Holding Infinity

By Astro Polaris

Though he would never openly admit it, Orion Alsephina is constantly fighting battles against his mind. Growing up is never easy, and for him, it's a whole another adventure. With the date of his High School graduation growing nearer, he finds himself sinking deeper and deeper into the darkness, petrified of letting go—of the outside world and all that it has to give. Enter the quirky, angst-ridden Autumn Carmichael who is hell bent on sticking to him like a second skin. (Mostly figuratively.) There's a thin line between sanity and mania, and the both of them soon discover themselves pushing the boundaries of that line. As they navigate each other's complicated lives, they find themselves falling deeper into the pit of sadness and despair. But despite what they think, the Universe has a lovely surprise for them. A surprise that just might make everything a little bit more bearable.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ukiyoto
• Release date: Aug 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005262259

Book preview

Chapter One

Orion

My mother always used to say; things have to get worse before they can get better, but in relation to health, I can't seem to believe it. Although she seems fine—Mom's still up and doing, making dinner, holding potlucks every weekend—she isn't. And that fact keeps haunting me because I don't know how much time she has left.

Hey, boy, I whisper. I'm crouched down, ruffling Draco's fur. He likes it a lot, so he wags his tail appreciatively. Draco is my four year old Dorkie—he's a mixed breed—and I love him more than I ever thought possible. He's been with me through thick and thin, so it's only fair I return the favour. The favour being dog treats. You want a biscuit? I hoist him up and cradle him in my arms as I make my way into the kitchen.

Mother is in there, all her attention focused on the pot she's currently stirring the contents of, so she doesn't notice me until Draco barks.

Are you making dinner already? I ask incredulously. Draco jumps from my arms and onto the kitchen counter. I reach for the top right cupboard and pull out a bag of his favorite treats.

Mother finally turns to me. Mi hijo. Her words are drawn out and she sounds weary. I smile, trying not to pay attention to the dark circles under her eyes. I was at the hospital earlier today. She's staring ahead now, eyes on the wall. A minute passes before she speaks again. How was school?

I set the bag of treats on the counter and fetch Draco's food bowl. School was a madhouse, as usual. I guess being seniors really gets into students' heads. I slide the bowl in front of Draco and return the bag into its original position. I'm supposed to be working on something for the final paper, but I have less than no inspiration.

With her back still turned to me, she says, I'm sure you'll come up with something. You just need to put your mind at ease.

Nodding absentmindedly, I thank her for being here, even though I still have nothing in mind for my paper.

I'm going to the roof now.

Mother turns to me again. You're not skipping dinner again, are you?

I sigh, manage a small smile, then make my way out of the kitchen without giving her a proper answer.

My brother Lynx is a theatre kid. Was a theatre kid. Now, he's a theatre adult, and he thrives on making me miserable. Not that I need his help with that; I'm pretty good at being miserable on my own. It's one of the perks of growing up with trauma. It teaches you. I doubt I've learned anything from my experiences, because I keep making mistakes over and over again. I can't help it.

My phone beeps next to me, but I ignore it for the time being. If it's important, the sender will place a call. I won't answer it, though. Not unless it's my best friend.

Holden Foster and I have been best friends since the eighth grade when he first moved here. Our friendship came out of nowhere, really. Two rich kids, not a lot in common. . .Holden is painfully neurotypical, and I guess I can't blame him for the way he thinks. Most people see life one-directionally. He just so happens to be stuck with me; someone who doesn't.

Lynx comes to get me about an hour later. He smells like weed and aftershave. My nose scrunches up.

You couldn't bother to take a long bath, and I don't know, brush your teeth, or something? I sneer. When I gather my bearings and shove my thoughts aside, I slide through the open window and back into the attic. Lynx stands there, hands poised on the hips. He's wearing a smile that looks too mocking to be genuine.

I'm pretty sure your senses are the problem here. You really think Mom would let me in if I'd done weed?

I lift my shoulder up slightly in a shrug. I don't know anything anymore. Mom's different now. Besides, you're all grown up and adult-y. He moves aside so I have access to the hatch that leads to the staircase. I don't even want dinner. Why'd you come up here?

Lynx doesn't answer me until we get back to the ground floor. He digs his hands into his pockets and looks up at the ceiling. I'm going back to California.

I don't even have to pretend to be devastated. It's like my heart folded itself and shriveled and died, and I can't breathe properly anymore. It's not the first time Lynx has had to leave, but with Mom's heart condition only worsening, it's only a matter of time until the worst hits. I don't want to imagine how I'd feel then. I've never been the type of person to have a lot of friends, so I'm used to being alone. Now, it seems like I'm going to get a few lessons in the art of coping with loneliness. Maybe it'll be the same as when dad died.

I swipe my tongue over my upper row of teeth. What's going to happen if Mom. . .you know?

