Jake Carroway
April 30th, 2032
I can’t sleep.
How can I after what just happened? Matt fell asleep easy enough. Of course he could he got what he wanted what the actual fuck was that about? I stared at him until I couldn’t bare to any longer. Who does he think he is? He probably thought it was so smooth or that I’d immediately fall for him on this trip and he wouldn’t even have to try. Fuck that. FUCK that. And fuck him. I’m not playing this hallmark movie bullshit. And the second he wakes up I'm going to let him know that.
But now...while I was alone and can’t sleep. I’m going to look at him. Because fuck...he’s not a bad looking guy. Why fuck oh why did I have to think that? Once, just once and I feel like my mind is poisoned. Why am I this way? Why...why...why can’t I just be happy with Jen? I love her...but I don’t think I can be in love with her. Why…I sat for the rest of the ride in my seat that increasingly felt like it did not want me. I couldn’t keep still. And finally Matt opened his eyes and I was going to fucking give it to him.
“You look like you’re plenty frustrated,” he said. He stretched his neck to the left and then the right, then sat up fully. He looked at me, and then confusion splashed across his face. “What? You’re seriously mad at me for that?”
“Mad? How could I not be mad you fucking asshole?”
His composure returned, “Come on, you’ve been wanting since you first laid eyes on me.”
“Not a chance. You’ve always been smug and work obsessed. Besides, I’m not—”
“Not gay? I think you’re lying to yourself there.”
“...You don’t get to say you know anything about me,” I said. “You’re the one who has kept it business and that’s more than fine with me.”
He shrugged, “I notice what I notice. And I’ve noticed your eyes hanging on me longer than maybe you’ve noticed.”
I could feel my blood boiling. “Listen, whatever I am or am not does not give you the right to do anything like you did to me.”
“Oh come on you haven’t been satisfied like that ever, am I right? I asked about your romp with Ms. Cress because I saw how terribly it must have been for the both of you.”
“Who the fuck do you think—”
“Matthew Avery, proud of who I am. Can you say the same?”
“Pride is one thing...” I said. “You’re never going to get me to think that what you did is okay.”
“Oh?”
“It wasn’t. It’s one thing to be spontaneous. It’s one thing to accept yourself. It’s an entirely different, and wrong thing to take advantage of whatever the hell you want because of what you think about me.”
“So tell me, what would you have done had I not? Hm? Finish our job here and make it back to Ms. Cress? Tell me, how would that work out? She loves you—I can see that much in the way she looks at you.”
“What the hell is it to you what I do?” I barked back. “It’s up to me how I feel, who I feel about, and not some wannabe matchmaker.”
He fell silent, taking a breath to compose his thoughts. “I wasn’t trying to be a matchmaker.”
“No, but what did you think was going to happen? That I’d be so surprised that you revealed me? That’s not on you to reveal. I don’t...I don’t go by your rules.”
“Don’t you think you should let Ms. Cress know your indecision?”
My eyes darted to him. “Maybe when we’re not currently dealing with an international emergency? None of your business, anyway.”
“Think you’ll be able to reciprocate the feelings she has for you?”
“I’m done talking about this,” I said.
“Well, we can either sit here in silence for the entire trip, or we can talk about this, because clearly there are some mountains between us we need to iron out if we’re going to be acting as a unified front on foreign ground.”
I was flabbergasted. “I am more than fine with it being silent for the rest of the trip. I cannot believe you’re this brazen.”
He shrugged. “Old Dad taught me to talk about my issues. Probably one of the things I learned from him that wasn’t toxic.”
“Not toxic…?” I sat up as I repeated it incredulously. “Compared to what, an atom bomb? What about what’s happened do you classify as not toxic?”
He clapped both of his hands together in front of his mouth and took a breath. “Okay, going offhill, real quick. Lemme adjust. I...I tend to jump to points further than what I’m thinking of when I’m talking. I had almost forgotten that I didn’t apologize for acting that way on you yet.”
