Status: The end. Thank you all so much for reading.
Wrists
insane .
“I wanted to talk about. Us.” I said, voice hoarse. I followed him home, and we sat in his room, watching old re-runs on TV ontop of his spread bed. A bowl of Lays chips sat on his skinny jeans-clad lap, while I sat with a bowl of butter-free popcorn (of course, not even being butter-free did it entice me to eat it).
Elijah’s blue eyes were still glued to the TV screen. He spoke out the corner of his mouth. “Huh?” He wasn’t paying attention—the man was too busy eating and studied the screen at the same time; where was the time to pay attention to I?
“I said,” I repeated, a little louder, staring at the side of his face. “I want to talk about. Us.”
He took his time stuffing some chips into his mouth, and chewed noisily. “whut abuh us?”
I snatched the remote from his hand and turned the volume all the way to 0. He finally set his attention on me. “Hey!” He reached for the remote, but I—quick—snatched it back. “Why’d you do that for?”
“I said I wanted to talk about us, and all you can look at is the damn TV!” I snapped, tossing the remote carelessly off of the bed. It made a hollow thud as it met the carpet. “Now please listen.”
Elijah slowly crossed his arms. “Fine. What.” He was a little agitated—I know—but I had to talk about it. I had to now, while we were alone, and together.
“I’ve been thinking.” My voice was suddenly gone as soon as I had a chance to speak. “I—I mean. We’ve known each other for. Qu—Quite a bit. An—n—nd.”
“Spit it out,” A small sympathetic smile pulled at Elijah’s pink lips.
“Okay.” I breathed, avoiding his stare. “I was. Just going to ask.”
“Yes?”
“If I. I mean—you—”
“Uh-huh?”
“We’re.... exclusive. Right?”
Silence.
Long silence.
Long, unnerving silence.
My chest began to tighten. I began to think horrible, terribly things. What if. What if this. What if that. I was so frightened. I needed him to end this silence now. Now, now, now.
And then,
“I would love to be exclusive with you.”
Breath of relief.
“But, I think you need help first.”
Sharp inhale once again.
“...What?”
Elijah looked away from me, suddenly in awe with his raven hair. “You still have things you need to sort out. A lot of things. Before I can commit myself to you, you need to work through it.” He looked me in the eyes. “I need to know I can not have to worry about you all of the time.”
He was right. He was completely right. But it stung all the same. A sharp pain enveloped my chest, and suddenly it was difficult breathing. I tore away from his gaze and held back my tears hard. I was tired of crying. I was tired of feeling bad with myself. I was tired with being tired. “Oh.” It stung. It sung, oh god—it stung.
“Don’t feel bad, Graham,” his voice cooed. He cupped my cheek in his warm hands. “Don’t. Just get better. I’ll be with you if you get better. Okay?”
I didn’t want his sympathy. I slapped him away and got to my feet, knocking over the butter-free popcorn. “Graham!” He called after me, but I picked up my coat and fumbled to put it on. “C’mon, Graham, don’t you understand? Graham!”
I understood alright. I understood clearly: he didn’t want to become exclusive with a fuck-up. He wanted someone in their own mind; someone able to decipher what’s fake and what’s real. I couldn’t. I couldn’t do any of that. I was miserable, useless, a waste. I could feel my stomach crying to be emptied; I could feel the demons restlessly clawing at the insides of my head, serenading me. I could feel the cracked shell heal itself.
I was losing myself.
“Graham!”
No.
No more.
Elijah’s blue eyes were still glued to the TV screen. He spoke out the corner of his mouth. “Huh?” He wasn’t paying attention—the man was too busy eating and studied the screen at the same time; where was the time to pay attention to I?
“I said,” I repeated, a little louder, staring at the side of his face. “I want to talk about. Us.”
He took his time stuffing some chips into his mouth, and chewed noisily. “whut abuh us?”
I snatched the remote from his hand and turned the volume all the way to 0. He finally set his attention on me. “Hey!” He reached for the remote, but I—quick—snatched it back. “Why’d you do that for?”
“I said I wanted to talk about us, and all you can look at is the damn TV!” I snapped, tossing the remote carelessly off of the bed. It made a hollow thud as it met the carpet. “Now please listen.”
Elijah slowly crossed his arms. “Fine. What.” He was a little agitated—I know—but I had to talk about it. I had to now, while we were alone, and together.
“I’ve been thinking.” My voice was suddenly gone as soon as I had a chance to speak. “I—I mean. We’ve known each other for. Qu—Quite a bit. An—n—nd.”
“Spit it out,” A small sympathetic smile pulled at Elijah’s pink lips.
“Okay.” I breathed, avoiding his stare. “I was. Just going to ask.”
“Yes?”
“If I. I mean—you—”
“Uh-huh?”
“We’re.... exclusive. Right?”
Silence.
Long silence.
Long, unnerving silence.
My chest began to tighten. I began to think horrible, terribly things. What if. What if this. What if that. I was so frightened. I needed him to end this silence now. Now, now, now.
And then,
“I would love to be exclusive with you.”
Breath of relief.
“But, I think you need help first.”
Sharp inhale once again.
“...What?”
Elijah looked away from me, suddenly in awe with his raven hair. “You still have things you need to sort out. A lot of things. Before I can commit myself to you, you need to work through it.” He looked me in the eyes. “I need to know I can not have to worry about you all of the time.”
He was right. He was completely right. But it stung all the same. A sharp pain enveloped my chest, and suddenly it was difficult breathing. I tore away from his gaze and held back my tears hard. I was tired of crying. I was tired of feeling bad with myself. I was tired with being tired. “Oh.” It stung. It sung, oh god—it stung.
“Don’t feel bad, Graham,” his voice cooed. He cupped my cheek in his warm hands. “Don’t. Just get better. I’ll be with you if you get better. Okay?”
I didn’t want his sympathy. I slapped him away and got to my feet, knocking over the butter-free popcorn. “Graham!” He called after me, but I picked up my coat and fumbled to put it on. “C’mon, Graham, don’t you understand? Graham!”
I understood alright. I understood clearly: he didn’t want to become exclusive with a fuck-up. He wanted someone in their own mind; someone able to decipher what’s fake and what’s real. I couldn’t. I couldn’t do any of that. I was miserable, useless, a waste. I could feel my stomach crying to be emptied; I could feel the demons restlessly clawing at the insides of my head, serenading me. I could feel the cracked shell heal itself.
I was losing myself.
“Graham!”
No.
No more.