(no subject)
Heart and Tender
Part Two
Brendon takes the jar - heart, he reminds himself - out of his backpack right when he gets home. He sets it in his lap, stares at it, and then shoves it back in his backpack until after dinner.
Heart-dealing... Brendon recognizes the term, but in the same vague way that he recognizes the Mafia while really only knowing that it's something he doesn't want to mess with and involves people in suits. The term obviously doesn't mean actual, physical hearts, since the jar looks to be just a wisp of cloudy shine. It's more like the ability to love and hate and feel strongly about anything, all bottled in one jar and stolen out of someone. It's shady shit.
Brendon's not really sure what to do with the heart; should he have gotten instructions from Pete about how this all worked? He's mostly flying in the dark so Brendon just puts it next to his bed, covered by a heap of clothing in case his mom walks in without knocking the next morning.
"Night," he tells it as he clicks off the light.
*****
Brendon doesn't wake up.
One moment he's sleeping and the next he's not, but he doesn't wake up.
He blinks and his eyes were already open and he's standing and dressed in the clothes that he wore to school. He feels a little dizzy and a little sick and for a second the landscape blurs in front of him and Brendon's sure he's going to throw up.
But just as quickly everything slides back into place, his stomach settles and a hand falls onto his arm.
Normally, Brendon would jump or startle away, but he doesn't feel quite real and only turns to look curiously. The woman holding his arm lets go when he looks at her, not hurriedly, and stares at him quietly for a second before nodding her head to the left. "Why don't you come with me."
Brendon's never been very good at the concept of Stranger Danger and some part of his sluggish mind is waking up enough to be curious but not enough to be wary or afraid. He can tell that there's something a little off about this, but he follows the woman easily enough. He's not sure where he would go anyways, since they seem to be in the middle of the desert and the woman's leading him towards the only civilization in sight other than a long two-way road stretching to the horizon. A trailer park pokes out of the soil and the woman leads him to the door of a trailer with lawn chairs outside and ushers him through the screen door.
The living room kind of reminds him of Brent's house. It has the same sunlit, narrow feel, although the furniture is scratchier and there aren't any paintings of sunflowers on the wall. Also, it's dusk, so it's not necessarily sunlit right now, but it has the feeling that it could be.
Brendon's zoning out, focusing on the fibers of the itchy yellow couch he's sitting in, when the woman presses a cold glass of water against his arm. She's seated in a chair across from him when he glances up, chewing on an unlit cigarette.
"I'm gonna assume you got the wrong heart?" Her voice is more girlish than Brendon expected - he'd have guessed she was in her late thirties, but now he's estimating something a little lower. He must look confused because she clarifies with a quirk of her mouth. "You're a little young to be courting gals my age, kiddo."
"I'm seventeen," he offers, which doesn't really refute her point. He takes a sip of the water, gulping gratefully. "You can't be too much older than that."
She smiles in a blank way. "Old enough to know better than to get involved with such a charmer."
Brendon needs to remember that when (if?) he wakes up- he'll get a laugh out of being called charming later. For now, the humor runs up his spine like it lost it’s way to his funny bone and he can only blink with a smile.
She doesn't seem to expect much more, finally lighting her cigarette and reclining on the sofa. Brendon watches her silently, tapping his fingers on the half-full glass as she exhales in slow streams.
"So why are you here then? I haven't had any special visitors for a while now," she says, waving her cigarette to put quotes around the word special and Brendon knows what she's talking about as instinctively as she knows how he got here, if not why.
"I'm looking for someone's heart - my grandpa's?" It's a plausible enough explanation that even Brendon believes it, like this wasn't all a stroke of luck and curiosity. In fact, he manages to trick himself into thinking that this was his motive all along. It's a noble cause, to look for his grandpa's heart at the risk of his own morals.
She 'hmm's, not sounding particularly surprised or disappointed that he wasn't here with her heart in mind. "Well, it's not this one obviously. How'd you grab the wrong heart?"
Brendon shrugs. It's the best answer he can give, since he has no idea how this all works. He doesn't even bother to bluff (or doesn't even think to) like he had with Pete.
"You're a little mixed up, huh?" Her sharp, cigarette smile is amused, a little pitying. And that's wrong, because Brendon pities her, not the other way around. Why he does, he has no idea other than the one slip-sliding around at the bottom of his mind that he can't pin down yet.
"Well, you're welcome to stay until morning, but don't feel like ya have to. Young man like you must have plenty of other thoughts to occupy his dreams."
"This is a pretty nice one," Brendon throws out. "Got a beautiful woman keeping me company- those are the best kind of dreams, right?"
The woman snorts, gathering her blue bathrobe around herself as she shuffles into the kitchen to put out her cigarette. "Again, charming."
"You think so?" he asks as she resettles in the seat across from him. "I guess you bring out the best in me."
Brendon can't help but flirt with her. There's no chemistry or physical attraction to her and it's not a conscious effort or even one with a goal in mind, other than maybe easing the uncomfortable coldness in the pit of his stomach. His throat is oddly tight and his eyes weirdly prickly.
"Oh kid, this isn't you at your best, I'm sure." She reaches out to smooth down his hair, which is probably sticking up awkwardly in the back like it always does when he wakes up, and the gesture's too maternal to be anything other than harmless.
"I don't really know what I'm doing here," Brendon confesses, because he knows that she won't tell Pete, he knows it somehow. "With all this. Why."
She doesn't look surprised although she does tilt her head. "New to heart-dealing?" She studies him for a second. "You don't seem like the type to mess around with stuff like this."
"Yeah, I'm new to it. This."
The woman nods knowingly. "Everyone is at some point. And if you're looking for a heartless to help you out, I probably know a little more than some of the younger ones."
There's a hopeless, weary look around her mouth even when she's teasing him and herself and in her smile Brendon sees a kiss and a laugh, a gasp and ‘you bastard' and 'I love you’.
Brendon's leaning forward before he even realizes it and he jerks back, spilling water over his wrist and leg. Some of the blurriness in his head backs away and he can see her vaguely concerned look as she leans forward with a conveniently handy dishtowel.
"Here," she says, pressing the towel at him and Brendon takes it, holding the glass with one hand as he dabs at his pants with the other. The woman seems more alert now, eyes a little sharper on him and Brendon tries to return the focus.
"Thanks." He blinks down at his wet lap before daring to look back up at her. Whatever he'd seen before in her smile is gone, but suddenly everything's a little clearer, including his head, and he can see her worried look.
"Are you alright?"
Probably. Who knows. Brendon nods.
She pulls a piece of wispy, sand-colored hair behind her ear and places her hand on Brendon's arm and suddenly it's like the chair's been pulled out from under Brendon and he tips back. He has the distinct sensation of falling, of something like shock gripping his chest, but he only sinks safely into the back of the chair. It smells familiar and comforting, but makes him sad at the same time, and Brendon knows that it's not him that's feeling this way.
When he opens his eyes after a brief struggle, the woman is staring at him and her hands are clenched in her lap. "I think you should drink some of that water."
Brendon doesn't attempt to nod, in case the world slips again, but he manages to get the glass to his lips. It sloshes down the front of his shirt and the woman leans forward a little like she wants to help, but she keeps her distance and Brendon's grateful. It's not that he's afraid of her or in pain, but he'd like to try not being disoriented for a few minutes and that doesn't seem to happen when she's too close.
Finally he sets the empty glass on the table, missing the coaster and leaving a ring of water. The woman doesn't even look at it, peering into his face.
"What'd you see?"
"I don't know," Brendon says, truthfully. He's barely sure of what he saw, never mind what it meant that he remembers tasting tears that aren't his and a wedding band that he doesn't recognize but somehow knows.
"I felt it - you. Brushing against-" she taps the side of her head.
It's unspoken then that what Brendon felt was her. He's not surprised by anything he saw, is continuing to see: it was more than once, wasn't it?. It's like a story Brendon's read but can't recall until he actually cracks it open again. And one remembered detail splinters off into tiny others until Brendon knows.
She married young and in love. So in love that Brendon gets caught up in the whirlwind of that, her love for him, her love for them, her happiness, until it's no longer happy. Still love, always love, but she finds credit card receipts for dinners for two when he was working late and jewelry that wasn't for her. Still loves him, still. Defends his jealousy as protectiveness, his temper as passion, until there's no one left to defend him from or to check up on her. Still in love.
Not in love now. Her mouth is grim and she's gripping Brendon's hand but it's actually helping him feel more anchored.
