by Noah Harris
“Lukas, I have to be honest, you look fucking awful,” he said, shielding his eyes from the sun as they stood on the sidewalk outside Drake’s Minimart.
“I’m actually more in demand than ever,” he joked, gesturing toward his gaunt cheekbones. “They want us thinner and thinner. I’m starting to think they’re going to start stealing cadavers from hospitals and propping them up with strings.” Shaeffer laughed, but a tinge of unease tickled his heart. Lukas wasn’t usually this dark.
“What’s in the bag? Snacks, I hope,” he said, peering forward, but Lukas pulled it back suddenly.
“Nothing, just…my medicine,” he said quickly, and Shaeffer looked at him curiously.
“Your medicine? What, you’ve got the flu?” he chuckled, struggling to force a smile to match.
“Can I tell you something, Shaeffer?” Lukas asked. He’d gotten quieter, stepped closer to the brick wall next to them. He reached his hand out to steady himself against it.
“Yeah, of course. Lukas, are you okay?”
“I’m good. I’m weaning myself off, but…it’s very minor, it’s minor.”
“What are you talking about, Lukas?” Panic rose in his throat. What was going on with him? He was normally so calm, serene.
“I have a slight drug problem. It’s just the stress, you know?” Shaeffer recoiled. A drug problem?
“Well, yeah, but it’s really not a big deal.”
“What, prescription pills? I mean, we all take an Ativan sometimes, Lukas,” he said easily, although it felt anything but easy, eyeing the bag.
“No, I…heroin.” Shaeffer’s eyes darted down to his arm to look for the track marks, but there was nothing there.
“You’re fucking with me.”
“No, you inject it into your…your feet, so people don’t see.”
“That’s fucked up, Lukas.” Lukas visibly wilted, but Shaeffer felt too disgusted to care. Who had he been spending time with? How could he have been so weak as to let himself get addicted to this poison? And how had he let it get this far? He looked, in the sunlight, with his light hair and pale skin, like he was disintegrating. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you at the next gig. Stop doing that shit,” he said, pointing at the bag. Lukas looked at him, eyes hollow, and Shaeffer walked by him, leaving him there on the sidewalk.
And the next thing he knew, Lukas had been found dead in his apartment, probably from the drugs, alone. No one had bothered to check up on him, least of all Shaeffer. He could admit it to himself now, that his reason for coming to check on Konrad was partly to assuage some of the guilt that had hit him subconsciously after seeing Lukas’s apartment on the news.
Alone, devastated by a bad review, with no one but domineering Fiona to yell at you. It was a recipe for disaster. That was how you ended up dead.
And it wasn’t weakness, Lukas hadn’t been weak. Konrad wasn’t weak. They were isolated in the darkness, hunted by something no one could see but them. The black dog of depression, or addiction, or anxiety, or all of it amalgamated into one giant, looming cloud. He knew that now, it was obvious.
And Konrad was running from it, too. Just like Lukas. He knew he wasn’t imagining the edge in Konrad’s voice, like the desperation in Lukas’s when he’d left him there, alone, on the sidewalk. The only difference was that Konrad was the kind of person, and he could tell this the moment he walked into the apartment the night before, who had no idea what it was like to be afraid, at all. And that was all the more dangerous.
He looked over at Fiona, who was shuffling through the papers on the countertop.
“Find a good one! Don’t you have just one?” he mouthed and gestured from the doorway, and she shrugged helplessly.
“I don’t know!” she whispered, and he glanced at the bathroom door before taking a few steps, quietly, into the room.
“Make one up!” he said urgently, under his breath, and she looked between them for a moment before heaving a sigh and nodding.
“Well, Konrad, here’s a good one,” she said unconvincingly, and Shaeffer looked over to see Konrad still standing there, back turned, not moving a muscle. “Konrad Fontaine’s performance was stunning,” she said lamely, turning to Shaeffer for help. He nodded encouragingly. “The flames were…bright and mesmerizing, and his presence on stage captivating.” Then silence.
