Yes! I'm back already! Huzzah!
I'm using the desktop computer, and it's highly distracting, but I'm glad I'm getting through this even though there's a lot of things that have needed my time. I'm worried that I will be overpowered by those things soon... But on the bright side, chapter 39 is actually already made a dent in too.
I won't say anything about the content of the chapter. Think what you will. :)
NaNoWriMo Count
52159 / 50000 words. 104% done!
COMPLETED! (Does this mean I set a new one?...) Okay wait, I know what I'll do. I'll assume that the story will be finished a5 60 chapters. The bar will be my completion of Part 2.
8 / 30 words. 27% done!
HE'S (@) THERE
Chapter 38 - Whatever Be Ruined
I had to snap myself out of this empty gaze that had lasted the past three periods before walking into Mr. Darrelle's room. We had to do catch-up because of my inability to focus before the dance, and I had no excuse now to look distant; he was already growing impatient with me.
I don't know how much progress we made, even grinning and bearing it. His smile at the end of our meeting seemed strange to me. It was like he could see into me; like he saw something wrong, beyond the math, which he obviously couldn't ask about, and had he, I'd lie.
What Mariam said about Erik that day, as she had said many times before... it stuck onto me this time. We seemed to be connected now, me and "the note-sender"... We both propelled this relationship. Our thoughts were not quite so different. And to feel so connected to this... entity... that Mariam was so against... brought me to feel she was against me as well, in ways she didn't even realize. It didn't need to be said, "Lily, there is something wrong with you," "Lily, you're a 'weirdo'," but it almost made it worse... That she could not even recognize that. That perhaps she was overlooking it, unable to conceive that a friend of hers she had become so close to was less than what she wanted her to be.
Being deemed this way by her ruined the last thing I had that made me feel normal. Okay, so I never fit well with my peers, so I was made fun of, especially when little bits of me came out that were too detached from reality... But I had a best friend, who got me. There was someone else.
Right then, that someone else was the Phantom, though, and with that change in partnership, I took on more of him. I started to feel dark, like I would really have to disappoint others; scare them; appear so suspicious to stop drowning.
Coming down the hill, the wind hit hard. Funny, how it picked such a day, when it already felt I was going against every force. She made me angry. Like if I had to feel this way, I may as well feel it thoroughly. Just stop even trying to make things fit anymore.
I wanted to see Erik tonight, after that sun went down, without having to make something up about seeing anyone. I wanted that walk in the dark. I needed to be tired out, like him, to sleep.
* * *
For one reason or another, it was instinct for me to clean when I was frustrated. It was a form of control, really. Sure, Mariam and I were angry with each other and probably wouldn't be speaking for a while, but at least the carpet was fit for an Orek commercial and my bookshelf in the closet was arranged alphabetically. Right?!
I had to get that awful ring of soap scum off of my bathtub, too, that had been staring me in the face for months. There was an indescribable sense of joy that came from wielding the razor blade and picking the grimiest spot... and watching the long white ribbons drop to the bottom.
I had made a mistake of being noticed during all of this, though. It seemed to be a smart idea starting with the kitchen before anybody was home and finishing upstairs after, discreetly, with doors closed, but they noticed. They noticed me do too much.
Which was why I had planned to meet Erik at midnight. I never told him why and he never asked. It was a relief in itself just knowing somebody I didn't have to explain my life to before an escape was provided.
Not a thing against Giry, by the way. I still hadn't heard from her at all. I worried I had somehow wronged her by throwing her advice over my shoulder. I worried what Mariam might have said to her. Maybe I was being paranoid, but it felt appropriate at the time. Just as the Phantom and I had had our problems and I'd sit in this tub, drawing pictures of us running through flowers, that was now flipped back to everyone else, and, in fact... he was the only thing right then that I felt sure about. I knew he had Giry's number in his phone, but we'd get to that eventually. It was too small to worry about.
When I was done with the tub, I got a text from him, reminding me it'd be cold outside, if I really wanted to see him later. "Layer up, okay."
Heh.
I sat on the rug with my phone afterward. I was tired, even sweaty. The heat was too high and I'd been distracting myself with activity. I didn't realize it was 7:30.
The pack of blades were sitting on the counter, and I saw them with him in my head, and a thought. A thought about the cold - how I felt it the last time we argued and it kept me going, like I wanted to have that to know it was real. Unfortunately I was called to dinner before I touched that box, but I could see myself in the mirror, thinking quite abnormally, before rushing down.
The parents could see I was detached from their reality. I usually liked to sit next to them at the table, not always listening to their conversation but feeling that I belonged there after a lot of time watching the floor while I was at school and hiding in my bedroom when I got back. It seemed natural this time to drop to a bar stool and eat quickly, avoiding much talk to distract me from the state of mind I entered several minutes before. Of course, they tried to ask me why I'd been cleaning, and Mom wanted to know how math was going. I really just felt like the house was getting dirty, and math was going fine. I had upped my grade on several assignments and almost had a D. Before five minutes were up, my plate was rinsed and I was already up the stairs, closing the bedroom door and taking out my notebook.
