The Signs We Missed

By Lena S. May

Thrown out by his mother, 17-year-old Luke hopes to overcome his narcotic addiction and depression by changing his surroundings. At his new school, he quickly becomes friends with Sean, but finding that his developing feelings aren't returned, Luke retreats into old habits. Determined to hide his self-injurious behavior and an advancing eating disorder, he soon risks much more than a broken heart.

When Sean meets Luke, the last thing on his mind is falling in love with a boy. Grappling with his own conflicting emotions and trying to keep them from his suspicious girlfriend, he brushes off Luke's strange behavior. But when Luke suddenly cuts him off, Sean is forced to confront the truth and take action to save his best friend.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cinnabar Moth Publishing LLC
• Release date: Aug 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9781953971463

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© 2022 Lena S. May

Lena S. May

The Signs We Missed

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the copyright holder.

Published by: Cinnabar Moth Publishing LLC

Santa Fe, New Mexico

Cover Design by: Ira Geneve

ISBN-13: 978-1-953971-46-3

The Signs

We Missed

Lena S. May

Content Notes

The Signs We Missed addresses a range of topics that may be disturbing or triggering for some readers. As the following list is not necessarily exhaustive for everyone’s needs, reader discretion is advised.

Depression

Disordered eating

Drug abuse, addiction

Forced prostitution

Homophobia

Physical violence

Self-harm

Sexual assault

Suicide

Withdrawal

For Sarah, my sister and my ally

I Felt a Funeral, in my Brain,

And Mourners to and fro

Kept treading—treading—till it seemed

That Sense was breaking through—

And when they all were seated,

A Service, like a Drum—

Kept beating—beating—till I thought

My Mind was going numb—

And then I heard them lift a Box

And creak across my Soul

With those same Boots of Lead, again,

Then Space—began to toll,

As all the Heavens were a Bell,

And Being, but an Ear,

And I, and Silence, some strange Race

Wrecked, solitary, here—

And then a Plank in Reason, broke,

And I hopped down, and down—

And hit a World, at every plunge,

And Finished knowing—then—

Emily Dickinson, written c. 1861

PROLOGUE

Wednesday, 3rd January 2018

Today

It’s my fault.

I’m not sure how yet, but it’s what the white blank hospital room walls keep hammering into my head as the pungent, antiseptic smell makes my eyes water when all I’m trying to do is keep my composure.

My fault.

It’s what they’re all trying to say – the half-dead, bled-out body of the boy lying in the bed beside me, his fingers slowly losing their grip on mine, the over-worked and under-paid nurse already rushing down the corridor, the non-specialist assistant doctor, paying half his attention to the arrhythmically beeping monitor, the other half to fumbling his phone to mute.

And then there’s my brother, leaning against the wall in the corner, his crystal blue eyes asking not what I’ve done but when I’d planned on telling him that I was gay – which I’m really not. When I don’t react, he looks down to the face resting on the pillow next to my elbow, and I do, too, empty whiteness staring back. I’m beginning to think it’s burning into my retina, sucking every last speck of color out of the sky as I finally raise my glance to the window. I can’t let myself get lost in the void that is now his face if I want to clear my head, but there isn’t a single cloud drifting by to take hold of my attention, not a single leaf left in the trees, no bird, not even a gust of wind. It’s just me and my trembling heart and my racing thoughts, and yet, my loneliness is nothing in the face of what I now know he has been going through.

How the hell did we get here? I feel like I was there every step of the way, but with my head covered in thick fog, my vision clouded, my ears ringing with his voice, and still deaf. My skin burning, but cold to his touch. I might have to go back to the very beginning to work this out. And I will.

Most of them scream at the top of their lungs for months, but people either don’t listen or they don’t care, I remember someone, maybe one of the nurses, saying.

Have you, Luke? Have you been screaming?