“Is that it?” Konrad asked sarcastically, and Shaeffer rolled his eyes at her. She glared and waved her hand at him, then gestured toward Konrad. You say something! He shook his head, fervently. No way. There was no chance that this was actually a good idea. The way Konrad had lied about their interaction, made it so grandiose, acted like he was a sex god…he was clearly bitter about it. This was the last place Shaeffer should’ve been, and he definitely wasn’t going to alert Konrad to his presence.
“There has to be more to the review that two sentences, Fiona,” he said through the door, his voice low and dangerous. “Give me the bad one, already. Just fucking read it.”
Last night he’d left behind an angry man. Men, but Konrad especially, hated not getting what they wanted, that was obvious. But even though Shaeffer could try to talk himself into thinking Konrad was just like all the other moody artists he’d slept with, getting lost in their contemplation and lashing out at people who didn’t understand them or give them what they wanted, Konrad wasn’t that person. He was scared, that was why he was hiding in the bathroom. Scared of those bad reviews, scared of further pissing off Fiona and Clara, scared of being viewed as someone who could get turned down by the likes of Shaeffer, a little twink that he’d clearly been attracted to.
Despite the circles his mind was running in, the primary urge was to run. He’d had enough experience with people like Konrad to know that whatever lay deep down, underneath all the performance and masks, the journey to find it was too much for him. He didn’t want to get involved with his darkness. All he’d wanted to do was check up on Konrad like he hadn’t checked up on Lukas. This was all getting too real for him.
Fiona was still gesturing toward the door, raising her eyebrows at him. Talk to him, surprise him, do something, anything. This was not the Fiona from last night at the performance, or from any other time he’d seen her. He remembered the first time they’d met, at the charity brunch he and a few friends had been invited to.
The rooftop restaurant had been bathed in light, mimosas being handed out like candy, the indoor palm trees casting striped shadows across their feet. Fiona had been standing there, in the middle of the room, her smile so wide you could see all her blindingly white teeth past her painted red lips, her makeup immaculate. Her hair, yellow, like glittering gold in the reflected rays of the sun through the glass ceiling. She’d been wearing the shortest dress he could imagine, but it didn’t move, despite its flowing A-line shape, like a baby-doll nightgown. Her kitten heels had gold scrollwork embroidery on the toe.
Shaeffer had been drawn to her, all of her. Her laugh, her fashion taste, her pure, genuine friendliness. She said hello to everyone that walked by her.
“This is Shaeffer Gipson. He’s been staring at you for an hour…it might be the mimosas,” Ali added in a whisper, and she’d laughed, like the tinkle of a bell.
“Well, I’m honored,” she said, reaching out her hand to shake his firmly. Her nails were unpainted, and he decided then and there that he liked her.
“Your outfit is stunning,” he said honestly, and she smiled again, that charming, kind smile that felt like it was only shining on him. He wanted her to be his best friend.
“I just like to be comfortable,” she said with a laugh, and he grinned.
They talked for the entire brunch, never about anything of substance. About the other guests’ outfits, how much they were drinking, their favorite foods and designers, where they went to the gym. They even sat together when they were served. French toast and fruit, bite-sized quiche, crepes.
After that event, they never kept in touch, having not exchanged contact details. But every time Shaeff
er saw her, or she saw him, at an event, there was an affinity, a vague remembrance of that drunken brunch. They only ever saw one another at their best, mingling at parties.
Last night she’d been relaxed, laughing, drinking, calling him a schmooze, just like every other night they’d seen one another. Now, her hair was pulled back tight, her eyes were puffy and tired-looking, and her hands were shaking from either the anxiety or the caffeine. She’d seen the black dog too, and she knew it was following Konrad, just like Shaeffer knew. The moment she’d seen him on the sidewalk, she’d asked him to hold the coffees and help her get into Konrad’s apartment. An urgency to her voice, her face. She didn’t even know why he’d been walking toward Konrad’s apartment in the first place…or maybe she did. Either way, she’d demanded his help and he’d obliged, and he was starting to regret it.