It occurred to me that a thing should never be misunderstood, if you can help it. It should never be labeled unless it has been studied. And before I could defend Erik against Mariam, I had to defend him against myself, starting with my inability to confront or accept the fact that he was self-injurious, or was. If I wanted to be connected with him, I had to understand him more entirely.
First, I asked myself, in writing, why I was afraid of the idea.
- It's painful.
- Pain is hard enough to deal with on accident. If you want to bring it on, does that mean you need a therapist?
- It seems to me one would get quite queasy giving themselves cuts.
- All you have afterward is a cut, and later a scar. A scar that could last years. What if someone noticed this? What if you had to explain that you had had problems and dealt with them in such a way?
I didn't remember the quote, it was somewhere in my things... The world is losing its pigment... its colored again by the color, when you do this...
I was on the bathroom floor when I reached for the blade box. I just took out a new one to look at it and nothing else. I could see my wide blue eye in the metal, and the peach of my skin, colored by blood. World already colored. Seeing the two things together made it seem such a simple concept, almost - you slide the thin edge across a sheet of skin and get to see the red. Pointing a corner of the razor into a part of my arm that appeared safest... did nothing, though. Courage to execute this simple concept was imaginary when you remembered that sheet of skin felt it.
I was always the wuss, back in Colorado as a kid and here as well. I always got teary-eyed when I fell over on my bike, even nowadays out of sheer embarrassment, and it was Mariam that never gave a care in the world when we came home from a rowdy day of drama club with bruises all over our legs. If there was a God, he must've been looking down on me, asking "what the fuck are you doing?" in a booming baritone voice.
The blade was too much. It was easiest but hardest at once. But I was determined to complete my experiment, the one at the back of my mind during the writing and the examining. After digging through my jewelry drawer, I found a safety pin. Luckily, a tiny one. It seemed easier just to scratch my arm with it. It wasn't so bad. I repeated the motion enough for some skin to flake up from the path of the point. It only stung a little. At first. It hurt more as I persisted, and the area grew pink. Although I forced myself to keep that pin going back and forth for considerable time, I eventually had to take a break when the queasiness set in of giving myself that pain.
I could stop whenever I wanted to. I didn't need to do this. But I'd already made the dare. One swipe at a time.
It wasn't working.
When I heard steps along the hall, I stopped and just stared at the ceiling, trying to pretend I felt no pain at all. In a second, I would be running the pin across hard, to get it over with, and this seemed like the best way to prepare.
Eyes slammed shut, I did it, and the little slit momentarily throbbed, and I blew on it thinking it'd help. Not at fucking all. Ughhh.
It was already very pink, especially at one end. I did it fast again. Nothing. Another break and I tried again. A little sphere of red popped out of the line. I pinched my arm a little, hoping a little more would come out and make this incident worth it, and another drop of blood bubbled up. I told myself this was just enough and stopped, putting the pin out of sight, on the counter top above me.
I asked myself... How I could only do what I just had, but I was forced to see so much blood on his hand that one time? Plaguing my thoughts, over and over again -- How could he do that? I knew what it was like to be unhappy. But not to the point where your break; your least amount of pain; comes when you are hurting yourself.
My hand rose to my forehead and I let my arm dangle. It was still stinging.
It'd heal in a few days, but during I would be conscious of what I had done. I'd remember feeling sick. It would be my statement to myself that I had let my honest feelings come to the surface, and slightly alter my reality, no matter what anyone said about what I had done. Not matter who disapproved.
I still didn't understand this approach to reconnecting to a world losing its colors, but I knew at one point they were missing in mine, and the reasoning came that he and I were trying to do this in different ways. Each would hurt, no matter what, but we liked that. We could tell it was real, and ours, for once. For me, knowing fully the sacrifices it took to be nearer to this person leading me out into the cold, who seemed to just argue with me for two months straight... I would trade nothing for that. Perhaps I was emotionally cutting. Anonymity, uncertainty - they were no good for me, maybe, but deep down I wanted them. I could choose them, whether anyone thought it right or not. They were my break, even though I wasn't depressed.
He had other methods to accomplish this same thing.
If that was what it took to live in a world of vivid color, why not?
* * *
At 11:58, I had a serious adrenaline rush, just thinking about him while putting on my coats in front of the closet. I shuffled quietly for my things, but it seemed audible in my parents' room, even clicking off my bedside lamp. I knew he was already there. I could picture him standing. An eternity was in those two minutes between me and the door.
I had to open and close it so slowly, he probably didn't know what I was doing, if he was watching me, but letting go of the nob was completion of freedom from then on. I had to do no more than cross the street to that black place in the neighbor's yard. I was calmest disappearing there than I had been all day, and interlocking my hands with those of this face, that had picked me so many fine roses. He tried to back me up under the streetlights but I was quick to move. "I don't want anyone to see us here, let's go-" I tried to take him with me but he was resistant a moment. "Just take me for a walk. Take me wherever you go."
He listened, but he still didn't say anything; just kept at his pace, letting me hold on to his arm and watch the trees pass us. I didn't care where we were going, just that we were, and that I didn't have to say anything. I noticed he wasn't shivering and I was happy for him.
At a particularly low tree branch he looked behind us before ducking, and we were covered up in the shade again. I wondered by now why he was so silent. "You don't want to ask why I wanted to walk in the middle of night?"
