A New Life - 11. Chapter 11: Be Real

“Blake?”

A voice, someone was speaking to him.

“BLAKE!”

“Huh?” he mumbled aloud.

He tried to drag his head out of the clouds and back down to earth, hoping he would find it was Haze speaking to him, but also worried by the prospect of that at the same time.

“Are ya even listenin to me?”

No, not Haze, he thought.

Just Nats.

“Yeah, ‘course,” he said, aware of the effort it took to mouth the words.

He knew he would sound more convincing if only he could stop slurring his voice. He tried to focus on her face as he spoke to her, but his vision kept swimming between the freckles on her nose and the wall behind her head. It seemed to require a lot of concentration to keep his eyes steady in-between. Most of the time Nats was just a freckly blur.

A nagging corner of his mind told him that this probably wasn’t a good sign. But he couldn’t get too worked up about that right now.

“Riiiight,” Nats answered sceptically, drawing out the vowel. “You were zoning out there for a moment and I thought ...”

He felt his attention drift again as she continued to speak. It occurred to him that he should ask her where Haze was, but then he remembered that he’d already asked her that a couple of times in the last twenty minutes. To ask her again would create suspicion. Not that he wasn’t creating enough suspicion as it was. His clumsy motions, vagueness, drowsy expression and listless, green eyes were already a dead giveaway that something wasn’t right with him.

“BLAKE!”

“Yeah, I’m listening,” he protested groggily.

“What’s the last thin’ I said then?” she demanded, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at him.

“You said I was zoning out?”

“That was like five minutes ago,” she huffed. “What is wrong with you today?”

In fact, Nats had seemed to pick up on his strange behaviour when he’d first shown up that morning. She’d given him funny looks, but hadn’t directly said anything about it, up until now. Naturally, a part of him had felt the need to get anxious about this before, but the medication had soon stifled that instinct.

However, now he felt the stirring sensation inside his chest anew. Her demanding tone and perilous line of questioning were actually making him nervous, though still only slightly. It was at times like this that he felt grateful to be living under the emotional censorship of the medication. Ordinarily, he might even be in a state of panic by now.

“I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

He was lying. If anything he had over slept.

Nats eyed him suspiciously, but seemed to accept this answer.

That said, in this drugged-out state, he probably wouldn’t be able to tell if she thought he was lying. He always worried about what he was missing when he was like this. What subtle non-verbal cues passed him by unnoticed? Was Nats getting too close for comfort with this line of questioning? Had she already figured out he was medicated? Was he making a fool of himself? What would a clear-headed Blake make of this situation looking back on now?

Of course, he soon found that these musings required too much concentration to dwell upon for very long. Besides, there was a more important question that repeatedly occurred to him. It seemed to continually push all other thoughts out of his woozy brain.

Where the hell was Haze?

“Pull ya’self together Blake,” Nats scolded him only half-joking. “If Jill catches ya like this she’ll go nuts.”

At the mention of his boss, Blake looked around for Jill, sweeping his head from left to right. The movement made him feel dizzy and he ended up clutching at his temples instead.

“I’m fine,” he insisted unconvincingly, crossing and uncrossing his eyes. “I just ...”

He didn’t manage to finish what he was saying though, because at that moment his eyes focused just in time to see Haze finally wander into the shop from the front door.

Blake hadn’t seen him for the last three days and found the sight of him now to be quiet unnerving. Despite the double dose of medication flowing through him, he couldn’t seem to look directly at Haze without feeling physically shaken. Or was he just dizzy? He had spent so much time picturing Haze over the last few days, and yet somehow his memory just hadn’t done him justice. Haze was even more dazzling than he remembered. Even in the shop’s daggy uniform and with his face half concealed by the baseball cap, Haze was still unmistakably attractive.

Having spent so long waiting impatiently for Haze to arrive, Blake now found himself uncertain about whether he could talk to him. He didn’t feel ready. He decided that he needed a minute or two to gather his thoughts, so he ducked his head and tried to shrink behind a nearby clothes rack.

“Haze!” Nats called out to the other boy.

Blake swung his head around to glare at her mutinously. He instantly regretted doing this though, as another wave of dizziness washed over him, this time strong enough to make him wince, visibly. He felt anxiety tugging at his insides again, still dull, but increasing in its intensity.