“I’ll just tell him you’re here!” she threatened with a hiss, and he shook his head, eyes wide. She was worried, so worried that she’d bring him up just as a shock tactic, a way to get Konrad out of the bathroom. The concern she had for Konrad, even though he clearly irritated her, was endearing. It was a show of more empathy than he’d ever encountered in his daily life, at shows and gigs and brunches. That didn’t mean he wanted her to reveal his presence, though she seemed to believe Konrad, which meant she thought they had some connection that wasn’t really there. They hadn’t slept together, and if Konrad saw him back in his apartment, he’d probably be furious.
He put the coffees down on the island, inching nearer to her.
“What he says happened last night, between us, it didn’t happen,” he said emphatically, whispering, but as her eyes squinted suspiciously at him, they both heard Konrad clear his throat from the bathroom. They turned in the direction of the door, waiting. Shaeffer felt like he could hear his heart beating, anxious.
“Shaeffer.” Fiona looked at him, but he only stared at the door, from behind which Konrad had said his name, his voice deep and menacing and reverberating through the apartment. The floorboards shook.
Shaeffer watched the door, then glanced at Fiona, his mouth open, gaping. She stared at him.
He’d been caught red-handed, and Konrad didn’t sound happy.
Confessions
Konrad Fontaine
“Y-Yeah, it’s me, Konrad. I’m out here with…with Fiona,” came Shaeffer’s voice from the other side of the bathroom door. He pressed his hands to it, to get his bearings again and to keep from chuckling out loud. He allowed himself a smile in amusement at the nervousness in Shaeffer’s voice, wobbly and seeming to fail him at the end. That was exactly the effect he’d been looking for, and it serves Shaeffer right for lurking in his apartment with Fiona, whispering about him, pretty much stalking him. Especially after ghosting on him last night, disappearing with a chaste kiss and avoiding his eyes on the way out.
Normally he’d bring it up, chastise him for it. But this wasn’t normal, nothing about it was. His temporary, temporary, he reminded himself, blindness, the strange stir in his stomach when he heard Shaeffer’s shaky voice, the pain from the night before. Abandonment. He wanted to take it easy on Shaeffer, not punish him, for whatever reason…but he also felt that bitterness of being scorned by a lover, which guided his next words.
“Thanks for coming,” he said through the door. “I know there’s a line of people out there waiting to get in.” There was a hesitation, some whispering from Fiona that was so rushed he couldn’t decipher it. Then shushing, but not from her.
“We’ve put signs up outside. See the fallen artist. Everyone’s…” he paused, but Konrad was already smiling, resting his sore forehead against the door, glad they couldn’t see it. “Everyone’s worried that you’ve taken the one bad review too close to heart.” Sincerity.
“Speaking of one bad review,” Fiona said irritably, and he could hear her stepping closer to the door. “It’s just one, Konrad. Why are you being weird, hiding? Just come out. It’s not so bad. The guy’s an idiot, and it sounds like he’s projecting his own shit onto your show. Just come out.”
Konrad was silent for a moment, grateful they were so worried about him over some bad review that he wouldn’t even be able to read. Hearing it would be fleeting, easier. Maybe he would come out. They were worried about him. They wouldn’t mock him. Maybe it would be easier than he’d thought. But the embarrassment held him back. Once other people knew about it, it wouldn’t be as deniable. He’d been pretending, up until now, that he simply had his eyes closed.
“Konrad, stop being stupid. Just let us in,” Fiona said again, and he heard Shaeffer pipe up in the back, a small “yeah!” He’d have to trust them with this secret, this shame, maybe they’d feel honored. Shaeffer would be struck silent and he wouldn’t have to face him until he chose to, and Fiona would feel needed. They wouldn’t leave otherwise, and he was starting to feel like he didn’t want them to. Walking around in the darkness, hating yourself, was not how he wanted to spend his morning, or the rest of his life.
“Okay, I’ll let you in. But I have something to tell you first,” Konrad said, knowing he was being vague. He could hear Fiona sigh and shift from foot to foot, probably turning around and throwing her hands up impatiently at Shaeffer. He couldn’t imagine Shaeffer standing out there, only the Shaeffer on his bed last night, eyes big, body thin and corded with muscles, the moonlight shining on his pale skin, those gapped front teeth visible behind his panting, parted lips. His stomach knotted.