"I had to," she whispers fiercely and Brendon shakes his head, because she doesn't have to explain to him. It's been laid out for him already.
She doesn't listen. "I had to stop it. I couldn't stop loving him but - I had to." Whether he was hurting her emotionally or physically, Brendon doesn't know and apparently that wasn't an important part of the story he'd already read because he can't recall it.
"It's okay," he tells her.
"You're about to wake up," she responds with a sad, genuine smile. "I'm Sandra. Stay good, kid."
*****
Brendon keeps Sandra's heart in his backpack for a few days. He's maybe a little bit sentimental about giving her- it- back to Pete. Part of it is nerves though; Pete makes him edgy and as much as Brendon is eager to check out his shop again, Pete himself keeps Brendon away a couple of extra days.
Even though he holds onto her heart for a few extra days, Brendon doesn't have any more dreams about Sandra.
*****
"Dreams?" Pete spritzes a plant with water. "Unless you did something wrong, you're not dreaming. You're visiting her in real time. Your body just happens to be asleep."
Brendon doesn't ask how that's possible because the answer- likely magic- is probably obvious. He follows Pete down the aisle as he sprays a few flowers with water and then pokes the soil to check the dampness. Pete's wearing a bright red hoodie and an apron over it and Brendon trails after him as he waters the plants arranged in seemingly random order around the shop. Why a used bookstore needs plants in it is beyond Brendon but, then again, a lot of Pete's logic probably is.
"If you got the wrong heart though, I can take you to the storeroom to look again. That happens sometimes," Pete tells him, rubbing a bright orange leaf with his finger as the plant curls a vine around it. That's magic, Brendon notes, with a flare of excitement.
The store's empty other than the two of them so Pete leads him right to the storeroom, where all the hearts look exactly the same as before. No one in particular stands out to him but eventually Brendon scoops up a jar pulsating baby blue light, a little dimmer than the rest.
*****
Heart-dealing has a reputation, Brendon discovers.
Now that he's heard the term from Pete, it seems like he hears it everywhere. Brendon's always been pretty good at eavesdropping, although most conversations don't really make sense out of context. Brendon doesn't have many friends to gossip with other than Jon, who doesn't know anyone Brendon is talking about but still manages to be interested. Still, it's an easy, entertaining pastime and it gives him something to share with Jon after he's upset himself by talking about what all of his friends are doing 'back home in Chicago.' Jon always talks about them fondly and seems to wish them the best, but it inevitably bums him out to talk about their exploits and adventures. So if Brendon can brighten Jon's day with a little bit of gossip about Brittany Hedberg throwing up on the substitute gym teacher then he's happy to do it.
But now when he eavesdrops, he keeps an ear out for any word of Pete's shop, to see if someone else has stumbled across the secret tucked away in the back of a used bookshop.
If Brendon was looking to find someone else who knew about Pete, then he would be disappointed, because he never hears anything that he might connect to Pete. Instead, it makes Brendon glow with happy secrecy, to know that he's the only one. His mom even asks if he's found a girlfriend, with the ridiculously pleased smile he's been walking around with all week.
Brendon does overhear a lot of conversations about magic though. It dawns on him that he probably had always been hearing these conversations before, just without realizing what they were talking about. But now it's obvious in the way a person's voice will dip and hush, bodies angled away from the crush of classmates to shield the conversation. And words that Brendon might have excused as terms he didn't know are more suspicious now; a potion for better skin that a girl in his Chemistry class was whispering about, a charm that a basketball player was rumored to be carrying around for luck. It's not like the whole world's been blown open to look at in a different way, but suddenly a new layer's been peeled back and revealed.
So when a group of girls are talking in hushed whispers about how one of their friends was thinking of selling her heart because she was so devastated by a breakup with her boyfriend, Brendon freezes. He might have passed the statement off as confusing girl-talk before, but now he leans further in their direction. There are a few scandalized looks around the group, but a fair share of titillated ones too and then some concerned murmurs of sympathy. The conversation switches to the results of a reality show the night before though and Brendon moves on quickly.
So heart-dealing's not fake. And it's not entirely unknown either, although their conversation would have been complete jibberish to Brendon before. That's reassuring on some level, to know that he's not crazy for believing this - maybe just crazy for getting involved.
*****
The second time, Brendon actually does throw up. He's flushed and too warm but the sick feeling is over as soon as he releases the contents of his dinner into the bushes of the lawn he's standing on.
He wipes his hand over the back on his mouth afterward, making a face and spitting the sour taste out of his mouth as best as he can. Luckily, it's night-time and this looks like a fairly quiet neighborhood - the only light is from the lampposts that line the quaint suburban street. The bushes he threw up into are neatly trimmed and the entire lawn is a springy green color even in the pale cast of moonlight.
The air is pleasantly cool and Brendon feels the sweat on his skin drying. He shivers and then heads for the front door of the house, not surprised to find it unlocked.
The lights are all off, but Brendon knows where to go and how to avoid tripping on the curled-up corner of the rug in a house he's never been in before.
There actually is a light on in one of the rooms, but in the back of the house where it's not visible from the front lawn. And still, Brendon's not surprised.
He does hesitate when he gets to the bedroom door, after sneaking past a dark room with snores that probably belong to parents. The door's fully closed and Brendon pauses, the momentum that brought him into the house and up the stairs stalling.
But the door opens without his input and there's a girl looking up at him with a room full of pastel walls at her back.
"Hi," she whispers, staring at him for a second before swinging the door open fully and backing away. She sits on a bed and then continues to watch him as Brendon follows her into the room, looking around for a seat before settling on the floor.
"Hey," he responds, finally, when it's obvious that she's not going to say anything else. The girl can't be much younger than he is, but definitely not older. She's in pajamas with Tony the Tiger on them and definitely isn't wearing a bra - Brendon will probably feel sleazy for noticing that later but it's just a fact for now. "I'm not here to -" He looks around, unsure of how to continue.
She spares him by jumping in, voice fluttery. "Oh! No, no, I know. You're here about the, um," she looks down at her pink-painted toes. "Heart?"
They're not whispering anymore apparently. If she's not worried about waking up her parents, then Brendon's not either. "Yeah. Kind of."
"Are you buying it? My heart?"
Please let that not be hope in her voice, Brendon thinks. He preferred Sandra's cynicism. "No, uh, not really."
"Not really?"
"No. Just... no."
"Oh," she deflates a little, sways back from where she'd been leaning forward. "Does he - Pete - want me to come get it back now then?"
"Um, no?"
She looks annoyed now and god, mood swings. "Well? Why are you here then?"
Brendon looks over at her vanity cluttered with makeup and clippings from magazines. "Why would Pete want you to come get your heart back?"
"I don't know," she huffs. "He told me that he was going to give it back to me in a few weeks."
"Why'd you sell it?"
"None of your business!" she retorts immediately, voice rising defensively, and Brendon feels stupid for asking. "You have to answer my question first."
With more difficulty than it should take, Brendon casts his mind back to her earlier question. "What - oh, my grandpa's heart. I'm looking for it."
"Not looking very hard, obviously," she replies. Brendon raises his eyebrows and the girl flushes a little and hunches her shoulders. "You're sure? That that's what you're looking for?"
It sounds a little bizarre once someone questions it - his grandpa's heart, really? - and Brendon maybe knows that there's more to his interest than a mission of goodwill. But he's not willing to give this girl any more ideas than are already racing in her eyes so he nods, firm.
"Yeah, alright," she replies, brushing her pinky finger against the pink comforter.
They're both silent for a while. Brendon is inordinately fascinated by the room- he sees probably hundreds of teenage girls everyday but he's never thought to wonder what their rooms look like - and he's almost forgotten the girl until she speaks.
"He doesn't think I really knew what I was getting myself into. But I did- I looked it up and I thought about it for a long time and then he told me that I didn't know what I was doing." She frowns. Brendon thinks her voice is starting to descend into whininess and maybe she realizes that too because she pauses before she adds on, unable to resist: "I knew what I was doing. He's wrong. I know how I feel."
She probably knows more about the whole business than Brendon then, who keeps meaning to look up heart-dealing in a legitimate source (like the Internet or something) and keeps conveniently forgetting. He's a little afraid that if he looks too hard at it, he'll find whatever is so bad about the whole thing.
"You don't believe me," she accuses and Brendon throws his hands up defensively.
"No, no, I believe you," Brendon insists, although he really doesn't care and Pete's seen enough hearts that he probably knows what he's talking about.