What was Nats doing calling him over like this? He wasn’t ready yet!

He turned his head back towards Haze, a little more slowly this time, but he still had trouble focusing on the young man. Haze appeared to be watching them, his blue eyes fixated on Blake or at least in his general direction. Blake tried to scan his features, desperate to get some idea of what Haze was thinking or feeling, but he couldn’t make anything out. Haze appeared to be detached and unreadable, either that or Blake just couldn’t see him properly.

Blake held his breath as he waited for Haze to do something. He felt a confused and stifled tug of war between conflicting emotions buried deep inside, but he couldn’t tell them apart and wasn’t sure what to make of this. Then, after what seemed like forever, Haze made his way over to them, breaking eye contact only momentarily so as to wave hello to Carlos. As he approached, Blake felt anxiety win out amongst the other suppressed emotions, nearly strong enough to overwhelm the blissful numbness of the medication.

This was it. This was the moment he had been waiting for since last week. He was about to find out just how angry Haze was at him. This was his chance to explain himself. Hopefully, to make amends.

“Mornin Nats, Blake.” Haze greeted them casually. Tone neutral, face blank.

He wasn’t even wearing his usual fake smile, Blake noted, but neither did he look unhappy or angry. Encouraged by this much at least, Blake opened his mouth to say hello, but was beaten to it by Nats who spoke up first.

“Heya Haze! Glad ya finally got ‘ere. Mr Sleepy’s been askin about ya all morning non-stop!” She shoved Blake in the back with her shoulder as she said this, none too gently either.

Blake was mortified. Had he not been so doped-up he probably would have fainted from the crippling humiliation and anxiety that would now be weighing down on him. As it was, he managed to give a strained smile and remain steady on his feet, the confusing scramble of deadened emotions safely buried, deep inside. At least for the most part.

He studied Haze for a reaction, but if Haze took any interest in what Nats had just said he didn’t show it. His eyes flicked over to her and then back to Blake as she spoke, but his mask never wavered.

“Whazz-up?” he asked Blake, deep, blue eyes plainly visible now, but revealing nothing.

Blake wasn’t expecting this. He wasn’t expecting Haze to even acknowledge him, let alone invite him to speak. It took him off guard and he found himself struggling for something to say. He made a noise in this throat that sounded like ‘ga’, but otherwise he was paralysed and unable to say anything. He wasn’t even able to break eye contact. He just stood there gawking.

The medication had been a mistake, he now realised. The extra dose wasn’t making him any less anxious, but it was making him slow and stupid. Why did he think this was going to help him fix things up with Haze? A normal dose made him act like an emotional zombie, but otherwise left him intact. A double dose made him act like an actual zombie.

“Blake!” Nats shouted, waving her hand up and down in front of his eyes. “Ergh!” she huffed, turning to Haze. “He’s been like this all morning for some reason,” she explained.

Blake recalled that he had been practicing what he was going to say to Haze a lot recently. Yet now, none of the carefully crafted lines he could remember seemed to be appropriate. He scoured his memory for how he was suppose to be handling this, but none of his plans had anticipated Nats being right there, or Haze being so willing to listen to him. Nor did he anticipate how difficult it would be to concentrate while being so heavily medicated.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, looking at his feet as he did so. He couldn’t seem to remember much of what he was going to say, but he felt certain that ‘sorry’ was at least part of the plan.

“Dun worry about it. We all have a bad night’s sleep now and then,” Nats said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Blake looked up at her, momentarily confused, until he realised that she thought he was apologising to her.

“No ...” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean ...” but then he trailed off. He was back to looking at Haze now, and found he had nothing else to say. He was like a deer caught in headlights in front of those penetrating, cool, blue eyes.

“Okay people, enough chit-chat!” Jill called out to them, finally breaking the spell of Haze’s eyes as she diverted everyone’s attention.

Blake wanted to ignore her, he hadn’t managed to finish or even start what he was going to say to Haze. However, Nats and Haze were moving away now and he had no choice but to follow them as they gathered around Jill. She began to rattle off her daily plans, but Blake couldn’t really concentrate on what she was saying, as he was fixated on Haze.