I had no answer, I simply had to let it play out.
“I am sorry.” He exhaled quickly. “Obviously the environment I grew up in did things differently. Spontaneity was...I don’t want to say more accepted, but...it’s not unheard of.”
“I mean it’s not unheard of here, but it sure isn’t accepted or appreciated when it’s like that.”
“Right. Okay, I accept that. I apologize. I took our frequent jabs back and forth to be more than what they were. I...am a competitive person. I hardly mean the things I say as deep as they go. I mean, at the end of the day we work toward the same goal.”
“That’s what it should be, yes. I haven’t taken anything that’s gone between us as anything but you having a chip on your shoulder about your dad.”
His eyes shifted to the left, as if contemplating. “I see...okay. Okay, I am not as well practiced in flattery as I had imagined. I am sorry.”
I exhaled, running my hand through my hair. “Fine, I guess. I’m firm in what I feel but so long as it doesn’t happen again we can move forward.”
He nodded. “I do have concern for how Ms. Cress will handle...things. I’m not totally heartless, and just know that from experience, the longer you wait the harder it becomes.
I looked up at him, but didn’t say anything in return.
“I know I don’t know as much about you as I probably should—”
“You don’t know because you made it a stern point to not get to know the either of us at all. It’s been three years Matt. And the only thing I know about you is that you’ve got some good ideas for our country and some not so good ideas—those of which you seem to fight the hardest on. And sure that speaks to your character but you’ve not let us in on anything else so what do you expect me to think?”
Matt went silent. He didn’t have an answer for that one. My mind was begging me to stay on the attack—to hurt him how I was hurting...but then it clicked. Why was I hurting? Sure, his kiss was unwarranted and he still wasn’t off the hook for that...but why was it causing so much hurt inside me? Was it because I really didn’t know who I was...or was it because I knew all along?
And that feeling just led to sadness.
“Listen, I’m sorry. I don’t even think I should be sorry—but I am. I’m sure I’ve been a bit brusk to you even before this, so I’m sorry.”
Matt was confused, “You? No, not at all. Gah, fuck you’re making me feel shitty. Okay, I’m sorry. I know I don’t talk to you two. I had to do what I felt I had to. Before I learned you two were all right-if-not-a-pain-at-times I had thought that Andrew’s sudden nomination of you was an attack on me and my ideas. You obviously had a lot of history together—and history against my family name. I couldn’t see any way except the way I walked to have my ideas be heard for me, and not as my father’s son.”
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
“Well you know how you fix this situation? You talk about it. We’re not going to oust you or bring out scandals against you because of shit your dad did because we know what that’s like, don’t you understand? Fuck, Andy’s dad was responsible for Radical-9 being released. My father assisted Jack the entire time—he shot me when I went digging around. We know the sins of the father shtick. But we don’t get anywhere unless we open up about it.” I said, then rounded back, “...not by taking advantage of what you perceive about this,” I motioned to my forehead. “I don’t know what I’m feeling, but I’m clearly still involved with Jen. If that’s something that breaks away or dissolves then that’s on me to do. Not for your hand to set in motion or whatever savior like bullshit you were trying to spout.”
Matt didn’t answer.
“You were trying to capitalize on what you wanted and tried to make me feel like shit for not giving it to you. I’m sorry, but that is not my fault. I am sorry that you felt like you couldn’t open up to us, but I’m making sure now. Just don’t pull that shit again.”
“I understand your point.”
“Well that’s fucking dandy,” I said, and then held my breath, rubbing my temples. “Sorry. I’m trying myself to keep my emotions in check. That one wasn’t fair.”
“Seeing...seeing as we’ve got a few hours left in our trip...” Matt started. “...would it be too much I try to make it right?”
“Make what, specifically?”
“Everything,” he said.
I sighed. “I could do with some good energy. You weren’t wrong….about me and Jen, at least.”
“Well why don’t I distract you a little bit with my tales of woe? Maybe you can get a sense of schadenfreude.”