"I guess I don't find it strange..."
"Is there anything I could do that you would find strange?"
"... I think anyone acts strangely when they're going against their own character. I don't believe you've done that since I've met you."
"Then by your definition you're not strange either. Right?"
"...My definition leaves a lot of freedom."
"Heghh. Yes. ...Do you think 'strange' and 'weird' are the same thing?"
"No."
We were walking at a very slow pace by then. Almost too slow. I still wanted to be a lot further away. "Then what's the difference?"
"Why from me?"
"I don't know. You don't have to answer..." Except I really wanted him to...
He stopped all the way and looked to his right again. "Strange is more of a description to me, temporary, and weird is more a state. The state of someone... being themselves and not being typical. And usually that's something that makes others uncomfortable."
"Heh. You make it sound so objective. Like if you use that word it's just the facts. That it doesn't hurt anybody."
"It shouldn't," he muttered, and began following that path we had just come. I stuck to his side again and closed my fingers around his arm.
"I don't see why it shouldn't - do you want to make people uncomfortable?"
"We all make someone uncomfortable being ourselves. We all make someone admire us for it, too, if you haven't noticed... It's all really a matter of choosing who you want to admire you, and who should be close to you. Which is why I endorse weird and not strange."
"You think I'm weird?"
"I do."
"That makes two."
"Probably three. Hopefully everyone you know. If they didn't see it as an insult... It's why you're not forgettable."
I think he had just made me smile by insulting me. Maybe because we were now called the same thing or maybe it was just how simple he made being an outcast sound.
"Who said you were weird? And I assume differently."
"No one." That must've confused him. "I did. Nevermind. ...Why are we going back towards my house?"
"Because I'm parked back there."
He must've noticed I looked thrilled because I caught him smile before he looked away. Anything to leave.
When that car appeared and he opened the passenger door, I just about lost it. "Thank you so much..." I uttered. I realized afterward I had drawn in his hands and held on to him like he'd been missing for years. "I don't know what I would've done if I couldn't see you tonight." His hand on my back was weak. When I lowered myself to the seat he said "you're starting to think like me" before he closed the door.
"We'll go somewhere you'll like."
I believed him. Why the hell not? As long as I had never been Lily there.
He drove with a faint smile but hardly spoke. I had a feeling we weren't going far because he never got on the freeway, only cruised almost aimlessly through side roads, and down a narrow road inside the
forest. It seemed so isolated out here. I liked it that way.
All the way through, we broke out into a lit street - the kind that would've been busy during the day, but dead here tonight. As we came down, I peered out Erik's window and could see the river beyond the railing. I knew it all seemed familiar.
He turned in and slowed along the curb, then turned off the car and leaned back, keys tightening in his hand. He seemed to be waiting for an observation.
"It's been a while, hasn't it?"
He grinned and slowly opened his door. There was the sound of the sky, but nothing else. Even he was quiet coming to stance. I stepped out and came for the railing, the wind against my face, but it was softer now. It felt like it should. He stepped right behind me, carefully laying his hand over mine on our furthest side.
"I was scared last time we were here," he said over my shoulder.
"You were scared? I couldn't even look you in the eye..."
"I was glad you didn't... I felt exposed enough letting you see any part of me. It was a lot easier being writing on paper to you."
"Hmph! I wouldn't have been able to stand that."
...
"I called you an asshole or something, didn't I?"
"A douchebag, actually." O-oh.
"I-I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. I didn't mean everything I said either."
We had some sort of companionable silence after that. I was okay forgetting what had actually happened here months ago... I don't think I had said anything meaningful to him in those times.
He let me walk beside the railing a ways and survey the city behind us a while before I dropped to a bench and just sat there, thinking, maybe going a little ways inside myself even though he was right next to me. I just wanted him there. I wanted to be in supportive company. Just like last time. But I didn't think we would be coming back here and it would be like this.
He was holding one hand with the other, posture straight, watching something, when I took a deep breath.
"Meg and I aren't talking anymore." He looked in my direction. "At least not now." I wrapped the collar of my coat a little tighter around my neck and kept my face down-turned.
"I'm sorry." It was okay if he wasn't, in actuality. What reason would he have to be?
"She's being really non-supportive of who I am and I'm not in a position to know how to deal with it, so... I thought it would be best to just... stay away for a while." He didn't seem to have anything to say now that I had put it out there. I figured I could make things clearer about why we were here. "I feel kind of lonely. I don't feel connected to anybody. But you."
His eyes switched from the distance to his side, where I waited for a response.
"You're starting to think like me," he repeated from earlier.
"... I guess so." I tried to lean close enough for him to look at me instead of his lap. "Was this a bad time?" Finally, he did.
"It's not a bad time if you needed me." It almost sounded insistent. The answer didn't feel good enough to me, though.
"We don't have to talk about... bad things... happening to me. I-I'm sorry,"
"I'd love to help you... If I knew how..."