That seems to settle the girl's doubts, although she still looks a little put-out by the whole situation. "I mean, how would he even know what's best for me?" she starts, and Brendon's hard-pressed not to sigh. It's not like he doesn't care about her angst, but really, he's a teenager too, he has enough of his own. And Brendon's not even here to return her heart, so why is she so stuck on that?
"He's just... wrong," she says firmly, seemingly to herself, but Brendon nods along anyways.
"Definitely," he agrees.
She stares off moodily for a second before speaking. "I've never actually had anyone visit me before. Am I allowed to tell you that?"
Brendon shrugs; it's not like he knows that rules any better than she does. "I won't tell."
She looks reassured but preoccupied. "You've been in the room with all those hearts, right?"
"Yeah."
"Do you think you could put mine near the front, when you give it back?" She bites her lip. "Where more people might see it maybe?"
Brendon doesn't tell her that he isn't the one that puts them back and he doesn't tell her that her heart is faint and the opposite of what anyone would be looking for if they didn't have her particular heart in mind.
"Is there someone in particular that you want to see it?" he asks instead.
She blushes. "No," she says. "Well - I don't know. It's stupid."
Brendon makes a motion with his hand for her to continue, because what else is he going to do?
"I thought that maybe my boyfri - my ex-boyfriend would maybe..." Her voice trails off like she either doesn't want to jinx it or maybe doesn't want to actually finish the thought.
Brendon's not really sure what to say, but when she sniffles helplessly, rubbing at her eyes, he can't not feel bad. He still thinks it's stupid to want that, but he reaches out and hugs her anyways and she practically collapses against his chest. He pats her back and feel what are probably tears on his shirt.
Brendon doesn't have any girl friends, or at least none that he could comfortably hug or even touch, so his arms feel awkward wrapped around a girl's shoulders. She shudders and sniffles and Brendon tries to squeeze her shoulder encouragingly although that seems to just distress her more.
"I just really miss him," she says finally, through little hitching breaths as she blinks up at Brendon. She's a pretty crier, aside from a runny nose. "I don't think there's anyone - anyone else out there like him."
After Sandra, Brendon's not really impressed by the girl's reasoning but that doesn't stop a small trickle of protectiveness. He summons some wisdom from the daily calendar of positive thinking that his cousin gave him for Christmas last year, looking her square in the eye. "There's no one else out there like you."
And oh, it's cheesy but she eats it up even as she rolls her eyes and if that's all that Brendon needed to do to make her feel better than it was worth the sour taste of cliche in his mouth. The girl's reluctant to let go, pressing her head to his chest but not in a seductive way. It's needy and kind of sad and Brendon just waits it out.
"I'm Rachel," she whispers eventually into his shirt, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand even though she's already gotten snot and tears over the front of his shirt anyways.
And Brendon wants to tell her: "Hey, go get your heart back from Pete. Don't wait for someone to come save you" because not every guy that buys from Pete will be her knight in shining armor, or even willing to let her sob on their t-shirt.
Instead, he pulls out of the hug. "Hi Rachel."
"I think... I think that should be goodbye," she says, unsure but pulling herself away from Brendon with an embarrassed smile like the lights have come back on and she realizes how naked her emotions are.
"Okay," Brendon means to say but he's already gone.
*****
Brendon probably shouldn't be surprised to see actual customers in the bookstore when he goes to exchange Rachel's heart.
There's a mousy-looking couple browsing the mystery novels, hand-in-hand, and an older woman taking a book from the spiritual self-help shelf and they wouldn't be out of place in any bookstore, especially not the slightly dusty and lonely environment of used bookshops.
They look like normal people and they don't fit into Brendon's idea of Decaydance and he wonders for a second if he's walked into the right store.
Brendon shifts his backpack and feels the heart resting against the small of his back. He ducks into the historical fiction aisle.
He can't just go up and hand it to Pete, not with other customers there looking at books about yoga and holding hands and being so normal in a place that isn't at all. Biting at his thumbnail, Brendon peeks around the corner of the aisle at the couple and then slides his back down the shelf until his butt hits the floor. His fingers grope behind him and pull out a book at random, grainy hardcover and thick pages, and Brendon opens it in his lap as he waits.
It's actually kind of an interesting book and Brendon feels transported back to childhood memories of sitting in his grandpa's lap. The yellowed pages, the smell of old paper- it's probably a little creepy of him, but Brendon can't help but lift the book to his nose and let his eyes slip shut for a moment before reading.
Brendon finds himself losing time between the stacks of books, sitting on the floor in a forgotten corner of the shop. He's never considered himself much of a reader, but it's dark before Brendon realizes that the store's probably been empty for a while. His joints pop when he stands up and stretches out the soreness from leaning against the shelf for too long.
Pete's reading at the counter when Brendon finds him. He glances up curiously, looking at Brendon over a pair of glasses that Brendon are pretty sure are fake.
"I brought the heart." Brendon lifts it out of his bag and Pete looks down at his hugely tacky neon watch.
"It's almost 7- don't you have a curfew or something?" Pete asks and really, who the hell has a curfew at seven?
Except- oh shit, dinner. Brendon scrambles for his phone, cringing when he sees the three missed calls.
"It's okay, just come back with it tomorrow," Pete tells him as Brendon's eyes dart to the door. Brendon nods, shoves the jar back in his backpack and breaks the speed limit the entire drive home.
*****
Brendon can't get back to Pete's store until a few days later (there's an early family dinner the next day to make up for the one he'd missed the day before and then the next two nights he'd been working on a project for a class he was close to failing) but Pete doesn't seem to mind.
"Oh, you're back," he says when Brendon returns, like this isn't the fourth time that Brendon's been by the shop. At least the tone isn't unfriendly or inconvenienced like the reaction that he usually receives from Earl. "What can I do for ya?"
Brendon hefts up the heart after looking around to check that the bookstore is clear of customers.
"Oh, yeah, c'mon," Pete says, beckoning him to the back of the shop.
When Brendon hands over Rachel's heart, Pete turns it over in his hands for a minute before setting it down towards the back of the room where Brendon had gotten it, amongst a bunch of white, smoky-colored hearts. Brendon's fingers twitch for a second, remembering a promise he didn't make, and Pete looks over at him from the corner of his eye and smiles in a way that's both lazy and tight.
"I don't usually buy from kids her age," he says and seems to trust that Brendon understands. "It's not worth the heartache they think they're going through."
Brendon nods, because Pete would know better than he does. He picks up a heart that looks a little lighter than the rest, dusky orange and brown but still bright with what might just be wishful thinking on Brendon's part.
*****
Brendon doesn't realize how lucky he has been so far until he visits the third heart's house.
It's not that there's anything horrific or scarring there. Nothing he'll be having nightmares about or that cause him to question the morality of messing around with other people's hearts.
But it does stink like alcohol. It makes Brendon appreciate Rachel's nicely-trimmed lawn and suburban house and even the dull but unoffensive interior of Sandra's trailer. Brendon just reels at the stench for a second, focuses on trying to hold his dinner in his stomach instead of throwing it up, before realizing that the reason the smell is so strong is because there's a drunk man passed out on the couch right next to him. The lump snores and Brendon backs away slowly because he knows it's not that guy's heart that he bought, just like he knew which room was Rachel's and to trust Sandra.
His caution and care to step lightly probably aren't necessary, especially because the snoring doesn't cease even when Brendon steps on a bag of chips on the floor, crunching loudly. Still, he can't help but feel like he's intruding on something and should be careful not to let anyone know he was here.
He makes it safely out the door and into the kitchen and it's a little easier to breathe. The bottles of beer in the kitchen (three, Brendon counts, in addition to a few in the living room) are empty at least and there's no one breathing alcohol-morning-breath on him. Brendon's stomach settles. He looks around the kitchen and slides a few plates off to one edge of the round kitchen table before taking a seat. It's not a bad kitchen, or a bad house overall really and Brendon's not afraid of the drunk man in the living room but he knows to stay put here.
He must be expecting someone, because Brendon's hardly surprised when the boy walks into the kitchen. He doesn't seem very surprised either because he goes to the sink first, fills up a glass of water and goes into the living room. He doesn't even look at Brendon until he comes back, face pinched irritably, and glances in his direction.
The boy opens his mouth to speak but a particularly loud snore comes from the living room. His mouth twitches, downward, not an attempt at a smile, before he nods to what Brendon assumes is upstairs and then walks out of the kitchen.
