CONTEXT

I wrote this mostly for myself to understand the relationship between Nolan and Kylan a little better. I did release it in the original draft, but I no longer believe it holds place in the main storyline. This is a chapter I always knew would make it a deleted scene at some point.

Please note that this chapter takes place four to five years prior, when Nolan is only fourteen. By this time, Kylan is seventeen, soon to be eighteen. I will not go into physical detail, but still, proceed with caution as it can still be triggering to some.

Just as with any other deleted scene, this was heavily edited to better reflect my writing ability and more accurately frame the story in the way it happens in my mind.

FADE IN:

INT. KYLAN'S BEDROOM - EVENING
(FLASHBACK)

"You always do that," Kylan said. He rolled his eyes and sighed before he laid himself down on his bed.

"Do what?" I asked quietly, fiddling with the fabric of his comforter. I could feel his eyes burning through the side of my face as I tried to avoid eye contact. It worked pretty well, until he rested his hand on my lap. It was something he did often whenever I didn't give him the desired attention. He'd touch my leg, and my eyes would find his in an instant.

"Pretend like the world owes you something." He sat back up, his hand gripping my leg a little tighter to help himself up. "You have two parents who care about you, both loaded and highly influential in the field you want to pursue."

"My dad and I aren't speaking," I mumbled.

"God, not this again." He looked at the ceiling, in a similar way he would whenever he was searching for his lines. Maybe he was, in a way. The things he'd say to me were always thought through, never spontaneous, even when he was high. Sometimes it felt like he was playing a part with me, but I wasn't too good with improv, so I'd mess up my lines and we'd end up arguing. But the longer time went on, the better I got with pretending.

"Let me tell you where we'll be a few years from now," he said, brown eyes showing up amber in the sunset peaking through the blinds. "You'll be right there, maybe still working on The Children, maybe working on some movie. You'll be the lead, an attractive white boy, green eyes, innocent smile. The movie is a hit among teenagers. You make a name for yourself, so the new generation doesn't immediately link you to your dad. You'll grow up to make millions, maybe get a DUI during an early midlife crisis at thirty-five. But you'll persevere, maybe you'll find a new passion. You'll start directing here and there, you'll become old and bald and your beauty fades, but your work... it's untouchable. You'll have a legacy to leave behind."

I smiled—the innocent smile he was talking about earlier.

"Then there's me. I'll continue to take whatever I can get, mostly supporting characters every few years, just enough to afford this apartment and make sure my siblings have a roof over their heads—by proxy funding my entire foster family. Ten years from now, once my siblings—my real siblings—are all of age, I'll finally cut ties with my foster parents. They'll make sure to find a way to take all my money, but I'll survive, especially since my siblings will be working themselves. This scar," he said, running his finger over his face, from his temple, right under his eye, to the bridge of his nose, "it'll make sure I'll never make more than what I need. I don't mind it, though. It keeps me humble, it's the only thing I hold over you. People like me because I'm real. I struggle. That's what keeps me employed."

Silence washed over the room, and the little smile I'd displayed at fantasizing about my possible future had disappeared. Hopeful anticipation had developed a bitter aftertaste after hearing what his future would most likely look like.

"Do you still think that on top of everything, the world owes you acceptance for your sexuality?"

His hand squeezed a little tighter again. I couldn't find my voice. All that came out was air.

"I guess not," I whispered. I was surprised he even heard me, as I barely heard myself over the blood rushing through the veins in my ears. His free hand found its way under my chin, pushing it up to make me look at him.

"The world has given you enough. You shouldn't be testing the universe, or it'll take it all back." His voice had lowered, and he stepped away, suddenly leaving me cold. It had become harder to breathe as the air turned chilly.

It'll take it all back. What would that mean for me? That the broken relationship with my parents will bite me in the ass eventually? Will it prevent me from getting gigs? Will I need to find a new career?

I took a deep breath, my fingers digging into the mattress.

The future is never set in stone, but I didn't want whatever was sketched out now to be erased. The sketch is good. That's a life I want.

I took more deep breaths.

If I want that life, I shouldn't be testing the universe.

I took another one, until my lungs were so full they could rupture, and breathed it out again, but it didn't matter. My body wasn't taking oxygen. All it was taking was poison.

I breathed deeply. And again. And again. Until my vision became blobs of black and blue. And I was shivering, and the room around me shrank, and...

A hot gust of air hit my face, the smell so strong it brought me back almost immediately.

It took a while for my vision to return, but when it did, Kylan was right in front of me, his nose nearly touching mine. His eyes scanned my face as he backed up a little, taking another hit of his joint with a smile as he walked slowly from one side of his room to the other. He puffed out a cloud of white smoke before he spoke again.

"You know, sometimes I forget you're just a child."

"I'm not a child," I argued, but I was still struggling with breathing. It wasn't helping my case. "It's not like you're eighteen yet."

"Hm," he hummed, taking a few steps towards me again. "We're all a bit too grown up in a way, essentially working nine-to-fives since before we even hit double digits."

"Can I have a hit?" I asked, not in the mood for another depressing monologue.

"You're a lightweight," he said. "This is the quality stuff."

"I came here expecting to hook up or get high. Not to get lectured." I got up from the bed, grabbing my phone from the nightstand before making my way to the door. But he grabbed my arm, slamming me against his bedroom door.

"Fine. Gosh, you're so spoiled." He brought the weed to his lips, inhaling deeply.

"If you're just gonna get high without me, I'm leaving," I said, ripping my arm from his grip.

He rolled his eyes before he came closer, our noses almost touching once again as he rested his thumb on my chin, and with his other hand gripped my wrist tightly. His mouth fell open slightly, and a second later, I was breathing in everything he got rid of.

For the first time all day, my mind was turned off. My limbs relaxed. My heart rate slowed down.

I didn't know it back then, but that was the easy bit.

It's crazy how much a person can change throughout their teens. But what's crazier is finding out history repeats itself, especially once you least expect it to. Like a broken record, humans have the tendency to make the same mistakes, over and over and over again...

So where does it end? After dusting it off? After un-warping the vinyl?

Perhaps only once you change out the record.