Easter Break 1.

Roland, Thomas's dad had been dead for a week. Early April, 47 years old. Fell in the shower while drunk. This should supposedly have meant a life of constantly walking a wire, ducking, flinching, bruising and scars and imminent fear at an end for Thomas. As it turned out, it did not.

It felt as if someone had pulled away the floor underneath his feet. The relief rendered him uncomfortable, something wasn't right, it couldn't be. This couldn't be it. How come he didn't feel better? How come he didn't feel worse? The same night as the news of his father's passing came, he turned to substitutionary means, and he hadn't been able to go without them for a day since. Luckily, it was far easier, getting really drunk on an empty stomach. 

Then Liv called. The news had reached her through her mother, who had seen the notice in the paper. Tentatively and politely Liv announced that she would just like to hear how he was doing and she very much heard how he was doing and was now, unbeknownst to him, on her way over. The conversation had went a little something like this:

"Hi. I heard. I just wanted to check if you're doing okay."

"WhO iS tHis?", followed by drunken slur and swearing.

"It's Liv."

Something made a crashing noise in the background and then he hung up on her.

Five minutes after her having knocked and rung the doorbell, the door of the terrace house was flung open and Thomas practically fell out on her.

"Oh my. Hello!"

Staggering backwards she supported him best she could while fighting the urge to cough at the smell of alcohol and smoke oozing out from behind the door and from his body. His gaze was confusedly flicking around for a second before it found her face.

"What? N-No. Liv. Please. You can't be here", he stammered, shaking his head, shutting his eyes as if she might disappear if he wished it hard enough.

"Sure I'd love to come in, how nice of you to ask", she muttered and hustled him back inside.

It was beyond what she could have possibly imagined. A surprisingly big amount of the furniture was flipped upside down, stubbed out cigarettes decorated the floor and some smashed bottles too. Usually, he was very rigorous and anal about never smoking inside.

"Jesus, Tommy", she mumbled.

With hazy eyes he just looked at her, humming some sad melody she vaguely recognized.

"Där är det sommar men härinne är det hööst."

"Come on. We're gonna wash you up."

Grabbing him by the hand she led him into the bathroom.

The tub was filling up with a mixture of hot and cold water since she had been unsure of which one to choose. Hot water was kinder but cold might sober him up better which resulted in an undecided lukewarm blend. Skeptically Thomas stared at the tub.

"Get in!", she exhorted but he shook his head heftily and his dark, tousled hair whipped around him. A mischievous smile split his face, one she couldn't recall having seen fully in years.

"Only if you get in with me, Livvy."

Who was this happy, unruly version of the worry burdened and serious Thomas? Memories of her earlier childhood flashed before her, of Arvid and this boy, full of wiry, teenage-restlessness, mischief mixed with good-humor. 

"Sure. But you first."

Without removing even his sweatshirt, Thomas stepped into the water and sat down in the tub. Then, he started to put soap on the fabric of the shirt and scrubbed diligently. Fighting a laugh, she turned on the shower, wetting his hair and face as well. After that, she turned her attention to the floor and sink, drying up the water that had escaped the bath. When she glanced back at Thomas it looked as if he was asleep, head tilted back and eyes closed. His pale face was ravaged and exhausted even when relaxed but still so... beautiful. Finding that her heart had started to race, she took a deep breath to still herself, wondering what was wrong with her.

Carefully, she roused him out of his rest, helped him, trembling a bit, off with his shirt. Clenching her jaw, her eyes moved over the myriad of scars she figured his father was responsible for - yet, the most alarming thing was how much his ribs shot out, how tightly his skin hugged his bones.

"Tommy, are you eating?"

Her voice was hard and clear but he blatantly ignored the question. Instead he took a hold of her hand with one of his and placed the other one around her waist. Too shocked to properly protest she found herself being pulled down into the water with just one swift move. The water was much more cold than she had anticipated.

"What the hell'd you do that for?", she gasped and hit him halfheartedly on the shoulder.

"You said you'd get in!"

Thomas smiled giddily at her. With his hair slicked back from the water he looked like an adorable, cheerful vampire. While she stroked away some of his hair from his face he cupped her cheek, let his own thumb move over it, but then seemed to remember something. If he had burnt himself he could not have removed his fingers quicker. That's when she too got aware of how close they were pressed together and how the wet fabric of her shirt clung to her body. Awkwardly she struggled out of the tub and left him on his own to sort up, not entirely sure of why her cheeks were burning.