Status: completed ◕‿◕
Every Man I Fall For
Graveyard Shift
“Do I look OK?” I ask, for the fiftieth time.
“YES!” Adrian answers, for the fiftieth time.
I’ve been standing here in front of the mirror in my parents’ bedroom, turning this way and that for a good ten minutes, umming and aahing over my outfit.
“I think I’ll change my shoes.”
“FOR CHRIST’S SAKES OLIVER YOU LOOK FINE! Can we please leave now!”
I huff, giving up, and hoping that it’ll be enough. I haven’t been to a party in months, and the last one I went to was a ‘boy-girl sleepover’ at Harriet’s house where the five of us went to bed at 9:30 and slept in different rooms which were separated by gender. To say it was ‘tame’ would be a mild understatement.
Adrian and I walk out to the car and turn on the radio, despite the fact that the house we’re going to is only a twenty minute walk from ours anyway. Everyone knows that only freaks walk to a house party.
When we arrive, Adrian is greeted with the cheer and worship of a returning war hero. Strangers are patting him on the back and calling him ‘Ade’ as we walk through, and I feel like a bit of a wraith slinking in behind him. I recognize maybe three faces in the entire crowd, but apparently everyone knows the two of us, as random people come up to me and ask how Year Eleven is going. The whole ordeal is mildly disconcerting, until we find the home owner; a guy called Chris from my brother’s year at school who I remember coming to our house once or twice. He treats Adrian and I like best friends, asking how we’re going, getting us drinks. I ask for a soft drink. I’ve never liked the taste of alcohol, or the swirling feeling I get in my head after I’ve consumed any.
“So Oli, there’s a kid here who’s in your year at school! You know him? Thom Motley. He’s new, just moved here. I know his sister form work, she brought him along for the social occasion.”
I can see his green eyes, burning, like they’re right in front of me.
“Yeah, I know him” I say as casually as possible, nervously shifting my weight.
Adrian shoots me an odd look.
“Great!” Chris continues, oblivious to my sudden discomfort, “you should go chat to him. His sister, Charlie, says he makes friends pretty quickly, and I’m sure you’d all enjoy tonight more with each other.”
And I suddenly feel like I’m being pushed on to the kiddie’s table at the adult’s dinner party, and it really irritates me.
“I’m fine here, thanks” I say through gritted teeth, “and it’s Oliver.”
Chris holds his hands up in mock surrender.
“Hey sorry man, whatever you want.”
Adrian pulls me aside harshly.
“Oliver.” He begins, always a bad sign. Adrian never uses my full name unless he is seriously pissed off. “I asked you to come here because I thought it would be fun. If I knew you were going to act like a spoiled brat, I wouldn’t have bothered. I think you should go find this kid and cool off a bit, because I don’t want to deal with you right now.”
He pushes me roughly in the direction of the lounge room, which is where most people are congregated, and to be honest, I feel mildly hurt. I came here to spend time with my brother. I came here because he asked me to. I didn’t come here to babysit some new kid. I didn’t come here to be patronized, I didn’t come here to fight and I definitely didn’t come here just to have my beliefs in my popular opinion affirmed.
A scowl settles on my face, and I all but prowl through the lounge room, ignoring the tipsy idiots around me as they giggle and stagger. An overwhelming wave of claustrophobia hits me, and I’m so angry and humiliated, and I’m suddenly so sure that if I don’t get out of here in seconds I’m going to crack open like an egg and expose myself to every stranger in this fucking place.
I break in to a run and head straight for the front door, throwing it open with the force of an attacking bull and sprint out, before collapsing on the front lawn. The noise of the party seems distant, and all I can feel against my spine is cold humiliation, and a distance that seems unassailable. I sit up and pull my knees to my chest, as I feel myself begin to shake.
I would wonder why I let him get to me so much, why I let these situations pull and tear at my head. But I already know the pathetic, flimsy excuse for that. I’m just sick of it. I’m sick of being something I’m not. I’m sick of being undervalued, of being in the shadow of anyone, particularly someone who I love so much. I’m at the end of my tether.
I can feel my body begin to respond to this break, as a sob slowly pulls itself up my throat, making my breath hitch and my body convulse. I feel so weak, so tired, so broken. And the worst thing is that I know after sitting here for a minute I’ll go inside and pretend like nothing has happened. Let this cycle start all over again.
For now, I can afford to let myself shatter. I don’t hold back this time, just let every wave crash over me, over and over again, until I have nothing left inside. It takes maybe five minutes to become hollow again, and it might scare me,
if I could feel anything
at
all.
