To his surprise, he fell asleep, a drugged slumber that brought him no relief from his grief or his lassitude. Sean MacDonald had never been in love before. Losing Will was worse than the loss of a first love, though. With him, Sean had felt that he was part of the broad congregation of humanity. It hadn’t mattered that his mother’d been a druggie and his father a brutal alcoholic failure. It didn’t matter that he had an unimportant job that everyone looked down on. He’d been alive, and the light of love had cast the shadows away.
After he woke, he once again lay motionless on his bed. His eyes moved from one corner to the next, noting absently that there was a spider web here, and small damp stain there, that the center light threw displeasing shadows in the corners. Yet nothing registered. The flick of his eyes around the room, from one side to the other, had no purpose.
There seemed to be nothing that would ease the pain. A few months ago, before Jasper and Will, he might have watched Katy Submits, and smoked a few joints. He might have drunk the bottle of vodka that he kept in the cupboard underneath the hotplate and the kettle. But he knew for a certainty that none of these things would make it hurt any less. And he was not going to turn into either of his parents. Whatever happened, he would survive. Inside him, an insistent quiet voice spoke. No, it said. You’ve failed. You’re just like your hopeless loser parents. And you’re a homo. And where the fuck did that get you? Loser. Failure. Spaz.
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