"You can't... I don't expect it of you, either. I'm just... stuck. And I'm cold..." I tried to smile. "I listened to you - I have two sweaters and a hoodie under this, but it's no good..." I felt so awkward just having him sit there while I complained about everything under the sun, but when I rose my hand to brush the strayed hair out of my face, he pulled me completely into him. "I-igh..." I squinted my eyes and tensed, knees up, my body looking much like I were hiding inside a cupboard. "That helps. Actually." I couldn't see a reaction from here, but I hoped he'd smiled. "What did I expect, really?" I continued, to keep myself from getting awkward. "By telling people that this person... and I don't know who it is..." I laughed under my breath. "Is following me and doting on me and trying to help me understand... what I'm missing... and I'm willing to look past what a terrible reputation he has, just to find that out."
My cheek was rising every time he breathed. I wanted him to say something, but it seemed like I was just talking to myself.
"I should be allowed to do whatever I want... don't you think?"
I waited this time for a response. It didn't come right away, but finally...
"I think..." ... "You should just come with me... and forget about everyone else..."
"Hmph! ... Yeah. Very doable," I played off of him. He must've really been out of advice. Resorting to sarcasm.... That was the only way he could say it that set well with me, anyway... so I reacted accordingly.
I grew uncomfortable in cupboard-hiding position eventually, so I eased up and turned towards the sky. I wanted to make sure he knew his arms around me were appreciated, so I held to his left, then used it as a little support to lean back. That was when he shirked it away. "Sorry... Don't hold too tightly."
"I'm sorry," was my answer, confused.
"I fell on it."
"Oh... How did that happen?"
"I wasn't being careful, like you told me to be."
Al...right... I didn't believe that, truthfully. "Do you want me to stay away from that arm?..."
When I leaned forward to ask him face to face, I realized he looked really drained. There wasn't the same sharpness to his stare, and come to think of it, I don't think I'd seen it at all while we were here.
"...You look really tired. I thought this was early for you."
He sort of grinned but not out of genuine humor. "I haven't slept in the last 36 hours." I suddenly felt thrown off. Why hadn't he mentioned this? Why was he driving? Why was he even here? Listening to me rant, no less. "I couldn't tell until I stopped moving."
"Erik..." I tried to reflect that same grin, but it didn't feel appropriate. "Why did you come see me if you were so tired?"
"I don't want to go back there." That didn't make a whole lot of sense. "It's not where you think."
His ambiguity made it clear to me he didn't even want to go over it, but it changed my attitude from then on out. I convinced him to turn to his side and lay back on the bench with me, side by side, turned towards each other, so I could see him. He almost looked guilty that a thing like his body needed shutting down, but I took his hand and said the strangest things... Like if he wanted to, he could just fall asleep right there and I'd be here for him just like he was for me the other night... As if... I didn't need to go home. That I didn't have parents that might've found it odd if I was just gone the next morning...
Although... They left before I did, and they knew my bedroom door was locked while I slept... Maybe I knew that and would actually take a chance if Erik trusted me. I didn't think he would, though. It just seemed right to offer it up.
He still looked like a perfect black and white doll... Made me not want to even touch him further; wreck anything about that; startle him while he was drifting away.
"I'm the only one that sees this," I said to myself. "She doesn't like you," I told the motionless 'face'. "I know you accept this, but it's getting hard for me."
I could see his breath rising into the sky and I watched the stars, waiting for his reply, but he had gone quiet.
"She thinks there's a line between you and us, like you're the one that's wrong, but she's just alienated me... I'm not as right as she thinks."
"I'm done acting like I am."
"What do I do?"
"... You shouldn't be acting anywhere but on the stage." He had gathered very few words, but they told me best.
"You think I should just... give up. Forget about having this make any sense to her."
"You're just rationalizing for her."
"I tried to empathize. But she's coming down on me so hard when she isn't part of this. I don't think her feelings apply anymore..." Every time I said things like this about her, about her feelings not 'applying', the corresponding guilt was weakening me. Like these feelings were too hard on my friend to be true.
"Then that needs to be made clear," he answered quietly, which pushed at those feelings even more. Made them agreed upon. Two against one... I still didn't know.
"I'm trying... But it's... ruining us. She doesn't know me so well anymore and she doesn't trust me, and it's all because of what you and I have created." My hand rose up his arm, the sensitive one, and was careful not to weigh down too much. "If I need you, how can I have both?"
"You can't."
Okay.
I know he said I couldn't integrate him, but I still thought I could juggle both sides. A choice like that was too big to be acknowledged yet... I was going to pretend he had never answered my question, if he hadn't continued.
"I had to destroy everything to come for you." ...The only one I knew that could use words like "destroy" calmly, while seemingly falling asleep. "I always wanted to, though..."
"Nothing was worth kept standing."
"That kind of decision takes complete honesty, but... I think when you are honest you're perfect."
"I don't know when I'm honest."
"I think you do."
"You have to be sure what you need before you take that step... But if you are... Let whatever be ruined..."
" As I've done for you..."
Favorite Quote(s)
Eek! Lots of quotes I liked in this. I enjoy the fact that I can find room for funny statements in an otherwise dramatic situation.
I'm using the desktop computer, and it's highly distracting, but I'm glad I'm getting through this even though there's a lot of things that have needed my time. I'm worried that I will be overpowered by those things soon... But on the bright side, chapter 39 is actually already made a dent in too.