There’s a ghost of a grin on my face. “You must have plenty of crazy stories with a dad like yours.”
It was a silent joke between them. Anybody with a dad like theirs had some crazy stories. Crazy parents bred crazy stories for eventually crazy kids...if they lived, that was.
“You wouldn’t even believe the half of it,” said Matt.
~...~
Matthew Avery was an only child born in 2007 in London. His father was prime minister to the Queen from the early 90’s. He was raised solely by his father—a strict man of regulation. His childhood was very quiet—restrained. He spent many days and nights in his room, alone. His mind was his playground.
Matt learned quickly not to speak unless he was spoken to. It became the golden rule around the Avery household. He never emotionally bonded with his father—and because of his father’s position keeping him away during the day friends weren’t around the Avery home, either. Matt took to books to find the friends he had so desperately been lacking. It was in these fantasy worlds he found most of his personal growth and development. His one solace became the printed word of other people he wished to meet one day.
Even though he spent a lot of his time alone—he was kept under strict surveillance. If anything had happened to Matt news would reach every corner of the county and investigations would not cease. The Queen was adamant about the safety of those immediately within social reach—any sort of scandal or headline was one too many. So it was made clear that Matt would be watched constantly when Oliver was unable to himself.
Matt didn’t see much of the outside world—so his views were carved exclusively from the stories he read. He often thought himself as a prisoner in his very own castle. Wondering if one day there would be a prince charming out there for him.
He knew early on that he was gay. Most of the stories that he read told tales of dangerously handsome men who Matt wanted to identify with—but ended up falling for each and every time. They were usually awful people whose only redeemable traits were their looks and status as the [GOOD GUY], but Matt often dreamed of being there to course correct their awful behaviors. After reading book after book with the dashing prince, he questioned if people really enjoyed being treated that way. If...people didn’t like it, why did so many people write about it? He thought that he may have been wrong about his perspective, and acted more like the people he read about—emotionally distant (he had practice from his father), gruff, and more sarcasm than actual wit.
His facade broke when one day late in 2012 Matt heard a loud noise in the downstairs of his home. Matt lived in a luscious mansion—three stories altogether—but largely empty save for the rooms most used by the Avery family—the bedrooms, the kitchen, dining hall, bathroom, and library. Leaving 90% of the house empty space it made for a very large echo chamber when fresh activity rang through the halls. And on that late summer day activity did more than ring through—it stampeded like a horde of bulls.
Three masked men blasted through the doors—sending them off their hinges into the foyer. They were each clad in black full body suits that were unmarked. They looked around at each other and split up to search the house, not uttering a single word to one another.
Matt never heard anything like this—he cradled up in his bed and hoped that someone was watching any of the surveillance footage that was constantly spied on him to come and help—but on that day nobody was watching.
The officer of the Queen’s court scheduled to oversee the Avery boy was currently dressed across his desk—his torso emptied and head decapitated. Nobody would be signaling out for help on this day.
The masked men found Matt quickly enough. The first kicked open his door and stared his golden eyes at the small boy who had since soiled his sheets in fear. The masked man looked through him for just a second and then suddenly the other two materialized right behind the first—as if they had been there all along.
The first looked to the closest behind him and then nodded, and they all stepped in the room closer to Matt. He knew in times like this the prisoner would fight back—do something—anything as a distraction while the hero found their way to the room and saved the prisoner just in the nick of time, but deep down Matt knew there was no hero there to save him. There was no distracting these heartless creatures—they weren’t men any more than they were birds. They were cold beings with only one thing in their eyes.
The first stepped just before the bed and reached down, picking Matt up by the leg. Matt’s body froze and he dangled there—useless as terror shot up his spine like a lance struck through him. The man’s gaze didn’t change as he raised an arm. It changed shape before Matt’s eyes—sharpening and hardening like it were made of steel.