Brendon follows, up brown-carpeted steps and into a room that looks enough like his own to be a teenage boy's room, with all of the details different. His eyes land on the computer, the large bookshelf, the history book and homework open on the floor and finally the boy who hasn't looked over at him again yet. He's skinny and taller than Brendon and even though it's night he's still wearing a pair of skinny jeans and a vest that would probably be too small on Brendon.
They stand in silence for long enough that Brendon thinks this is going to develop into a stalemate when finally the boy speaks, waving his hand towards the swivel-chair pulled up in front of the computer. "You can sit."
"So can you," Brendon replies and the boy gives him an indescribable look but sits down on the edge of his bed.
"So," Brendon says eventually, sick of the silence and the kid staring him down. "You're a big reader?"
The kid looks momentarily surprised and Brendon's pleased that his poker face isn't nearly as good as he thinks it is, but quickly lapses back into a bored, apathetic look. "Sure."
"Cool."
The boy gives him that unreadable look again and Brendon stares back, smiling. It doesn't seem to endear him at all to the boy.
"I'm Brendon," he finally offers.
"It doesn't really matter," the boy replies with a derisive snort. "It's not like we're ever going to see each other again anyways."
Probably not, no. Brendon hasn't run into Sandra or Rachel since he met them and he's pretty sure that Sandra didn't even live anywhere close to Summerlin. There aren't many trailer parks or stretches of endless desert nearby.
"I'm Ryan," the boy says finally. "Lift your feet up."
"Oh." Brendon looks down at where he's stepping on a packet of homework and complies. "Sorry."
Ryan doesn't look particularly impressed with the apology but he shrugs. "Whatever."
"So, Ryan-"
"Look, can we just not talk?" Ryan interrupts irritably. "You're not going to end up buying my heart and I don't want to get to know you, so just stop, alright?"
Brendon's mouth closes abruptly.
Ryan doesn't look apologetic for snapping at him and he looks at Brendon for a few seconds more, defiant, before rubbing a hand across his face in what Brendon recognizes as a tired gesture.
"Sorry," Ryan says finally, not looking up from where his face is buried in his hands. "What were you going to say?"
Actually, Brendon was going to ask if the drunk guy downstairs was Ryan's dad but that seems a little tactless now. "Um, can I have something to drink?"
Ryan gives him a weird look but gets up. "Water?"
When Brendon nods, he goes to get it and Brendon rubs at his chest above where he knows his own heart is sitting. Something about Ryan makes him feel like he's been slowed down and dulled at the edges. It fades a little when Ryan leaves and Brendon rolls his shoulders and stretches out his chest, trying to get rid of the heavy feeling. He's mid-stretch when he hears Ryan's slow steps up the stairs and he rests his arms back on his crossed legs and looks up at Ryan when he enters.
Ryan is easing the door shut, careful with his movements like it takes an effort to even make them. He hands Brendon his water and Brendon takes a demonstratively grateful gulp of it as Ryan resettles himself so that he's perched on the edge of the bed again.
"I don't usually get people our age," Ryan says finally. Brendon perks up and nods interestedly, urging him to continue, but apparently that's all that Ryan wanted to say.
"You get a lot of... people coming through?"
"Buyers?" Ryan asks or maybe clarifies since Brendon's never been really sure of what to refer to himself as. Customer? Interloper? "Not more than the rest of Pete's collection, probably. But I've seen enough."
Ryan's definitely more calm about the situation than Rachel had been- he's more at Sandra's level of acceptance about the whole thing, like he's mostly just waiting for Brendon to pass through, albeit impatiently. Brendon assumes that he's seen more people than he's admitting, since he doesn't seem like a naturally calm, accepting person, but Ryan's also a lot younger than Sandra and he can't have had his heart sold for nearly as long as she has, so maybe he's not lying.
"This is weird," Brendon says with a small laugh. "I've only met girls so far- do you meet many guy, uh, customers?" It makes it sound like Ryan's a prostitute and Brendon screws his face up in a mixture of amusement and awkwardness.
"Some," Ryan says vaguely, although it doesn't look like he's being purposefully difficult as much as it's just his nature. "Looking for girls, usually. That's how you can tell they're not really in love though- they can't find the heart they're looking for. I get the lost ones."
He fixes Brendon with a level stare and Brendon flushes a little and shrugs. "I'm not in love, man. Or looking for a girl."
Ryan's gaze turns amused at that and Brendon's surprised at the show of humor before realizing what he just said. "Oh, not a guy either! Well, my grandpa, so." Brendon waves his hands.
"I get it," Ryan assures him with his monotone, but he's smiling a little around his eyes.
"Oh, do you?" Brendon smiles back. "Like you're some great guru of love."
"No, I'm not," says Ryan simply, looking down at his lap.
Ryan seems like kind of an ass but Brendon still feels bad. "Oh, I'm not either, don't worry. Obviously." He makes a face when he's sure Ryan's looking. "No luck in the romance department?"
Ryan looks at Brendon like he's a dumbass and, well, okay, maybe he is if he's asking a heartless about his dating life. "It's cool if you don't want to answer- I've never had a girlfriend either. I mean, I did convince Stephanie Kostansas' cousin to date me for a day in sixth grade, but that doesn't really count."
"I've had a girlfriend," Ryan says.
"Oh, right, yeah, of course. Good-looking guy like you, of course."
"She cheated on me."
Brendon's pretty sure that Ryan says that just to make him squirm a little.
"Oh, that's... too bad," Brendon manages. "Is that why...?"
Brendon thinks it's pretty obvious what he's talking about- why he sold his heart, which is the whole reason Brendon's even here- but Ryan just gives him a blank look.
"Your heart," Brendon finally fills in. "Is that why you sold it?" He hasn't asked so far, but he doesn't usually have to. With Sandra and Rachel, he could see what their reasons were without even meaning to (and without their permission, apparently).
"I didn't sell my heart," Ryan says. Brendon must look skeptical because he nods firmly. "I didn't."
"Well, I'm here, so. You must have."
Ryan frowns, looking annoyed. "I didn't."
Brendon can easily see this becoming a game of 'yes-you-did, no-I-didn't' so he decides to take the moral highroad. "Okay, fine, you didn't sell your heart. I just magically appeared here to bother you in the middle of the night."
Ryan raises an eyebrow. "Well, technically, that's all true," and Brendon hates to admit it but he's got him there.
"Whatever," Brendon replies, a little huffily because he knows that he's right and he's not sure why Ryan's lying about this. "Do you know how much longer I'm going to be here?"
Ryan looks at him with raised brows for a long second before shaking his head slightly in what might be disbelief. "I'm not a stopwatch. I don't know how long you're going to be here- I'll know when you're about to leave but I can't give you a countdown. Go hang out with my dad downstairs if you're really that bored," Ryan suggests, tone bitter.
Brendon wants to say something back, because why would Ryan lie about something like selling his heart? It's kind of embarrassing; maybe it was for some stupid reason that he regrets or something. But everything that Brendon comes up with sounds too lame ("maybe I will!") or bitchy.
"I'm going to bed," Ryan announces without waiting for a reply. He gets under the covers of his bed, still dressed in jeans, and turns his skinny back to Brendon.
"Hey, don't," Brendon says, watching the bony hump of Ryan's back under the blanket.
He doesn't get a response and Brendon gets up and walks over to the bed, hovering over him as his hand waits to touch Ryan's shoulder lightly. "Don't be like that," he says. "Just-"
The angry, tight line of Ryan's mouth is visible just above the blanket and Brendon stares at it for a second, head swimming. He hadn't looked very closely at Ryan's dad downstairs but he can suddenly see him in front of him, looming and awake and angry and drunk, and Ryan's not afraid or angry but he's not happy either. He's not feeling anything that Brendon even recognizes as emotion, just a flickery, tight feeling in his chest, and his hands shaking like he's going to fly apart at any second. He's separated from a hurricane by a thick pane of glass- he can hear that there's supposed to be something happening but he can't touch it. His dad says something, anything, and it doesn't matter, because there's a roaring in Ryan's ears but nothing he can feel.
Ryan's hand knocks Brendon's away and Brendon stumbles back a few steps, taking a gasping breath as he tries to clear his head. Ryan's glaring at him when his vision clears, twisting around so he's facing Brendon with a fierce look on his face. "What the hell was that?"
Brendon doesn't even know so he can't tell him. "Your dad-"
"Stop," Ryan demands and Brendon complies, because he's not sure what he was even going to say and Ryan's shaking a little. "Don't."
"Yeah, I- I won't," Brendon promises.