I won't say anything about the content of the chapter. Think what you will. :)
NaNoWriMo Count
COMPLETED! (Does this mean I set a new one?...) Okay wait, I know what I'll do. I'll assume that the story will be finished a5 60 chapters. The bar will be my completion of Part 2.
HE'S (@) THERE
Chapter 38 - Whatever Be Ruined
I had to snap myself out of this empty gaze that had lasted the past three periods before walking into Mr. Darrelle's room. We had to do catch-up because of my inability to focus before the dance, and I had no excuse now to look distant; he was already growing impatient with me.
I don't know how much progress we made, even grinning and bearing it. His smile at the end of our meeting seemed strange to me. It was like he could see into me; like he saw something wrong, beyond the math, which he obviously couldn't ask about, and had he, I'd lie.
What Mariam said about Erik that day, as she had said many times before... it stuck onto me this time. We seemed to be connected now, me and "the note-sender"... We both propelled this relationship. Our thoughts were not quite so different. And to feel so connected to this... entity... that Mariam was so against... brought me to feel she was against me as well, in ways she didn't even realize. It didn't need to be said, "Lily, there is something wrong with you," "Lily, you're a 'weirdo'," but it almost made it worse... That she could not even recognize that. That perhaps she was overlooking it, unable to conceive that a friend of hers she had become so close to was less than what she wanted her to be.
Being deemed this way by her ruined the last thing I had that made me feel normal. Okay, so I never fit well with my peers, so I was made fun of, especially when little bits of me came out that were too detached from reality... But I had a best friend, who got me. There was someone else.
Right then, that someone else was the Phantom, though, and with that change in partnership, I took on more of him. I started to feel dark, like I would really have to disappoint others; scare them; appear so suspicious to stop drowning.
Coming down the hill, the wind hit hard. Funny, how it picked such a day, when it already felt I was going against every force. She made me angry. Like if I had to feel this way, I may as well feel it thoroughly. Just stop even trying to make things fit anymore.
I wanted to see Erik tonight, after that sun went down, without having to make something up about seeing anyone. I wanted that walk in the dark. I needed to be tired out, like him, to sleep.
* * *
For one reason or another, it was instinct for me to clean when I was frustrated. It was a form of control, really. Sure, Mariam and I were angry with each other and probably wouldn't be speaking for a while, but at least the carpet was fit for an Orek commercial and my bookshelf in the closet was arranged alphabetically. Right?!
I had to get that awful ring of soap scum off of my bathtub, too, that had been staring me in the face for months. There was an indescribable sense of joy that came from wielding the razor blade and picking the grimiest spot... and watching the long white ribbons drop to the bottom.
I had made a mistake of being noticed during all of this, though. It seemed to be a smart idea starting with the kitchen before anybody was home and finishing upstairs after, discreetly, with doors closed, but they noticed. They noticed me do too much.
Which was why I had planned to meet Erik at midnight. I never told him why and he never asked. It was a relief in itself just knowing somebody I didn't have to explain my life to before an escape was provided.
Not a thing against Giry, by the way. I still hadn't heard from her at all. I worried I had somehow wronged her by throwing her advice over my shoulder. I worried what Mariam might have said to her. Maybe I was being paranoid, but it felt appropriate at the time. Just as the Phantom and I had had our problems and I'd sit in this tub, drawing pictures of us running through flowers, that was now flipped back to everyone else, and, in fact... he was the only thing right then that I felt sure about. I knew he had Giry's number in his phone, but we'd get to that eventually. It was too small to worry about.
When I was done with the tub, I got a text from him, reminding me it'd be cold outside, if I really wanted to see him later. "Layer up, okay."
Heh.
I sat on the rug with my phone afterward. I was tired, even sweaty. The heat was too high and I'd been distracting myself with activity. I didn't realize it was 7:30.
The pack of blades were sitting on the counter, and I saw them with him in my head, and a thought. A thought about the cold - how I felt it the last time we argued and it kept me going, like I wanted to have that to know it was real. Unfortunately I was called to dinner before I touched that box, but I could see myself in the mirror, thinking quite abnormally, before rushing down.
The parents could see I was detached from their reality. I usually liked to sit next to them at the table, not always listening to their conversation but feeling that I belonged there after a lot of time watching the floor while I was at school and hiding in my bedroom when I got back. It seemed natural this time to drop to a bar stool and eat quickly, avoiding much talk to distract me from the state of mind I entered several minutes before. Of course, they tried to ask me why I'd been cleaning, and Mom wanted to know how math was going. I really just felt like the house was getting dirty, and math was going fine. I had upped my grade on several assignments and almost had a D. Before five minutes were up, my plate was rinsed and I was already up the stairs, closing the bedroom door and taking out my notebook.
It occurred to me that a thing should never be misunderstood, if you can help it. It should never be labeled unless it has been studied. And before I could defend Erik against Mariam, I had to defend him against myself, starting with my inability to confront or accept the fact that he was self-injurious, or was. If I wanted to be connected with him, I had to understand him more entirely.
First, I asked myself, in writing, why I was afraid of the idea.
- It's painful.
- Pain is hard enough to deal with on accident. If you want to bring it on, does that mean you need a therapist?