“Konrad!”
“Okay, I-I didn’t get laid last night. I actually…” he paused, partly for dramatic effect—maybe he could make it funny, interesting, something to lighten the weight of the confession—and partly because he didn’t know how to form the words. “Went blind.” Silence out there, and silence in his head because it had all fallen flat and they were probably standing out there, speechless or thinking he was lying. “I burned my retinas with sparks when I was creating a new piece, and I think I am…temporarily unsighted. So, you should know that, before you…before I come out.” He took a deep breath, wondering, now that he knew Shaeffer was outside, if he looked presentable. Did he have stains, blood, on his shirt? Was his hair a rat’s nest?
Before he got a chance to run his fingers through it, at least push it back out of his face, Fiona had pushed the door open and knocked him backward. He stumbled into the counter. Stronger than I thought, Konrad mused, but suddenly her hands were on his face, cold, pressing against his cheeks, feeling the scabs with her fingertips. She said nothing, and he knew that meant it was probably worse than he’d thought. He hoped he was wrong.
“I know it happened last night but…it looks more like it happened a month ago. It’s already…” Shaeffer trailed off, and Konrad cringed at the worry in his voice. He didn’t seem disgusted by it. Konrad could hear him stepping in closer. He almost recoiled but Fiona’s hands held his head in place, tense from Shaeffer’s words. Shaeffer was so close, mumbling to Fiona about how it looked nearly healed, how it really wasn’t that bad, and it felt too intimate for Konrad, his hands were clutching the countertop so tightly he thought he might shatter it. Had Shaeffer forgotten about running out of Konrad’s apartment last night, wanting anything but intimacy? They weren’t even friends.
He could feel Fiona’s anxiety as Shaeffer inundated her with questions, questions that could only be answered by revealing him as a dragon shifter, which was an absolute impossibility. Fiona didn’t know what to say, he was sure of it.
“I’m a fast healer,” he said quickly and felt Fiona’s hands, still exploring his face, relax. “It still hurts, though, but that’s a good thing. That’s how I know my eyes will be fine, I’ll regain my sight. It’s going to be fine.” He heard Fiona almost whining to herself, anxious as she began checking the burns on his neck and chest. Then he heard Shaeffer tapping on his phone quickly, like he was texting. Was he serious?
“Photic…photic retinopathy? I doubt I’m saying that right,” he said with a nervous laugh, and Konrad’
s irritation disappeared. He’d been looking up some kind of diagnosis, the one that had been lurking in the back of Konrad’s mind. “Damage to the eye’s retina…from prolonged exposure to solar radiation or other bright light.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right. Konrad, what were you thinking?”
“It says the only treatment is…well,” Shaeffer laughed humorlessly, even angrily. “Okay, it says it ‘generally goes away on its own, over time.’” Fiona groaned, and Konrad held his hands up.
“See? It’ll heal. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry, Fi.”
“I’m sorry this happened, Konrad,” Shaeffer said suddenly, but there wasn’t any identifiable pity in his voice. He sounded sincere, compassionate. “I can’t even imagine what it must feel like…the pain.” Then he went silent. Konrad wished he could see his face.
“It’s not that bad,” Konrad said gruffly, and he heard Shaeffer tut.
“Is there anything I can…” Shaeffer started, and Konrad heard him getting closer. “Like, can I help, at all?” he asked lamely, finally, his voice thick. Konrad tried to interpret his tone, one of pure sadness. But what was underneath it? Desperation? Pity? Then his voice was farther away. “I’m going to dump that shitty agent, the one you heard screaming at me last night. So I’ll have plenty of free time…”
Konrad snorted, unable to see his or Fiona’s reaction but knowing she was probably rolling her eyes in irritation.
“And what would you be able to do for me, exactly? What do you think I need help with? I’m blind, just for a little while. My arms and legs aren’t broken, I can still hear, still smell…”