Ryan closes his eyes for a second, looking pinched, and Brendon's gone before he opens his eyes. (Part Three)
Part Two
Brendon takes the jar - heart, he reminds himself - out of his backpack right when he gets home. He sets it in his lap, stares at it, and then shoves it back in his backpack until after dinner.
Heart-dealing... Brendon recognizes the term, but in the same vague way that he recognizes the Mafia while really only knowing that it's something he doesn't want to mess with and involves people in suits. The term obviously doesn't mean actual, physical hearts, since the jar looks to be just a wisp of cloudy shine. It's more like the ability to love and hate and feel strongly about anything, all bottled in one jar and stolen out of someone. It's shady shit.
Brendon's not really sure what to do with the heart; should he have gotten instructions from Pete about how this all worked? He's mostly flying in the dark so Brendon just puts it next to his bed, covered by a heap of clothing in case his mom walks in without knocking the next morning.
"Night," he tells it as he clicks off the light.
*****
Brendon doesn't wake up.
One moment he's sleeping and the next he's not, but he doesn't wake up.
He blinks and his eyes were already open and he's standing and dressed in the clothes that he wore to school. He feels a little dizzy and a little sick and for a second the landscape blurs in front of him and Brendon's sure he's going to throw up.
But just as quickly everything slides back into place, his stomach settles and a hand falls onto his arm.
Normally, Brendon would jump or startle away, but he doesn't feel quite real and only turns to look curiously. The woman holding his arm lets go when he looks at her, not hurriedly, and stares at him quietly for a second before nodding her head to the left. "Why don't you come with me."
Brendon's never been very good at the concept of Stranger Danger and some part of his sluggish mind is waking up enough to be curious but not enough to be wary or afraid. He can tell that there's something a little off about this, but he follows the woman easily enough. He's not sure where he would go anyways, since they seem to be in the middle of the desert and the woman's leading him towards the only civilization in sight other than a long two-way road stretching to the horizon. A trailer park pokes out of the soil and the woman leads him to the door of a trailer with lawn chairs outside and ushers him through the screen door.
The living room kind of reminds him of Brent's house. It has the same sunlit, narrow feel, although the furniture is scratchier and there aren't any paintings of sunflowers on the wall. Also, it's dusk, so it's not necessarily sunlit right now, but it has the feeling that it could be.
Brendon's zoning out, focusing on the fibers of the itchy yellow couch he's sitting in, when the woman presses a cold glass of water against his arm. She's seated in a chair across from him when he glances up, chewing on an unlit cigarette.
"I'm gonna assume you got the wrong heart?" Her voice is more girlish than Brendon expected - he'd have guessed she was in her late thirties, but now he's estimating something a little lower. He must look confused because she clarifies with a quirk of her mouth. "You're a little young to be courting gals my age, kiddo."
"I'm seventeen," he offers, which doesn't really refute her point. He takes a sip of the water, gulping gratefully. "You can't be too much older than that."
She smiles in a blank way. "Old enough to know better than to get involved with such a charmer."
Brendon needs to remember that when (if?) he wakes up- he'll get a laugh out of being called charming later. For now, the humor runs up his spine like it lost it’s way to his funny bone and he can only blink with a smile.
She doesn't seem to expect much more, finally lighting her cigarette and reclining on the sofa. Brendon watches her silently, tapping his fingers on the half-full glass as she exhales in slow streams.
"So why are you here then? I haven't had any special visitors for a while now," she says, waving her cigarette to put quotes around the word special and Brendon knows what she's talking about as instinctively as she knows how he got here, if not why.
"I'm looking for someone's heart - my grandpa's?" It's a plausible enough explanation that even Brendon believes it, like this wasn't all a stroke of luck and curiosity. In fact, he manages to trick himself into thinking that this was his motive all along. It's a noble cause, to look for his grandpa's heart at the risk of his own morals.
She 'hmm's, not sounding particularly surprised or disappointed that he wasn't here with her heart in mind. "Well, it's not this one obviously. How'd you grab the wrong heart?"
Brendon shrugs. It's the best answer he can give, since he has no idea how this all works. He doesn't even bother to bluff (or doesn't even think to) like he had with Pete.
"You're a little mixed up, huh?" Her sharp, cigarette smile is amused, a little pitying. And that's wrong, because Brendon pities her, not the other way around. Why he does, he has no idea other than the one slip-sliding around at the bottom of his mind that he can't pin down yet.
"Well, you're welcome to stay until morning, but don't feel like ya have to. Young man like you must have plenty of other thoughts to occupy his dreams."
"This is a pretty nice one," Brendon throws out. "Got a beautiful woman keeping me company- those are the best kind of dreams, right?"
The woman snorts, gathering her blue bathrobe around herself as she shuffles into the kitchen to put out her cigarette. "Again, charming."
"You think so?" he asks as she resettles in the seat across from him. "I guess you bring out the best in me."
Brendon can't help but flirt with her. There's no chemistry or physical attraction to her and it's not a conscious effort or even one with a goal in mind, other than maybe easing the uncomfortable coldness in the pit of his stomach. His throat is oddly tight and his eyes weirdly prickly.
"Oh kid, this isn't you at your best, I'm sure." She reaches out to smooth down his hair, which is probably sticking up awkwardly in the back like it always does when he wakes up, and the gesture's too maternal to be anything other than harmless.
"I don't really know what I'm doing here," Brendon confesses, because he knows that she won't tell Pete, he knows it somehow. "With all this. Why."
She doesn't look surprised although she does tilt her head. "New to heart-dealing?" She studies him for a second. "You don't seem like the type to mess around with stuff like this."
"Yeah, I'm new to it. This."
The woman nods knowingly. "Everyone is at some point. And if you're looking for a heartless to help you out, I probably know a little more than some of the younger ones."
There's a hopeless, weary look around her mouth even when she's teasing him and herself and in her smile Brendon sees a kiss and a laugh, a gasp and ‘you bastard' and 'I love you’.
Brendon's leaning forward before he even realizes it and he jerks back, spilling water over his wrist and leg. Some of the blurriness in his head backs away and he can see her vaguely concerned look as she leans forward with a conveniently handy dishtowel.
"Here," she says, pressing the towel at him and Brendon takes it, holding the glass with one hand as he dabs at his pants with the other. The woman seems more alert now, eyes a little sharper on him and Brendon tries to return the focus.
"Thanks." He blinks down at his wet lap before daring to look back up at her. Whatever he'd seen before in her smile is gone, but suddenly everything's a little clearer, including his head, and he can see her worried look.
"Are you alright?"
Probably. Who knows. Brendon nods.
She pulls a piece of wispy, sand-colored hair behind her ear and places her hand on Brendon's arm and suddenly it's like the chair's been pulled out from under Brendon and he tips back. He has the distinct sensation of falling, of something like shock gripping his chest, but he only sinks safely into the back of the chair. It smells familiar and comforting, but makes him sad at the same time, and Brendon knows that it's not him that's feeling this way.
When he opens his eyes after a brief struggle, the woman is staring at him and her hands are clenched in her lap. "I think you should drink some of that water."
Brendon doesn't attempt to nod, in case the world slips again, but he manages to get the glass to his lips. It sloshes down the front of his shirt and the woman leans forward a little like she wants to help, but she keeps her distance and Brendon's grateful. It's not that he's afraid of her or in pain, but he'd like to try not being disoriented for a few minutes and that doesn't seem to happen when she's too close.
Finally he sets the empty glass on the table, missing the coaster and leaving a ring of water. The woman doesn't even look at it, peering into his face.
"What'd you see?"
"I don't know," Brendon says, truthfully. He's barely sure of what he saw, never mind what it meant that he remembers tasting tears that aren't his and a wedding band that he doesn't recognize but somehow knows.
"I felt it - you. Brushing against-" she taps the side of her head.
It's unspoken then that what Brendon felt was her. He's not surprised by anything he saw, is continuing to see: it was more than once, wasn't it?. It's like a story Brendon's read but can't recall until he actually cracks it open again. And one remembered detail splinters off into tiny others until Brendon knows.
She married young and in love. So in love that Brendon gets caught up in the whirlwind of that, her love for him, her love for them, her happiness, until it's no longer happy. Still love, always love, but she finds credit card receipts for dinners for two when he was working late and jewelry that wasn't for her. Still loves him, still. Defends his jealousy as protectiveness, his temper as passion, until there's no one left to defend him from or to check up on her. Still in love.
Not in love now. Her mouth is grim and she's gripping Brendon's hand but it's actually helping him feel more anchored.
