The Hive

Chapter 10
Chapter 9

Lucas woke with a scream.

Not the childish whimper he'd grown accustomed to over three years, but a hoarse, adult groan tearing from the throat of an eleven-year-old boy. On the adjacent bed, Benjamin stirred but didn't wake, only clutching his teddy bear tighter to his chest. In the weak nightlight glow, his face looked entirely childlike—round cheeks, slightly open mouth, long lashes trembling in sleep.

"Just one week," Lucas thought, sitting up in bed. "He was a thirty-year-old man, and now..."

The sheet beneath him was damp with sweat, his pajamas clung to his back. The nightmare still clung to the edges of his consciousness—fragments of images from his past life, which he'd tried so hard to bury.

An apartment in Chicago. View of Lake Michigan. A prestigious job. A beautiful wife. Everything a successful person was supposed to have at thirty-five. And it all crumbled like a house of cards.

Lucas stood, trying not to wake Benjamin. His bare feet moved silently across the soft carpet. He approached the window, pulled back the curtain. Beyond the glass, the garden bathed in moonlight, so peaceful, so far from the nightmares.

"Can't sleep?"

Benjamin's voice made him flinch. Lucas turned—his friend sat up in bed, sleepy, disheveled. In his spaceship pajamas, he looked about seven, maybe younger.

"Nightmare," Lucas answered shortly.

"Want to... want to come here?" Benjamin lifted the edge of his blanket. "I'm scared alone too."

Simple words, but behind them was understanding that Lucas had missed so much all these years. He climbed into Benjamin's bed, and Benjamin immediately hugged him, holding him close. His small arms were warm, smelling of children's soap and something indefinably homey.

"Tell me," Benjamin whispered. "About the nightmare. About everything. I can see—you're carrying this inside, and it's tearing you apart."

And Lucas told him.

About his prestigious job as an accountant at a major firm. About Lisa—beautiful, ambitious, always wanting more. About loans for the car, apartment, renovations. About how debts grew faster than income.

"She wanted to live beautifully," he spoke in the darkness, feeling Benjamin hold him tighter. "Italian tiles, German kitchen, designer furniture. And I... I just wanted her to be happy. Took extra work, sat up nights over reports. Coffee became my only friend—five cups before lunch, three more after."

He told about Mark—the wealthy banker Lisa met at a charity event. About how she left, leaving him all the debts and an empty apartment. About how he started drinking—first a glass of wine to relax, then a bottle, and then whiskey proved more effective.

"Mistakes in reports started small," his voice trembled. "A missed comma, mixed-up numbers. Then bigger. And then I transferred a client's money to the wrong place. A large sum. Very large."

"And they fired you?"

"'The firm cannot risk its reputation,'" Lucas quoted. "Career over at thirty-five. And that's when I bought the gun."

Benjamin froze. Lucas felt his breathing quicken.

"Glock 19. For protection, I told the seller. He didn't believe it, but sold it. That night I sat in the kitchen—where Lisa and I once drank morning coffee and made plans. Gun on the table. Bottle of whiskey. And a note: 'Tired of pretending everything will be okay.'"

He paused, gathering strength.

"Sat for three hours. Loading, unloading. Bringing it to my mouth. The taste of metal and gun oil—I still remember. Finger on the trigger. Three and a half pounds of pressure—I read online. Just three and a half pounds between life and nothing."

"But you couldn't."

"Not from fear of death. Death seemed like relief. I was afraid even this wouldn't work out. That even in suicide I'd be a failure. Miss, survive, remain disabled. Or worse—they'd save me, lock me in a psych ward."

Tears ran down his cheeks.

"In the morning, there was an envelope in the mailbox. Cream-colored, with a golden bee. 'Tired of pretending? We understand.' As if they'd read my note."

"And you came."

"What was there to lose? Couldn't get worse, I thought. If it's a cult—fine. If they poison me—that's a way out too. Any exit seemed better than sitting in the kitchen with a gun."

Lucas told about his first days at the Hive. About how he turned out to be partially receptive to the honey, about how Eleanor offered him to become a helper—to become a child physically and help guests find relief. About how he agreed because it seemed the lesser evil.

"Three years I've been meeting newcomers. Comforting them. Telling them everything will be fine. And lying to each one. Drowning each one in honey syrup. And now..." he turned to Benjamin, and in the dim light their faces were very close. "Now I'm drowning you. The only person in three years who saw me not as a function, but as a friend."

