Till I Hear You Sing

The next day, I follow the scent of lavender through the chalk graveyard. Inside the remains of a witch's attempt to hide from danger, I'm strangely calm, curiosity tugging at my mind. Addy told me a shadow witch created the labyrinth, a witch of illusions. But the graveyard is real, solid, not an illusion at all. The illusions lie in the narrow corridors which seem to bend inwards, suffocating and oppressive.

"The day starts, the day ends, time crawls by." Alastair's ethereal voice creeps through the passageways, enhancing the eerie enchantment.

"Night steals in, pacing the floor." The magic of the light witch bends around tight corners, casting shadows which play at the imagination's worst fears.

"And in a haze, I count the silent days." Were the chalkboards already here when she created the labyrinth, ready to be manipulated into this perturbing configuration?

"Till I hear you sing once more." Did she survive whatever she was hiding from?

"And sometimes at night time I dream that you are there," If so, where is she now?

"But wake holding nothing but the empty air." Or is she gone like our wind witch?

"Let hope pass, let dreams pass. Let them die." Gone like Addy?

"Without you, what are they for?" Dead like Addy.

"I'll always feel no more than halfway real, till I hear you sing once more." She's really dead, and she'll never be heard again.

Everything's different now, but today I feel… ok. I'm ok. But I know he's not.

Alastair's long black hair falls over his guitar, obstructing his face. He lets the last chords ring as his voice stiffles off.

Then he grabs his strings with his open palm and squeezes them so hard I'm afraid they may break. I rush to him and gently push his hair from his face as I guide him to look at me. Tears roll down his cheeks, but, to my surprise, he is smiling. A soft, closed lip smile with large drops of water magnifying the light in his eyes.

"I've missed this," he croaks. "Singing."

An invisible string from him to me tugs at my heart. "You sounded lovely."

He chuckles softly as he wipes his eyes with his sleeve. "Thanks… I haven't felt like singing much lately, but… I really do love it." He tilts his head back, resting it on a blackboard with his eyes closed.

"Music helps keep the noise down?"

He nods. "Sometimes… I feel like the only way I can hear my own thoughts is if I sing them."

"Was that one of your own songs? I didn't recognize it."

"No." He peels one eye open to squint at me. "I told you. I'm not ready for that."

"But you felt ready to sing again?"

He inhales deeply, closing his eyes again. "Yes."

The tugging sensation grows. "What changed?"

A silence stretches between us and a part of me worries that I may be prying too much, that perhaps he won't answer me. But I know from experience that it is best to give him time to respond. I think sometimes it takes him a moment to work through the mental walls he's built. He's been trying to block everyone out for so long that he has blocked himself in. I wait, patiently giving him time to sort through all the thoughts in his mind.

The string pulling me to him tightens. Addy was one of the only people who could choose to not be heard by Alastair, but now she is silent for a different reason. Even if he feels overwhelmed telepathically right now, his song suggests he wants to hear her again. They loved each other, as siblings should. Like how I love Ellie. My heart is torn free from my chest by the invisible string, but, instead of empty, I feel free. A wave of affection crashes through me, filling the space in me and the silence between us.

I could wait forever in this filled silence, but worry floods through me when I see tears leaking from his closed eyes again.

"Oh Al," I pull him into a hug and, despite his guitar sitting awkwardly between us, he grips onto my shirt tightly, like a lifeline. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push you."

"Am I a bad person?" he blurts out.

"No. Of course not. Why do you think that?"

He looks up at me with watery eyes. "You're so overwhelming."

"I— I'm sorry. D— do you want me to go?"

"No!" He grips me tighter as fear fills his eyes, but he relaxes when he realizes I'm not getting up to leave. "No," he says more softly. "I'm sorry I'm being weird."

"It's ok. Just tell me what you need."

"You."

My mouth clamps shut and my mind goes blank. No. Not now. Not like this.

"You changed." Oh. I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Wha— What do you mean?"

"You…" He pauses and bites his lip. He takes a deep breath as if determining to just go for it. "You feel… so nice right now. It's so easy to get lost in your emotions and… when you're focused or calm or… tender… it keeps their thoughts at bay."

"Oh. Uh… why— why would that make you a bad person?"

"Because I'm using you?"

I don't know what to say to that. So I don't say anything. I certainly don't feel used. If anything I feel… pleased? Not quite happy, but definitely ok with it.

"And I can feel right now how you are just accepting everything I'm telling you! Like seriously, how?! How are you so frustratingly calm?! You're supposed to be the anxious one and I'm the depressed one! But right now, I'm freaked out of my mind, Cam! Why is this happening?! I'm not an empath! I have enough to deal with as a telepath. What if this spreads? What if I start feeling everyone's emotions, not just their thoughts? But it's been over a month now and still it's literally ONLY you. I've tried with others. Do you know how scary that was? Thinking maybe I would trigger something that I can't take back? But when I access other people's minds it's just like it has always been: reason, rationality, only their detached thoughts. Just words and images and ideas. Never this! Never feelings. And I can't chalk it up to just a crush, because that's been going on waaaaay longer than this. And I've tried to ignore it and I wanted to ignore it and I WAS ignoring it! But then you go and sound like THAT! So—so peaceful and just ULG! Fucking affectionate! But it's not like a sound, not like the voices, because, even now, I can still choose to not listen to your thoughts. But your feelings... They're like… A sensation? A taste? A smell? I can't describe it. I can't understand it, because nothing like this has ever happened to me before and the only person that ever helped me understand ANY of my magic is— is gone and she's— she's—"

He buries his head into my shoulders and screams. It's muffled by my pecs, but I feel it strongly through the vibrations in my chest. Once he's expended all his breath, he sighs and then looks up at me with crinkled eyebrows. "Sorry," he mumbles. "That was… dramatic."

"Yeah, maybe just a little," I tease ever so slightly.

"Jerkface!" He smacks my chest with his hand, and I see the instant regret flood his expression as he grips his fingers in pain.

I take his fingers, bringing them to my lips for a gentle kiss. "Feel better?"

He rolls his eyes, withdrawing his hands. "Kissing an injury doesn't actually help, Cam. It's just some psychological trick parents use to make their kids think they actually did something to help."

"Hmmm. That's a bit cynical to say," I smirk, "but I was more referring to the rant. Do you feel better now that you've let it out?"

The tension melts from his expression. "Yeah," he chuckles. "I guess I do."

I nod. "I've found that a good scream always helps relieve my tension, but I guess it doesn't really help solve anything."

Alastair sighs. "It's not really your responsibility to solve my problems, Cam."

"I know, but maybe I can ease the burden?"

He looks at me incredulously. "I don't want to use—"

"I don't feel used."

He huffs. "Just because you say that doesn't mean—"

"What if I want to be useful to you? Like with precalc? Is there something wrong with relying on others for help?"

He furrows his brow, but says nothing.

"Look, I can't promise that I will be as helpful as she was at figuring out your powers, mostly because I don't think anyone could be as thorough as her at statistical analysis. However," I grin a little, pushing a stray hair behind his ear. "Maybe if I tutor you in math, you can figure out the real world application for imaginary numbers and stuff, because, I swear, no matter how much I like precalc, sometimes I doubt anyone uses any of it after high school."

"Pff. What a dork," he snickers. "Admitting you like learning just for the sake of learning and not for the real world applicability? You really are a nerd."

"Guilty as charged."