"I had to," she whispers fiercely and Brendon shakes his head, because she doesn't have to explain to him. It's been laid out for him already.
She doesn't listen. "I had to stop it. I couldn't stop loving him but - I had to." Whether he was hurting her emotionally or physically, Brendon doesn't know and apparently that wasn't an important part of the story he'd already read because he can't recall it.
"It's okay," he tells her.
"You're about to wake up," she responds with a sad, genuine smile. "I'm Sandra. Stay good, kid."
*****
Brendon keeps Sandra's heart in his backpack for a few days. He's maybe a little bit sentimental about giving her- it- back to Pete. Part of it is nerves though; Pete makes him edgy and as much as Brendon is eager to check out his shop again, Pete himself keeps Brendon away a couple of extra days.
Even though he holds onto her heart for a few extra days, Brendon doesn't have any more dreams about Sandra.
*****
"Dreams?" Pete spritzes a plant with water. "Unless you did something wrong, you're not dreaming. You're visiting her in real time. Your body just happens to be asleep."
Brendon doesn't ask how that's possible because the answer- likely magic- is probably obvious. He follows Pete down the aisle as he sprays a few flowers with water and then pokes the soil to check the dampness. Pete's wearing a bright red hoodie and an apron over it and Brendon trails after him as he waters the plants arranged in seemingly random order around the shop. Why a used bookstore needs plants in it is beyond Brendon but, then again, a lot of Pete's logic probably is.
"If you got the wrong heart though, I can take you to the storeroom to look again. That happens sometimes," Pete tells him, rubbing a bright orange leaf with his finger as the plant curls a vine around it. That's magic, Brendon notes, with a flare of excitement.
The store's empty other than the two of them so Pete leads him right to the storeroom, where all the hearts look exactly the same as before. No one in particular stands out to him but eventually Brendon scoops up a jar pulsating baby blue light, a little dimmer than the rest.
*****
Heart-dealing has a reputation, Brendon discovers.
Now that he's heard the term from Pete, it seems like he hears it everywhere. Brendon's always been pretty good at eavesdropping, although most conversations don't really make sense out of context. Brendon doesn't have many friends to gossip with other than Jon, who doesn't know anyone Brendon is talking about but still manages to be interested. Still, it's an easy, entertaining pastime and it gives him something to share with Jon after he's upset himself by talking about what all of his friends are doing 'back home in Chicago.' Jon always talks about them fondly and seems to wish them the best, but it inevitably bums him out to talk about their exploits and adventures. So if Brendon can brighten Jon's day with a little bit of gossip about Brittany Hedberg throwing up on the substitute gym teacher then he's happy to do it.
But now when he eavesdrops, he keeps an ear out for any word of Pete's shop, to see if someone else has stumbled across the secret tucked away in the back of a used bookshop.
If Brendon was looking to find someone else who knew about Pete, then he would be disappointed, because he never hears anything that he might connect to Pete. Instead, it makes Brendon glow with happy secrecy, to know that he's the only one. His mom even asks if he's found a girlfriend, with the ridiculously pleased smile he's been walking around with all week.
Brendon does overhear a lot of conversations about magic though. It dawns on him that he probably had always been hearing these conversations before, just without realizing what they were talking about. But now it's obvious in the way a person's voice will dip and hush, bodies angled away from the crush of classmates to shield the conversation. And words that Brendon might have excused as terms he didn't know are more suspicious now; a potion for better skin that a girl in his Chemistry class was whispering about, a charm that a basketball player was rumored to be carrying around for luck. It's not like the whole world's been blown open to look at in a different way, but suddenly a new layer's been peeled back and revealed.
So when a group of girls are talking in hushed whispers about how one of their friends was thinking of selling her heart because she was so devastated by a breakup with her boyfriend, Brendon freezes. He might have passed the statement off as confusing girl-talk before, but now he leans further in their direction. There are a few scandalized looks around the group, but a fair share of titillated ones too and then some concerned murmurs of sympathy. The conversation switches to the results of a reality show the night before though and Brendon moves on quickly.
So heart-dealing's not fake. And it's not entirely unknown either, although their conversation would have been complete jibberish to Brendon before. That's reassuring on some level, to know that he's not crazy for believing this - maybe just crazy for getting involved.
*****
The second time, Brendon actually does throw up. He's flushed and too warm but the sick feeling is over as soon as he releases the contents of his dinner into the bushes of the lawn he's standing on.
He wipes his hand over the back on his mouth afterward, making a face and spitting the sour taste out of his mouth as best as he can. Luckily, it's night-time and this looks like a fairly quiet neighborhood - the only light is from the lampposts that line the quaint suburban street. The bushes he threw up into are neatly trimmed and the entire lawn is a springy green color even in the pale cast of moonlight.
The air is pleasantly cool and Brendon feels the sweat on his skin drying. He shivers and then heads for the front door of the house, not surprised to find it unlocked.
The lights are all off, but Brendon knows where to go and how to avoid tripping on the curled-up corner of the rug in a house he's never been in before.
There actually is a light on in one of the rooms, but in the back of the house where it's not visible from the front lawn. And still, Brendon's not surprised.
He does hesitate when he gets to the bedroom door, after sneaking past a dark room with snores that probably belong to parents. The door's fully closed and Brendon pauses, the momentum that brought him into the house and up the stairs stalling.
But the door opens without his input and there's a girl looking up at him with a room full of pastel walls at her back.
"Hi," she whispers, staring at him for a second before swinging the door open fully and backing away. She sits on a bed and then continues to watch him as Brendon follows her into the room, looking around for a seat before settling on the floor.
"Hey," he responds, finally, when it's obvious that she's not going to say anything else. The girl can't be much younger than he is, but definitely not older. She's in pajamas with Tony the Tiger on them and definitely isn't wearing a bra - Brendon will probably feel sleazy for noticing that later but it's just a fact for now. "I'm not here to -" He looks around, unsure of how to continue.
She spares him by jumping in, voice fluttery. "Oh! No, no, I know. You're here about the, um," she looks down at her pink-painted toes. "Heart?"
They're not whispering anymore apparently. If she's not worried about waking up her parents, then Brendon's not either. "Yeah. Kind of."
"Are you buying it? My heart?"
Please let that not be hope in her voice, Brendon thinks. He preferred Sandra's cynicism. "No, uh, not really."
"Not really?"
"No. Just... no."
"Oh," she deflates a little, sways back from where she'd been leaning forward. "Does he - Pete - want me to come get it back now then?"
"Um, no?"
She looks annoyed now and god, mood swings. "Well? Why are you here then?"
Brendon looks over at her vanity cluttered with makeup and clippings from magazines. "Why would Pete want you to come get your heart back?"
"I don't know," she huffs. "He told me that he was going to give it back to me in a few weeks."
"Why'd you sell it?"
"None of your business!" she retorts immediately, voice rising defensively, and Brendon feels stupid for asking. "You have to answer my question first."
With more difficulty than it should take, Brendon casts his mind back to her earlier question. "What - oh, my grandpa's heart. I'm looking for it."
"Not looking very hard, obviously," she replies. Brendon raises his eyebrows and the girl flushes a little and hunches her shoulders. "You're sure? That that's what you're looking for?"
It sounds a little bizarre once someone questions it - his grandpa's heart, really? - and Brendon maybe knows that there's more to his interest than a mission of goodwill. But he's not willing to give this girl any more ideas than are already racing in her eyes so he nods, firm.
"Yeah, alright," she replies, brushing her pinky finger against the pink comforter.
They're both silent for a while. Brendon is inordinately fascinated by the room- he sees probably hundreds of teenage girls everyday but he's never thought to wonder what their rooms look like - and he's almost forgotten the girl until she speaks.
"He doesn't think I really knew what I was getting myself into. But I did- I looked it up and I thought about it for a long time and then he told me that I didn't know what I was doing." She frowns. Brendon thinks her voice is starting to descend into whininess and maybe she realizes that too because she pauses before she adds on, unable to resist: "I knew what I was doing. He's wrong. I know how I feel."
She probably knows more about the whole business than Brendon then, who keeps meaning to look up heart-dealing in a legitimate source (like the Internet or something) and keeps conveniently forgetting. He's a little afraid that if he looks too hard at it, he'll find whatever is so bad about the whole thing.
"You don't believe me," she accuses and Brendon throws his hands up defensively.
"No, no, I believe you," Brendon insists, although he really doesn't care and Pete's seen enough hearts that he probably knows what he's talking about.
