Oculos Patentes

“So what was that all about?”

Her voice snapped me out of my thoughts, drawing my attention to her face and causing my fingers to stutter over the strings of my guitar. I resumed the nameless tune I had been strumming and cast my eyes to the sheets beneath me, willing my eyes to look anywhere but at her. She was sitting across the room at my desk, spinning in the chair and avoiding the calculus book that lay open on the wooden surface before her. We had been sitting in a slightly uncomfortable silence for about an hour, neither of us wanting to be the first to speak, but both of us knowing that something would have to be said eventually.

I knew without her even saying that she was referring to the awkward situation that had happened with me and Pat, but I didn't know how to tell her that a part of me thought he was right. I sighed, letting my fingers play out a couple more notes before setting the guitar down on the bed next to me. There was so much I wanted to say to her but the words seemed stuck in my throat, unable- or unwilling, rather- to come out.

“Don’t think too hard John, I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself.” I laughed but it sounded hollow even to my own ears. I looked up to see a small frown on her lips, her brow furrowed in confusion as concern filled her eyes. She got up, taking the couple steps to my bed before propping my guitar up against my nightstand and taking its place beside me on the bed, crossing her legs beneath her and folding her hands in her lap. “What did Pat do to make you so upset?”

“It’s not Pat, it’s you.” The words were out of my mouth before I had even thought them, my previous speechlessness now gone, leaving me desperate to get it back. I wasn't good at this, I never had been. Talking about my feelings wasn't my strongest asset- I wrote lyrics, I wrote poems, I strummed melancholy melodies on my guitar, but I didn't talk. That’s how it had always been. But now Avery was here, her mere presence making me want to spill my deepest, darkest secrets, making me want to prattle on about everything that was running through my head. I hated that she had this effect on me, this control over emotions I didn't even know I had previously possessed.

“Well what did I do then?” It was almost a whisper, her voice so tiny and insecure that it made me feel guilty enough to apologize. Almost. I rolled my eyes, getting up of the bed to pace beside it, my hands running through my hair in a frustrated and nervous manner. Finally I stopped, standing beside the bed and watching as she glanced away from me, wringing her fingers together, waiting for me to speak.

“You did this,” I stopped, gesturing to the space between me and her in a desperate attempt to get my point across, “You told me about your disease, you let me into your life and for what? Pat seems to think you have some sort of ulterior motive and it’s not easy to tell him he’s wrong, especially when I have no proof that I'm right… I just don’t understand you.”

She was silent for a long while, almost making no noise save for the sound of her breathing. As soon as the words left my lips I wanted to follow it up with an ‘I’m sorry,’ but then I had to stop and ask myself if I had any real reason to feel sorry at all. I just wanted answers, I felt like I deserved them.

“I like you, John. You're carefree; you have everything going for you ya know? Nice family, great friends who would do anything to have your back, even all the teachers know and love you. You just seemed different, you are different. You walk down the hallway and people practically get down on their knees and bow for you, but do you know what I get?” she paused then, looking up at me with glossy eyes and rosy cheeks before continuing, “I get sympathetic looks from all the teachers and glares from most of the students for the special treatment that the staff gives me. But it’s not special treatment, it’s pity. I'm so sick of being treated like some little girl who can’t take care of herself John.”

I walked forward, climbing onto my bed and pulling her into my side, cradling her to me in a way that I hoped came off as supportive. She rested her head on my shoulder, a shuttering breath leaving her lips as I stroked her arm. “I just don’t know what you want me to do,” I told her, squeezing her arm and resting my head atop hers.

“Nothing yet.”

And just as quickly as it had come, it was back again, that doubt that filled my being, the hunger for truth unquenchable even by this conversation. I wasn't sure what to make of her, not yet at least.