1 – THE NEW GUY

Monday, 11th September 2017

3 months, 3 weeks and 2 days ago

It was the second week of the term and it had been raining all night. By the time Sean entered the school building, his jacket was soaking wet, and the way his T-shirt was clinging to his skin was prompting his grandmother’s scolding voice to echo through his head. You’ll catch a cold going out like that, Sean. Take the bus, Sean. At least take an umbrella, Sean. Well, he liked walking. Still, he wouldn’t have minded an umbrella on the thirty-minute walk from their well-kept suburban neighborhood to the graffiti-covered double doors guarding the sad gray chunk that was his school’s main building. At least nobody had been frustrated enough to shatter either of the two windowpanes yet this term, but Sean was pretty sure Martin Luther King would still have had his doubts about lending his name to the desolate place far from the nation he had fought to improve. It was a bitter kind of nostalgia that had led to his own and his older brother’s protests when their grandma had tried to convince them to choose the more prestigious school right in their neighborhood. It wasn’t even likely (as their grandma never grew tired of reminding them) that their parents would have sent them to Martin Luther King’s, given the vicinity of the two schools, but going here, this close to their old home, had allowed them to at least occasionally catch the faint whiff of a memory, keeping their parents alive. The memories had faded by the time he had become a middle grade student, though, and his grandmother’s warnings about the significance of the school’s name on your final degree had turned undeniably urgent when his brother had remained a bartender for two years after his graduation – as far as Sean was concerned without any ambition of ever leaving the rundown place.

He probably couldn’t blame him, though, considering that the stench of booze at least belonged to a bar, whereas it definitely didn’t belong where Sean found it that morning –in his locker, which had come with the charming feature of a broken lock after he’d had to give up his old one on the second floor due to a burst pipe in the wall right behind it that hadn’t been fixed over the summer break like he’d hoped it would be. He had also hoped it would take the other kids more than just a week to come back to their old liquor hiding place, but the flat, almost empty bottle of cheap vodka that he found half-heartedly squeezed between his books told him otherwise. If it hadn’t been an open secret that the locker’s new owner was the only person who wouldn’t drink it, they would have probably thought of a new place for their precious treasures, but unluckily for Sean, he was left to pull out his books with his fingertips, carefully trying not to make the soaked, stinking label come off the bottle. He stepped back, pushed the door shut, sighed quietly when it jumped right back open, and moved it back in place with his elbow more slowly so it at least looked closed. Making his way down the almost empty hall, he decided to carry his books home from now on, which was a shame, since nobody would have bothered to take them even if he had offered, but he didn’t fancy starting his school day with the stench of alcohol in his nose.

Before opening the door to the classroom, Sean took the usual deep breath, mumbling a Hello to nobody in particular when entering, heading right for the back row. He didn’t belong here, and he had known it from early on, lacking the natural ability to get along with virtually anyone that his brother had perfected along the way, but at least he had been able to just kind of blur into the background. The small puddle forming on the floor beneath his feet made him frown, remembering how last year, an exchange student from Cardiff had made fun of their German fall, claiming ridiculous amounts of rain for his hometown and even possessing the nerve to give a presentation comparing the rainfall depths to those of Cologne. Nobody had cared, really, and it soon turned out that he was a lot more dedicated to facts and figures than their entire class taken together was, probably.

While Sean took off is jacket (trying to inconspicuously wring it out a little before putting it over the back of his chair), a piece of chalk hit a boy sitting on a table in the middle of the room on the head, making him curse roughly. A girl giggled in a high voice. A pen scratching across a single piece of paper gave away someone hastily trying to finish their homework before the chattering of about fifteen different voices talking without caring if anyone listened drowned the sound out once again.

Sean turned away and noticed a bag lying on the normally unoccupied table to his left. With a surprised blink, he raised his glance. The unfamiliar boy beside him was blond, a provocative smile spreading across his face as Sean’s puzzled glance met the lit cigarette between his lips.

Want one? the new guy asked and offered him the package.

No..., Sean answered slowly. Smoking in the classroom was new. None of the teachers could be particularly bothered what they did during the breaks as long as they didn’t do it right under the teachers’ room window or return to class with a bloody nose, but he could not imagine this new guy getting through with a burning cigarette smoked casually at his school desk. The blond one just shrugged and flicked some ash to the ground.

When their teacher came in, the guy who had been sitting on the table dropped to his seat, but his haste was uncalled for – naturally, their teacher’s eyes fixed on the smoking boy in the back row. The boy took a last puff, then crushed the butt on the scribbled tabletop. Sorry, he said, smiling.

The teacher shook his head but, contrary to Sean’s silent prediction, chose not to comment. Instead, he turned to the class. As you might have realized, there’s a new student in our class. He’ll introduce himself. Heads turned.

The new guy shrugged. Hi, he said plainly. Moved here.

Some voices mumbled Hi. The teacher shook his head again. I hope you can keep up with our pace. The final exams are less than eight months away, and time will fly, I promise. That sounded like a threat, not only to the new guy, but to the whole class. A threat they had heard at least a dozen times already.

You better get informed about what books you need and what has been done so far, the teacher added, looking directly at Sean.

The new guy grinned at him from the side. Sure. Will do.

