Super Avenged

Time passed, but it was lost to me. The dawn sky was my alarm clock, and the darkening night was my signal for me to go to bed. I slipped into a mindless routine that didn’t require much of anything from me. I took my schedule down to just the bare essentials. My average day now went like this:

I woke up with the sun. Then, I took a quick, hot shower and dressed in my day clothes. The first day of this routine I tried to eat breakfast, but found that my stomach no longer yearned for food. My appetite was lost in my misery, so I just decided to skip the kitchen all together. After my shower, I would shuffle past the door into the kitchen, across the living room, and into my studio. There, I would lay for the remainder of the day on the plush carpeted floor, staring up at the ceiling splashed with a chaotic mix of colors. Once the light outside the window darkened to black, and I could no longer see the ceiling through the darkness—I never bothered to turn the light switch on—I would take my leave of the studio and prepare for bed. I would then sleep, and the next day would be as consistent as the previous day.

I lost track of how many days went by. Well, technically I never lost track because I never bothered to find track. I never kept track of the days floating by. I only knew the rising and setting of the sun, and the color splashed on my studio ceiling, and the spray of the hot water across my back. Nothing else seemed to matter anymore.

It was like my entire body had just shut down. My brain kept commanding just simple actions, my lungs kept breathing, and my heart kept beating, but anything but the essentials simply shut down. My heart felt overwhelmed, leaving the rest of my body to be overwhelmed as well.

Consciously, I never thought about these sorts of things. I only knew of my daily routine. But subconsciously, my brain worked hard, trying to decode the sudden shift in the way I lived. Then, it stored whatever it figured out in the back of my mind for a much later reflection. Mainly, it tried to figure out exactly why I suddenly acted this way, like I couldn’t handle much more the simplest, essential things.

It wasn’t difficult to figure out. Obviously, the encounter with Brendan still stuck fresh in my mind, like a foul smell that had seeped into the couch cushions and couldn’t be released. The dagger wasn’t in my heart anymore; but the painful wound left behind couldn’t be ignored either. My heart ripped wide open again, leaving me in a worst state than I’d ever been in, like a bone being broken again just as it began to heal.

And of course, kicking Jimmy out didn’t help the matter at all. Now, I was left to deal with my misery alone. I hadn’t realized how good his comfort felt to me, how much I needed it. With Jimmy around, I felt like everything would be alright. He wouldn’t let anything get to me, and he wouldn’t let the smile stay off my face too long. If he was at my apartment with me, I wouldn’t be this way. He wouldn’t let me wallow in my misery for so long.

But Jimmy couldn’t have stayed at my apartment. He couldn’t be trusted because of my new way of looking at him. I saw him as more than a best friend to me, and therefore, he wasn’t trustworthy. I had intense trust problems when it came to men, and my best friend would be no exception to my rules. I didn’t date, period, and that was final. I had to stick to that decision, in order to keep myself from being hurt again. Maybe, next time, I would be hurt so much that I could never repair myself again. And I knew that I could never let that happen.

The patient knock on my door came as I stared blankly at a splash of orange on the ceiling. At first, I didn’t respond to the knock. It was an unimportant thing in a number of unimportant things in my life. The knock came again, except this time it was two bangs of the fist against the wood. Deciding that I might respond to the knock a little bit, I rolled over onto my stomach and raised my head to stare at my front door. Another knock came, followed by another knock, until a voice came that broke me momentarily from the shell of my routine.

“Miya, are you alive in there?” Jimmy’s voice, slightly muffled, called from the hallway beyond my door. My heart was yearning for him so much that I hadn’t even thought about getting up, and my body was already walking towards the front door.

My fingers curled around the doorknob, and I finally stopped myself, just in the nick of time. I couldn’t let him in. I had vowed that Jimmy would never again enter my apartment, because I decided that if I never saw him up close again, I would get over him and not be in love with him, and then I would be okay.

“Miya, I know you’re in there,” Jimmy called. His voice sounded louder since I was closer. “I asked the landlady, and she said that you haven’t left your apartment in days. So, Miya, I’ll have to assume that you’re dead if you don’t open the door.”