“YES!” Adrian answers, for the fiftieth time.
I’ve been standing here in front of the mirror in my parents’ bedroom, turning this way and that for a good ten minutes, umming and aahing over my outfit.
“I think I’ll change my shoes.”
“FOR CHRIST’S SAKES OLIVER YOU LOOK FINE! Can we please leave now!”
I huff, giving up, and hoping that it’ll be enough. I haven’t been to a party in months, and the last one I went to was a ‘boy-girl sleepover’ at Harriet’s house where the five of us went to bed at 9:30 and slept in different rooms which were separated by gender. To say it was ‘tame’ would be a mild understatement.
Adrian and I walk out to the car and turn on the radio, despite the fact that the house we’re going to is only a twenty minute walk from ours anyway. Everyone knows that only freaks walk to a house party.
When we arrive, Adrian is greeted with the cheer and worship of a returning war hero. Strangers are patting him on the back and calling him ‘Ade’ as we walk through, and I feel like a bit of a wraith slinking in behind him. I recognize maybe three faces in the entire crowd, but apparently everyone knows the two of us, as random people come up to me and ask how Year Eleven is going. The whole ordeal is mildly disconcerting, until we find the home owner; a guy called Chris from my brother’s year at school who I remember coming to our house once or twice. He treats Adrian and I like best friends, asking how we’re going, getting us drinks. I ask for a soft drink. I’ve never liked the taste of alcohol, or the swirling feeling I get in my head after I’ve consumed any.
“So Oli, there’s a kid here who’s in your year at school! You know him? Thom Motley. He’s new, just moved here. I know his sister form work, she brought him along for the social occasion.”
I can see his green eyes, burning, like they’re right in front of me.
“Yeah, I know him” I say as casually as possible, nervously shifting my weight.
Adrian shoots me an odd look.
“Great!” Chris continues, oblivious to my sudden discomfort, “you should go chat to him. His sister, Charlie, says he makes friends pretty quickly, and I’m sure you’d all enjoy tonight more with each other.”
And I suddenly feel like I’m being pushed on to the kiddie’s table at the adult’s dinner party, and it really irritates me.
“I’m fine here, thanks” I say through gritted teeth, “and it’s Oliver.”
Chris holds his hands up in mock surrender.
“Hey sorry man, whatever you want.”
Adrian pulls me aside harshly.
“Oliver.” He begins, always a bad sign. Adrian never uses my full name unless he is seriously pissed off. “I asked you to come here because I thought it would be fun. If I knew you were going to act like a spoiled brat, I wouldn’t have bothered. I think you should go find this kid and cool off a bit, because I don’t want to deal with you right now.”
He pushes me roughly in the direction of the lounge room, which is where most people are congregated, and to be honest, I feel mildly hurt. I came here to spend time with my brother. I came here because he asked me to. I didn’t come here to babysit some new kid. I didn’t come here to be patronized, I didn’t come here to fight and I definitely didn’t come here just to have my beliefs in my popular opinion affirmed.
A scowl settles on my face, and I all but prowl through the lounge room, ignoring the tipsy idiots around me as they giggle and stagger. An overwhelming wave of claustrophobia hits me, and I’m so angry and humiliated, and I’m suddenly so sure that if I don’t get out of here in seconds I’m going to crack open like an egg and expose myself to every stranger in this fucking place.
I break in to a run and head straight for the front door, throwing it open with the force of an attacking bull and sprint out, before collapsing on the front lawn. The noise of the party seems distant, and all I can feel against my spine is cold humiliation, and a distance that seems unassailable. I sit up and pull my knees to my chest, as I feel myself begin to shake.
I would wonder why I let him get to me so much, why I let these situations pull and tear at my head. But I already know the pathetic, flimsy excuse for that. I’m just sick of it. I’m sick of being something I’m not. I’m sick of being undervalued, of being in the shadow of anyone, particularly someone who I love so much. I’m at the end of my tether.
I can feel my body begin to respond to this break, as a sob slowly pulls itself up my throat, making my breath hitch and my body convulse. I feel so weak, so tired, so broken. And the worst thing is that I know after sitting here for a minute I’ll go inside and pretend like nothing has happened. Let this cycle start all over again.
For now, I can afford to let myself shatter. I don’t hold back this time, just let every wave crash over me, over and over again, until I have nothing left inside. It takes maybe five minutes to become hollow again, and it might scare me,
if I could feel anything
at
all.