Status: Completed
Psyche
11
“Come downstairs so we can talk. I’m making tea, you want some?” Girlie asks, and though Jamie doesn’t reply she takes it as a yes since he’s following her without protest.
Jamie plops on the couch and has a sudden wish for the room to be dark. Dark enough so he can’t see Girlie’s face and she can’t see him. Dark enough so he can feel like he’s hiding.
Girlie comes back with two cups of warm tea: lots of sugar in Jamie’s, a pinch in hers. He takes a sip and focuses on the burning sensation it leaves on his tongue as Girlie sits by him. He sits it on the table and doesn’t touch it for the rest of the time.
“What was going on?” She asks. Jamie’s brain is too muddled to come up with a clever lie fast enough.
“Nothing,” he says instead, and he wants to hit himself for the answer.
“Really, Jamie?”
“I—we—were just talking. Nothing serious.”
“It didn’t look like ‘nothing serious.’” Her hand drifts to his hair, fingers running through strands, petting him. He involuntary rests his head on her shoulder and wishes his body felt as calm as her actions.
“What’s going on with you?” she sighs, and his eyes instantly begin to burn with the tears forming, blurring his sight. The question feels different from the other times she’s asked what’s wrong?
“I can’t do this,” he chokes.
“What’re you talking about?” She lightly grabs his head and forces him to look at her. "What happened with Jean?”
“It’s not about him,” he snaps. Not right now. He can’t worry about him now. No matter how deeply he breathes there doesn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the room.
He promised he’d tell Girlie soon.
He promised himself.
“It’s about Zack,” he mumbles, the adrenaline in him speeding up. When Girlie nods and Jamie’s certain he won’t pass out, he talks.
It hurts but he does it.
*******
He feels empty. Not empty as in he doesn’t have a soul anymore; he’s devoid of emotions, or he feels like he’s dead again.
He’s told her everything -- everything Zack's ever done to him and he has nothing left to say. The pit of him is empty, spacious, like the sky is once the gray rain clouds vanish.
She hugs him tightly, stomach pressing against him, and he tries to remember how far along Girlie is, how developed the baby might be. He feels her tears wetting his shirt as she says something he doesn't quite hear. He makes out the words I'm so sorry and everything’s going to be fine. But he's too busy thinking I can't believe she believes me to fully grasp them.
Jamie plops on the couch and has a sudden wish for the room to be dark. Dark enough so he can’t see Girlie’s face and she can’t see him. Dark enough so he can feel like he’s hiding.
Girlie comes back with two cups of warm tea: lots of sugar in Jamie’s, a pinch in hers. He takes a sip and focuses on the burning sensation it leaves on his tongue as Girlie sits by him. He sits it on the table and doesn’t touch it for the rest of the time.
“What was going on?” She asks. Jamie’s brain is too muddled to come up with a clever lie fast enough.
“Nothing,” he says instead, and he wants to hit himself for the answer.
“Really, Jamie?”
“I—we—were just talking. Nothing serious.”
“It didn’t look like ‘nothing serious.’” Her hand drifts to his hair, fingers running through strands, petting him. He involuntary rests his head on her shoulder and wishes his body felt as calm as her actions.
“What’s going on with you?” she sighs, and his eyes instantly begin to burn with the tears forming, blurring his sight. The question feels different from the other times she’s asked what’s wrong?
“I can’t do this,” he chokes.
“What’re you talking about?” She lightly grabs his head and forces him to look at her. "What happened with Jean?”
“It’s not about him,” he snaps. Not right now. He can’t worry about him now. No matter how deeply he breathes there doesn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the room.
He promised he’d tell Girlie soon.
He promised himself.
“It’s about Zack,” he mumbles, the adrenaline in him speeding up. When Girlie nods and Jamie’s certain he won’t pass out, he talks.
It hurts but he does it.
*******
He feels empty. Not empty as in he doesn’t have a soul anymore; he’s devoid of emotions, or he feels like he’s dead again.
He’s told her everything -- everything Zack's ever done to him and he has nothing left to say. The pit of him is empty, spacious, like the sky is once the gray rain clouds vanish.
She hugs him tightly, stomach pressing against him, and he tries to remember how far along Girlie is, how developed the baby might be. He feels her tears wetting his shirt as she says something he doesn't quite hear. He makes out the words I'm so sorry and everything’s going to be fine. But he's too busy thinking I can't believe she believes me to fully grasp them.