Hold On To Let Go Chapter 5
Hey y’all, look who decided to post (and by post I think we all know that I mean I wrote this not more than two minutes ago and didn’t bother editing) the next chapter! I apologize for being unable to update every week, as was my stated goal, but I will try harder to reach that goal.
It was moments like this where Alexander had to stop for a moment and ask why the universe hated him so much. Moments where he stared up at dark brown eyes, framed by coiled curls to display a mocking smile. At least, it seemed mocking.
Thomas returned his gaze to the textbook in his lap, fingers trailing along the words as he read the to keep track of his pace. Alexander had to hold back a cold laugh when he saw the action, because after years of dark smudges on his fingertips, Alexander had figured out that his soulmate did the same. It seemed odd, come to think of it, that a person that Alexander despised more than the sun rivaled the moon could be so much like his soulmate. That the mocking smile was comparable to the soft smile Alexander could only ever catch a glimpse of in his dreams.
Shaking his head quickly as if that would rid his brain of the thoughts, Alexander tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and returned his focus to the page of his textbook he had been reading. The words, however, seemed to scatter from his brain and onto the page, as the only thing he could seem to read were small tidbits of information, ones that barely even related to the topic at hand. Poorly drawn scenes of revolution melted off the paper, the colors gathering in his mind and mixing together.
“Alex?” Thomas asked after a moment, lifting his head and staring at Alexander.
“Alexander,” He responded, not looking up despite his current inability to process the information in front of him.
“My name. It’s not Alex, it’s Alexander, and I would like you to remember that.” He stated plainly, trying to push back the fear that was bubbling up. It wasn’t every day Alexander so blatantly talked back to Thomas Jefferson, of all people.
“Alexander,” Thomas spoke slowly, as if to test out the sound of each syllable on his lips. “Can you pass me your pen? I need to write something.”
Alexander eyed the dark green pen to his right and set his book aside, picking up his backpack and searching through it for a different pen. He had already let Thomas into his home, into his room, allowed the other teen to sit on his bed as they studied- he couldn’t have this, too. That pen was for the person of his dreams- not his worst nightmare.
The sound of Alexander searching through his backpack filled the room, and he could feel Thomas’s judgmental eyes on him as he did so. He just needed to find a pen- maybe a red one? Blue?
“I’ll just get it myself…” Thomas muttered, reaching across the bed and grabbing the pen, before Alexander dropped his bag and grabbed onto the other end of the pen, the cap digging into his palm due to the tight grip.
“No!” He exclaimed, eyes wide in protect fear. His eyes only widened as he fully realized the scenario- namely the fact that Thomas Jefferson was right in front of him, holding on to the other end of the emerald green pen Alexander used to write to his one escape from the torture of his life. “I-I…You c-can use it, yeah, that’s-that’s fine…” He stuttered, letting go and looking back down, quickly grabbing his textbook and flipping to a random page- anything to avoid what was sure to be a cutting remark or a slap or a shove or a-
“I’ll just use a pencil,” Thomas mumbled, interrupting Alexander’s thoughts for the second time today. He set the pen down at Alexander’s side, and reached into his own bag, pulling out a pencil that had obviously seen better days. Alexander lifted his gaze to watch Thomas scribble down some notes on a piece of notebook paper, edges torn from being ripped out.
Thomas’s eyes met his, for just a second, and Thomas muttered a quiet, “Wouldn’t want to touch the same thing as a freak like you. Wouldn’t want to catch something.”
Of course. Of fucking course.
Alexander broke eye contact, attempting to focus on his textbook for the time being. Although it was a poor distraction from the situation at hand, it did the trick.
Soon enough, the early afternoon sky had turned from soft blue to colors that children would be likely to point out. Favorite hues of cotton candy pink, fiery tinges of flames flying from the sun and resting in the atmosphere. The last remaining sunbeams, as if hanging on by a thread, shone through the window, light reflecting off of Thomas’s curls and resting on the wrinkled blanket atop the bed.
It was as if the world had gone still, the only movements being the dust particles floating around in the warmth of the sunlight, the only sound being scratching of pencil on paper, the taste of anxious fear on the very tip of Alexander’s tongue. Every lift of Thomas’s arm to brush a curl out of his eyes had caused Alexander to flinch in anticipation of a smack, each heavy sigh seeming to drag along as if an insult was right at the end of each breath. He wasn’t exactly sad as Thomas threw his books into his backpack and lifted it over one shoulder, the other half hanging off, and waved a small ‘goodbye’ as he left the room, and soon enough, the house.
Alexander let out a sigh of relief as soon as he heard the front door close. He laid down on the bed, arms extended out and stared up at the ceiling. He sat up quickly, as something sharp poked at his back. Reaching behind himself, he pulled the object into his line of vision and smiled softly as he recognized it as the familiar emerald green pen.
Laying back down on the bed, he tugged the cap off and set it on the opposite end of the pen. He held the pen over his skin in thought for a second, then smiled as an idea popped into his head. He began drawing soft lines, curving up at the end, but all interlocking at a center point, to create a broken spiral of sorts. He giggled at the abstract doodles, capping his pen again and setting it on his desk before closing his eyes and retreating into his mind.
He wouldn’t know until later that his soulmate had drawn a line through the curves, and a small triangle at the end, creating a quill of sorts, which appeared to be writing on a piece of old parchment, drawn all in a bold magenta.