you doing talking to that junkie?’ she hissed when she thought she was out of earshot.
William, of course, heard the harsh whisper as clearly as if she’d uttered it right next to his ear. He normally would have brushed such a remark off, but today the wandering spark found a nest of dry, hungry tinder.
‘He can talk to whoever he wants to, Chloe,’ he said loudly, every syllable jagged with frost. ‘And I’d appreciate it if you stopped calling me a junkie, love.’
Chloe froze; this reaction had been what part of her had been hoping for, but had not expected. Furthermore, Njinga was nowhere to be seen, so the performance she was about to put on would be in aid of naught. Still, her Irish blood was sizzling with righteous heat in her veins, and she was never one to back down from a confrontation. It didn’t take long for her to spin around, her head cocked at a defiant angle and her upper lip curled into a sneer.
‘Jun’s a good kid, and he’s my friend,’ she snapped, ‘and you are a junkie. I’ve seen what that shit – the junk you shoot up – does to people, does to their lives, to their families … and as of a few days ago, Jun, Paola and Daekwon are the only family I have, and I sure as fuck am not going to let you poison any of them with that garbage you’re addicted to.’
William chortled humourlessly, shaking his head.
‘Good God, I was only giving the lad advice about dealing with his own addiction, not leading him into a new one. And why on earth do you think I’d ever want to do that? After the hell I’ve been through the past few days getting off the junk, and the utter mess my life had spiralled into when I was on it, do you honestly think I’d wish that on anyone else? Please. You’re not stupid, lass, you’re no fool. I know there’s no way you could actually believe what you’re saying. So why don’t we just clear the air once and for all, yeah? Tell me what your problem with me is, just get it out in the open. Quite frankly, I’m starting to get a little sick of your attitude. We all have to work together now, and—’
‘Ha!’ Chloe scoffed; she was not to be placated, not now, not with her blood boiling and her pulse racing with anticipation at the tirade she was about to unleash. ‘You’re one to talk about “working together”! Njinga told me all about what you did, how you literally ditched your responsibilities twenty-six years ago and just gave up like a fucking loser, like a coward. Yeah, and you literally threw those people you have the nerve to call your friends to the wolves! They were counting on you, and you just up and ditched ‘em to go off on a bender of sex, drugs, nihilism and booze that lasted over two decades! And I literally cannot understand why they risked their lives to rescue you, after everything you did. You’re a real piece of shit, you know that? A selfish, cowardly junkie, that’s what you are, and that’s my problem with you. You happy now?’
‘You say “literally” way too much, lass … but you’re right,’ William said with a sad, defeated sigh. ‘Everything you’ve just said, you’re right.’
Chloe was caught off guard; she’d been preparing her next outburst in anticipation of an escalation of the argument, not this. Her mouth hung half-open, with confused words stuck like stubborn crumbs in her throat. William did not jump at this opportunity for a quick riposte, though, because he was not looking to win this argument, and had not been looking to fight at all.
‘I also ask myself why they risked their necks to save a fool like me,’ he continued. ‘Every time I wake up from the dark dreams that haunt my sleep, every time I quietly look at each of them and perceive the true beauty of their mighty souls, their proud, strong hearts, the light of their indefatigable spirits that shines so bright, far brighter than mine ever could, I wonder … why, why, why did they risk everything for a burned-out wreck like me? I don’t like your attitude, Chloe, but I can understand why you think of me the way you do. Hell, it’s what I think of myself all too often. There are few people on this planet I hate more than the one I see in the mirror every morning, some days. And perhaps they shouldn’t have rescued me. Perhaps it would have been better to have allowed the Huntsmen to put me out of my misery, eh? But they didn’t, and against all odds, they saved me, and here I am. Here you are, your lot now thrown in with mine, with ours. Neither of us asked to be here, but here we are all the same. My life was in the shitter, Chloe, and it had been for far, far longer than you’ve even been alive. Part of me wishes that Aboubakar and the Huntsmen had killed me back in New York … and the old me, the me that existed before I plummeted off that roof, the me consumed by addiction and selfishness and cowardice, the me that had lost faith in everything and given up every hope and dream that he’d ever had, he deserved to die then. But somehow, in that process of near death, an older me, one I thought had died and rotted decades, centuries ago … was resurrected, raised from the tomb. He hasn’t quite materialised fully, not yet, but he’s more than a ghost, I promise you that. He’s more physical than phantom, more present than ever, and he’s growing stronger and more solid every day now, and the old me – the junkie, the coward, the nihilist – he’s fading away and dying, something he should have done a long time ago. But that bastard still has some fight left in him, and believe me, Chloe, he’s pushing back with all the force he bloody well can to stay alive, as much as the original me wants him to just crawl off and die. There’s a battle raging inside me, lass, a battle for my very heart and soul, for everything I am, everything I could be. And your attitude, your comments, your barely veiled loathing of me, while understandable, doesn’t do much to aid the better side of me in his fight. If you really want to impress Njinga, then help me instead of hindering me. Raise me up instead of putting me down every chance you get. You might think you know her, and it’s clear as day that you admire her, but your understanding of who she really is is superficial at best, I’m afraid to say. You’ve known her for all of what, two weeks? I’ve known her since before the turn of the twentieth century, lass. Trust me
when I say that I know her a tad better than you do, yeah?’
‘I … I was just trying to protect my friend,’ Chloe murmured, the wind sucked from her sails. ‘I’ve seen how heroin can destroy a person’s life. And I didn’t want Jun to be exposed to a, um, a bad influence.’
‘He’s not a bad influence!’ Jun snapped abruptly, spinning around and glowering at Chloe, his fists lumpy white balls at his sides. ‘He understands what I’m going through! Don’t assume you can speak for me, and stop treating me like a child!’
Chloe’s rage crumpled in on itself, like a sheet of thin plastic exposed to a sudden and unexpected ferocity of heat. In the face of this unexpected defeat she was left floundering for words. William, however, had no interest in winning this argument or putting her down. Before she could respond, he spoke in a soothing, sympathetic tone.
‘Thank you, Jun, for sticking up for me, and thank you, Chloe, for making your feelings known. You’ve both got infernos burning in your hearts, and that’s something that I greatly admire. You must remember, though, that you are not like us. You’re mortal, with all the limitations that entails. You’ll age and change, faster than you can ever realise from where you’re standing now. These years that seem so long and stretched-out to you now will become like mere blinks of the eye to you in the decades that will come … and in a few short years you’ll look and feel older than I do, even though I’m coming close to my two hundredth birthday. I haven’t been mortal, not in the sense that you two are, for a long time now, but I’ve seen so many lives, so very many, come and go through the years, passing like rushing trains through an endless night. The gift of youth is so very precious, all the more so because it’s so fleeting and temporary, and most of those upon whom it is bestowed do not realise its precious value until long after it has been lost forever. Use that fire in your belly while you’ve got it! It’ll be gone in a few short years, and all those thoughts of revolution and changing the world will be displaced … and replaced by thoughts of sensible savings, mortgaging property, an investment portfolio, a reliable but subtly sporty vehicle, a retirement package that includes the best medical cover and a generous pension, matching sets of furniture, big screen televisions, orthopaedic mattresses, dental plans, libido enhancing medication, insurance … you won’t recognise yourselves, trust me. I don’t mean to depress you with what I’m saying, don’t get me wrong; I just want to impress on you the importance of using what you’ve got while you’ve got it. It’s a precious gift you have, the shining fire of youth: don’t squander it like most do.’
