Status: Completed
Psyche
2
Jean’s acoustic guitar is a piece of junk, but he plays it until his fingers cramp up and the few lyrics he has written don’t sound like a new music genre. Indie-Pop Vomit!
He woke up thinking of Jamie and he couldn’t remember whether he dreamt about him or not. It was probably a weird dream if he had. Either way, he had a sudden urge to write a song, and wrote the muddled up words without protest. It’s quite normal for him to write a song at 4 o’clock in the morning, when there’s only two hours left before he has to get ready for school.
Jamie wasn’t at school Monday. It would’ve been easy for Jean to just text him, send a few simple words that read Hey, you doing okay? Still nursing your ears from the show? Ha. Or something. He could’ve bothered Alexandria, but he isn’t ready to mess with her yet.
Maybe he’ll see Jamie today. If he doesn’t see him, Jean promises to check up on him.
******
Usually Jean is late to English – he has to come from the other side of the building where his Sociology class is, go downstairs to get his English book he forgot to get earlier, and then come back upstairs for English – but today he’s early. There are only five students in class at the moment.
Out of the five there’s Jamie, sitting quietly at his desk and already starting on the bellwork that’s written on the board. His skin is an ugly pale yellow and he has his chin close to his chest, so all Jean can see is a mass of uncombed black hair.
Jean walks over and drops in Alexandria’s seat. He feels huge compared to Jamie, and he has a funny urge to hug him.
But they’re in class and he can’t do that in front of everyone – it’d look weird, so he touches Jamie’s shoulder instead.
“You sick?” Jean asks. Jamie lifts his head abruptly, shaking hair out of his eyes. The corner of his mouth barely lifts into a flustered smile.
“Uh, yeah, I was. But I think I’m better now, or getting better,” he laughs, wiping his nose. “I don’t like missing a lot of school so I came today.”
“You look like shit,” Jean points out.
“I--I know, it’s just --” Jamie stutters and mumbles nonsense words, causing Jean to laugh too loud, and the other students look at them questioningly.
Jean stares right back until they turn back around in their seats, somewhat offended. He looks back at Jamie who keeps shaking his head and shrugging. He’s gripping his stomach and Jean can see his throat jumping like he’s choking.
“Are you – ugh, come on.” He tugs on Jamie’s sleeve till he gets up and they jog to the nearest boys’ restroom. It’s empty and smells likes urine and Pine-Sol, but Jamie launches into the nearest stall and vomits, almost missing the toilet completely.
Jean goes in when Jamie stops and is only breathing heavily “You want to go to the nurse? Get some water?”
“I really don’t feel like drinking or doing anything,” gasps Jamie, rubbing his mouth.
“Which means you should,” Jean chimes. He goes out to the vending machine and comes back with a bottle of 7-Up. “It’ll calm your stomach.”
Jamie drinks a few sips before going to sink and washing his face with a wet paper towel.
“I feel like shit, too,” Jamie laughs, except it’s small and sad and even Jean can’t laugh along.
Jean comes up from behind Jamie and lightly touches his shoulder again. “You should go home.”
“My aunt’s at work,” Jamie groans, taking another sip and holding his stomach like he might puke again. “By the time she gets here it’d be fifth hour because her boss doesn’t like her taking off.”
“There’s no else to come get you?” When Jamie says no Jean begins pushing him out of the restroom. “Well, great. I’ll take you home. We’re not doing anything important in my classes.”
Jamie argues with him that it’s okay, he’ll call his aunt anyway, but Jean’s insisting they go get their backpacks, tell the teacher they’re going to the nurse, and then leave. So Jamie goes along with it.
“You have your keys to your house, right?’ Jean asks, starting up the car. Jamie half-heartedly snaps his seatbelt on and slouches.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. You’ve been doing okay?” Jean asks for the sake of it, even though he already has a clear idea of Jamie’s answer may be.
Jamie bangs his forehead against the window, breathing hot air so the window fogs up. He swishes the pop bottle around. “I wish everyone would stop asking that.”
“It’s not like you give them a reason not to,” Jean tells him. Jamie doesn’t say anything, and Jean figures he’ll be doing all the speaking today.
“I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you uncomfortable,” Jean blurts. Jamie peers at him, confusion making his head spin, or maybe it’s the post-puking fest.
“Huh?”
“You always look like I make you nervous or something, so I’m sorry for that, I guess,” Jean murmurs. He slows down at a stop sign, takes his time turning the corner. “And I’m sorry if I’ve ever been a jerk to you.”
“What, no, you never – I just – uh,” Jamie’s mouth is moving faster than his words, coming out as garble. Jean laughs at the red flush on Jamie’s face, and without even thinking about it, reaches over and touches Jamie’s hand.
But once he feels skin, and realizes what he’s doing, Jean curves his hand like he was reaching for something else.
