Follows Try
Zac must have come in for lunch, because his tray from breakfast was gone and replaced with something else. Julian slept through it, but he couldn't remember Zac trying to wake him up, nor did he get up. He was only awake for a moment or two, but he didn't go back to sleep, either.
Every movement felt like trudging through hot sand. The pressure wasn't uncomfortable, but it was impossible, so Julian spent the rest of Saturday staring at the wall. His head was either too full, or too empty. Too much noise or none at all. He didn't know how to exist in any space but the extremes, so he didn't try.
He pretended to sleep when Zac knocked on the door with dinner, and for the first time he felt something.
Sick, in the pit of his stomach.
Zac came in quietly. He sighed when he swapped out one tray for the other, not loudly enough to have woken Julian if he had actually been sleeping. He lingered by the desk, like he was checking something, but Julian was facing the wall and had no intention of moving.
He'd rather not know if it meant remaining unnoticed.
The television turned on. Never loud, but Zac lowered the volume a bit more.
Maxim wasn't with him this time. Zac seemed unhurried, but Julian didn't get the impression that he was dragging his feet, either. A heavy pressure had settled in the air but it wasn't coming from Zac.
Julian never liked leaving his back exposed, but Zac always made just enough noise that he could tell exactly how far away he was. Zac shuffled across the floor instead of stepping, so Julian tracked him easily.
The bedroom door closed so softly that Julian might have missed it if he wasn't listening. Zac's steps disappeared down the stairs right after.
He didn't get up immediately, but he opened his eyes. The sky was still half-orange but the sun had dipped below the horizon so it was starting to get dark.
Julian watched the last light of the setting sun fade, and his room was cast in darkness.
It would have been easy to go back to sleep.
If the weight in his stomach wasn't getting worse.
The longer he sat with it, the heavier it felt. Like rocks, or acid, or needles, or--
Guilt.
What a horrible child he was.
It wasn't just that he'd neglected his chores, but he was giving everyone extra work, too. He couldn't even remember what day it was.
Was he supposed to go to school tomorrow?
...No.
No, it was still Saturday. Probably.
Maybe there was still time to make up for things. He could write an apology. Zac deserved one, and Talia, too.
But that wasn't enough.
He'd have to apologize a hundred times, a thousand, and it wouldn't ever be enough for all this trouble he was putting everyone through.
So the guilt swelled.
The dinner Zac brought up grew cold, but Julian was paralyzed by indecision and the crushing weight of mistakes so great that he could hardly even imagine how to begin making amends.
He didn't know what to do, he just knew that he was desperate to do it.
Thoughts remained out of reach, too tangled to pull apart, but Julian didn't have to understand them to know that he needed to do something. Fast. Now.
Sleeping did not refresh him, but he didn't feel worse than before, so it must have helped.
His body cracked while he moved, but it didn't feel sore. It didn't deserve to feel sore, he hadn't done anything but waste time and take up space and give everyone trouble.
It wasn't until he sat on the edge of the bed, with his elbows on his knees and head bowed, that he realized he was still wearing his sneakers.
He had to wash the sheets.
And change his clothes. And eat dinner. And go to the bathroom. And--
Okay. He could do that.
Maybe there was a whole list of things he could do.
Not right now, though. He'd wait until after everyone went to bed, so he wouldn't bother them.
Slowly, like he didn't know the dimensions of his own body anymore, Julian pushed himself off the bed. He felt off balance, even while standing still, so he gave himself a moment to orient himself before he carefully toed off his sneakers and left them by the stairs.
He had a fleeting thought, that he should hide them. Talia wouldn't kick him out if he didn't have shoes, right?
Julian left them by the stairs, but he didn't dare open it yet.
The nature channel was on. Jellyfish bobbed in the ocean current, and colorful fish swam alongside them. Had he told Zac this was his favorite channel? He didn't deserve it. The remote was sitting on the edge of the desk, and he thought about shutting the television off, but--
He left it on and ate. Small bites, because he couldn't tell if he was hungry, but he never felt full either.
The meal was flavorless, but that wasn't Zac's fault. It took Julian over an hour to eat, but he wasn't really thinking about it. He took small bites, and chewed until his jaw cracked. Sometimes it happened in a few bites, and sometimes it took over a hundred, but he wasn't thinking about it, or anything.
Time had no meaning.
He stood still, eyes glued to the television, and--
Waited.
He didn't watch, not really. His eyes were on the screen, but his mind was far away again. The predictable nature of the fish's movements brought him some measure of comfort, and time passed before he'd even noticed. The monotony was welcome.
Wanted.
Sometime after midnight, he got a second wind he didn't know he'd been waiting for.
His skin crawled. His heart was pounding. Everything suddenly felt like it had been thrown into overdrive, and he had a boundless surge of energy and he needed to do something, anything--
Julian changed clothes and stripped his bed, but that didn't feel like the right place to start. He left the sheets and blankets in a pile on the floor and collected dishes from dinner.
