All the Colors of Love: Chapter 6 -- Happiness

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"Die motherfucker, motherfucker die! Die motherfucker, motherfucker die!

The blood is on the floor and you've gone and locked the door. 

There's one way out for you or me and I'm all out of being beat.   

I've got a whole big chunk of hatred and now you're gonna taste it. I'll make you lick your blood off of the floor.

Die motherfucker, motherfucker die! Die motherfucker, motherfucker die! "

    The all-consuming power of The Realm had Harry in its grip and he thrashed about the room, at one with the magisterial forces of rage metal.  His eyes were closed and his hair whipped around his face and he looked more peaceful than Antonin had ever seen him. 

    Sitting in one of the comfy chairs with his Latin homework up on the screen, Antonin tapped his pencil in time to the song and tried to focus on conjugating the verb placeo.  Fat chance, he thought as Harry executed a leap over the coffee table and went down to his knees, arching back, throwing his head back and doing air-guitar.  His right hand twiddled at his upper right thigh as he pretended to play.

    Stop looking!  Despite his inner scolding, Antonin lingered a moment too long, and Harry opened his eyes and caught him looking.  The emp file on Antonin's notebook came to an end and the room was abruptly plunged into silence.  They stared at each other for a moment that seemed to entail some sort of annual migration of hope and despair, and then Harry said, "There's something wrong with me, you know."

    It took Antonin a moment to understand the words.  "What do you mean?"

    Harry shrugged and sat up.  "I don't know what it is.  When I was little I had to get shots all the time." 

    All of Antonin's relief and disappointment turned to stone cold dread.  He sat forward.  "Are you going to die?"

    Harry frowned.  "I don't know.  I think maybe it's more of a mental thing.  I think maybe it's the reason I act so... you know."

    "You act fine," said Antonin.

    Harry looked at him.  "It's nice of you to say that but we both know it's not true."

    Antonin stuck his chin out.  "I don't know.  I think normal is overrated."

    Harry stared at him blankly for a moment, then cracked a smile.  "Yeah, well, what would you know about normal?  Maybe Dr. Jonah and Dr. Rahul should test you too."

    Antonin gasped.  "Rahul?"

    "Yeah.  He consulted.  But Dr. Jonah was the main guy.  He lived at my father's complex and he had a lab and everything. They were always doing some test or another to try to find a cure.  What?"

    "Rahul invented organic robots.  Like the one whose body my aunt Cid reincarnated into."

    "Oh.  Huh."

    "That's weird," said Antonin.

    Harry shrugged.  "Not really.  My dad knows a lot of people."

    "So, did they ever find anything?"

    "They didn't tell me much," said Harry.  "Whatever it is, there's no cure.  I'm always going to be this way."

    "How do you know?"

    "I heard Dr. Jonah once, talking to my old man.  He said, 'I'm sorry Richard, there's no cure.'"  Harry laughed a little.  "And the funny thing is, my dad acted like he actually cared.  I could see his face through the doorway, and when the doctor told him..."  A look of remembered wonder came over Harry's face.  "...he got this look on his face... It was the only time I ever saw him look scared."  Harry sat up suddenly.  "Which doesn't make any sense, because that fucker doesn't give a fuck about me."

    "No one ever told you what it was?"

    Harry shook his head.  "Not really."  He smiled.  "Mom used to tell me -- this was when I was little, and I didn't like to go see Dr. Jonah because of the shots -- she said they were giving me treatments so I'd grow up to be a superhero."  He sighed and leaned back on his arms.  "She would say anything to make me happy."

    Antonin studied the soft curve of Harry's lips, the clear liquid blue of his eyes, the smoothness of his forehead, committing his expression to memory.  "Maybe it isn't anything bad," he said.  "I mean, your dad's a psycho, so anything he thinks is bad is probably good."

    Harry considered it and slowly nodded.  "Maybe so.  Anyway, I just wanted to tell you 'cause you've been so -- 'cause I wanted to." He gave Antonin a look that challenged him to ask what he'd been about to say.

    No way.  "Have you told him about vacation yet?"

    Harry lifted his eyebrows.  "You were serious about that?"

    "Yes!  Gods!  What did I say?"

    Harry put his hands palm out in front of him.  "Okay, relax.  I'll ask him.  But he's going to say no."

    Antonin shut his notebook and put his hands to his hips.  "Do you want me to talk to him?  'Cause I will, and while I'm at it I'll tell him what a fuckwad he is and how he's never going to see you again.  It's not even a question.  It's not up to him.  You can go where you want."

    Those bright, quarter-sized dots of red came to life on Harry's cheeks again.  He lay back on the floor and put his hand over his face and was still.  Antonin, meanwhile, had found a wonderful way of not worrying about Harry's mystery disease.  "I'll call him right now," he said, opening his notebook again.

    "No."  Harry was up and holding down the top of the notebook.  "I'll talk to him."

