Oh, how devastating...
Perhaps it was in the anguish he felt in his boyhood, or maybe it was the flicker of light that ignited his eyes. Then, out of nowhere, he was free of pain—and he finally knew what it was to be loved.
Deep within the ivory walls of Evergreen Facility, he peered through his window and saw the lampposts casting shadows on the pavement. He noticed how they followed every step, and how people dressed in white gowns seemed unfazed by their mystery as they walked over them day after day.
“What a strange place,” he thought. It is so dull and lifeless, and as minutes ticked away, his desire to leave grew stronger than green leaves dreading the arrival of autumn.
Although, he had no choice but to stay. So he sat and observed all night—up until the sun rose and bathed in his skin. The sunrays bleeding through the acacia branches mesmerized him, but then his focus abruptly shifted to his barely visible reflection in the windowpane. Behind him, the door creaked open, and a stranger entered the room.
The tall, peculiar boy muttered faintly to introduce himself. Laurent was his name: a new roommate who would sleep on the second bed across the room.
“His name’s Laurent? How pretentious,” he scoffed as he thought to himself once more, and he never even bothered to glance back.
The silence surely sent a message to Laurent; a message that signified his uninterest in anything that had to do with Mr. Pretentious—a nickname he wrote in his head—or anyone else for that matter.
And that was, indeed, the case . . . at least for a couple of weeks.
Because as time went on, he found it increasingly difficult to ignore Laurent's presence. The way Laurent’s heavy breaths filled the room at night; the sound of the shower mutedly cascading onto the bathroom tiles, or the stupid laughter Laurent couldn’t suppress each time they accidentally blocked each other at the door.
As much as he would hate to admit it, he truly liked that Laurent was there. Because for the first time in years, he can sleep with the lights turned off, and for the first time in his life, he doesn’t feel alone.
More days passed, and small conversations were exchanged here and there. And unsurprisingly, it only took two months for him and Laurent to be the best of friends. They would talk like there was no tomorrow; they were inseparable like a person with their shadow. Obliged to sleep at midnight, yet driven by a desire to connect, he and Laurent would venture into each other’s beds. There, they would share their deepest thoughts and what they despised about their lives.
A couple more days and something between them bloomed further. Infinite moments of intimacy were now a part of their routine—an intertwining of their fingers, a hug . . . a kiss. It was as if their souls found a string that connected their hearts this whole time, which they pulled until they found peace in each other’s arms. It had felt like the art of Kintsugi.
Before Laurent, his life was nothing more than a blurry facade. A flashy thunder of lies and never-ending sorrows. Now, it’s a vivid paradise; a magnetic force that puts him into a thrilling ecstasy. Every single moment ignites a surge of dopamine in his head. While in his heart, it was still all about Laurent.
That’s how he knew he loved him. Because he hadn’t felt this alive in years, to the point where he was not even sure if he’d ever felt this good kind of life. He wanted more and more of it.
But then, one morning, he was suddenly just getting dragged out of his bed and taken to an office he recognized. He took a seat in front of a desk, where a woman occupied the other side. Admittedly, the woman looked nice, but he was still scared. Though, even in fear, the first thing that came out of his mouth was, “Where is he? Where’s Laurent?”
“Oh, honey . . .” the woman spoke softly, and the rest of what she had said was a blur.
He only grasped the little things that were unbelievable. She said they had found him sleeping with a shattered mirror piece; she said he wasn’t taking his medications; she said his head was acting up again. And in all, he was unmoved. Until she said, “There is no Laurent.”
But he was there. Laurent was there for him like no one else had. These people are fools . . . Laurent was there! Laurent is real! He felt his touch, heard his voice, everything an imagination can’t fabricate.
“Laurent isn’t real.”
With that, he breaks completely, screaming like gold was bleeding out of him. “Don’t take him away from me!” He cried out and only stopped once he saw the reflective trophies behind the woman.
Just then, the door of the office opened, and Laurent stepped into the room with his worried eyes. He looks at Laurent too, relieved to know that he is okay. Never mind the woman and other nurses oddly staring at him as he followed Laurent with his gaze—all that mattered was that they were in the same room now. A smile graced his face, tears welling up in his eyes. Laurent moved closer and gently brushed his thumb against his cheeks, catching the tears before they could fall like leaves.
They held each other’s hands and promised to face the rest of the session together.
Perhaps it was in the anguish he felt in his boyhood, or maybe it was just the flicker of light that ignited his eyes. Then, all of a sudden, he was free of pain—he knew what it was to be loved, and with it, he knew what it took to love.
Oh, how wonderful . . . right?
He loved him, and he was loved back. Where’s the wrong in that?
Article: Shawn Medwin Pangan
Illustration: Luke Perry Saycon
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