Try To Change Me

Chapter 30

Austen blinked twice, realising that he was staring at the hand basin. Toothpaste dribbled down his chin, and he quickly pulled the toothbrush out of his mouth and spat. He rested his hands either side of the sink and and stared at his reflection.

He could still hear Hazmat's voice in his head. 'Athleticism, appearance, emotions and intelligence.'

The words were haunting him.

Jolting away from the basin, Austen stormed into his room, slamming the door a little too hard behind him. He bit his lip, listening carefully to make sure neither of his parents had heard, but when no feet pounded up the stairs he assumed he was safe. Or at least, he thought wryly, by himself.

Negotiating the organised clutter of his bedroom floor, he meandered to the bed and flopped on the doona, arms spread wide. He let out a sigh.

Hazmat's words still echoed in his head and, with no remaining choice, Austen turned to meet them head on.

"Athleticism, appearance, emotions and intelligence," he murmured aloud, each term heavy on his tongue.

Austen was a B-student: he didn't excel in his studies but he managed quite well. He was good looking: attractive enough to have a crowd of girls hanging around but average enough so that no modelling companies had hunted him down. And he was a normal, temperamental teenager: most of his emotions were kept bottled up inside, much to the angst of his ex-girlfriends. Overall there was nothing remarkable about him.

"Except...." he muttered, eyes darting to the picture beside his bed. The frame held a photo of him and Phitz from a couple of years before. Decked out in their soccer uniforms. "Except for sport."

Saying the words aloud didn't offer him any solace, and he sat up quickly, feet resting on the carpet. His knee jiggled anxiously, and out of habbit he forced himself to still. And take a deep breath. And close his eyes.

Austen assured himself that he didn't actually know Hazmat. The man could easily be a crackpot, or a reality TV host and this was all a hoax. Until he had actual proof, there was no point worrying.

His eyes flickered open, and he wished it was that easy. Turning the alarm on the nightstand towards him, Austen read the time and frowned: 9.

"7 more hours?" he asked his empty bedroom, appealing for it to correct him. Even after the strange events of the day, inanimate objects were still inanimate though, and he had no such luck.

"Screw that," Austen snapped, rising quickly. He grabbed an old duffle off the floor, emptying the contents onto his floor with a rough shake. Selecting a few clean shirts off the floor and stuffing them inside, he navigated over to his chest of draws. Fumbling around in the top draw, he pulled out his wallet, sunglasses and some boxers. Just before he pressed it shut, Austen swiped his swiss-army knife up and shoved it into his pocket. It encountered some resistance and his pocket spat out his phone. The mangled device clattered to the floor and he stared down at it.

On the one hand, it was fried and he'd need a new one, but that didn't mean he couldn't rescue the sim card. On the other, he watched tv and had seen enough people be tracked by their phones to be wary. Plus, his parents would have that number if he didn't come home.

With the pros and cons analysed, Austen kicked the phone under his bed unceremoniously.

A few more necessities later, and he stood by his door, bag in hand, and contemplated his next challenge: escape.

Opening his door genlty, Austen slipped out onto the landing and closed it behind him, wincing at the soft click. He crept down the stairs, stepping lightly, and keeping his head cocked for the sound of his parents. Nothing stirred on the floor below.

With the final step, he let out a wheezing breath and slung the strap across his shoulder. Edging towards the back door, Austen's stomach did a flip. He was inches away from freedom - uncertain, dangerous, confusing freedom. No more mum, no more dad, no more Nic... 

He froze. 

Nic. 

Lowering his bag to the tiles, Auten swivelled on his heel and darted back towards his brother's room. He didn't know what he was doing, just that he couldn't leave without saying goodbye. He let out a deep breath and gently rapped his knuckles against the wood.

"Yeah?"

He opened the door and slipped inside, casting a small, curious glance around the room. His brother had always been a private guy, probably because of his injury. His brother sent him a flat look, clicking his fingers to get his attention. He was sitting on his bed, back resting against the wall. His legs, hidden in a pair of long pyjama plants, were laid out at an uncomfortably straight angle in front of him. Not that he could feel it. 

Austen coughed awkwardly, and let the door click shut. "Hey Nic."

"Hey Austen," he returned slowly, lowering the book he was reading. He frowned. "What's up?"

"How would you..." striding across the room, Austen lowered himself into his brother's wheelchair, accidentally plonking down with too much force and shooting himself back into the wall. His older brother chuckled as he brought the chair under control and waited for him to start speaking again. "What is the one thing that won't change?"

Nic snorted and scratched his head. "Uh.... the colour of the sky?"

"No, no! About a person." Austen fixed his eyes on his brother's ceiling and kept talking. "Is there a way that I could always find a person? A name or a number or something?"

"Austen - you're acting really strange," he said slowly, "What the hell is going on?"

His brother dragged the heel of his palm across his eyes, grinding his teeth together. "Look, I can't tell you.... it's all so complicated..."

"Tell Mum and Dad - we can all sort this out together."

With a sigh, Austen met his older brother's gaze. "If this is really a thing, if it's as bad as it seems, then they already know. Nic," he swallowed, "This could be their fault."

Nodding solftly, Nic dragged himself to the edge of his bed, reaching across to his night stand. He tugged open the draw and fished out a pen, guestering with his other hand for his brother to come closer. He grabbed Austen's forearm when the boy obliged and carefully scribed out a number. 

"Now, I reckon that you could trace me by address if worst comes to worst, but just in case.... this is my mobile. I promise," the pen stilled and he met his brother's eye, "that I will never change my number. If whatever is scaring the crap out of you happens then you move your ass and stay safe, but first chance you get your tatoo this number to your butt and call me whenever you can. Got that?"

Austen nodded sharply, stumbling back slightly when Nic released his arm. His fingers curled into a fist causing the ink to jump across his ligaments and Austen felt the weightlessness of freedom start to set in again. He squeezed his brother's shoulder once and then turned back to the door, ignoring the stare he could feel eating into him. He paused, hand hovering above the knob, and asked a final question over his shoulder. 

"Do you remember anything weird, Nic, between when Mum fell pregnant with me and when I was born?"

There was a rustle of fabric, and uncomfortable shuffle, before he coughed. "Yeah. I remember relief."

Nodding once, Austen put that information to the back of his mind and opened the door, refusing to look back at his brother. 

Sorry it has been so long, but I'm on Christmas break now so there might be a few more regular updates. 

SwimmingUpstream xo