    Antonin stared at Harry's hand on the lid of his notebook.  It trembled.  He looked up and saw Harry swallowing hard.  He slid his hands under the notebook and lifted it toward Harry.  "If you want you can use this to dial him, and we can ask him together."

    Harry searched his face and gave him a little smile.  "Are you sure you're a smart kid?"

#

    "Well hello boys, what can I do for you?"  Harry's dad looked much the same as he had the first time Antonin talked to him.  Antonin tried really hard to see the evil in his face, but there was something so polished about the guy that it was almost as if light bounced right off him.  You couldn't really see him at all, in a way.  He was on a boat.  Behind him the water was brilliant blue flecked with white.  In the distance stood a drilling platform.

    "Uh, you don't have to send Banks or Hong to come get me for the holidays.  I know you're busy and it's a lot of bother to send the jet and all..." Harry trailed off, at a loss.

    Behind Richard the oil platform exploded in an orange fireball, but the guy never flinched.  "As you can see I'm a bit busy," he said and directed his gaze to Antonin.  "Mind getting to the point?"

    "I've invited Harry to come home with me for holiday break," he said.

    Richard raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised that anyone would make such an overture to his son.  "Okay."

    "Okay?"  Harry attempted to clarify.

    "Yeah, sure, have a good time."  He glanced over his shoulder at the smoke and wreckage.  In the distance Antonin could hear people shouting.  "I've got to go now," he said, not even really looking at them.  The window went blank as he hung up.

    For a long time, Harry just stared at the blank window.  At last he looked at Antonin.  "You heard it too, right?"

    Antonin nodded, trying to dispel the weird feeling the conversation had left him with.  "He said okay." 

    That gigawatt grin lit Harry's face and the next thing Antonin knew he was swept up in a hug that lifted him off the ground and shook every joint in his body as Harry jumped up and down shouting, "He said yes!  He said yes!"

#

    Harry could remember being this happy before, a long time ago, and now it seemed to him as if the halls of St. Bart's were a palm grove, and the cafeteria smelled not of macaroni and cheese but fresh clipped grass.  It was like walking around in a perpetual warm cloud.  It made him really fucking nervous.

    "Hey, watch this," said Ted.  He held a paper napkin to his mouth.  "I don't feel so good," he muttered, and then coughed, flinging gobbets of red Jell-O all over his lunch tray.

    "Gross," said Sari.  Antonin and Shawan laughed.  Harry laughed too -- and no one sneered that he didn't belong there, enjoying their jokes.  He'd been eating lunch with Antonin's friends on a regular basis for about the past three weeks.  No big deal.

    Of course sometimes in the middle of it -- like now, for instance -- he'd realize he was acting normal.  And then he'd lose track of the conversation 'cause he couldn't get over it. 

    "-- how was I supposed to know that really was her favorite band?" Shawan finished.  Everyone else rolled their eyes and shook their heads, so Harry did the same, and nobody seemed to notice that he'd zoned out. 

    "Did you order your parka yet?" Antonin asked him.  "It's fucking cold up there, man, but we are going to have such a blast."  His grin shot through Harry like lightning, and all he could do was grin back.

     That's right, on top of everything else, he was going home with Antonin to Siberia for Christmas.  Miracle of miracles, the Old Man had said yes.  Harry couldn't let himself think about that too much, because when he did, the relief of it made him want to cry.  He picked up his soda and took a long sip through the straw, watching and listening as Antonin and his... his other friends talked about their vacation plans.  The cafeteria was noisy and full of sunshine.  Yellow, he thought, giving this moment a color so he would always remember it.

    The bell rang and they all collected their stuff, making plans to watch The Revenge of Electric Boogaloo Strikes Back, Part II on Ted's big screen than night.  "You coming, Harry?" Ted asked. 

    Harry knew he could trust Ted because Ted owed him one for getting Marcus off his back.  He shrugged.  "Maybe.  I might have to study."

    The others laughed at this and Harry pretended not to feel like an idiot.  What a stupid thing to say.  Since when did he study?  He ducked his head, sketched a quick wave at Ted and followed Antonin to geometry class.  It was cool, being normal and all, but it could be pretty tiring sometimes.

    He just wasn't used to feeling this good, is all.  Sometimes when he was alone he shook with it, and then the warm, tropical cloud turned into icy, needle rain; pinpricks of terror all over his body.  Terror because he couldn't quite understand how it was possible for someone as fucked up as he was to feel this good. 

    But then he'd think of Antonin, and he'd remember why.

    Harry took his customary seat at the back of the class and settled in for an hour of mysteryspeak from Professor Brill.  Not Antonin, though.  Antonin sat up at the front of the class, and he had his notebook out and his pencil; he was ready to take notes.

