I stood before him, over him, and didn’t say anything. I only watched as he sat, crumpled against the wall, knees bent up to meet his face, shoulders heaving. He had his inhaler clutched in his hands, though if he’d just used it or was about to, I couldn’t tell.
Finally he looked up at me, and despite the circumstances and the way he looked, it delighted me that he wasn’t surprised to see me there.
“You read my tweet.”
I nodded. It had been for me. I knew it. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” he said, and then immediately amended, “No.”
I sat beside him, folding my feet underneath me to stave off some of the cold from the concrete. I wanted to ask him if he was upset because of Rupert P., but it felt wrong asking him a question I already knew the answer to. Deceptive, somehow. So instead I asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”
He searched for his words, unsure of what to say but determined to say something. He wrote that tweet for a reason after all. He wanted me here. He needed me here. “Ever since the band, things have been a little crazy in my life,” he began. “I mean, one day you’re in India, helping build a school for poor children, and then the very next day you’ll be at the Teen Choice Awards, accepting the award for best smile. It’s great, but it’s also really screwed up, and somehow I’ve got used to it. The surreal has morphed into my reality when I wasn’t looking, and now this is my life. But tonight … I don’t think I can handle my reality anymore.”
I said I wouldn’t ask him this, but screw it, I asked it anyway. “Is this about Rupert P.?” He looked me in the eye so fiercely I didn’t have time to be scared, because I knew that I’d scared him first. “I saw Griffin’s video,” I added quickly. I had to make sure I cleared up the fact that I was asking about Rupert P., the closeted boy bander who’d just quit, and not Rupert P., the closeted boy bander who’d just croaked. “Did you know the two of them were together?”
“Yeah, I knew. Rupert would never admit it, but I was his best friend. I think I was his only friend. I told him to let Michelle go, that it wasn’t fair to her. And that our fans would understand if he wanted to come out. I supported him one hundred percent, whatever he wanted to do.” He buried his face in his hands again. “I told him he could always come to me if he wanted to. I don’t know why he didn’t, and now …”
“And now what?”
“And now it’s too late.”
“Why?” I wanted him to say it. I wanted him to say it so badly so that it would be out in the open, a secret that was spilled instead of one that we both held, and both continued to keep. He looked at me, his green eyes glassy. He was going to tell me Rupert P. was dead. He was going to let me in. Maybe we could figure out what to do together.
But a noise tripped us out of the moment.
“What was that?” Rupert K. said.
We heard it again, a sound coming from one of the doors. Voices. Scraping. Thudding.
“I can’t be here,” Rupert K. said, standing and overly paranoid. “I don’t want anyone to …” He stuck out his hand. “Come with me.”
Rupert K. wanted to be alone, but he still wanted to be with me.
He wanted to take me somewhere.
He wanted to take my hand.
I let the moment linger, let my field of vision fill with the image of him standing above me, looming large and reaching out to me. And then I gave him my hand, obvs.
There were three doors we could see, and we ran to the one farthest from the one where the noise was coming from. We slammed through the door and ran down the stairs, not knowing where they led but taking them like there was a fire behind us that we had to outrun. I was flying high/down floors, and all I knew in that moment was the feel of Rupert K.’s hand in mine. I know there was a lot going on; there was a giant dead redheaded elephant in the room to think about, but shit—I had given Rupert Pierpont enough thought for today. And to be honest, it was more thought than he even deserved. Mayherestinpeace.
The real newsworthy thing here was the fact that I was holding Rupert K.’s hand and we were alone together, practically having an adventure.
We must’ve taken the service route, because we kept passing equipment in the hallways—giant spools of cable, mopping apparatuses, large rolling bins. We were in the bowels of the hotel, the dark corners not meant to be seen by any of the guests, let alone one of the biggest stars in the universe. We checked every door we found, but they were all locked, so we kept going until we found one that wasn’t. And when we did, we went through it.
The indoor pool.
Totally empty but still lit, water shimmering, a million diamonds. It slowed us to a halt. It quieted our breathing. And for the moment, at least, I think it eased both of our minds.
We looked at each other, me and Rupert K., and for the first time since finding Rupert P. in his room there was the shadow of a smile on his face.