"You're not drowning me. You're helping me stay afloat."

"I should have warned you earlier. The first day. But you smiled at me, extended your hand for a handshake, as an equal. And I... I couldn't. For the first time in three years, I felt human."

Benjamin was silent, then pulled Lucas closer, buried his face in his shoulder.

"You know what? I'm glad you didn't warn me. Otherwise, I would have run on the first day. And never would have known what it's like to have a real friend. An older brother I always wanted."

"Benji..."

"No, listen. Yes, this place is horrible. Yes, terrible things are happening to me. But you... you make it bearable. When you're near, I don't feel like a lonely freak losing himself. I feel... protected. Needed. Important to someone."

They lay in each other's arms, two boys on the outside, two broken adults inside. Outside the window, dawn was beginning to break, but they didn't want to let go.

"Yesterday at breakfast," Lucas whispered, "when you told Eleanor we were friends... It was the first time in three years someone called me a friend. Not a helper, not a 'good boy,' but a friend. And I realized—if I lose this, if I betray you like I betrayed others... Then better the gun. Only this time I won't miss."

"Don't say that!"

"Why? It's the truth. You gave me back my humanity, Benji. Gave me a reason to fight. Not for myself—for you. And you know what? That changes everything."

Benjamin lifted his head, looked into Lucas's eyes. In the morning light, they seemed very young and very old at the same time.

"Promise me," he said seriously. "Whatever happens, however our bodies change, we'll stay together. We'll remember each other. Support each other. Won't let each other get completely lost."

"I promise," Lucas kissed his forehead—a simple, brotherly gesture. "You're my little brother now. And big brothers protect little ones. Even if they're the same size as the little ones."

They laughed—quietly, so as not to wake the house. Laughter through tears, but genuine.

In the corridor, footsteps could be heard—Sara's morning rounds. Lucas wanted to return to his own bed, but Benjamin held him back.

"Stay. Let them see. I don't care."

"Hart won't like it. She talked about 'unhealthy attachment.'"

"What will she do? Punish us? Separate us? We'll find a way to outsmart her anyway. Because now I know—you're afraid too. You suffer too. You need someone nearby too. And I'll be that 'someone.'"

The door opened. Sara froze in the doorway, seeing them in one bed.

"Boys?"

"Lucas had a nightmare," Benjamin said calmly. "I was comforting him. Isn't that what friends are for?"

Sara smiled and said nothing. She placed a tray with the morning bottle on the nightstand.

"Breakfast in half an hour. Don't be late."

When the door closed, Lucas whispered:

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For not letting go. For not being scared of my truth. For staying close even though you know now how broken I am."

"We're both broken," Benjamin took his hand. "But together we can build something new from the pieces. Maybe small, maybe fragile, but ours."

The sun rose higher, flooding the room with golden light. Ahead was a new day at the Hive, but now it was for the two of them.

And that changed everything.

Breakfast passed in tense silence. Benjamin sat on his chair with a booster cushion, picking at his oatmeal. The spoon seemed heavy in his small hand, periodically slipping from his fingers. Drops of porridge fell on the bright bib with bees that Sara had tied "to protect his clothes."

Lucas sat across from him, stealing worried glances. After the morning confession, a new closeness had been established between them, but it also made what was happening even more painful.

"Benji, sweetie, eat well," Sara adjusted the slipping bib. "A growing body needs strength."

"Growing," thought Lucas. "Only in reverse."

After breakfast, creativity time again. Small tables were set up in the playroom, finger paints laid out. Amelia was already enthusiastically smearing bright colors on paper, Michael was molding something from clay. Robert sat on the floor, hugging a plush giraffe, humming something.

Benjamin took a brush, but it slipped from his fingers. He tried again—his hand trembled, lines came out crooked. Coordination was deteriorating with each day.

Lucas sat down next to him.

"I'll help."

Together they drew a sun—a circle with rays.

"You know," Benjamin said quietly, dipping his finger in yellow paint, "this is even... nice. Not thinking about complicated things. Just drawing a sun."

Anxiety pricked Lucas.

"Benji, that's the honey talking. Don't give in."

"What if it's not so bad?" Benjamin turned to him, and there was strange peace in his eyes. "You said yourself—don't resist too hard, or you'll break faster."

"I'm an idiot!" Lucas blurted out, forgetting to lower his voice. "Don't listen to me! You have to resist always, every minute, otherwise..."