Lynx places a hand on my shoulder as if to calm my nerves, but he should know better. I don't get nervous, I get anxious. And right now, my heart's racing faster than a cabbage at a groundhog convention.

Nothing will happen, Orion. I'll be here, and you will be fine. Then, in a whisper I can barely catch, he adds, as long as you don't relapse.

Cue my inevitable groaning. I pry his hand off my shoulder and toss it as harshly as you can toss a non-disembodied body part. All right, fine. You still think I'm a loose cannon? An out-of-control nutcase? You know what? That's perfectly fine. I say all this through gritted teeth. He knows I'm upset, there's no need to hide it. I don't know how to hide my emotions. I'll see you later. Tell Mom I'm not staying for dinner.

***

Holden has played basketball for as long as I can remember. Going in accordance with stereotypical classifications—which I do not believe in—he would be a jock. And I. . .I would still be me. I don't fit in anywhere, so maybe I'd be a wallflower. I don't know. I don't think I blend in with the crowd.

The orange basketball shoots past me, and before I can register what's happening, Holden is on the opposite side of the court, and he's knocked the ball into the net. Of course, there's a reason Boston University offered him a scholarship, and I can see that he clearly deserves it.

Dude, can you not bounce the ball so hard when I'm trying to think? I wince and flinch back when Holden whizzes past me again.

Holden chuckles and tosses the ball at me. I catch it with both hands. "I think you need to chill. You always think. Give yourself a break, man."

I frown. Holden, you leave for Boston in how many weeks? Five or less, and Lynx is heading back to Cali. Mom's health is quickly deteriorating, and it's only a matter of time until everyone leaves for college. What am I supposed to do while everyone else is working to become a better version of themselves? Sit around and mope? How many shooting stars do I have to wish on until I get a miracle?

The ball is out of my hands in a flash. Just stop, okay? We haven't even had finals yet and you're already stressing. Holden sighs. You applied to different Universities, Curtis included. And you'll get in, I promise.

Kinda how you swore I'd get a girlfriend while in highschool. Look how that went.

We share a short laugh, and Holden punches me in the shoulder. You can't blame me for that. There's only so much a wingman can do.

High School girls aren't my type. Neither are college girls. They're all too happy.

Holden pauses as if to assess me. Yeah, I guess. He bounces the ball once more and catches it in mid-air. "I wanted to ask you—is it okay for me to break things off with Maeve? I don't think she would be okay with long distance, and I honestly don't want to go to college with a girlfriend who's back home."

I bite the inside of my cheek. Holden keeps asking me for life advice like I'm some wise sage his mother's instructed him to look up to, when in reality I'm just a boy who's made a lot of bad decisions in the past. Decisions that have almost gotten me thrown in a mental health facility. I swear to God, I'm normal, but people—neurotypicals—get the notion that when a person attempts to take control of their destiny by putting a stop to it, they're defective. So that's what I am. Defective.

The word is acid on my tongue.

You know what I think? I pause momentarily to allow my words to settle between us. The court is dull and silent, the sunset's hues not doing a lot to stir up vibrance. I think you two should talk it out. Hear what she thinks, then work something out.

Holden nods, drinking in my words like I'm a psychic and just told him what'll happen in the near future. So, how's that paper coming along?

***

At two minutes past four in the morning, I pull a jacket over my body, readying myself for a walk.

The sound of nails scratching against wood floats into my ears. My bedroom door is pushed open, and Draco struts into view.

Hey, I can't take you out at this time. I lower myself to his level, ruffling his fur. When I get back, I promise I will.

Trying but failing to make it out of the house without an interception, I groan and cross my arms, leaning back on the nearest surface. Lynx is in the kitchen, head positioned right in front of the open fridge.

Where are you going at this time? he asks, eyeing me suspiciously. I should be the one looking at him that way.

What are you doing up?

Midnight snack, Lynx replies. I'm doing midnight snacks. Interpret that however you want to, but keep in mind that I can't fuck a sandwich.

I grunt and pull at my hair. Don't tell mom I went out. And, um, don't wait up for me, okay?

Hey, no, wait. Where are you going?

I'm already slipping on my Vans. Out, duh. I don't have to look back to know he's rolling his eyes.

Yeah, no shit, he says, where exactly are you going? When will you be back? You're taking me to the airport today; you can't do that if you go missing.

Standing up slowly so my body can stretch itself out, I say, I'm not gonna go missing.

No one ever thinks they're gonna go missing.

Lynx, please don't do this. I look to my brother with pleading eyes. I don't want you to worry about me. I'd be better off if you didn't even care. I promise I won't get in trouble.

Lynx sets a loaf of bread on the counter and exhales. Call me if something happens.

Nothing's gonna happen.

Chapter Two

Orion

I'm pretty convinced that I'm an uninteresting person, and I'm more than okay with it. So is everyone who knows me. Either that, or they've all found something about me that they think is promising and worthwhile, but I have my doubts.

I always have doubts.

