You Are What You Are

It’s freezing out here. I honestly don’t think it’s the smartest decision I’ve ever made to not grab myself a jacket but, that’s coming from the guy who tried to do a black-flip off the roof of the school, and failed. The concussion and stitches were fucking hilarious, let me tell you. “Cool story, bro.” Yeah man, I know. Come at me. “Already there.” Touche.

The hairs on my arms stood up like thorns, which I suppose sounds really unattractive. You know, goosebumps sound ugly and are at the same time but I’ve got me some of them, too. It’s like the name Gertrude; no one expects someone with that name to be anything more than a woman with, like, a freaking uni-brow and a masculine voice. All in all, someone really quite repulsive. It amuses me when people get offended by such comments so why not say them, aha. We live in a society based on stereotypes; get the fuck over it, and yourself. Build me a bridge and get under it with an internet troll.

It really irks me that it takes so long to walk down my street to my stop. A few other people live up here, but I don’t exactly speak to any of them but one or anyone, really. No, I’m not stuck-up, I just don’t like people all that much unless they’re of use to me. I swear, if you’re a good friend of mine, I’d give you a freaking lung if you needed it- but if you’re an enemy, I’ll fill it with lighter fluid.

My sneakers thudded against the asphalt I trudged on and I kicked at some leaves, trying to entertain myself. I had my iPod in my bag but right now, music isn’t something I really desire. “You should enjoy it while you still can.” Man, I’ve got all the time in the world. The amount of fucks I do not give is a large sum. “Don’t be so sure about that.” Alright, I won’t.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” Yeah, I do, actually. You’re with me all the fucking time, so, that’s almost a stupid thing to ask. Well, not almost. “There’s so much for you to learn.” Dude, I know. I’ve got like, two more years of high school. “Well yes, but that isn’t entirely what I meant.” Partially is good enough; at times you act like I can read your freaking mind. That’s funny, actually, because you do that to me. I’m getting quite sick of it. “Do you think I like this?” You must, you insist on throwing in comments and conversing with me. “I don’t have a choice.” Like fuck you don’t. “No Kayle, I really don’t.” Alright. “Like I’ve told you; you’ll learn.” I’m sure I will. “You haven’t a choice.” That’s cool.

I slowly but surely reached the end of my street and proceeded to sit under this giant Oak tree right on the edge of the road. I noticed Emery was already here, sitting against the tree as well with his feet on the curb. The worn, black, Chuck Taylor Converse were evident, along with the tight pants that clung to his calves like a second layer of skin. I wouldn’t expect much different. Oh, and the day he cuts his hair short is going to be the day that I join the football team. Realistic? Definitely.

“Good morning, Kayle,” he said, shooting me a small, soft smile.

“Morning, Emery. How ya doin’?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Always good to hear and I’m glad to see that you didn’t make my mistake of not wearing a jacket.”

“You must be freezing.”

“Trust me, I am.”

“Well er, you could um... move over.”

This boy is so adorable I could eat him, although cannibalism is frowned upon in this country. I did as he said, my left thigh rubbing against the red fabric concealing his pale, almost translucent skin. Close and personal? What the fuck, why the hell not.

Emery had been a friend of mine since I moved here. For some reason, we just really connected from the start. It was really quite an odd experience for me, considering the fact that no one knows me much better than he does. Also, he’s a fucking turn-on. He’s nice to have around.

“I wouldn’t be so sure on thinking no one knows you better than Emery.” You don’t even count as a person, and you’re inside me without my consent or any decision on my part. “That’s what you think, Kayle.” Yeah, I know that’s what I think. I just said it. “If I could punch you, I would.” If I could cut out your tongue or whatever it is you use to speak and swallow it, I would. If I could get rid of you and my feelings of losing my fucking mind, I would. If I could get rid of all of this, I would. “If I could speed this up, I would. If I could make you understand now, I would.” There’s a lot we’d do, man. “I know.” So do I, nameless one, so do I. “Kellin.” Whatever.