- It seems to me one would get quite queasy giving themselves cuts.
- All you have afterward is a cut, and later a scar. A scar that could last years. What if someone noticed this? What if you had to explain that you had had problems and dealt with them in such a way?
I didn't remember the quote, it was somewhere in my things... The world is losing its pigment... its colored again by the color, when you do this...
I was on the bathroom floor when I reached for the blade box. I just took out a new one to look at it and nothing else. I could see my wide blue eye in the metal, and the peach of my skin, colored by blood. World already colored. Seeing the two things together made it seem such a simple concept, almost - you slide the thin edge across a sheet of skin and get to see the red. Pointing a corner of the razor into a part of my arm that appeared safest... did nothing, though. Courage to execute this simple concept was imaginary when you remembered that sheet of skin felt it.
I was always the wuss, back in Colorado as a kid and here as well. I always got teary-eyed when I fell over on my bike, even nowadays out of sheer embarrassment, and it was Mariam that never gave a care in the world when we came home from a rowdy day of drama club with bruises all over our legs. If there was a God, he must've been looking down on me, asking "what the fuck are you doing?" in a booming baritone voice.
The blade was too much. It was easiest but hardest at once. But I was determined to complete my experiment, the one at the back of my mind during the writing and the examining. After digging through my jewelry drawer, I found a safety pin. Luckily, a tiny one. It seemed easier just to scratch my arm with it. It wasn't so bad. I repeated the motion enough for some skin to flake up from the path of the point. It only stung a little. At first. It hurt more as I persisted, and the area grew pink. Although I forced myself to keep that pin going back and forth for considerable time, I eventually had to take a break when the queasiness set in of giving myself that pain.
I could stop whenever I wanted to. I didn't need to do this. But I'd already made the dare. One swipe at a time.
It wasn't working.
When I heard steps along the hall, I stopped and just stared at the ceiling, trying to pretend I felt no pain at all. In a second, I would be running the pin across hard, to get it over with, and this seemed like the best way to prepare.
Eyes slammed shut, I did it, and the little slit momentarily throbbed, and I blew on it thinking it'd help. Not at fucking all. Ughhh.
It was already very pink, especially at one end. I did it fast again. Nothing. Another break and I tried again. A little sphere of red popped out of the line. I pinched my arm a little, hoping a little more would come out and make this incident worth it, and another drop of blood bubbled up. I told myself this was just enough and stopped, putting the pin out of sight, on the counter top above me.
I asked myself... How I could only do what I just had, but I was forced to see so much blood on his hand that one time? Plaguing my thoughts, over and over again -- How could he do that? I knew what it was like to be unhappy. But not to the point where your break; your least amount of pain; comes when you are hurting yourself.
My hand rose to my forehead and I let my arm dangle. It was still stinging.
It'd heal in a few days, but during I would be conscious of what I had done. I'd remember feeling sick. It would be my statement to myself that I had let my honest feelings come to the surface, and slightly alter my reality, no matter what anyone said about what I had done. Not matter who disapproved.
I still didn't understand this approach to reconnecting to a world losing its colors, but I knew at one point they were missing in mine, and the reasoning came that he and I were trying to do this in different ways. Each would hurt, no matter what, but we liked that. We could tell it was real, and ours, for once. For me, knowing fully the sacrifices it took to be nearer to this person leading me out into the cold, who seemed to just argue with me for two months straight... I would trade nothing for that. Perhaps I was emotionally cutting. Anonymity, uncertainty - they were no good for me, maybe, but deep down I wanted them. I could choose them, whether anyone thought it right or not. They were my break, even though I wasn't depressed.
He had other methods to accomplish this same thing.
If that was what it took to live in a world of vivid color, why not?
* * *
At 11:58, I had a serious adrenaline rush, just thinking about him while putting on my coats in front of the closet. I shuffled quietly for my things, but it seemed audible in my parents' room, even clicking off my bedside lamp. I knew he was already there. I could picture him standing. An eternity was in those two minutes between me and the door.
I had to open and close it so slowly, he probably didn't know what I was doing, if he was watching me, but letting go of the nob was completion of freedom from then on. I had to do no more than cross the street to that black place in the neighbor's yard. I was calmest disappearing there than I had been all day, and interlocking my hands with those of this face, that had picked me so many fine roses. He tried to back me up under the streetlights but I was quick to move. "I don't want anyone to see us here, let's go-" I tried to take him with me but he was resistant a moment. "Just take me for a walk. Take me wherever you go."
He listened, but he still didn't say anything; just kept at his pace, letting me hold on to his arm and watch the trees pass us. I didn't care where we were going, just that we were, and that I didn't have to say anything. I noticed he wasn't shivering and I was happy for him.
At a particularly low tree branch he looked behind us before ducking, and we were covered up in the shade again. I wondered by now why he was so silent. "You don't want to ask why I wanted to walk in the middle of night?"
"I guess I don't find it strange..."
"Is there anything I could do that you would find strange?"
"... I think anyone acts strangely when they're going against their own character. I don't believe you've done that since I've met you."
"Then by your definition you're not strange either. Right?"
"...My definition leaves a lot of freedom."
