by Trisky
Don’t get me wrong, I love Daphne, she’s a great friend, but sleeping on the floor of her dorm room for the past two days has rendered me permanently damaged for life, between the knots in my muscles and the ringing in my ears from her suite mates. I never realized just how shrill a pack of girls can be. I know I shouldn’t bite the hand that’s helping me out for a few days, at least, but if I had to hear that Chastity, Jesus what a name, talk about her boyfriend and his being more interested in his frat parties than her and the rest of them console her, for half a second more I’m sure I would have killed her and her boyfriend would have thanked me. It would have been a death for the betterment of humanity. I just wanted to scream “you have no fucking clue” but she probably wouldn’t have even heard me over the sound of her endless self-pity.
Dammit! I hate that, I hate when I hear his voice in my head, coming out like they were thoughts of my own and not just an echo of him. I can hear him so clearly, picture him so easily, bored out of his mind or trying to ignore someone, usually me, when they just keep talking, and talking, and talking some more. Sometimes it’s funny, the way he reacts like the rest of us would love to, but don’t have the balls to actually do. It’s just not that funny, when it’s directed at me, even though I probably deserve it every now and then.
I wonder what he’s doing, how he’s sleeping at night. I know it’s only been two days, but I just... I can’t. I can’t help it, I’ve tried but I can’t. I’ve just wanted to hide away from the world, from Ethan, from him, from everyone. I don’t even want to be here right now, but Daphne forced me to leave her room for the first time in the last 48 hours, told me if I missed my classes she’d throw my ass out. I think she’s just sick of seeing my face, I don’t blame her, I’ve been sick of seeing it myself, for the last few months.
“Gray skies are gonna clear up, put on a happy face.”
I hate that fucking song, and it’s playing on an endless loop in my brain every time I look out the window. I didn’t really know where else to go on Saturday, when I left Ethan’s place in the morning. I couldn’t go home, obviously, couldn’t go to my mom because it’s just too embarrassing and I don’t have the energy to deal with that yet, and I couldn’t go to Debbie because that would mean inevitably seeing Michael at his appointed diaper change. Here’s a knife Mikey, do us all a favor and cut the strings already, and when you’re done, you can stab me in the back with it, some more.
I wonder if he’s thinking about me, or if he’s just thinking about where to stick his dick next. Maybe he brought Rage home and fucked him, until he was cross eyed, maybe he’s still fucking him now, maybe he’s installed a revolving door, to make it easier. Whatever he’s doing I’m sure Michael is there giving him puppy dog eyes and reassuring him that he was absolutely right about everything, and always will be.
Is that what he wanted from me? Make sure I was housebroken and ready to fetch and lick on command? “Roll over”... and play dead. I didn’t think it was, for the longest time, it seemed like he was responding to me, he was someone different, who wanted me, wanted to be with me, he was trying, in his own way and then he just stopped. Maybe that’s as far he’ll ever get. But it’s still further than anyone else has gotten him, that has to mean something.
Shit, why can’t I just hate him? It would be so much easier for everyone. I’m not being fair to anyone right now, and I don’t even care. I guess I am just a selfish twat. Is it so wrong to wallow in self-pity? Well as long as your name isn’t Chastity and your voice doesn’t register in the dog whistle range, at least. I blame it on the weather, they do say that it affects your mood don’t they? Well gray skies have definitely cast a pall on my mood, and from the looks of whatever I’m smudging with the charcoal, it’s affecting my art, as well, because it just looks like one big blob of gray. When the hell did I start moving my hand on this canvas? I don’t even remember picking it up. I guess there’s nothing safe anymore, no real escape. It’s all tainted.
“I thought I’d find you here. What are you working on?”
His voice startles me, and my head snaps back so fast I think I might have loosened a disc, or maybe it’s just two days of sleeping on a floor, three if you count that thing on wood.
“Uh... I don’t know, I’m just messing around.” I try to smile, really I do.
“I thought maybe you’d run off with your other lover,” he jokes.
I don’t laugh.
“Wolfram went missing for a few hours the other day, I thought maybe you had kidnaped him.”
In my head I think laugh, on my face I smile blankly, in my gut, I’d like to stab him with Mikey’s knife. I don’t know where I picked up all these violent tendencies. It’s not his fault, not his fault, it’s my fault, all mine, no one else’s, he just came along for the ride.
“I’ve been staying with my mom for a couple of days, just getting my head together, figuring out what I want to do next.” I don’t know why I’m lying, it’s become second nature, apparently. I just don’t want him... to know... to know, fuck me, I don’t want him to know I’ve spent two days crying on the floor of the girl I’ve known since I was 7, it just seems like such an immature thing to do, and I just don’t think he’d understand.
“Your mom, huh? She fed you, kept you warm, gave you a place to go. It’s nice to have someone you can rely on.”
“Yeah it is.” Why we’re even keeping up the pretense of this being true is way beyond my scope of understanding, at this point.
“She forgot to give you a change of clothes.”
“All of my clothes are at home.” I wonder if this great big, gray industrious city manufactures muzzles.
He looks at me with a flash of something, I’m not even sure I’m seeing... Regret, he looks at me like he regrets ever having met me, knowing me, loving me. I’m a disappointment to him. Get in line, buddy.
“Did you come up with any plans? You’re welcome to stay with me until you figure something out, or maybe you won’t have to leave at all.” He leans towards me, invitingly. I have an urge to take him up on the offer, I won’t deny that, anything has to be better than living in limbo. But I just can’t. I won’t.
I *won’t*. I ... *won’t*. He *won’t* what? Love me? Tell me so? Go any further?
“Justin...” I shake the cobwebs of my gray matter loose and look directly at him.
“Thanks, but I’m sure I’ll come up with something.” Sometimes a man just needs to know when to ask for help. Shutup Brian, go back into your corner and be quiet.
“Okay, I won’t pressure you,” he smiles. “It was just really nice being able to spend the night with you and I’d like to do it again, as soon as possible.”
Maybe I imagined the regret, I must have. If something as simple as spending the night makes him so happy. Are they still using that one? I force myself to smile. I can’t deal with all of this right now, let him think what he wants. In fact he can do all of the thinking for both of us.
“So what are you working on? Your hand was moving so fast when I came in, I thought you were going to rub right through the canvas.”
He comes around to my side of the easel, and looks over my shoulder at the charcoal gray figure of my dreams. I see his face, I watch his eyes fill with the same look I thought I saw a minute ago, and I look at the spot his line of vision has descended upon.
And there it is, the truth, in shades of gray.