literature
Tomorrow

Deviation Actions

Published: Apr 27, 2015
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Literature Text

`Tomorrow`

 "Hmmmm. I don't know if I could kill someone for you, Ali."

 "Shut up." Alistair gave his companion an annoyed glower, which only prompted the other's grin to brighten.

 "No, I really don't think I could do that. Sorry." 

 "I wouldn't expect you to do something like that." 

 "Oh? What kind of thing would you expect me to do?"

 "Pass all of your classes for once."

 "Hey!" Oliver couldn't help but protest, feigning offense.

 "And stop flirting with every girl you see."

 "I do no such thing."

 "You do."

 "Do not!"

 "Are you going to eat that?"

 "Hm? Why, do you want some? This isn't very healthy, Ali."

 "Like I have to worry about eating healthy. That's not what's going to kill me."

 "No. No, I'm not eating it. Here." Oliver waited until the waitress passed by, quickly flashing her his heart-stopping smile before nudging the slice of cake across the table to his friend, refusing to meet his stare.

 "You're flirting."

 "Am not! I just don't want her to think I dislike it!"

 "You do, don't you?"

 "Not at all. I'm just not hungry."

 "You're never hungry." The double meaning didn't pass Oliver, though he pretended it did.

 "No one can be expected to have an appetite as voracious as yours, Ali."

 "Stop calling me that." Alistair knew Oliver had understood the meaning of his previous words, but didn't force the point.

 "Aaaliiii."

 "How old are you again?"

 "Shut up. Would you kill someone for me, Ali?"

 "No way."

 "What a fast answer!"

 "You're not worth killing someone for."

 "Now you're just trying to hurt my feelings."

 "Killing someone is a bit extreme to expect, isn't it?"

 "I don't expect it at all."

 "Then don't get upset when I say I wouldn't do it."

 "Hmmm. Okay."

 Finishing the cake, Alistair pushed the plate away and laid the money on the table, standing. Oliver followed suit, sneaking a tip onto the table when he thought Alistair wasn't looking, and then leading the way out the front door.

 "Maybe I'd punch someone for you," Alistair said thoughtfully as they made their way down the sidewalk.

 "Oh? Maybe?"

 "Maybe."

 "What would you punch them for?"

 "Idiot, I only said maybe. I don't know what for."

 "That's really vague, Ali. You should decide now, or you'll never know how far you'll go when you're put on the spot."

 "Huh? What kind of foreboding statement is that?"

 "Sorry! Well, you know, it's true, though." 

 "What kind of stupid thing are you planning, Oliver?"

 "Nothing! Hey, Ali, look, there's that videogame we saw on TV last night! They're letting people play it for free to try. Let's go in."

 Ignoring the abrupt shift in topic, Alistair followed his friend into the videogame store, watching the story play across the screen. He glanced at Oliver, staring at the other until his friend looked up and notice.

 "What is it?"

 "What would you punch someone for? For me?"

 "Whaaat? Now you're turning it around on me? You're not normally the curious type."

 "Shut up, you're the one who brought it up."

 "Hmmm. I'm not sure what I'd punch someone for. If it was for you, though, then I'd definitely do it?"

 "Is that question or not?"

 "It's not! I'd definitely do it!"

 "Who knew you were so violent?"

 "I'm not! You're the violent one! Now look, you're rubbing off on me. I hope I never have to punch someone for you. That'd be terrible."

 "But you'd do it?" Alistair pressed, squinting.

 "Uh-huh." Suddenly less articulate, Oliver looked at the screen. "Aha! It's our turn!" 

 Alistair grabbed his wrist, pulling him closer. "Why would you punch someone for me?"

 Oliver stared at him, before breaking eye contact. "You're my best friend. Of course I'd punch someone for you, if I had to."

 They sat down to play the game. Despite being the better player, Oliver couldn't win a single round. 

 "I don't want to buy that game," Oliver complained as they headed home.

 "What? You've wanted that game since they announced it. Don't be a sore loser."

 "Hmm." 

 "Hmm? That's all you have to say?"

 "Sorry." Oliver grinned, looking away. 

 "For what?" After a silence, Alistair sad, "Idiot."

 "You're so mean to me. It's hard to believe you'd punch someone for my sake."

 "I only said maybe."

 "But I said I'd definitely punch someone for you. Doesn't that change your mind?"

 "Not at all."

 "You're so mean to me."

 "Does it bother you?"

 Oliver looked up, staring at him. "What?"

 "Am I too mean to you?"

 "What?" he repeated, looking bewildered.

 "Answer the question."

 "You've never asked that before."

 "Answer me."

