day one---

Avery smiled easily. 

He grinned and he winked and he laughed and he shone under the warm lights in the barn, passing between his cousins and ducking under aunts’ and uncles’ arms like water slipping between rocks. The music from his handmade boombox filled the barn to the brim, the old-world cassette singing sweetly to them about lost love and new beginnings. The music spiked dramatically in volume as someone bumped the dial and Avery froze for a moment, a jolt of panic ricocheting through his chest. He closed his eyes and exhaled sharply, opening them with a new sparkle, a new smile, and a new smooth joke about whatever the hell his Aunt Denise was talking about. She reached forward and touched his arm with a warm hand as she laughed- it felt like television static buzzing angrily under his skin. His instinct was to tear his arm away from her grip but he suppressed it just in time, his hand twitching with the effort. 

“I really should go check in with Aunt Ken,” he insisted, putting up a hand as his throat tightened. 

Her jaw dropped in exaggerated offense. “She gets to see you every time you’re in Barnarock!” she complained. “We’re only here all together once every couple years, I have a lot of catching up to do!” 

He grinned sheepishly. “I know, I know.” He took a half step back, and her hand trailed off until only her manicured fingernails remained caught in his shirt. She finally dropped her arm. “I’ll see you soon, though. We have all week.” She rolled her eyes lightheartedly and waved him off. 

He cast his eyes around the barn and felt something constrict in his chest.  

There’s so many people. 

It wasn’t even everyone- the kids had gone to bed, and some of their parents, too. But the rest of the family had packed into the barn, sheltering their party from the pounding rain outside-

Lights, the rain. 

It fell upon the tin roof with such force and vigor that, along with the heavy beat of the music, everyone was yelling to make themselves heard. Avery backed away from the center of the mass, dodging and weaving, avoiding eye contact and conversations until he gently bumped into the worn wooden wall. He touched it gently, feeling its rough edges and pulling his hands back for fear of splinters. He shuffled to the side until his hip met the snack table and he hovered over it, arms crossed tightly, hoping to appear busy enough to be left alone for a moment. There was no quiet space, there was no dark corner to retreat to and recharge, there was no getting outside without being drenched. He was as far from the boombox as he could be and the depressing lyrics of the upbeat tune were still clear, as was Anthony’s voice yammering on about his studies and Aunt Gabby talking about the price of gasoline and his uncles’ political debate and the hammering on the roof and-

His nails dug into his arms and he didn’t notice, the feeling dulled under scarred skin. He met the gaze of his reflection in the spiked punch bowl- his eyes were wide and his pupils pinpricks. The sight startled him.

I need to leave. 

A cool breeze grazed his cheek, and he looked up at the door across the table. It was cracked open, letting the stuffy air out and the cool air in, beckoning him with the static sound of the downpour. He glanced around, still deciding but already edging closer. He wondered if anyone would see him leave, if anyone would notice him gone in a crowd so large, if anyone would mind all that much. 

He led with one hand, feeling the weight of the raindrops in his palm. They hit hard- in fact, they almost stung- but they were cool on his warm, calloused hands. This close to the door, the fresh air wrapped slowly around his overheated neck, taking him by the waist and luring him closer. He cast a nervous glance over his shoulder, but nobody was looking, too busy laughing and screeching and clinking glasses of golden wine. 

He stepped out into the dark. 

Walking through the downpour felt like parting a curtain that wouldn’t end, and Avery could only do his best to keep the rain from his eyes as he pried his space into the atmosphere. The flickering bulb on his aunt’s porch was his beacon in the black night, tossing light out across the otherwise pitch-black yard. He watched his feet, trying not to stumble, and stepped over the three short steps onto his aunt’s porch. 

With his hand and forehead pressed to the door, dripping wet under the protection of the awning, he closed his eyes and released a breath. Something tight loosened in his lungs. He turned back and watched the barn quietly, traced his eyes over the light pouring through the cracks in the wooden walls, like stretched seams fit to burst. His grip on the doorknob tightened slightly and he slipped inside.