He opened the door downstairs like he expected to find a monster waiting for him.
Soleiyu installed lights on every other step ages ago, so Julian followed their trail carefully, stepping softly enough that even Maxim didn't hear him coming. The lights were off in the garage, and the kitchen, and everywhere.
If everyone was already in bed, then he just needed to stay quiet, but--
There was Maxim.
His collar jingled from the living room, and his nails clacked on the ground as he hurried into the kitchen. Julian's blood had already run cold, but Maxim was so overwhelmed to see him that his entire back half was wagging forcefully enough that he walked in a crooked line.
The guilt returned, doubled. Julian left his dishes in the sink and crouched, cradling Maxim's face in both hands, but it wasn't enough. Maxim barreled into him, knocking Julian to the ground and licking his face like he hadn't seen him in a week.
Had it been a week...?
"I'm sorry," Julian whispered, but Maxim didn't seem to care what he was saying. He just wagged until he exhausted himself, and half-laid across Julian's lap.
They stayed like that for a while. Julian didn't mind.
He wrapped his arms around Maxim's shoulders and held him, staring at the stove for--
Well, he couldn't tell what the numbers said. It wasn't that they were too far away, everything was just blurry again.
It was there, on the floor, that he realized he had a headache, and his back hurt.
But Maxim was warm, and stubborn, and put all of his weight on Julian as if to trap him there, to prevent him from disappearing again.
Julian apologized twice more, but Maxim hadn't yet forgiven him, so he just scratched behind his ears. The darkness became familiar, and Julian's eyes adjusted. But he needed to take care of his dishes.
The wind blew loudly outside. Maxim startled, and went to the door to investigate. He looked up at Julian and waited patiently, and Julian--obligated to oblige after all this neglect--opened the back door so he could go outside.
Maxim waited for him. He took two steps outside and looked up at Julian, waiting for him to follow. Julian did. Maxim repeated the action, making sure that Julian was always right there next to him, that he hadn't escaped back upstairs to his room and closed the door.
Five minutes later, they were back inside. It was probably going to rain, so best that Maxim got his business done now instead of having to hold it.
When they went back inside, Maxim followed Julian so closely that his nose kept pressing into the back of his leg. When Julian went to the bathroom, Maxim scratched on the door before he could even close it. Afraid that someone would wake up, Julian let him in.
Maxim didn't much care what he did, just that he didn't do it alone.
When Julian finished, he washed his hands. His face. Brushed his teeth.
He avoided the mirror, but--
It was a little streaky. Not dirty, but it could use a quick wipe down. If he looked closely, dust and fur had collected on the thin railing behind the faucet. And the trash was a little full. And there was a little bit of grime in the sink.
Maxim watched him closely, but Julian didn't mind being under the dog's scrutiny. Under the sink, there was a small array of cleaning supplies, so Julian withdrew a few and set about straightening up. What was supposed to be a quick clean suddenly turned into a deep clean.
And why shouldn't he?
Talia and Zac didn't need to be doing something like this. Julian could clean. It was easy, anyone could do it. But they shouldn't have to. And if he could save them a little bit of labor, maybe--
Something flopped in his stomach again. He liked it more when the thoughts were out of reach, so he closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, and let them slip away again.
Things were easier like that.
He couldn't think about all the things he'd done wrong, and it was the only way to quell the panic that threatened every time he tried to come back into himself.
He cleaned every inch of the bathroom, in parts.
He wiped the sink down, and cleared away all the dust and fur and grime. When he finished with the mirror, it was spotless, and the faucets sparkled like new. He scrubbed the bathtub, and the toilet. He shook out the rug, and took out the trash, and came back to sweep, and then settled on the floor and scrubbed the floorboards and wiped the grout and--
It wasn't enough, but it was a start.
Forty five minutes had passed but it felt like nothing at all. Desperate energy surged through him.
He'd forgotten his dishes in the sink, but his mind was suddenly in a thousand places at once.
Which wasn't so bad, as long as he didn't have to think too hard.
Julian snuck around the house like a criminal, but Maxim followed him every step of the way. He crept up to his room and gathered the comforter and sheets, carrying them downstairs and putting them in the washing machine. Then, he made his way back to the kitchen and finished up with his dishes. The washing machine was nearly full, so he ran it, but--
There was so much he could do.
So he did it.
Using only the dim light over the stove, Julian worked his way through the whole kitchen. He didn't just wipe the counters or scrub the sink, also the inside and outside of the cabinets. He scrubbed the toe kicks, which were scuffed and filthy. He wiped clean the inside of the microwave, and the refrigerator. He dusted the fans and the vents and the lights, in the kitchen and the dining room, and the living room.
