The Ups and Downs of Becoming a Recluse.

A loud beeping sounded throughout my bedroom, the sound emitting from the small white box bolted into the wall with holes drilled in it for vocal projection purposes. Another identical beep sounded moments after the first, and turned my eyes upward to face it.

Intercom was my parents’ favorite way of getting mine and my sister’s attention due to the fact that I was either always in my bedroom, and Jaime was… well, wherever she was at in the house. It seemed like she was never in the same place more than once a day, so the intercom system had been hooked up in our house a few summers ago, right before the in-ground pool had made its way into the flat ground of our expansive backyard.

Her voice was vivid and shrill, and even though she wasn’t yelling, exactly, her voice was loud enough to sound like she could command order. I think that’s what Mom was best at: commanding order.

“Ione.”

I blinked.

I was still wearing my pajamas and it must have been three o’clock in the afternoon. It was nearly August and I was already completely aware of everything that had taken place. My hair was a mess, I was still dirty from the shower I had been lacking for nearly an entire day. I felt disgusting, and the way Mom said my name made me want to vomit.

And, trust me, I had done quite a bit of vomiting in my time.

Since I didn’t answer, Mom figured she should just continue in that same strict, piercing tone. It was the same tone she always used, the only difference between variations being the mood she was in, and even then, her voice changed very little.

“He’s at the front door.”

However much she tried to keep her voice steady, I could hear how distasteful the words felt as they left her tongue and poured throughout my bedroom. I looked down at my hands, trying to get myself to actually believe that it didn’t make a difference whether he was here or not; I kept telling myself that I didn’t want to go out to meet him because he was such a little bitch all the time.

And, I mean, I guess he deserved some points for showing up in the first place, but it seemed like it wasn’t even on his own terms. I wondered if his friends had made him come, or if maybe it was his parents. Either way, he hadn’t been around in a while, and since the last time I’d seen him, and it was starting to feel like he didn’t want anything more to do with me. And when I lied to myself - as I was a genuinely fantastic liar - I actually could make believe that I didn’t care one little bit if he came back to the house. I mean, I was sure that I could manage fine without him.

I sat there for a moment before two more loud beeps sounded on the intercom.

“Ione,” Mom repeated. “Door. Now.”

What I honestly couldn’t believe was that Mom was going to force me down there and greet him at the door. As I sat there on my bed, peeling at the hangnail on my thumb; the skin started turning red and it started hurting, but I soldiered through it because I knew how annoying hangnails were and I wouldn’t want to deal with it later.

I sighed, remembering that I looked God awful and it would probably be really, really embarrassing for him to see me in such a state, and he’d probably think I couldn’t take care of myself.

Oh well, I thought to myself. Who cares what he thinks of me.

So I got up off the bed, knowing that Mom would just get ticked off if I stayed in my room when he was at the door, even though it was clear Mom didn’t like him either, but she probably just didn’t want to deal with him so she was making me go down there. It was insensitivity on her part, but I guess that was just Mom. I guess it was just the little things she did that bugged the shit out of me.

My hand hit the railing and that’s when I saw him.

He was standing outside, not daring walk in the house. He was wearing a zip-up hoodie and skinny jeans and he had his hair messy and unkempt in a roguish and overworked sort of way, the kind of hair that guys go for when they try and look like they don’t care, but they actually take, like, a half hour to get everything looking just wrong so it looked almost right. He was facing the front yard and he had his hands shoved way down in his pockets. Sunglasses were perched on the ridge of his nose and he leaned over on one leg. Maybe he was thinking about how much he didn’t want to be at my house, or maybe he was thinking about how bad he’d screwed up because now I hated him; that much was quite clear, at least I hoped it was, otherwise he’d be in for a rude awakening when I told him to just go home.

As I walked down the steps, I kept thinking about everything that I wanted to say to him. I thought I had it all planned out - maybe I’d get angry and yell at him so bad I got sore. Or maybe I’d just give him that ‘I’m very disappointed in you’ thing and make him feel like a jackass. There were so many options for me that, even when I thought I had it all planned out, I couldn’t make up my mind on which way to go about talking to him.

I think that Mom was really expecting me to latch onto this kid for moral support, but I hardly knew him. I think it made her happy that I didn’t, because he was clearly no one that I should be going around consorting with, but I’m fairly sure it surprised her more than anything.

Garrett turned around and looked at me, our eyes meeting through the stained glass window near the doorframe. His eyes were cloudy and his mouth was open a fraction, probably a little taken aback at how nappy I looked; I’d locked myself in my bedroom - figuratively speaking, that is - and had kept my mother and father and Jaime out. I was the proverbial doormat in the lives of everyone around me, particularly Garrett. He wiped his feet before coming inside and he never even bothered to read whether the mat read ‘welcome’ or not.

In any case, I was through with him and the way he’d been treating me, so I figured I’d just give him a piece of my mind as soon as I had the chance to speak with him face-to-face.

I opened up the front door and walked out onto the porch, and in that instant, I couldn’t think of once decent thing to say, whether it was just me being ignorant or my mind forcing my body into a plateau of stupidity.

He turned and faced me, but I just looked out at the yard, and how thought about how the grass was getting long and I couldn’t believe Dad hadn’t cut it; they were yellowing due to the drought we’d had.

It hadn’t rained in weeks. I swear.

Garrett spoke.

“Hey,” he said. His voice was low and steady, and I could feel a jolt stirring my body. It was beautiful and smooth and silky, and I could feel it touch me, all the way down, right down to the bone. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and remembered him better than he could ever remember me.

“Hi,” I mumbled. I couldn’t remember all the awful things I had prepared, and instead, all I could think about was how stunningly beautiful he was. I hated it, but it was the truth; I was head over heels and I was in some of the deepest shit I had ever managed to find myself in.

Garrett took a few steps toward me, not daring touch me. I had a hunch that he knew I was pissed off, even if I couldn’t think of exactly why at that moment.

“How’ve you been?” he asked.

He wanted me to say something along the lines of ‘wow, I’m doing fantastically’ or ‘man, things couldn’t be better’. However, I wasn’t either of those two things.

And so I laughed once narcissistically.

“Pregnant,” I smiled. “Really pregnant.”