 "Of course not." Oliver grinned. "I know you'd be lost without me."

 Alistair rolled his eyes. "Fine."

 "Although I think I'd be more lost without you. I really am as useless as you say."

 "What? No way--"

 "Not literally! Shut up, I'm not that self-deprecating. But once you go away to university, you'll be fine. You won't really need me as much, right?"

 Alistair stared at him. "You're serious."

 "Huh? Of course I am! I've had to think about this a lot, you know." Then, before Alistair could reply, he added, "Since we're going to different universities, I mean."

 "You're popular, and smart, and talented. You'll be fine too."

 Oliver smiled, but he didn't meet Alistair's gaze. "Alright, Ali."

 "I mean it."

 "Okay!" he insisted, cheerfully, before stopping at the gate to his yard. "I'll see you tomorrow."

 "Alright," Alistair muttered, narrowing his eyes.

 "You're making a scary face at me."

 "Shut up." Neither of them moved for a minute. "I'll be fine at university." Something like hurt flit through Oliver's eyes, but he masked it well. Not well enough for his childhood friend to miss it. "And so will you." That hurt changed to downright pain, and Alistair didn't understand that part. Oliver was better at hiding things from him than he'd realized. "We'll still text and Skype and everything," he insisted.

 "Uh-huh," Oliver nodded hurriedly, backing into his yard. "Bye, Ali."

 "Oliver--"

 "Bye!"

 "Oliver--"

 "Hey, about what I said. I really couldn't kill someone for you, Ali. Sorry."

 Alistair frowned. "I wouldn't want you to. That'd mess you up, Oliver. You couldn't live with something like that."

 "I know. That's-- that's exactly right." 

 After a while, Alistair finally shrugged. "You're acting weird."

 "Am I? Sorry. Let's go out for brunch tomorrow."

 "I can't afford that." Oliver was changing the topic again.

 "My treat!"

 "You can't afford that."

 "I can treat myself once in a while, Ali!" 

 "Just come over for breakfast tomorrow. I'll tell my mom to make extra eggs and bacon."

 "That is a treat! Deal!"

 "See you tomorrow, then."

 "Yeah. Ali--" Alistair stopped, looking up. "Let's spend everyday together, until you move away."

 "That's too much. I don't think I could put up with you for that long."

 "Rude!"

 "I have other people to say goodbye to, you know."

 "Pleeeease?"

 Alistair stared at him. They both knew he wouldn't say no. Even so, it looked like Oliver was worried he might. "Fine."

 The relief was visible, and Oliver smiled-- one of his rare, genuine smiles. "Good."





 "Paging Doctor Hale to O.R, please, Doctor Hale..."

 "I'm sorry, Ali... I really can't kill someone for you. I found someone with our blood type. I wish I could've... I-- I want to stay with you forever. But you wouldn't be able to look at me if I did that. I... I can't lose you. I wouldn't be alright without you.

 "You'll be alright, Ali. I-- I love you."





 "Good morning, sleeping beauty." Alistair squinted against the harsh fluorescent lights, blinking. His chest hurt, and his head hurt, and something felt wrong. "Can you hear me, Alistair?" He nodded slowly, once, feeling nauseous. "You collapsed again."

 "Couple years," he croaked.

 "It was a long shot that it would last that long," the doctor reminded him. "Your heart finally gave out."

 "My..." He didn't understand.

 "We found a donor at the last minute," the doctor continued, and Alistair felt his gut suddenly drop. "Very lucky, with your rare blood type. As I understand it, you were on the wait list for a long time. You're going to be fine, Alistair. Would you like to see your mother?"

 "Yes." He tried to push himself into a sitting position, but the doctor put a hand on his shoulder.

 "You need to rest. Wait here."

 When his mother came in, her face was streaked with tears. His chest clenched as he stared at her. "Mom--"

 "I'm so relieved," she said, but he could hear the lie in it. She was relieved. But she was scared.

 "Mom--"

 "I'm so sorry, Alistair. Honey, I..."

 Shaking his head, Alistair closed his eyes. "Where's Oliver?" he whispered, clutching the sheets of his bed.

 "Alistair..."

 "Don't. Don't tell me-- I'm alive-- because--"

 "..."

 "Oh, my god. No. No, no..."



 Ali.

 "I don't want it." Crumpling the letter in his hand, Alistair stared down at his desk, heart skipping in his chest. "You idiot. You idiot, I don't want it."

 Sitting on his bed, he hung his head between his arms, digging his fingers into his hair. "I don't want to read it..."

 He opened the letter, and read it. Two wet spots had dried on the paper, and his own tears joined them. 

 You'll do great, Ali. I'll always believe in you.