Don't Drop Your Mask

“How about I go to work right now? They have heat there, and I’ll actually be doing work. And there’s food.”

“No. You need to rest.”

“I have a bed.”

“Your bed is thirty degrees.”

“I think you’re over-exaggerating a bit,” I told him.

He spun on his heal, almost causing me to fall backwards. “Why are you avoiding Travis?”

“Because it’ll be awkward.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, because he kissed me a few times. It’ll just be weird. You know? I just…. I don’t think we like each other or would work out or anything.”

“Layla, we did way worse than just kissing, right?”

“Yeah.”

“It took us all of two minutes to make up. Right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well then what’s the difference between me and you, and Travis and you?” Through the dim light, I could see him coyly smiling. I knew what he was getting at.

“I just learned his name,” I tried.

“You are so stubborn!” He shouted. “Just get your butt up those stairs before I throw you over my shoulder and risk dropping you!”

“Jeeze, okay,” I said. I stopped at his door. The bargaining began again. “Please don’t make me go in there. I’ll cook for you everyday for a year.”

“You have germs.”

“I’ll clean your apartment. I’ll hire a cleaning company!”

He turned me so I was looking at him straight in the eye. Lowering his voice, he said, “he’s as sick as you. You know why? He’s been sitting out on that balcony every single day, trying to hear a sign of life or… forgiveness coming from your apartment.”

I lowered my head. “I’ll go in,” I said after a while, “but I’m not making any promises.”

“Charlie!” a voice croaked from the bedroom. “Bring me some water! Please?”

I stopped Charlie before he said anything. “Don’t mention I’m here. Okay? I’m in, and I’ll stay in if you don’t mention I’m here.”

He nodded and walked into the kitchen. I sighed and laid down on the couch. It’s surprisingly easier to fall asleep when your apartment isn’t thirty degrees…

“Charlie! Charlie, are you out here?” I heard. The bedroom door creaked over and I tried to will myself back to sleep.

I do a pretty good fake sleep when I’m sick. I look so pathetic it distracts from my fakeness.

“Layla…” he whispered. He padded over towards me and sat down on the coffee table. He sighed. I wanted to open my eyes and see what he looks like. I wanted to open my eyes and stay. I wanted to open my eyes and run.

Instead, I kept my eyes closed. Just being this close to him made my throat swell up. Tears prickled behind my eyes. I tried to keep my breathing steady as he brushed a hand across my cheek.

“Layla. I’m so sorry. We’ve made a mess of things haven’t we?” He asked. His hand left my face and he sneezed. Then he sighed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there on time. I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry I got my brother to lie to you. I’m sorry to him. I’m just… sorry. And I don’t know if saying it will ever be enough, but I’m going to keep trying, sweetheart.” He stood up and took the warm breath that was on my face with him. I bit my lip and let the tears I was holding back stream down my face. The bedroom door opened. “By the way, Layla, you’re a horrible fake-sleeper.”

Once I heard the door close, I let my sobs out completely.

I need to feel numb.
I need to be numb.
I need to forget about everything.

I’m not mad about Travis. I’m not mad at Travis. He could wear the mask around me whenever he likes, for all I care.

I’m afraid. And I need numbing.