He peeled off his denim jacket and hung it on a hook by the door, watching with a pang of guilt as it dripped heartily onto the floor. The mop bucket was in its usual spot by the stairs, so after he toed off his boots he dragged it underneath his jacket. The drops splattered loudly against the tin, but it was better than leaving a puddle at the door. He slipped across the kitchen and to the staircase; the stairs creaked gently, but he avoided the loudest spots with practiced ease even though he was alone. 

He went to the bathroom to brush his teeth but met his own eyes in the mirror instead. He looked tired. He leaned in, inspecting a small red spot on his chin, when a vivid memory of Arlo standing behind him in his bathroom at home flashed across his eyes. 

Don’t pick at your skin, he’d told him, pulling his hand away and lacing it with his own. Avery had complained but quietly relished the touch, leaning back into his warm chest as they prepared to face the day together. Watching someone comb their hair and brush their teeth had never felt intimate before those mornings with Arlo.

But now. 

Avery gripped the sides of his aunt’s sink, white knuckles to match the porcelain. He hissed out a sigh, scrubbing a hand down his face and fumbling for his toothbrush. He kept his head down as he brushed his teeth, staring intently at the water flowing down the drain. He couldn’t face his reflection again; he couldn’t stomach the reminder that he was alone.  

He moved slowly into his bedroom. The guest bedroom, he had to remind himself. Without the lights on, the only illumination was what little light made its way through the thick night from the barn; the soft haze of second-hand light blanketed the room. Under the layer of dust that he couldn’t see but could feel under wandering fingertips, he knew that the room needed more care than he could give it while he was here. He hated visiting Barnarock like this. He hated coming home to find his old life encased in dust like a bug in amber, frozen in suspension as the world around it changed. He needed fresh air. The only fresh thing in the room was his bed, tucked against the small window with recently laundered sheets. Eyes fixed on the dim light from outside, Avery marched to his bed, eyes wide to the light in determination and knees squeaking the springs. He crossed his legs and sat, finding the window latch and flicking it aside, but as he planted his hands against the wood and pushed the window stayed firmly shut. The frame had swollen in the summer humidity. No. Enough had gone wrong recently; the dust was suffocating, he needed fresh air, he needed to go home, he needed to throw out Arlo’s- 

I am done thinking about Arlo, he told himself, and clambered up onto his knees. The backs of his eyes burned. I am done crying about Arlo, he told himself, and braced his hands on the wood once more. I am done with Arlo, he decided, and with one great heave the window panel swung forward, flooding the room with the sound and smell of thunder. He gripped the ledge in a tight fist and tried to ignore the tears on his cheeks, tried to pretend that they were rain, as though he’d stuck more than his hands through the window. He inhaled the fresh air and it burned, too much and too fast, too strung with the tension of the moment, and he exhaled it in a choked sob as he clamped a hand over his mouth. 

There was a short knock on the door, and Avery froze. He hadn’t heard anyone on the steps. He reached up to wipe at his face, but before he could say anything the door swung open and his Aunt stepped in, a glass of water in her hand. 

“Avery, are you being anti--” their eyes locked and she stopped, face fallen. “Oh, honey,” she breathed, “is this about Arlo?” 

He’d opened his mouth to reply, but the sound of his name kicked him firmly in the stomach and he could only choke out another sob of pain. He turned back towards the window and buried his face in his sleeves, trying to recompose himself, trying to just calm down and get past this, but he felt the bed dip behind him and the comforting hand rubbing his shoulder blades, he heard his Aunt Kendra sigh and tell him that he’d been so strong all day, and he knew there was no reigning it in.  

It took a while. 

It took a while of the shaking and sobbing and pounding-angry-confused-upset-lonely headache behind his eyes, but eventually, he calmed down. 

He felt empty, and tired, as though he’d cried out all of his emotions and would need a refractory period before feeling anything again. The hand was still rubbing circles on his back, slow and steady. He dragged his hands down his face and sighed, felt it echo in his chest. He felt hollow. 

The glass of water was pushed into his field of vision. 

“Drink this,” his aunt said quietly. He took it without question and drank half of it, setting it on the small table beside his bed. She sighed deeply, throwing her arm fully across his shoulders and pulling him close. “I know that you said you didn’t want to talk about it before, but… Do you want to tell me what happened yet?”