The clouds were hanging deep and gray above the school building when the students exited for a break. Sean found the new guy between the Science department and the main building, where the wind seemed to blow extra cold. The new guy wore nothing on his arms but a gray T-shirt, ROYALTY written in dark red capital letters across his chest. He was leaning against a wall sprayed with graffiti, his worn bag between his feet, smoking. The fumes lingered halfway to the sky until the next gust blew them straight into Sean’s face.

Sean cleared his throat, since the new guy pretended not to see him. No reaction. So he asked, Aren’t you cold?

The new guy didn’t look at him when he said, No, Mom. He flicked some ash to the dead grass at his feet when Sean stepped closer.

Sean hadn’t realized how small the new guy was before; he couldn’t be much taller than 5’3’’. I’ll show you the classrooms, if you want me to, he offered.

The new guy inhaled again before he finally looked up and met Sean’s gaze. The pupils in his gray blue eyes were almost gone, despite the little daylight. Don’t you have friends or something? he asked.

Sean shrugged, surprised. If you want to buy cocaine mixed with flour, everyone around here’s your friend. If not, you might want to stay away.

The new guy raised an eyebrow. Are you giving me this advice because I look like a burnout? In that case, thank you very much. He turned to his cigarette once again, and Sean caught sight of dozens of white scars covering his forearm when he raised the cigarette to his lips. He had seen evidence of cutting before, on others, but it hadn’t caused the unsettling tension it did now, seeing them on the boy in front of him. Maybe his rudeness was nothing but a defense mechanism.

If you don’t watch it, you might become one, Sean said, trying to rescue both the conversation and his own mood, taking a silent note to watch his words if he didn’t want to come across as patronizing.

Uh-huh. And you watch it for the two of us, or what? What’s your name, anyway? the new guy wanted to know.

Sean, he answered quickly, smiling apologetically as he realized he had forgotten to introduce himself.

The new guy frowned. Before Sean could give back the question, he asked, How do you spell that? 

Confused, Sean replied, As it sounds. Like bean, but with an S.

The new guy started to laugh. Sure. Is that what the cool kids do ‘round here, purposely mispronounce their names, Seeeeen? he stretched the vocal, picking up on the fact that what Sean had just described should in fact be pronounced Shawn.

Sean rolled his eyes. He’d had this conversation. Several times. My brother’s name’s Shayne. I hardly believe our parents wanted us to be called Shayne and Shawn, he explained.

The new guy grinned at the way it sounded, then asked, "What do you mean, you hardly believe it? Have you never asked them?"

Our parents are dead, Sean answered tersely. He was not going to squeeze in the story of his life between Latin and chemistry, especially not for someone whose name he didn’t even know.

The new guy slowly nodded. I’m sorry, he said, dropping his cigarette and stepping on it. Then he picked up his bag, turning to leave.

Sean watched him speechlessly, but the new guy turned again after the first two steps.

Aren’t you coming? I thought you were showing me the classrooms.

During chemistry, it turned out the new guy didn’t have a clue about even the basics. He had missed the first two classes of the term, so Sean had set up their experiment and tried explaining to him what they were about to do – and while he’d been under the impression the new guy was listening attentively to him talking about purifying starch solution through the parchment paper he had been tying to the stem of their funnel, by the time he got to filling in his protocol, the new guy had leaned back with his empty sheet in front of him, now blankly watching the group of students at the neighboring table using their funnel to see if they could spit their chewing gum through it. They didn’t have chemistry at my old school, he claimed as an answer to Sean’s puzzled expression.

Sure. Sean nodded, pretending to buy that. He had only done a single student exchange, but he was still pretty sure chemistry was mandatory at basically every secondary school. For a few minutes, the new guy did absolutely nothing.

Just copy mine, Sean offered, pushing his notes across the table.

Do we really need two copies? the new guy asked, bugged. Nevertheless, he fished for a pen from Sean’s pencil case. A second later, he grunted, I can’t even read that!

Sean considered his handwriting and smiled. Me neither, sometimes, he agreed. He pulled over the empty sheet lying in front of the new guy and let him have his finished notes.

"Only two-thirds of the parchment bag should be filled with solution," he read out from what Sean had labelled precautions. How do you even know shit like this? he wanted to know while Sean filled in the other sheet.

I don’t. Sean looked up briefly and grinned at him before continuing, I’m copying yours.

There was an audible eyeroll in the new guy’s voice when he replied, "And how do I know shit like this?"

Your book’s under the table. Sean’s left hand slid under the tabletop, his fingers grasping the hardcover, pushing the textbook over to him. Gum from underneath was sticking to the cover, and moving it revealed two broken pencils as a consolation prize. The new guy pushed it closed under the table.