That seems to settle the girl's doubts, although she still looks a little put-out by the whole situation. "I mean, how would he even know what's best for me?" she starts, and Brendon's hard-pressed not to sigh. It's not like he doesn't care about her angst, but really, he's a teenager too, he has enough of his own. And Brendon's not even here to return her heart, so why is she so stuck on that?
"He's just... wrong," she says firmly, seemingly to herself, but Brendon nods along anyways.
"Definitely," he agrees.
She stares off moodily for a second before speaking. "I've never actually had anyone visit me before. Am I allowed to tell you that?"
Brendon shrugs; it's not like he knows that rules any better than she does. "I won't tell."
She looks reassured but preoccupied. "You've been in the room with all those hearts, right?"
"Yeah."
"Do you think you could put mine near the front, when you give it back?" She bites her lip. "Where more people might see it maybe?"
Brendon doesn't tell her that he isn't the one that puts them back and he doesn't tell her that her heart is faint and the opposite of what anyone would be looking for if they didn't have her particular heart in mind.
"Is there someone in particular that you want to see it?" he asks instead.
She blushes. "No," she says. "Well - I don't know. It's stupid."
Brendon makes a motion with his hand for her to continue, because what else is he going to do?
"I thought that maybe my boyfri - my ex-boyfriend would maybe..." Her voice trails off like she either doesn't want to jinx it or maybe doesn't want to actually finish the thought.
Brendon's not really sure what to say, but when she sniffles helplessly, rubbing at her eyes, he can't not feel bad. He still thinks it's stupid to want that, but he reaches out and hugs her anyways and she practically collapses against his chest. He pats her back and feel what are probably tears on his shirt.
Brendon doesn't have any girl friends, or at least none that he could comfortably hug or even touch, so his arms feel awkward wrapped around a girl's shoulders. She shudders and sniffles and Brendon tries to squeeze her shoulder encouragingly although that seems to just distress her more.
"I just really miss him," she says finally, through little hitching breaths as she blinks up at Brendon. She's a pretty crier, aside from a runny nose. "I don't think there's anyone - anyone else out there like him."
After Sandra, Brendon's not really impressed by the girl's reasoning but that doesn't stop a small trickle of protectiveness. He summons some wisdom from the daily calendar of positive thinking that his cousin gave him for Christmas last year, looking her square in the eye. "There's no one else out there like you."
And oh, it's cheesy but she eats it up even as she rolls her eyes and if that's all that Brendon needed to do to make her feel better than it was worth the sour taste of cliche in his mouth. The girl's reluctant to let go, pressing her head to his chest but not in a seductive way. It's needy and kind of sad and Brendon just waits it out.
"I'm Rachel," she whispers eventually into his shirt, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand even though she's already gotten snot and tears over the front of his shirt anyways.
And Brendon wants to tell her: "Hey, go get your heart back from Pete. Don't wait for someone to come save you" because not every guy that buys from Pete will be her knight in shining armor, or even willing to let her sob on their t-shirt.
Instead, he pulls out of the hug. "Hi Rachel."
"I think... I think that should be goodbye," she says, unsure but pulling herself away from Brendon with an embarrassed smile like the lights have come back on and she realizes how naked her emotions are.
"Okay," Brendon means to say but he's already gone.
*****
Brendon probably shouldn't be surprised to see actual customers in the bookstore when he goes to exchange Rachel's heart.
There's a mousy-looking couple browsing the mystery novels, hand-in-hand, and an older woman taking a book from the spiritual self-help shelf and they wouldn't be out of place in any bookstore, especially not the slightly dusty and lonely environment of used bookshops.
They look like normal people and they don't fit into Brendon's idea of Decaydance and he wonders for a second if he's walked into the right store.
Brendon shifts his backpack and feels the heart resting against the small of his back. He ducks into the historical fiction aisle.
He can't just go up and hand it to Pete, not with other customers there looking at books about yoga and holding hands and being so normal in a place that isn't at all. Biting at his thumbnail, Brendon peeks around the corner of the aisle at the couple and then slides his back down the shelf until his butt hits the floor. His fingers grope behind him and pull out a book at random, grainy hardcover and thick pages, and Brendon opens it in his lap as he waits.
It's actually kind of an interesting book and Brendon feels transported back to childhood memories of sitting in his grandpa's lap. The yellowed pages, the smell of old paper- it's probably a little creepy of him, but Brendon can't help but lift the book to his nose and let his eyes slip shut for a moment before reading.
Brendon finds himself losing time between the stacks of books, sitting on the floor in a forgotten corner of the shop. He's never considered himself much of a reader, but it's dark before Brendon realizes that the store's probably been empty for a while. His joints pop when he stands up and stretches out the soreness from leaning against the shelf for too long.
Pete's reading at the counter when Brendon finds him. He glances up curiously, looking at Brendon over a pair of glasses that Brendon are pretty sure are fake.
"I brought the heart." Brendon lifts it out of his bag and Pete looks down at his hugely tacky neon watch.
"It's almost 7- don't you have a curfew or something?" Pete asks and really, who the hell has a curfew at seven?
Except- oh shit, dinner. Brendon scrambles for his phone, cringing when he sees the three missed calls.
"It's okay, just come back with it tomorrow," Pete tells him as Brendon's eyes dart to the door. Brendon nods, shoves the jar back in his backpack and breaks the speed limit the entire drive home.
*****
Brendon can't get back to Pete's store until a few days later (there's an early family dinner the next day to make up for the one he'd missed the day before and then the next two nights he'd been working on a project for a class he was close to failing) but Pete doesn't seem to mind.
"Oh, you're back," he says when Brendon returns, like this isn't the fourth time that Brendon's been by the shop. At least the tone isn't unfriendly or inconvenienced like the reaction that he usually receives from Earl. "What can I do for ya?"
Brendon hefts up the heart after looking around to check that the bookstore is clear of customers.
"Oh, yeah, c'mon," Pete says, beckoning him to the back of the shop.
When Brendon hands over Rachel's heart, Pete turns it over in his hands for a minute before setting it down towards the back of the room where Brendon had gotten it, amongst a bunch of white, smoky-colored hearts. Brendon's fingers twitch for a second, remembering a promise he didn't make, and Pete looks over at him from the corner of his eye and smiles in a way that's both lazy and tight.
"I don't usually buy from kids her age," he says and seems to trust that Brendon understands. "It's not worth the heartache they think they're going through."
Brendon nods, because Pete would know better than he does. He picks up a heart that looks a little lighter than the rest, dusky orange and brown but still bright with what might just be wishful thinking on Brendon's part.
*****
Brendon doesn't realize how lucky he has been so far until he visits the third heart's house.
It's not that there's anything horrific or scarring there. Nothing he'll be having nightmares about or that cause him to question the morality of messing around with other people's hearts.
But it does stink like alcohol. It makes Brendon appreciate Rachel's nicely-trimmed lawn and suburban house and even the dull but unoffensive interior of Sandra's trailer. Brendon just reels at the stench for a second, focuses on trying to hold his dinner in his stomach instead of throwing it up, before realizing that the reason the smell is so strong is because there's a drunk man passed out on the couch right next to him. The lump snores and Brendon backs away slowly because he knows it's not that guy's heart that he bought, just like he knew which room was Rachel's and to trust Sandra.
His caution and care to step lightly probably aren't necessary, especially because the snoring doesn't cease even when Brendon steps on a bag of chips on the floor, crunching loudly. Still, he can't help but feel like he's intruding on something and should be careful not to let anyone know he was here.
He makes it safely out the door and into the kitchen and it's a little easier to breathe. The bottles of beer in the kitchen (three, Brendon counts, in addition to a few in the living room) are empty at least and there's no one breathing alcohol-morning-breath on him. Brendon's stomach settles. He looks around the kitchen and slides a few plates off to one edge of the round kitchen table before taking a seat. It's not a bad kitchen, or a bad house overall really and Brendon's not afraid of the drunk man in the living room but he knows to stay put here.
He must be expecting someone, because Brendon's hardly surprised when the boy walks into the kitchen. He doesn't seem very surprised either because he goes to the sink first, fills up a glass of water and goes into the living room. He doesn't even look at Brendon until he comes back, face pinched irritably, and glances in his direction.
The boy opens his mouth to speak but a particularly loud snore comes from the living room. His mouth twitches, downward, not an attempt at a smile, before he nods to what Brendon assumes is upstairs and then walks out of the kitchen.
