Smother

I don’t go inside the house, I don’t look for Leana, and I don’t even get out of the car. I lock the car doors, flip through the tracks on a CD I burned a few days ago and blast one of my favorite songs, “yellow cat (slash) red cat,” by this band called Say Anything.

I don’t know why I like this song as much as I do. I mostly just enjoy the actual instrumental part and the lead singer’s voice is pretty cool, but yeah. . . I don’t know what the fuck to do now. . .
When the song is over, I turn the radio down, take my keys and get out of the car, and walk inside the house.

I don’t expect Leana to be in here, I kind of expect her not to even return. I close the front door behind me once I’m inside and go to my room. I don’t bother turning on the light and it’s black in here except the gloom of orangish light peering in from the street lights outside.

I kick my shoes off, take off my jeans and slip off my shirt. I sit on my bed and lie back, only to jolt up.

“What? I can’t lay in your bed now?” Leana asks, an attitude in her voice.

“What th-” I start to say, but then I go over to turn the light on.

Leana is sitting up, I know for a fact that she’s high and she sighs, her eyes look me over and stop at my lower half, my boxers.

“I thought you left,” I say trying to get her attention.

“Obviously not,” she says, looking up at my face. “Expect the unexpected,” she giggles.
“It’s really hard to when it comes to you.”

“Jett, stop being angry all the fucking time,” she rolls her eyes at me.

“You’re right,” I say ticked off. “But I’m not angry, I’m pissed off. Get out of my bed.”

“No.”

“What? What do you mean no?”

“I’m not moving, you can’t make me.”

“Stop acting like a child and get out of my bed. I don’t want you in here, you have a room to yourself right there,” I point in the direction of where her room is.

“Make me move then damn it,” she responds.

That throws me off. She’s very stubborn, and I feel like if I grab her with how upset I am I’ll end up hurting her, grab her too roughly.

“Leana, fucking move now!” I yell.

It shocks both of us with how loud and aggressive my voice sounds, but I continue.

“I’m so sick of this shit. I’m tired of being so willing to take you in even if you treat me like shit every time.” My voice quiets down. “All I ever do is worry about you and hope that you’ll realize that you could live so much better, that you could do so much better and it be with me. We could love each other and. . .” I start to whisper; I’m most likely going to cry, because I’m such a pussy. “Ana, I just... Please, that’s all I want. I need to love you and I need you to love me and it’s not enough to just say it, I need you to show me. I need you to be with just me, because that’s what love is. It’s sharing it with one person and it’s loving each other everyday like it’s your last together.”

She doesn’t say anything. I avoid looking at her, leave the room and lean against the hallway wall. I slide down, sit in a position to where my arms rest on my knees and I cry. I don’t cry loud, the tears just find their way out.

I haven’t cried in a long time, I feel like it has all built up and I feel like nothing will ever change. I guess I just need to accept that. . . I need to move on, it doesn't matter what she says, it doesn't matter if she tells me that she loves me drunk, high, or sober. She doesn't actually love me and I just need to get over her.

Perhaps I'll just leave, she can continue living here . . . Although I don't know how she's going to pay the bills, or where I'll go, but whatever, I'm done with it all.

At least I want to be.