He had to get Haze alone, so he could connect to real Haze. He needed to say his bit. He had waited too long already. It would kill him to have to wait even longer.

Then he became dimly aware that someone was saying his name, but it wasn’t until Nats spoke next to him that he managed to actually tune into the conversation.

“... with me today?”

“Why?” Jill asked. She was looking over at him now, glaring suspiciously.

“He’s been divin for five days straight, besides I can show him ‘round,” Nats pointed out. She was looking at him too, eyes widening slightly as if to plead with him to agree with her.

Blake wasn’t sure what they were talking about, but he felt himself nodding in response to the look Nats gave him. He turned to Jill next, continuing to nod.

“I suppose,” Jill sighed. “You probably need a day on land anyway.”

He frowned at that. On land? What did she mean ‘on land’?

“Okay, so Blake can stay with Nats and man the shop today,” Jill announced. “Make sure you take him through some sales and how to use the EFTPOS machine,” she added speaking only to Nats. “Haze you can skipper, Carlos you’re with me. We only got six today, so another pretty quiet one people ...”

Blake’s dull brain was finally catching up with what had just happened. Jill had just assigned him to the shop today. He felt a flash of dull anger at Nats, but it quickly petered out. The medication took the wind out of its sails before he could so much as grumble. It left him feeling unsatisfied, but unable to be angry about that either.

It was probably for the best that he stayed here today, he reasoned. He was in no shape to be diving really and the further away he was from the others the less likely anyone else would notice how strangely he was acting.

With the talk over, everyone went their separate ways and Blake saw Haze go out to the back of the shop alone.

He wasn’t really ready to speak to him right now, but knew that this would probably be the only chance he got before Haze left on the boat for the rest of the day. He felt that he couldn’t risk waiting until Haze got back, as that wouldn’t be until much later in the afternoon and Haze often disappeared quickly on returning.

No. This was his best chance. Right now. He had taken extra medication for this exact purpose. It was proving a mistake, but he still couldn’t miss the opportunity to speak to Haze. He couldn’t wait yet another day without trying to fix things between them.

His mind made up, Blake uncharacteristically sprang into action. He ignored the arriving tourists and marched straight to the back of the shop, determined to find Haze.

Haze was over by the metal air cylinders in the corner, filling some empty ones for the day’s dives. His back was to Blake as he kept his eyes on the pressure gauge at the filling station. Blake stalked over to him intently.

“Haze.” He was encouraged by the firmness of his voice, but his nerves waivered when Haze turned around to face him. So much for the extra medication.

“Whazz-up?”

Same detached expression, same neutral tone.

“I-I ...” Blake hesitated for a bit, anxiety threatening to overwhelm despite the amount of drugs flowing through him. Or was he just nauseous? His head felt thick and he was still slightly dizzy. He was groggy and found it difficult to form the words he wanted to say. “I just wanted to say ... about Penelo ... about your mum–”

“Doesn’t matter,” Haze abruptly cut him off, turning back to the pressure gauge.

He didn’t sound angry, but he did sound determined not to speak about this further.

Blake opened his mouth to protest, but was silenced by a loud, high-pitched hiss of air escaping from the air-hose. In his confused state he couldn’t work out if Haze had done this on purposes, but soon enough Haze had moved the hose over to the next air tank and the room was once more plunged into silence.

For a moment Blake took a step backwards, the instinct to flee running strong within him. However, he reminded himself that he had to do this. He had been preparing for this for days now and he couldn’t wait any longer. It was now or never. No turning back.

“Listen,” he half-whispered, half-croaked, before stopping himself. He meant to sound firm, but forgot about the volume. He took a deep breath and in a louder, but still shaky voice said, “Listen, I didn’t say anything to your mum about ... about that night.”

There. He had finally got it out. Despite the grogginess of the medication, the suppressed anxiety which was still peaking through and Haze’s firm rejection of this topic of conversation, he had managed to say what he’d needed to say. He stared at the back of the other boy’s head, willing him to listen, to believe him.

Haze stopped what he was doing for a moment and turned around. His blue eyes, cold and devoid of feeling, stared at Blake for a few seconds before he spoke.

“I know.”