"Lucas," Sara's warning voice. "Don't disturb others."

He bit his tongue, but inside everything was boiling. Seeing Benjamin beginning to give up was unbearable.

After creativity—mandatory walk. Outside, Benjamin ran to the swings—impulsively, childishly. He tripped over his own feet, fell on the grass. His knees were scraped, blood appeared.

"Ow-ow-ow!" he whimpered, and the crying was completely childish. "It hurts!"

Lucas was instantly beside him, helped him sit, examined the scrapes.

"It's not serious, just scratches. Now Sara will..."

"I don't want Sara!" Benjamin clung to him. "You heal it! You're my big brother!"

The words hit straight to the heart. Lucas took a handkerchief from his pocket, carefully dabbed the blood.

"Will you blow on it?" Benjamin asked hopefully. "Mom always blows when I fall."

"Mom." Not "my mom once." Just "mom," as if it was yesterday.

Lucas blew on the scraped knees, feeling something tearing inside. It was simultaneously right and wrong. Natural and unnatural.

"Better?"

"Uh-huh," Benjamin smiled through tears. "Thank you. You're the best brother!"

Lunch. The spoon was too heavy, he had to grip it in his fist. Several times Benjamin spilled on himself, and Sara patiently wiped with a napkin.

"Maybe I should help feed you?" she suggested.

"I can do it myself!" Benjamin answered stubbornly, but gave up after a minute. "Okay... help a little."

Lucas watched as Sara fed him from the spoon. As Benjamin obediently opened his mouth. As he swallowed the honey poison spoonful by spoonful.

Quiet hour. In their room, Benjamin was changing into pajamas, and Lucas noticed—movements had become clumsier. Buttons wouldn't yield to small fingers.

"Will you help?" Benjamin asked, holding out his shirt.

Lucas silently unbuttoned the buttons, helped remove the t-shirt. The diaper was slightly damp.

"Don't look like that," Benjamin blushed. "I know it's... embarrassing. But what can I do? Control isn't what it used to be."

"It's not about the diaper. It's that you're giving up."

"What should I do?" tears appeared in his voice. "Fight? How? My body won't listen, thoughts get confused. Yesterday I forgot the name of the street where I lived. This morning I couldn't remember my phone number. Tomorrow I'll forget something else."

He sat on the bed, pulled his knees to his chest.

"But you know what I remember? That I have you. My friend. My brother. And as long as you're near, it's not so scary."

"Benji..."

"Maybe that's my way of coping? Not fighting the inevitable, but finding something good in it? You found it yourself—you found me."

Lucas sat down beside him, hugged him. The small body pressed against him trustingly.

"I'm afraid of losing you," he admitted. "Not physically. Mentally. That one day you'll wake up and won't remember who you were. You'll just be a little boy who likes to draw suns."

"I'll remember the important thing. That you're my brother. That you take care of me. Isn't that more important than remembering a phone number?"

A knock at the door. Sara with a tray.

"Boys, time for afternoon sleep. Here's your milk, Benji."

A bottle with warm milk.

Benjamin took the bottle with both hands, leaned back on the pillow, brought it to his mouth. He began to suck—slowly, with obvious pleasure.

"Good boy," Sara praised. "Holding it correctly. Well done!"

When she left, Lucas couldn't hold back:

"You said yesterday you wouldn't! That this was the last line!"

Benjamin took the nipple from his mouth, milk dripped on his chin.

"Yesterday I was bigger. Yesterday my hands didn't shake so much. Yesterday I could hold a glass. And today..." he shrugged. "Today the bottle is more convenient. And the milk is tasty. Warm."

"This is capitulation!"

"Or adaptation. You've been adapting for three years yourself."

"And look what I've become!"

"My brother," Benjamin answered simply. "A person who takes care of me. Who blows on scraped knees. Who hugs when it's scary. If that's bad, then I don't want good."

He finished the milk, carefully placed the empty bottle on the nightstand. Lay down in bed, pulled the blanket up to his chin.

"Will you lie with me? Please?"

Lucas couldn't refuse. He lay down beside him, and Benjamin immediately pressed against him, hugged with small arms.

"You know what's strange?" he mumbled sleepily. "I should be panicking. Screaming. Having hysterics. But I'm... calm. Because you're near. Because for the first time in my life I'm not alone."