“Sorry,” he rushes, and Jamie says nothing.
Jean flexes his fingers but his hand still feels like he got burned.
He woke up thinking of Jamie and he couldn’t remember whether he dreamt about him or not. It was probably a weird dream if he had. Either way, he had a sudden urge to write a song, and wrote the muddled up words without protest. It’s quite normal for him to write a song at 4 o’clock in the morning, when there’s only two hours left before he has to get ready for school.
Jamie wasn’t at school Monday. It would’ve been easy for Jean to just text him, send a few simple words that read Hey, you doing okay? Still nursing your ears from the show? Ha. Or something. He could’ve bothered Alexandria, but he isn’t ready to mess with her yet.
Maybe he’ll see Jamie today. If he doesn’t see him, Jean promises to check up on him.
******
Usually Jean is late to English – he has to come from the other side of the building where his Sociology class is, go downstairs to get his English book he forgot to get earlier, and then come back upstairs for English – but today he’s early. There are only five students in class at the moment.
Out of the five there’s Jamie, sitting quietly at his desk and already starting on the bellwork that’s written on the board. His skin is an ugly pale yellow and he has his chin close to his chest, so all Jean can see is a mass of uncombed black hair.
Jean walks over and drops in Alexandria’s seat. He feels huge compared to Jamie, and he has a funny urge to hug him.
But they’re in class and he can’t do that in front of everyone – it’d look weird, so he touches Jamie’s shoulder instead.
“You sick?” Jean asks. Jamie lifts his head abruptly, shaking hair out of his eyes. The corner of his mouth barely lifts into a flustered smile.
“Uh, yeah, I was. But I think I’m better now, or getting better,” he laughs, wiping his nose. “I don’t like missing a lot of school so I came today.”
“You look like shit,” Jean points out.
“I--I know, it’s just --” Jamie stutters and mumbles nonsense words, causing Jean to laugh too loud, and the other students look at them questioningly.
Jean stares right back until they turn back around in their seats, somewhat offended. He looks back at Jamie who keeps shaking his head and shrugging. He’s gripping his stomach and Jean can see his throat jumping like he’s choking.
“Are you – ugh, come on.” He tugs on Jamie’s sleeve till he gets up and they jog to the nearest boys’ restroom. It’s empty and smells likes urine and Pine-Sol, but Jamie launches into the nearest stall and vomits, almost missing the toilet completely.
Jean goes in when Jamie stops and is only breathing heavily “You want to go to the nurse? Get some water?”
“I really don’t feel like drinking or doing anything,” gasps Jamie, rubbing his mouth.
“Which means you should,” Jean chimes. He goes out to the vending machine and comes back with a bottle of 7-Up. “It’ll calm your stomach.”
Jamie drinks a few sips before going to sink and washing his face with a wet paper towel.
“I feel like shit, too,” Jamie laughs, except it’s small and sad and even Jean can’t laugh along.
Jean comes up from behind Jamie and lightly touches his shoulder again. “You should go home.”
“My aunt’s at work,” Jamie groans, taking another sip and holding his stomach like he might puke again. “By the time she gets here it’d be fifth hour because her boss doesn’t like her taking off.”
“There’s no else to come get you?” When Jamie says no Jean begins pushing him out of the restroom. “Well, great. I’ll take you home. We’re not doing anything important in my classes.”
Jamie argues with him that it’s okay, he’ll call his aunt anyway, but Jean’s insisting they go get their backpacks, tell the teacher they’re going to the nurse, and then leave. So Jamie goes along with it.
“You have your keys to your house, right?’ Jean asks, starting up the car. Jamie half-heartedly snaps his seatbelt on and slouches.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. You’ve been doing okay?” Jean asks for the sake of it, even though he already has a clear idea of Jamie’s answer may be.
Jamie bangs his forehead against the window, breathing hot air so the window fogs up. He swishes the pop bottle around. “I wish everyone would stop asking that.”
“It’s not like you give them a reason not to,” Jean tells him. Jamie doesn’t say anything, and Jean figures he’ll be doing all the speaking today.
“I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you uncomfortable,” Jean blurts. Jamie peers at him, confusion making his head spin, or maybe it’s the post-puking fest.
“Huh?”
“You always look like I make you nervous or something, so I’m sorry for that, I guess,” Jean murmurs. He slows down at a stop sign, takes his time turning the corner. “And I’m sorry if I’ve ever been a jerk to you.”
“What, no, you never – I just – uh,” Jamie’s mouth is moving faster than his words, coming out as garble. Jean laughs at the red flush on Jamie’s face, and without even thinking about it, reaches over and touches Jamie’s hand.
But once he feels skin, and realizes what he’s doing, Jean curves his hand like he was reaching for something else.
“Sorry,” he rushes, and Jamie says nothing.
Jean flexes his fingers but his hand still feels like he got burned.