Haze’s tone was matter of fact. It didn’t sound sarcastic, but neither did it sound conciliatory. He didn’t seem to think Blake was lying to him, but neither did he seem to be pleased about that.

There was no tone in his voice at all, no context to the two word response. Nothing to suggest that Blake’s revelation was in any way significant, good or bad. It was as if Blake had just told him that the air tanks needed to be filled to 220 bars of pressure and Haze was responding that he knew that fact already. It was as simple as that. ‘I know.’ Nothing more or less.

“Oh ... I ...” Blake floundered around for something to say, suddenly unsure of himself once more.

He had prepared for a range of possible reactions from Haze and thought he was ready for whatever the young man could throw at him. But again Haze had taken him completely by surprise. If Haze had been angry or disbelieving, he’d have known what to say. If Haze had been hurt and needed an explanation or apology, Blake had some ready.

But Haze was none of those things. He was acting nothing like Blake had imagined. He wasn’t even ignoring him, Blake would’ve been prepared for that too. Haze was just completely neutral, seeming to both accept what Blake had told just him and also to be totally disinterested in the revelation.

“Good ... that’s ... um ... that’s good,” Blake was shuffling away from Haze now, suddenly unable to make eye contact.

There was a crash at his feet as his clumsy heel kicked one of the plastic tubs and sent it skidding across the concrete floor loudly. He stooped over to pick it up and nearly toppled over as a wave of blood flowed to his head. He managed to put it back in its place though, and when he’d done that he risked glancing over at Haze again, but the other boy now had his back to him.

Blake stood there for a moment, torn between wanting to engage with Haze and feeling that he had nothing else to say. Finally, he spun around and stalked out of the room, nearly knocking over Carlos on his way out.

***

That afternoon, a few cups of coffee later and having sobered up a bit, Blake was looking back on the conversation with Haze and deciding that things weren’t so bad. Not really.

Maybe that was just the medication talking again, he considered. After all, it did tend to make him feel ‘not so bad’ about most things in retrospect, especially things he would normally get anxious or obsessive over. However, drugs aside, it still appeared on reflection that that the talk with Haze went alright.

Okay, so they hadn’t really spoken all that much, Blake admitted to himself. But then again, apart from on one or two other occasions, most of their conversations went this way. A few stuttered words from Blake and nothing much from Haze was a pretty normal conversation, at least, ‘normal’ by their standards.

More important than the conversation itself though, was the fact that Haze wasn’t angry at him. He must have known all along that Blake hadn’t said anything to Mrs Herrington. He’d even said as much, or at least said something near enough. So he couldn’t be angry, Blake reasoned. There was nothing for him to be angry about.

As a bonus, Blake had managed to fluke a fairly relaxing day at the shop and stay hidden from the majority of his work colleagues, while he straightened out a bit. Well, it wasn’t a fluke so much as a timely rescue by Nats, to whom he no doubt owed a debt of gratitude. However, he still considered himself lucky, considering the way things had turned out. He had been so medicated as to be practically ‘high’. It was a miracle nothing disastrous had come of this.

So, on the whole, by the time the afternoon wore late and Jill radioed in to report the arrival of the boat, Blake thought everything was going good.

Haze didn’t hate him, no one apart from maybe Nats had noticed his little miscalculation with the meds and he was more or less recovered now anyway.

About the only problem was that he wasn’t really feeling good. He wasn’t really feeling anything. However, that seemed a small price to pay for some stability.

Having reached these conclusions, Blake didn’t read too much into the way Haze ignored him upon his return to the shop. At least not at first. There were the tourists to help, the trailer to unpack and the equipment to wash-up. Things to do. Haze was just busy.

Blake did feel a faint little tug of something. Disappointment? Hurt? Worry? He couldn’t really tell. It was deeply buried away and he felt that it didn’t really matter anyway.

However, after he had assisted Nats with some souvenir purchases, he ventured out to the trailer to help the others clean up and that’s when he started to think something was wrong. He asked Haze if he could help and in a déjà vu moment, Haze had said only the words ‘yeah’ and then ‘take these’, handing him some air cylinders.

What struck Blake was the way Haze was acting. Almost exactly the same as he’d behaved a week ago. On the day they had met. He was polite, even smiling, but distant and cold. Definitely not real Haze. It was more like they had only just met. As if they were strangers.