Sleep overcame him quickly—the milk was doing its work. Lucas lay holding his sleeping friend, thinking about the paradox of their situation.

He wanted to save Benjamin. But what if Benjamin didn't want to be saved? What if for him this place wasn't a prison, but a refuge? Not an end, but a beginning?

A quiet "pshhh" broke the silence. A familiar smell. Benjamin had wet himself in his sleep—the diaper began to swell, absorbing moisture.

Before, this would have caused panic, tears, despair. Now Benjamin only pressed closer to Lucas, not waking up. Trustingly. Calmly.

"Maybe he's right," Lucas thought. "Maybe all these guests I've met over the last three years really are happy now?"

Birds sang outside the window. The house was quiet. Only the breathing of the sleeping boy beside him, who was his friend, brother, anchor in this strange world.

Quiet hour passed surprisingly quickly. The door made its familiar creak, and Sara's voice sounded:

"Wake up, sleepyheads. Time for afternoon snack."

Benjamin woke, stretched like a kitten. Then realized the wet diaper and blushed.

"I... I need to..."

"Of course, sweetie. Come on, let's change you. Lucas, will you help?"

This was unexpected. Usually Sara handled "hygiene procedures" herself.

In the bathroom, she took out everything necessary—wipes, cream, fresh diaper—and stepped aside.

"You two can manage, boys?"

And without waiting for an answer, she left.

When the door closed, Lucas was at a loss.

"I... I don't know..."

"I'll show you," Benjamin lowered his pajama pants to his ankles. "It's not hard. Just... a bit embarrassing. But not so embarrassing with you."

With trembling hands, Lucas unfastened the tapes and closed his eyes.

"Luke, you look so funny right now!" Benjamin giggled.

Mechanically, trying not to think, Lucas did everything necessary. Wipes. Cream. Powder. New diaper.

"Thank you," Benjamin whispered when it was over. "I know it's... disgusting."

"No," Lucas helped him stand. "Not disgusting. Just... sad. That we've come to this."

"Or risen?" Benjamin pulled up his pants. "Depends how you look at it. You take care of me like no one ever has. Not even my parents."

At afternoon snack, a small miracle happened. Amelia, who had already completely transformed into a ten-year-old girl mentally, approached their table.

"Can I sit with you? You're like real brothers. I never had brothers."

She sat down, and soon the three of them were enthusiastically discussing which cartoon was more interesting—about Buzzy the Bee or Teddy the Bear.

Lucas caught himself fully engrossed in this argument, as if he really was 11 years old or even younger. "No, has my immunity disappeared?" flashed through his mind, but immediately vanished.

An ordinary children's conversation in children's voices. But for Lucas, it was a revelation. They were creating something of their own in this place. Not a family—that word was poisoned by the Hive's lies. But a connection. A real one.

Evening. Dinner. Bath time.

In the bathroom, Sara washed Benjamin while Lucas helped—handed the towel, held the pajamas. A domestic ritual that had become almost normal. As if they were all a real family.

"Head back, sunshine," Sara poured water from a ladle. "Close your eyes tight-tight."

Benjamin obediently followed commands. His small wet body shivered from the coolness, and Lucas quickly wrapped him in a towel.

"Like a caring big brother," Sara smiled. "Eleanor will like your... dynamic."

Something in her tone was alarming, but Lucas said nothing.

Before bed, already in their beds, they whispered in the darkness.

"Lucas? Are you mad at me?"

"For what?"

"For giving up. For not fighting like you wanted."

Long pause. Then Lucas moved to Benjamin's bed, hugged him.

"I'm not mad. Just... afraid. That I'll lose you. The real you."

"And who's the real me? A thirty-year-old loser or a seven-year-old boy who has a loving brother?"

"You are you. In any body. At any age. As long as you remember your name and our friendship."

"Benjamin Wilson," he whispered. "Benji to friends. I have a big brother Lucas who blows on scraped knees and changes my diapers. And I... I'm almost happy."

"Almost" caught. In that "almost" was the last thread to his former life.

"Sleep," Lucas kissed the top of his head. "Tomorrow's a new day."

"Will you stay with me?"

"Yes."

Upstairs, Miss Hart sat in her office making notes.

"Day 7. Benjamin showing signs of acceptance. Mental regression has finally begun—presumed catalyst Lucas Martinez. Consider possibility of permanent co-housing. Potential for applying 'family model' to other guests."