Don't Let the Forest In

by C.G. Drews

Once upon a time, Andrew had cut out his heart and given it to this boy, and he was very sure Thomas had no idea that Andrew would do anything for him. Protect him. Lie for him. Kill for him.

Andrew wrote cruelly beautiful fairy tales, and Thomas could illustrate them with a few slashes from a pen with such macabre beauty even his teachers overlooked his endless attitude problems.

Thomas casually tossed his stick into the trees and didn’t look concerned. “He won’t touch you again,” he said. Andrew could hardly breathe. “You’ll be in trouble.” The light in Thomas’s eyes was bold and ferocious. “But he won’t touch you again.”

An extraordinary amount of intimacy lay in exchanging art. Not for critique and not for class. Just to look. To feel. To understand each other.

“I think someday you’ll hate me.” Thomas’s voice stretched with a loneliness Andrew had never heard before. “You’ll cut me open and find a garden of rot where my heart should be.” Andrew let the silence sharpen between them, waited until Thomas’s breath caught in quiet anguish from being made to wait. “When I cut you open,” Andrew finally said, “all I’ll find is that we match.”

It was strange, Andrew thought, how when something moved in the dark, everyone’s first instinct was to go inside and hide under the covers. As if monsters couldn’t open doors and crawl into bed with you.

To write something nice, he’d need something nice to say. But his ribs were a cage for monsters and they cut their teeth on his bones.

A small, reserved part of him knew he must be asexual, and that being gay enough wasn’t a thing. But he looked at other boys and felt nothing, so maybe the only reason he didn’t want Thomas to kiss Dove was so their trio wouldn’t change—not because he wanted to kiss Thomas.

Or maybe he … did?

It reached out a hand—a claw. Its arm was bone, flesh hanging off in rotting ribbons, skin pulled so tight over a naked chest that ribs punctured through. But its face—Vines poured out of its mouth, eyes, ears, growing and writhing. Blood slipped between its lips as another vine broke out of its flesh and spooled toward the ground. Its feet were hooves. Andrew ran.

much. Thomas backed up so they stood with spines aligned. “You’re not broken.” “I am.” Thomas turned off his flashlight and Andrew did, too. They stood for a moment in the dark, before Thomas said, “I like how you are. There’s an entire world of ink and magic stuffed inside your head, and I think it’s beautiful. I just wish everything didn’t hurt you so much.”

And Andrew couldn’t look at him. “You could cut me open and devour everything that I am,” Thomas said, ragged and thin. “I would let you. I’d ask you to. But I have no idea what it means to you. What … what I mean to you.”

Andrew couldn’t do this. A muscle in his jaw clenched. “You like girls. What is this even—” “Not just girls.” Thomas’s ears had gone beet red. “But you know that.” “I don’t know anything.” “Damn it, Andrew.” His voice had gone uneven. “Can’t you tell that I’m in … that I like you? Because I-I like you a lot, okay?”

“Everything inside me is in ruins,” Thomas said. “For you.”

“You don’t like boys.” Thomas’s voice sounded stripped. “That’s not what I said.” Thomas turned in a jagged circle, hands in his hair again as he paced to the stairs and back. Andrew could almost feel the heat churning from Thomas’s spinning mind. “I like you,” Andrew said, his mouth dry. “But not … not how you need.” Thomas stopped sharply. “Wait, what are you assuming I need?” “Don’t pretend.” Andrew’s skin felt too tight. “You would want … you w-would want to sleep with me. Someday.” He couldn’t look at him. “Well, obviously? Andrew, you’re beautiful. Of course I … I told you. I am in ruins for you. I’d give you anything.” Andrew was going to cry. This was worse than anything, worse than the monsters sinking teeth into his skin. He wanted to say, You are my everything, too.

He wanted to say, I don’t exist without you. He wanted to say, Kiss me. But he had to step back, because he couldn’t be what Thomas wanted, and for that he was going to lose him completely. This was why they should have left it. Been whatever they were without words. He knew there was nothing wrong with intimate, platonic affection—but for him, under all his rotted and tremulous layers, there was nothing platonic about what he felt for Thomas. Andrew loved this boy so deep and whole and obsessively that he couldn’t breathe, and the weight of it terrified him. “I can’t.” Andrew tucked his shaking hands behind his back. “I’m not saying right now.” Thomas jerked at his tie until it loosened, and he looked everywhere but at Andrew. “I know you’re anxious. I’d never pressure—” “It’s not anxiety. It’s … I can’t.

I loved her like she was my family. But I love you … like you’re my whole world.”

“I don’t care how dark the world is for you. I’ll hold out my hand until you find it, and I won’t let go.”