"Heghh. Yes. ...Do you think 'strange' and 'weird' are the same thing?"
"No."
We were walking at a very slow pace by then. Almost too slow. I still wanted to be a lot further away. "Then what's the difference?"
"Why from me?"
"I don't know. You don't have to answer..." Except I really wanted him to...
He stopped all the way and looked to his right again. "Strange is more of a description to me, temporary, and weird is more a state. The state of someone... being themselves and not being typical. And usually that's something that makes others uncomfortable."
"Heh. You make it sound so objective. Like if you use that word it's just the facts. That it doesn't hurt anybody."
"It shouldn't," he muttered, and began following that path we had just come. I stuck to his side again and closed my fingers around his arm.
"I don't see why it shouldn't - do you want to make people uncomfortable?"
"We all make someone uncomfortable being ourselves. We all make someone admire us for it, too, if you haven't noticed... It's all really a matter of choosing who you want to admire you, and who should be close to you. Which is why I endorse weird and not strange."
"You think I'm weird?"
"I do."
"That makes two."
"Probably three. Hopefully everyone you know. If they didn't see it as an insult... It's why you're not forgettable."
I think he had just made me smile by insulting me. Maybe because we were now called the same thing or maybe it was just how simple he made being an outcast sound.
"Who said you were weird? And I assume differently."
"No one." That must've confused him. "I did. Nevermind. ...Why are we going back towards my house?"
"Because I'm parked back there."
He must've noticed I looked thrilled because I caught him smile before he looked away. Anything to leave.
When that car appeared and he opened the passenger door, I just about lost it. "Thank you so much..." I uttered. I realized afterward I had drawn in his hands and held on to him like he'd been missing for years. "I don't know what I would've done if I couldn't see you tonight." His hand on my back was weak. When I lowered myself to the seat he said "you're starting to think like me" before he closed the door.
"We'll go somewhere you'll like."
I believed him. Why the hell not? As long as I had never been Lily there.
He drove with a faint smile but hardly spoke. I had a feeling we weren't going far because he never got on the freeway, only cruised almost aimlessly through side roads, and down a narrow road inside the
forest. It seemed so isolated out here. I liked it that way.
All the way through, we broke out into a lit street - the kind that would've been busy during the day, but dead here tonight. As we came down, I peered out Erik's window and could see the river beyond the railing. I knew it all seemed familiar.
He turned in and slowed along the curb, then turned off the car and leaned back, keys tightening in his hand. He seemed to be waiting for an observation.
"It's been a while, hasn't it?"
He grinned and slowly opened his door. There was the sound of the sky, but nothing else. Even he was quiet coming to stance. I stepped out and came for the railing, the wind against my face, but it was softer now. It felt like it should. He stepped right behind me, carefully laying his hand over mine on our furthest side.
"I was scared last time we were here," he said over my shoulder.
"You were scared? I couldn't even look you in the eye..."
"I was glad you didn't... I felt exposed enough letting you see any part of me. It was a lot easier being writing on paper to you."
"Hmph! I wouldn't have been able to stand that."
...
"I called you an asshole or something, didn't I?"
"A douchebag, actually." O-oh.
"I-I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. I didn't mean everything I said either."
We had some sort of companionable silence after that. I was okay forgetting what had actually happened here months ago... I don't think I had said anything meaningful to him in those times.
He let me walk beside the railing a ways and survey the city behind us a while before I dropped to a bench and just sat there, thinking, maybe going a little ways inside myself even though he was right next to me. I just wanted him there. I wanted to be in supportive company. Just like last time. But I didn't think we would be coming back here and it would be like this.
He was holding one hand with the other, posture straight, watching something, when I took a deep breath.
"Meg and I aren't talking anymore." He looked in my direction. "At least not now." I wrapped the collar of my coat a little tighter around my neck and kept my face down-turned.
"I'm sorry." It was okay if he wasn't, in actuality. What reason would he have to be?
"She's being really non-supportive of who I am and I'm not in a position to know how to deal with it, so... I thought it would be best to just... stay away for a while." He didn't seem to have anything to say now that I had put it out there. I figured I could make things clearer about why we were here. "I feel kind of lonely. I don't feel connected to anybody. But you."
His eyes switched from the distance to his side, where I waited for a response.
"You're starting to think like me," he repeated from earlier.
"... I guess so." I tried to lean close enough for him to look at me instead of his lap. "Was this a bad time?" Finally, he did.
"It's not a bad time if you needed me." It almost sounded insistent. The answer didn't feel good enough to me, though.
"We don't have to talk about... bad things... happening to me. I-I'm sorry,"
"I'd love to help you... If I knew how..."
"You can't... I don't expect it of you, either. I'm just... stuck. And I'm cold..." I tried to smile. "I listened to you - I have two sweaters and a hoodie under this, but it's no good..." I felt so awkward just having him sit there while I complained about everything under the sun, but when I rose my hand to brush the strayed hair out of my face, he pulled me completely into him. "I-igh..." I squinted my eyes and tensed, knees up, my body looking much like I were hiding inside a cupboard. "That helps. Actually." I couldn't see a reaction from here, but I hoped he'd smiled. "What did I expect, really?" I continued, to keep myself from getting awkward. "By telling people that this person... and I don't know who it is..." I laughed under my breath. "Is following me and doting on me and trying to help me understand... what I'm missing... and I'm willing to look past what a terrible reputation he has, just to find that out."