Blake had tried to make conversation, but the most he could get out of Haze was a one word response or just a grunt. Not quite bordering on anything rude, angry or unhappy, just disinterested and unengaged. It had been that way for the rest of the afternoon until Haze left.

Blake might’ve got anxious about this and possibly obsessed over it, but once more the medication proved a solution to all that unpleasantness. He just couldn’t seem to manage the effort it took to worry about it. So, instead, he decided that Haze just wasn’t in the mood for talking. He hadn’t been all that chatty around the shop before anyway, particularly with all the others around. Blake decided to make nothing of this distant behaviour for now.

Another day, another pill. Go home. Make dinner. Eat dinner. Clean up. Shower. Brush teeth. Get into bed. Take Med. Sleep.

The next day, Jill had rostered him off, which he was grateful for since he had been working every day since his arrival. She’d even lent him the use of the shop’s ute, in exchange for picking up some supplies for the shop, and so he’d driven to Bindalla for the day.

For most of the week he had been making a list of things that he needed to buy. Things he needed to kit-out his new home, mostly kitchenware and other practical items. However, he also ended up shopping for a few more clothes too, while he was at it.

Clothes-shopping was normally the bane of his existence. Choosing even one item could take weeks and involved a torturous self-assessment process that often left him an anxious wreck. But thanks again to the magic of the medication, today he could get the task done with minimal drama. Of course, trying clothes on involved the changing room mirror and a certain level of tension. However, the tension was tolerable and he managed to purchase several new pairs of t-shirts and board shorts relatively quickly and painlessly.

Actually the whole trip had been relatively quick and painless, an uneventful day. It seemed that in almost no time he was heading back home again, having spent a full day shopping without really noticing it.

Another day, another pill. Go home. Make dinner. Eat dinner. Clean up. Shower. Brush teeth. Get into bed. Take Med. Sleep. Wake up. Take med. Get up. Shower. Get dressed. Eat Breakfast. Go to work.

When Haze still didn’t engage with him for a second day running, even though Jill had made them diving buddies, Blake reluctantly began to accept that things hadn’t returned to normal between them. Again, maybe in the shop he could understand, Haze was always quiet and withdrawn. However later on, he had joined Haze at the front of the boat and for a long time it’d just been the two of them there, alone. They had talked a bit, he supposed, but it felt distinctly unsatisfying. Nothing like the last time they had hung out on the boat together.

What annoyed him in particular about this was that unlike last time, Blake actually coped really well for a change. He wasn’t acting like a hesitant, anxious wreck. There were no panic attacks. He could start conversations and maintain eye contact. He could be around Haze without checking him out constantly. Perhaps most significantly for Blake, he had even managed to suntan, with Haze right there, but this time without any drama about having to take off his shirt.

Blake was proud of this, proud of the way he was holding himself together, but Haze didn’t seem to notice or to care. He gave few indications he even knew Blake was present. He seldom spoke more than a word and he definitely didn’t maintain anything resembling a conversation. There were no signs of real Haze anywhere.

Even while diving there was no significant interaction between them. There were the tourists to look after, sure, but Blake still felt there were plenty of opportunities for them to engage. Haze could easily point out some marine life or maybe show-off a bit, but no. He didn’t do any of those things and the dive had been uneventful.

The same kind of ‘uneventful’ that everything else had been of late too.

Nothing happened on the way home, nothing happened back at the shop and then Haze was gone again. Disappearing without saying goodbye.

Next day, the same again. Another day, another pill. Wake up. Take med. Get up. Shower. Get dressed. Eat Breakfast. Go to work.

Haze was there again, but also not there. Not real Haze anyway. Just a fake sort of distant ghost of a boy, who’s undoubtable physical beauty seem to run only skin deep now. A cruel caricature of Haze compared to real Haze, about whom everything was beautiful, not just his appearance.

Even when Haze was angry like that day after the bar, or worse, during that brief moment by Mrs Herrington’s car, even then, with his face bunched up into a snarl and his eyes full of hate, even then, Haze, real Haze, was someone beautiful.