    St. Bart's was so archaic, you had to write all your notes and homework by hand.  The founder had some sort of theory about memory generation and the physical movements of writing.  Harry figured it was just another way for some bitter old fuck to make life miserable for everyone else.  But Antonin didn't seem to mind; he just doodled a little in the margin of his paper and waited for Brill to start class.

    Harry had known Antonin was smart from the get go, and it hadn't taken long for him to appreciate his fine, fierce beauty either.  And he should have understood how brave he was, but it wasn't until Antonin assured him with calm and deadly certainty that the Old Man was as good as dead that Harry appreciated just how savage Antonin really was. For all that he was little, and a shitty fighter, Harry knew right then that Antonin was a much worse person to have on your case than he would ever be.  If there was any chance at all of ridding the world of his father, it lay with Antonin along with every other hope Harry had ever had.

    Brill was blathering on about the square of the hippopotamus or something, and for no reason at all, Antonin glanced over his shoulder at Harry with a little smile.  Later he'd probably nag Harry for not taking notes, but Harry wouldn't really mind.  It was worth it to get that glance and that smile, a snapshot moment of dark eyes and soft lips that he could spend the rest of the day falling into.

    He was in such deep shit.

#

    Harry stopped by the room between Geometry and Lit to pick up his textbook.  It sat on his desk, next to his cell.  His cell that was blinking.  He had a message.

    Harry froze in the middle of the room, suddenly intensely aware of the faint soap-sweat-pencil shavings smell of the place.  But he couldn't look away from the blinking light on his cell.  There was only one person who ever called him.

    Ignore it, he thought.  Just ignore it.  Your batteries wore out and you couldn't get new ones.  That's it.  He'll never know.  Except of course he would.  And if Harry didn't call back in what the Old Man considered to be a reasonable time frame, he'd send Banks to get him.  And then there'd be no Siberia, no Antonin.  Maybe no Antonin ever again.

    All right, just see what he wants.  Maybe it's nothing major, just some little detail about the holidays or something.  But all the while he tried to reassure himself, his heart sank lower and lower with the dread certainty that his time in the palm grove was over. 

    Get it over with, then.  He picked up the cell and sat down on his bunk.

    "So you all ready for your adventure in the north?"  His dad sounded as jolly as a department store Santa.

    "Yeah," said Harry, his chest tight with the hope that this might just be a friendly call.  But that was insane.

    "Great.  Have a good time.  Kiss your little friend for me."

    Harry didn't say anything.

    "What?  He's cute.  The two of you were adorable, calling me together like that.  You're lucky, Harry.  Don't be a chump.  Fuck him before he comes to his senses and realizes you're ugly."

    Harry swallowed.

    "There's just one more thing."

    Here it comes.

     "Your little friend has a housemate, a woman named Cidiera Marselese.  She's created a virus that would be helpful to me.  Find it, and take it."

    What?  A virus?  What did his dad want with a virus?  Harry's thoughts raced as his stomach churned.  Whatever this was about, he had the sudden conviction that his dad had been planning it for some time, and it couldn't be good for anyone but him.  "Fuck you.  I'm not doing that."

    His father snorted in amusement.  "Of course you are... if you ever want to see your little friend Antonin again."

    Harry swallowed.  Cold sweat stood out on his skin.  Why had he let his father find out he had a friend?  "I don't care."  His throat was so tight he had to force the words out.  "Tie me up in the utility room for the next twenty years if you want.  These people haven't done anything to you, and I'm not helping you fuck them over."

    His dad's voice was full of dry humor.  "Tsk, tsk, tsk.  As usual, you misunderstand me, you dumbfuck.  I won't do anything to you."  There was a pause.  "Still miss your mommy?"

    Harry ran to the bathroom and threw up.  He rested his head against the cool porcelain of the toilet.  He shook.  Beads of sweat ran down his sides.  He never should have let Antonin be his friend.  He should have known better.  Of course his father had planned this all along.  He'd put him here in St. Bart's so he'd be close to Antonin.  Antonin hadn't talked him into letting Harry stay here.  The Old Man had stirred up the whole thing just to get them to be friends.  Because he wanted something from Antonin's Aunt Cid -- the reincarnated one.

    He still had the cell phone in his hand, and he could hear his dad laughing.  He spit the bitter taste of bile into the bowl and put the phone back to his ear. 

    "All right, now listen up, kid.  Here's what you're going to do."

Copyright © 2009 by Anne Harris

Comments

[Jessica Freely]

Thank you for commenting Maddie! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story. And I agree, I hope Harry doesn't take Richard's advice either. We'll have to see... ;)

[Maddie]

I love this so much :) I can hardly wait for the next update.

"What? He's cute. The two of you were adorable, calling me together like that. You're lucky, Harry. Don't be a chump. Fuck him before he comes to his senses and realizes you're ugly."

Harry's father might be a evil prick but he knows his stuff, they sound so adorable. I just hope he doesn't take his fathers advice.