But it was more than that—the edges weren’t smooth. They had grooves and hooks all over—whatever was pierced with that arm—blade wasn’t going to die simply. It was going to suffer, and suffer long. The man ripped across Matt’s neck in a terrible arc. His flesh tore and gushed blood over his face and onto the floor. He wasn’t dead—not yet. Somehow his spirit clung on, but his death was assured. It seemed only torture now to hang on. He choked as the blood blinded him—draining down his face.
The man dug his arm just below Matt’s abdomen and dragged it all the way down to his first cut on his neck, emptying the contents of his insides onto the floor. He felt everything. And still his mind refused to die. He refused to let it be the end. He coughed one final sound and then the blade struck just under his chin—cutting up through his skull like butter. It shredded his left eye coming up and ripped his jaw apart coming out. His life finally left—finally gave up, but it never left his body. He remained tied to his being—but he could no longer feel. He couldn’t move anything. He was severed, but not kicked out to the ether.
“I woke up four years later in California. I didn’t understand what had happened to me—my father never explained the circumstances of my apparent rebirth. We continued living as if everything was normal. I believed that my time in England was but a dream.”
“I feel that there’s a but coming...” I said.
He nodded, “A year after that I had a vicious nightmare reliving that last day in my house. I felt everything as if it was happening to my real body. I woke up covered in sweat. I knew then that there was something seriously wrong with my existence...I should have been dead. My father must have known otherwise why else would I have been brought back? I think that was the first moment I hated my father.”
I remained silent.
“I ran away that same night. I was ten years old and on the streets of a country that was completely foreign to me...although to be fair everything outside of my home was foreign to me. I wasn’t sure of anything then...until she found me...”
“Hm?”
“It was an old woman—she looked like she was at least a hundred years old at the youngest. I couldn’t believe she was still standing after everything, but she found me in some dark alley in Los Angeles. I must have looked like a feral animal—I don’t know how much time passed between when I left and when she found me—maybe a week, maybe longer. But she did, and she took me in and fed me, clothed me, and taught me pretty much everything I know now.”
“Since then you never found out what happened when you were five?”
Matt shook his head, “Nope. Just blinked out and then back in. I didn’t hear about my dad after I left—I stayed with the old woman until she passed four years later in 2017. By that point I grew up a lot—I was working and pulling my own weight. I saw how ruined this place had become after Valhart was killed—that fact I’d heard from the old woman.”
“Didn’t you ever learn her name?” I asked.
He smiled, “I didn’t need to. She never learned mine, only called me boy. I think she knew what it was like to be in my situation—a runaway. She didn’t want to enforce the name I was running away from. So to me she was just the old woman, and I was boy. Now, I’m much older than that, and the last herald of my family name is dead, so I am no longer boy. I am Matthew Avery, son of the last President of the United States. I’ve learned to reclaim my name, and now here I am traveling back to the country of my birth.” There was a twinkle in his eye and he turned to me, “I came on this trip for many reasons—to investigate the Queen is just one of them. My main reason is to discover what really happened to me—to find those crooks who broke into my home.”
“Are you prepared to learn that they may be dead? Or that you won’t find them at all?”
“I’m always prepared,” said Matt. “But that doesn’t stop me from being hopeful.”
I let loose a breath, “Well, I’m very sorry what you went through. I’m more than willing to help you find what you’re looking for...but none of it excuses the way you acted. That’s still you, and I’m open to forgive, but you need to earn it.”
Matt nodded, slowly, “I understand.”
“Great, now that you do, I need to make a call of my own, and then I’m probably going to sleep the rest of the ride.”
Matt nodded. He knew exactly who I intended to call—and what it was going to be about. I silently thanked him for not pressing the issue and stood up. I dialed the familiar phone number and made my way to the back of the plane. I paced back and forth before I hit confirm. I was nervous, but knew it was a call I had to make. As I lifted the phone to my ear I could tell the nerves were getting to me because my ears were ringing hollow sounds. I waited as the line rang once...twice...and on the third time she answered.