More so than he was now, anyway. Right now Haze was just a vacant, hollow, pretty doll. Devoid of any emotions, disassociated from the real world. Passing through life without being touched by it.

Why would Haze want to live like that?

Despite the medication Blake started to get increasingly frustrated with and even angry about the way things had ended up between them.

Why was Haze ignoring him? Well, not ignoring him exactly, but not being real with him?

Maybe Haze was angry after all? Maybe he did think that Blake was somehow responsible for telling his mother about that night? Maybe he did feel betrayed?

But this didn’t really make much sense on reflection. Why would Haze lie about that then? Why would he say that he knew Blake didn’t tell her?

Quiet apart from that, practically speaking Mrs Herrington couldn’t know, because he hadn’t in fact told her and there wasn’t anyone else to tell her either. So, surely Haze had to know that she didn’t really know anything? Because she didn’t, at most she was just guessing. Unless she had tricked Haze into telling her?

The medication started kicking in again and dwelling over this became more difficult, but Blake shook his head and refused to be sidetracked. It was different this time. He really wanted to dwell upon this. It wasn’t the same as his usual pointless obsessing. He wanted to know why Haze was acting like this. It was important for him to know.

During that day out on the boat, Blake became bolder. He began asking more direct questions of Haze and prodding for more information when he got only one-word answers. But still Haze resisted, not quiet ignoring him, but acting avoidant and unengaging in general.

Maybe, Blake reasoned, Haze had finally figured out what a psycho, fuck-up freak he was? Maybe he had decided to have nothing more to do with him?

Except why would he decide that now, when for once Blake felt that he wasn’t acting like a freak? Not anymore, not visibly anyway. Since he’d started taking the medication daily he hadn’t once acted like a freak. Not even once in over a week. He still felt some suppressed, low-level anxiety, but he hadn’t shown it. Maybe a tiny bit on that Monday after taking way too much, but since then he had been cool and in control. Not so much as a twitch of nerves. No panic attacks. No emotional problems at all. No emotions at all. Nothing.

Why wasn’t Haze seeing that? Had Blake already made too much of a fool of himself on previous occasions?

Blake then decided he would prove it to Haze. Show him that he could behave like a normal person.

He changed into his wetsuit on the deck in front of everyone. No nerves or panic, nothing. Well, nothing visible anyway. However, if Haze even noticed this he didn’t show it.

So, Blake decided he wouldn’t even get dressed after their dives. After getting out of his wetsuit, he stayed shirtless in just board shorts, to prove how in control and normal he was. Okay, it had only lasted for about 10 minutes or so and this had really pushed the limits of even his medicated mind. But he had managed to keep any residual anxiety or nerves hidden from sight, even if he couldn’t help feeling them just a tiny bit inside.

Haze noticed him without his shirt on. Blake felt sure he did, as he caught him looking. Yet still Haze acted like he didn’t notice or care.

Blake started getting more and more frustrated, more and more angry. The medication suppressed these emotions as it did everything else, but he resisted as much as he could. The medication would distract him from his thoughts, but he would centre his mind again and again and continue to think this through.

What was wrong? Why wouldn’t Haze be real with him?

By the time everyone had returned to the shop and was cleaning up and packing things away, Blake had decided he was going to ask Haze, directly. Even with the support of the meds it was unheard of for Blake to be so direct. But he was at his limits now. He was simply not prepared to have to go through another Friday, Haze’s day-off, still not knowing what all of this was about.

He waited until after closing time and then he followed Haze out of the shop and down the street, so as to be away from the mall and any of the others.

It was late afternoon by then and a fresh breeze had picked up. Gusts of wind lifted the red and yellow sand and blew clouds of it across the dusty path, bitting at Blake’s legs and ankles. The sun was low and cast a strong red and orange hue across Haze’s retreating form as he walked some distance ahead.

Having put a good distance between himself and the mall, Blake summoned his courage and then called out to Haze, jogging to catch up to him.

“Whazz-up?” Haze asked him in response.

Same detached expression, same neutral tone. It was maddening. Blake felt a flash of anger, but it was soon doused by the medication.

But, no, he summoned it up again. He wanted to feel angry, damn-it!

“What’s wrong with you?” he demanded, surprised by his own directness, by the strength of his voice.