My cheek was rising every time he breathed. I wanted him to say something, but it seemed like I was just talking to myself.
"I should be allowed to do whatever I want... don't you think?"
I waited this time for a response. It didn't come right away, but finally...
"I think..." ... "You should just come with me... and forget about everyone else..."
"Hmph! ... Yeah. Very doable," I played off of him. He must've really been out of advice. Resorting to sarcasm.... That was the only way he could say it that set well with me, anyway... so I reacted accordingly.
I grew uncomfortable in cupboard-hiding position eventually, so I eased up and turned towards the sky. I wanted to make sure he knew his arms around me were appreciated, so I held to his left, then used it as a little support to lean back. That was when he shirked it away. "Sorry... Don't hold too tightly."
"I'm sorry," was my answer, confused.
"I fell on it."
"Oh... How did that happen?"
"I wasn't being careful, like you told me to be."
Al...right... I didn't believe that, truthfully. "Do you want me to stay away from that arm?..."
When I leaned forward to ask him face to face, I realized he looked really drained. There wasn't the same sharpness to his stare, and come to think of it, I don't think I'd seen it at all while we were here.
"...You look really tired. I thought this was early for you."
He sort of grinned but not out of genuine humor. "I haven't slept in the last 36 hours." I suddenly felt thrown off. Why hadn't he mentioned this? Why was he driving? Why was he even here? Listening to me rant, no less. "I couldn't tell until I stopped moving."
"Erik..." I tried to reflect that same grin, but it didn't feel appropriate. "Why did you come see me if you were so tired?"
"I don't want to go back there." That didn't make a whole lot of sense. "It's not where you think."
His ambiguity made it clear to me he didn't even want to go over it, but it changed my attitude from then on out. I convinced him to turn to his side and lay back on the bench with me, side by side, turned towards each other, so I could see him. He almost looked guilty that a thing like his body needed shutting down, but I took his hand and said the strangest things... Like if he wanted to, he could just fall asleep right there and I'd be here for him just like he was for me the other night... As if... I didn't need to go home. That I didn't have parents that might've found it odd if I was just gone the next morning...
Although... They left before I did, and they knew my bedroom door was locked while I slept... Maybe I knew that and would actually take a chance if Erik trusted me. I didn't think he would, though. It just seemed right to offer it up.
He still looked like a perfect black and white doll... Made me not want to even touch him further; wreck anything about that; startle him while he was drifting away.
"I'm the only one that sees this," I said to myself. "She doesn't like you," I told the motionless 'face'. "I know you accept this, but it's getting hard for me."
I could see his breath rising into the sky and I watched the stars, waiting for his reply, but he had gone quiet.
"She thinks there's a line between you and us, like you're the one that's wrong, but she's just alienated me... I'm not as right as she thinks."
"I'm done acting like I am."
"What do I do?"
"... You shouldn't be acting anywhere but on the stage." He had gathered very few words, but they told me best.
"You think I should just... give up. Forget about having this make any sense to her."
"You're just rationalizing for her."
"I tried to empathize. But she's coming down on me so hard when she isn't part of this. I don't think her feelings apply anymore..." Every time I said things like this about her, about her feelings not 'applying', the corresponding guilt was weakening me. Like these feelings were too hard on my friend to be true.
"Then that needs to be made clear," he answered quietly, which pushed at those feelings even more. Made them agreed upon. Two against one... I still didn't know.
"I'm trying... But it's... ruining us. She doesn't know me so well anymore and she doesn't trust me, and it's all because of what you and I have created." My hand rose up his arm, the sensitive one, and was careful not to weigh down too much. "If I need you, how can I have both?"
"You can't."
Okay.
I know he said I couldn't integrate him, but I still thought I could juggle both sides. A choice like that was too big to be acknowledged yet... I was going to pretend he had never answered my question, if he hadn't continued.
"I had to destroy everything to come for you." ...The only one I knew that could use words like "destroy" calmly, while seemingly falling asleep. "I always wanted to, though..."
"Nothing was worth kept standing."
"That kind of decision takes complete honesty, but... I think when you are honest you're perfect."
"I don't know when I'm honest."
"I think you do."
"You have to be sure what you need before you take that step... But if you are... Let whatever be ruined..."
" As I've done for you..."
It was a form of control, really. Sure, Mariam and I were angry with each other and probably wouldn't be speaking for a while, but at least the carpet was fit for an Orek commercial and my bookshelf in the closet was arranged alphabetically.
If there was a God, he must've been looking down on me, asking "what the fuck are you doing?" in a booming baritone voice.
If that was what it took to live in a world of vivid color, why not?
We all make someone uncomfortable being ourselves. We all make someone admire us for it, too, if you haven't noticed... It's all really a matter of choosing who you want to admire you, and who should be close to you.
"That kind of decision takes complete honesty, but... I think when you are honest you're perfect."
"You have to be sure what you need before you take that step... But if you are... Let whatever be ruined..."
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