I drew in a deep breath and slowly released it. Then, I pulled open the front door, turned on my heel, and walked quickly back towards the studio.

“Wait a second,” Jimmy said. His fingers curled around my wrist, and I was forced to stop halfway through the living room. I heard the front door close and Jimmy’s footsteps as he came closer. “Miya, what’s wrong?”

He dragged me around to face him, and instead of laying my eyes upon him, I slapped a hand over my eyes and clenched them shut. I could feel his presence, though, and he stood about a foot away from me.

“Miya, you look horrible,” Jimmy continued. He sounded reasonably concerned. I felt his hand on my waist, and then he gently squeezed. “You’ve lost weight, haven’t you?”

I shrugged, my eyes still hiding behind my hand. I tried to twist my other wrist out from beneath his fingers.

“Miya, why won’t you look at me?”

I just shook my head, taking a step back from him. His arm just stretched with me. I desperately whirled around and tried to escape into the studio, but Jimmy’s arm suddenly stopped stretching. My arm was wrenched backward, forcing me to turn back around. I stumbled, but refused to uncover my eyes.

“Miya, you’re acting awful childish. Why won’t you look at me?”

“Please, don’t ask me that,” I answered, shaking my head. I couldn’t raise my voice above a whisper because of its lack of use.

“You said that last time I was here,” Jimmy said. “Remember, when you kicked me out? And I won’t take it as an answer this time. I’m worried about you, Miya, and I can’t help you if you won’t cooperate with me.”

“Maybe I don’t want your help,” I answered desperately. “M-maybe I’m just f-fine m-myself.”

“Miya, please,” Jimmy replied. “You know as well as I do that you are not, by any means, fine.

“Now, why won’t you look at me?” he insisted on knowing. I shook my head again, and Jimmy dragged me closer to him by shrinking his arm. It must’ve still been stretched out from when I tried to escape, and now he was just reeling it in. I let him pull me, knowing it would be useless to resist.

“Miya,” Jimmy whispered. Suddenly, I could sense him right in front of me, standing only inches away. “Miya, please, just look at me.” His fingers curled around my wrist, and I let him pull my arm away from my face. Slowly, I opened my eyes and lifted them to look him in the face.

“See, it wasn’t so hard,” Jimmy said happily, a smile instantly forming on his face. I started to close my eyes again, but Jimmy barked, “No! You can’t just close your eyes when a problem comes, Miya. You have to keep them open.”

I nodded, pressing my lips together hard. Jimmy pulled me over to the couch and sat me down. He sat down next to me, angling his body towards mine.

“Now, Miya, tell me what’s wrong.”

“H-How did you get in?” I answered. Jimmy blinked patiently, instantly realizing I wouldn’t answer his question unless he answered mine.

“I paid attention, Miya,” he said. “I watched you when you typed in the code to get into the building. I memorized it forever ago, because I had that feeling that I would need it later on.”

“How long has it been since I k-kicked you out?”

“About eight days,” Jimmy answered. “I tried calling you, but you never answered your cell phone. I began to worry about you, and finally came to see if you were alright. Now, tell me what’s wrong. And don’t tell me you’re fine, because a blind man could see that you aren’t fine.”

“I’m just trying to recover from the Brendan thing, that’s all. N-nothing else,” I whispered. I knew he wouldn’t believe it.

“You wouldn’t have kicked me out because of that,” Jimmy replied instantly. “Tell me what’s really wrong.”

I rose to my feet. I would have to just tell him the truth, and let him think what he would. Jimmy watched me warily, obviously wondering if I was going to try to get away from him, but relaxed when he saw me retrieve my sketchbook from the armchair. I sat down again and flipped it open to my latest sketch.

“What are those things holding the heart together?” Jimmy asked, pointing at the drawing of his arms. I sighed.

“They’re arms,” I answered. “Your arms, to be exact.

“Jimmy,” I continued after a short pause, “I’ve fallen for you.”