“Whaddya mean?” Haze responded.

He didn’t look surprised, he didn’t look anything. Still nothing, still introverted, still fake.

“You know what I mean,” Blake replied.

“No, I don’t.”

Haze turned around after he said that and started to walk away again.

Blake felt a war within himself, a fury of emotions bursting to get out, but being held back by the mind-numbing drugs. It would’ve been so easy to let it go, to walk away, but a part of Blake refused to do so. Refused to back down. He fought within himself and when he finally spoke it was to shout. As if he’d torn the words out of his lungs by force and flung them into the air.

“Why won’t you BE REAL?!”

That stopped Haze. Of course, such an outburst would’ve stopped anyone. It was lucky no one else was about. Blake didn’t think he had it in him, even when he wasn’t medicated. But he didn’t back down. He stared at Haze’s back, willing him to respond, to turn around, to say something.

Haze was motionless, his back slightly hunched and for a while nothing happened. Another gust of wind caught the red sand and it billowed around them, stinging as it tore at their bare arms and legs. Then Blake noticed a ripple of movement as Haze slowly turned around, head cocked slightly upwards, but flat blue eyes trained directly to Blake’s own.

He slowly closed the distance between them, steps deliberate and methodical, eyes never leaving Blake’s face. Blake might’ve flinched and looked away in any other circumstances, but there was still enough anger and defiance flowing through him to maintain eye contact. The medication hadn’t stolen it all from him yet.

When Haze was only a short distance away he leaned over and then waited until he was almost in Blake’s face before he answered, softly.

“Why won’t you be real?”

His tone was still neutral, still detached, but there was enough expression on his face to convey that he was serious if nothing else.

Blake felt himself deflate. Again, he was completely disarmed by Haze, who had once more managed to respond in a way he had not anticipated. Maybe the medication finally kicked in at that point or maybe Blake was simply too exhausted to fight it anymore, but for whatever reason the anger, the defiance quickly drained out of him and there was nothing left. He lowered his eyes, no longer able to meet Haze’s, head spinning.

Haze put some distance between them by backing away and then he turned and he left.

Blake managed to look up, finally, but he couldn’t bring himself to actually say anything or to follow. He didn’t know what to say. So, he just watched as Haze’s retreating frame got smaller and smaller until he was hidden by the shadows cast by the low sun and the dust whipped up by the wind.

Blake tried to think about what Haze could mean, but soon the medication kicked in again and that became too hard. Instead, he just walked home on auto-pilot.

Go home. Make dinner. Eat dinner. Clean up. Shower. Brush teeth. Take ... but then he stopped, toying with the silver packet in his hands, lost in thought as he stared at the metal foil. It caught the ceiling light of his room, shiny and inviting.

He needed these, he told himself. With them he had gotten through the whole week without incident, compared to an average of two crises a day without them.

He had bought clothes, sun tanned shirtless, changed in front of everyone, decided what to wear of a morning – all without incident. Barely a murmur of anxiety and not a hint of a panic attack. He was better this way, wasn’t he?

But did he really do any of these things? Was any of it really him? Was any of it real?

He so hated the way Haze acted like an empty doll in his introverted state. Even angry Haze was a better person. Was the same true of himself too? Was he really better without the meds? Even when he was being an anxious fucked-up freak? Was that better?

No, that couldn’t be true. The difference was that Haze really was beautiful. He could be real and a better person. Blake couldn’t hope for that. He could only be fake or worse. A fuck-up, psycho, crazy person. It’s easy to be real when the real you is perfect. Someone like Haze. But it just wasn’t analogous to Blake’s own situation.

Slowly, hesitantly, he took the packet and wandered into to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

Be real. Be real.

He opened the fridge and picked up the cool jug of water, but then he stopped.

Be real. Be real.

He put it back again. Then he took the packed of medication and placed it in the vegetable draw, towards the back of the fridge. It would keep longer in the fridge. He might need it again in future.

He took a deep breath and blinked at the contents of his fridge. Could he really do this? Sure it seemed easy now, but he was still safely medicated. What would it be like when he woke up tomorrow morning? What would he think of this idea then?

Still, he closed the fridge.

For now he would try.

Try to be real.