You can keep it, if you don’t have one yet, Sean offered. He finished his drawing, briefly looked at the first sheet, then wrote his name in the top right corner.

And which book are you gonna have, then?

Sean shrugged. My brother’s. He’s done with school.

So what is he doing? the new guy asked.

"Working at the Dragon’s. It’s a bar in a pretty run-down area of town."

The new guy lowered his glance and pushed the sheet in front of him from his left hand to his right and back.

What is it? Sean already had a vague idea of what it was. When the new guy didn’t say anything, he carefully added, Where do you live?

The new guy looked up, slowly, almost as if he was...scared? "Directly above the Dragon’s, he answered cautiously. Well, not directly, there’s a few floors in between. And then, as if he was trying to justify it, he quickly added, My mom and I didn’t really get along. Threw me out, so I took the first thing I could afford with the child support they decided she has to pay me. You know, apartments there are without deposit and the rent is low, so...yeah." He looked at Sean like a dog waiting to be kicked.

How old are you? Seventeen? And your mom just threw you out to live all by yourself now? Sean wondered.

The new guy nodded. Was the only way, he answered shifty. Went by a social worker and everything, but she got pregnant and the guy who took over her clients has just one year to go before his retirement, so he just, he made a hand gesture as if he was writing something in the air between them. Signs, signs, si— He suddenly interrupted himself, and something in his expression told Sean he didn’t usually talk about himself. But I shouldn’t come crying to you, at least I have a mother.

He looked so sad that Sean quickly assured him, We grew up with our grandma. She’s really great. You should come visit us some time.

The new guy appeared to think about that for a moment, then nodded again. Yeah, maybe, he answered vaguely.

Sean tore a piece from the white margin of his sheet and wrote his number on it.

The new guy slid it between the pages of the chemistry book Sean had given him and left without a goodbye when the bell rang at the end of class, leaving Sean to clear up their table by himself. He was nowhere to be seen when Sean left the building for the break. He didn’t show up for their last class, PE, although the gym was impossible to miss, and Sean spent the rest of the school day trying to convince himself there was no way he was missing the strange blond boy already.

You’re early. Sean was sitting on the sofa in the living room, looking up from his laptop, poised on his knees, when the sound of the front door opening alerted him to his brother’s arrival, keys jingling, landing on a flat surface, as if trying to pull him back to reality. For the past hour, he had been engaging in research he wasn’t even sure he should be doing, but his thoughts had refused to let go of the blond boy since he had come home from school. The TV was running, but the quiz show that was on had failed to capture his attention, and the voices and cheering had quickly faded into just a convenient background noise. For the past thirty minutes or so, he had been absorbed by trying to find out at least the new guy’s name, telling himself he just wanted to avoid the embarrassment of admitting he had forgotten to ask him about it. Nobody had seemed to care at school, just like nobody had cared when he had smoked in class and, apparently, nobody had cared when his mother had decided it was time to kick him out, or when he had cut his arms a dozen times. But Sean cared. He didn’t like to think about it, but he cared, and the seven open tabs on his laptops proved it, including social media profiles of several classmates he had never cared to look at before, just to see if anybody knew him or knew somebody who did. Which didn’t seem to be the case, and when his brother’s Day off came from the hall, he hastily closed the last profile he had been going through to not give Shayne any wrong ideas. He briefly wondered where Shayne had been so long if it hadn’t been at work, but he replaced the question with a plain I see, turning down the volume of the TV when Shayne entered the living room.

What’s for dinner? he asked, throwing his leather jacket over the armchair in passing, dropping in the seat next to Sean. His glance scanned the low table in front of the sofa: An almost empty glass of coke, Sean’s cell phone, and the TV program stared back.

Help yourself. Am I your maid?

Shayne sighed. What did you have?

Pizza. But about... Sean checked the clock above the TV, two hours ago. Something that had been lingering in the back of his mind since the morning came back. You know, I’ve been wondering –

Is there another pizza? Shayne interrupted him.

Think so. So, I’ve been wondering, Sean repeated, don’t you want to get yourself a decent job or something? Grandma’s worried, too, he added quickly.

No way, Shayne answered, obviously without even thinking about it. He got up. I’ve got to pay for my car, remember? He grinned and ruffled Sean’s hair, then left for the kitchen.

You could still work at the bar part-time, you did that when you were in school, Sean called after him. He pushed his laptop aside, turned and knelt on the seat, so he could see into the kitchen through the open door. 

"Do