Brendon follows, up brown-carpeted steps and into a room that looks enough like his own to be a teenage boy's room, with all of the details different. His eyes land on the computer, the large bookshelf, the history book and homework open on the floor and finally the boy who hasn't looked over at him again yet. He's skinny and taller than Brendon and even though it's night he's still wearing a pair of skinny jeans and a vest that would probably be too small on Brendon.
They stand in silence for long enough that Brendon thinks this is going to develop into a stalemate when finally the boy speaks, waving his hand towards the swivel-chair pulled up in front of the computer. "You can sit."
"So can you," Brendon replies and the boy gives him an indescribable look but sits down on the edge of his bed.
"So," Brendon says eventually, sick of the silence and the kid staring him down. "You're a big reader?"
The kid looks momentarily surprised and Brendon's pleased that his poker face isn't nearly as good as he thinks it is, but quickly lapses back into a bored, apathetic look. "Sure."
"Cool."
The boy gives him that unreadable look again and Brendon stares back, smiling. It doesn't seem to endear him at all to the boy.
"I'm Brendon," he finally offers.
"It doesn't really matter," the boy replies with a derisive snort. "It's not like we're ever going to see each other again anyways."
Probably not, no. Brendon hasn't run into Sandra or Rachel since he met them and he's pretty sure that Sandra didn't even live anywhere close to Summerlin. There aren't many trailer parks or stretches of endless desert nearby.
"I'm Ryan," the boy says finally. "Lift your feet up."
"Oh." Brendon looks down at where he's stepping on a packet of homework and complies. "Sorry."
Ryan doesn't look particularly impressed with the apology but he shrugs. "Whatever."
"So, Ryan-"
"Look, can we just not talk?" Ryan interrupts irritably. "You're not going to end up buying my heart and I don't want to get to know you, so just stop, alright?"
Brendon's mouth closes abruptly.
Ryan doesn't look apologetic for snapping at him and he looks at Brendon for a few seconds more, defiant, before rubbing a hand across his face in what Brendon recognizes as a tired gesture.
"Sorry," Ryan says finally, not looking up from where his face is buried in his hands. "What were you going to say?"
Actually, Brendon was going to ask if the drunk guy downstairs was Ryan's dad but that seems a little tactless now. "Um, can I have something to drink?"
Ryan gives him a weird look but gets up. "Water?"
When Brendon nods, he goes to get it and Brendon rubs at his chest above where he knows his own heart is sitting. Something about Ryan makes him feel like he's been slowed down and dulled at the edges. It fades a little when Ryan leaves and Brendon rolls his shoulders and stretches out his chest, trying to get rid of the heavy feeling. He's mid-stretch when he hears Ryan's slow steps up the stairs and he rests his arms back on his crossed legs and looks up at Ryan when he enters.
Ryan is easing the door shut, careful with his movements like it takes an effort to even make them. He hands Brendon his water and Brendon takes a demonstratively grateful gulp of it as Ryan resettles himself so that he's perched on the edge of the bed again.
"I don't usually get people our age," Ryan says finally. Brendon perks up and nods interestedly, urging him to continue, but apparently that's all that Ryan wanted to say.
"You get a lot of... people coming through?"
"Buyers?" Ryan asks or maybe clarifies since Brendon's never been really sure of what to refer to himself as. Customer? Interloper? "Not more than the rest of Pete's collection, probably. But I've seen enough."
Ryan's definitely more calm about the situation than Rachel had been- he's more at Sandra's level of acceptance about the whole thing, like he's mostly just waiting for Brendon to pass through, albeit impatiently. Brendon assumes that he's seen more people than he's admitting, since he doesn't seem like a naturally calm, accepting person, but Ryan's also a lot younger than Sandra and he can't have had his heart sold for nearly as long as she has, so maybe he's not lying.
"This is weird," Brendon says with a small laugh. "I've only met girls so far- do you meet many guy, uh, customers?" It makes it sound like Ryan's a prostitute and Brendon screws his face up in a mixture of amusement and awkwardness.
"Some," Ryan says vaguely, although it doesn't look like he's being purposefully difficult as much as it's just his nature. "Looking for girls, usually. That's how you can tell they're not really in love though- they can't find the heart they're looking for. I get the lost ones."
He fixes Brendon with a level stare and Brendon flushes a little and shrugs. "I'm not in love, man. Or looking for a girl."
Ryan's gaze turns amused at that and Brendon's surprised at the show of humor before realizing what he just said. "Oh, not a guy either! Well, my grandpa, so." Brendon waves his hands.
"I get it," Ryan assures him with his monotone, but he's smiling a little around his eyes.
"Oh, do you?" Brendon smiles back. "Like you're some great guru of love."
"No, I'm not," says Ryan simply, looking down at his lap.
Ryan seems like kind of an ass but Brendon still feels bad. "Oh, I'm not either, don't worry. Obviously." He makes a face when he's sure Ryan's looking. "No luck in the romance department?"
Ryan looks at Brendon like he's a dumbass and, well, okay, maybe he is if he's asking a heartless about his dating life. "It's cool if you don't want to answer- I've never had a girlfriend either. I mean, I did convince Stephanie Kostansas' cousin to date me for a day in sixth grade, but that doesn't really count."
"I've had a girlfriend," Ryan says.
"Oh, right, yeah, of course. Good-looking guy like you, of course."
"She cheated on me."
Brendon's pretty sure that Ryan says that just to make him squirm a little.
"Oh, that's... too bad," Brendon manages. "Is that why...?"
Brendon thinks it's pretty obvious what he's talking about- why he sold his heart, which is the whole reason Brendon's even here- but Ryan just gives him a blank look.
"Your heart," Brendon finally fills in. "Is that why you sold it?" He hasn't asked so far, but he doesn't usually have to. With Sandra and Rachel, he could see what their reasons were without even meaning to (and without their permission, apparently).
"I didn't sell my heart," Ryan says. Brendon must look skeptical because he nods firmly. "I didn't."
"Well, I'm here, so. You must have."
Ryan frowns, looking annoyed. "I didn't."
Brendon can easily see this becoming a game of 'yes-you-did, no-I-didn't' so he decides to take the moral highroad. "Okay, fine, you didn't sell your heart. I just magically appeared here to bother you in the middle of the night."
Ryan raises an eyebrow. "Well, technically, that's all true," and Brendon hates to admit it but he's got him there.
"Whatever," Brendon replies, a little huffily because he knows that he's right and he's not sure why Ryan's lying about this. "Do you know how much longer I'm going to be here?"
Ryan looks at him with raised brows for a long second before shaking his head slightly in what might be disbelief. "I'm not a stopwatch. I don't know how long you're going to be here- I'll know when you're about to leave but I can't give you a countdown. Go hang out with my dad downstairs if you're really that bored," Ryan suggests, tone bitter.
Brendon wants to say something back, because why would Ryan lie about something like selling his heart? It's kind of embarrassing; maybe it was for some stupid reason that he regrets or something. But everything that Brendon comes up with sounds too lame ("maybe I will!") or bitchy.
"I'm going to bed," Ryan announces without waiting for a reply. He gets under the covers of his bed, still dressed in jeans, and turns his skinny back to Brendon.
"Hey, don't," Brendon says, watching the bony hump of Ryan's back under the blanket.
He doesn't get a response and Brendon gets up and walks over to the bed, hovering over him as his hand waits to touch Ryan's shoulder lightly. "Don't be like that," he says. "Just-"
The angry, tight line of Ryan's mouth is visible just above the blanket and Brendon stares at it for a second, head swimming. He hadn't looked very closely at Ryan's dad downstairs but he can suddenly see him in front of him, looming and awake and angry and drunk, and Ryan's not afraid or angry but he's not happy either. He's not feeling anything that Brendon even recognizes as emotion, just a flickery, tight feeling in his chest, and his hands shaking like he's going to fly apart at any second. He's separated from a hurricane by a thick pane of glass- he can hear that there's supposed to be something happening but he can't touch it. His dad says something, anything, and it doesn't matter, because there's a roaring in Ryan's ears but nothing he can feel.
Ryan's hand knocks Brendon's away and Brendon stumbles back a few steps, taking a gasping breath as he tries to clear his head. Ryan's glaring at him when his vision clears, twisting around so he's facing Brendon with a fierce look on his face. "What the hell was that?"
Brendon doesn't even know so he can't tell him. "Your dad-"
"Stop," Ryan demands and Brendon complies, because he's not sure what he was even going to say and Ryan's shaking a little. "Don't."
"Yeah, I- I won't," Brendon promises.
Ryan closes his eyes for a second, looking pinched, and Brendon's gone before he opens his eyes. (Part Three)