He cleaned the light switches, the door knobs, the walls, the doors. He flitted between one room and the next, like he couldn't figure out what needed the most attention, so he took care of all of them. He polished the dining room table, and the coffee table, and the side tables, and then the dining room chairs, too. He crawled on hands and knees across the house, scrubbing every floorboard. He couldn't vacuum, that made too much noise, but he swept and mopped every floor.
Maxim had pressed his nose into many windows, so Julian cleaned them, too.
He worked fervently, desperately. Maxim stayed close, but after a while he just laid down and watched where Julian went.
It was too much back and forth for him to keep up with. More than once, Julian would start one task, half finish, and then realize he should be doing something else instead. He never abandoned anything, but he'd stop abruptly and scurry off to complete his new task before eventually returning to the first.
He had the drive, but not the time; if the night had been longer, he'd have been able to do so much more, but the black sky turned deep grey and spooked him enough that he immediately jumped into finishing his last few open tasks.
He'd worked himself into a comfortable exhaustion, but the idea of someone finding him out of his room erased every ounce of comfort he'd found in cleaning. By the time he put away the last of the cleaning supplies, his hands were shaking. Not from cold or exhaustion, but he told himself both anyway.
Julian needed a shower, and Maxim followed him into the bathroom. Julian only briefly plead with the dog to stay outside, but he had neither time nor mind to protest. Maxim flopped against the door, but Julian stepped behind the shower curtain fully clothed. He undressed behind the sheet and put his clothes on the back of the toilet before turning on the water.
It was cold. His heart stuttered and the air left his lungs, but Julian stayed quiet. The shower was short enough that the water wouldn't have had time to warm up even if he'd afforded himself hot water. He washed well, too rough, but fast. He dried off the same way.
The room was dark except for the dim glow of the nightlight plugged into the wall. Maxim dozed, but as soon as Julian was out, he was ready to follow him.
Julian made one quick round, just to make sure he hadn't left anything out. The silhouette of the trees were already stark against the light of the rising sun. Zac would probably be the first person to wake up, and the coffee machine had already hummed to life.
He'd be up soon.
Julian felt sick again. A cold dread washed over him and for a brief moment, he thought he might throw up. Maxim watched, worrying, but Julian reached a trembling hand to scratch behind his ears.
His head felt empty. Numb. Stuffed with cotton so dense that it muffled out any of the thoughts he might have had.
It felt like moving while underwater, soaking wet and slow and cold. Almost a dream. Not quite a bad one.
Julian was tired.
Not just physically, but it hit him all at once, and he found himself leaning against the counter while the world spun violently around him. He stared at the numbers on the stove, like if he bore deeply enough he could just come back to this moment. Like he could pretend the ones before didn't matter.
Just now. Just the ones that came next.
If he could throw himself into the future then they could forget about the past, and nothing would matter. And yesterday--yesterday?--didn't happen. Nothing happened.
Everything was fine. He could make it fine, if he just worked hard enough--
Maxim's wet nose pressed firmly into his palm.
Four minutes had passed. The coffee was done.
Julian's heart stuttered in his chest and awareness--or, some of it--snapped back so sharply that he felt like a rubber band snapped in his brain, and his eyes.
He tiptoed through the house and opened the door silently. He twisted the knob to open and close the door, so it didn't even click when it settled back in place. Maxim made more noise than he did, and bounded up the stairs before Julian had a chance.
Julian wouldn't have stopped him, anyway. Maxim was in his bed before Julian had a chance to be, already in Riker's spot and watching Julian with big, pleading eyes.
The television was still on--hadn't he turned it off? He couldn't remember--and any attempts to were dashed the second he heard something from the garage.
Electricity danced across his skin, so much so that his heart stopped. Or--no, almost. Julian's body wasn't listening to him so he stopped trying to command it.
He closed the door, but not completely. He left a three inch gap.
When he turned back to the bed, Maxim's tail was already thumping slowly on the comforter. It wasn't bright enough in the room to make out any details; Julian hadn't turned the light on, and the sun wasn't up high enough to illuminate anything. But he didn't need to see to know where Maxim was.
Julian climbed into bed quickly. The garage door opened, closed. Quietly. Zac had gone into the kitchen.
The heated blanket was on before Julian thought about it. He gathered it to his chest and curled up on his side of the bed, pressing his face against the wall and drawing the comforter up over his head. Maxim moved once Julian was settled, walking in two circles before collapsing into a heap, his back to Julian's.
Julian's heart was pounding. His breathing was uneven. He flexed his fingers but he couldn't feel them. They trembled, so he curled his hands into fists and hid them in the heated blanket.
His heart didn't know what to do. His lungs couldn't figure it out, either.
But Maxim drew in slow, steady breaths. Julian was sandwiched between the warmth of the dog and the blanket, and even if he didn't know what he was supposed to do, his body figured it out for him.
He squeezed his eyes shut and hoped he'd fall asleep before Zac brought up breakfast.
He wasn't sure if he could fake sleep again, so he needed it to be real.
Even if he didn't realize how exhausted he was, his body did.