Today is the last day I'll get to see my older brother until he's done filming whatever movies are on his agenda for the next year. In all honesty, it doesn't bother me as much as it did yesterday. I just really hate it when people leave me, but now I have to get used to it. Even if they don't leave, I will. It's pretty much the same thing since I'll be without them anyway.

Hey, Orion? I need you to sign my petition.

Of course it's not a surprise that people know me; I just don't enjoy pointless conversations. I spin in a half circle to find Auni, one of the few people I actually talk to, holding a clipboard and a pen out for me. My eyes settle on her hair for a millisecond longer than they should. I've always liked her hair. She's creative, and I guess dying it was the easiest way for her to express herself since she claims to hate make-up. It's for graduation and the non-existent art club.

Good causes. I take the pen from her. Was it your idea or Maeve's? She hands me the clipboard and I scribble a messy signature on the clipped sheet.

The petition actually goes against Maeve's ideas. It's an anti-Maeve agenda. That's the only reason I have so many signatures. The clipboard and pen switch hands once again and Auni flashes me one of her signature smiles—where her eyes clamp shut and form upturned crescents—before turning on her heel. Thanks for adding your signature, she yells over her shoulder, the hand that holds the pen is in the air, throwing me a peace sign.

I have always found Auni adorable, in a good way, but she doesn't hit me like the kind of person to enjoy the company of sad people. She likes serenity and solitude; it helps her get her head in the zone, but I don't offer either of those things. At least, not in the way she would want them.

There's nothing to do at school anymore. We have finals in a bit, and our syllabi are done, finished, dusted. I don't see the point of coming to school, especially when I'm not in any functioning groups, but Mom makes sure I leave the house everyday.

I'd have joined the music club, but I really hate playing in groups. If it's not a solo performance, chances are I'll mess it up badly. I'll just keep my talents stored away until I can unleash them on the world. I have better things to do than play in front of highschoolers and their parents.

When the bell rings, I practically zip through the doors and hoards of students. I didn't drive today because I was scared, so I have to walk home, and fast. I know Lynx won't be leaving until I arrive—I'm the one who's driving him to the airport—but I need to get home early, shower, give myself a pep talk, and ride out the high of my inevitable anxiety attack before I can even think about getting behind the wheel.

The day will most likely end with me decapitated.

I slow my pace. The sidewalk isn't very busy, probably due to it being the middle of the week, so I can walk freely without bumping into anyone. I'm already dizzy, which is always a bad sign, but there's nothing I can do to help myself.

I'm not just a burden to society, I'm a burden to Orion, too.

Everything will be fine. Todó estará bien.

A few deep breaths and I'm able to pick up my pace and maintain it until the Alsephina house comes into view. A sigh escapes my lips and I hurry inside before anything can start up again.

The house itself doesn't calm me down, it's the memories. But sometimes, the memories are what rile me up. I don't want to face my mother now, don't want to see the worry in her eyes, so I head up into my room and throw myself on the bed.

God, I hate my life.

Next to me, I hear a soft thud. It's Draco, my Dorkie, and he has a black notebook hanging from his mouth. I want to reprimand him for destruction of important property, but I don't, because he's trying to help me.

Instead, I ruffle his fur and take the notebook out of his toothy hold. You're a good boy. He's scooped up into my hands. You want a snack? Has Mom fed you yet? I hope I don't sound stupid talking to my pet, but at least no one can see me. Draco might not speak human, but he understands, and that's good enough.

Orion, are you home?

I groan and bounce Draco up on my knee. Yeah. In here.

Lynx walks in with a half smile and his blond dyed hair in a complete mess. This goodbye is hitting way harder than the other ones I've done. He walks towards us and falls backwards onto the bed like a sack of laundry.

Maybe it's because there's the possibility that the next time you check in— The look on my brother's face shuts me up for the meantime.

Thank you so much for not finishing that sentence. It's hard enough already. I don't want to be a crying mess. He sits up. I'm not you.

Classic Lynx. I snort and crouch down to let Draco run free. How're we doing this? Who's initiating the tear fest today?

Stop saying that like we have brotherly crying rituals every few weeks. He props his head up on my thigh. His Adam's apple bobs up and down like a yoyo. It's disgusting, really.

We pretty much do. I cry, and you try to pretend like it doesn't faze you. Kind of a shitty thing to do, but it's not like you asked for a defective brother.

Silence.

Lynx moistens his lips. You're not defective. I don't think you are. It's not your fault, anyway. He stares hard at the door. I say nothing, because I have nothing to say. He slaps me on the back like that's supposed to help calm my nerves. Take care of yourself. And of Mom.

I arch a brow. You're not secretly living with a debilitating disease, are you?

Lynx doesn't answer. In fact, he's unable to utter any words for the next five minutes. He doubles over, coughing incessantly, and I have to get him a few glasses of water. It pains me to see him like this, because I've been through this