Manipulation.

For someone who claimed that they had to stay to find answers, I sure was spending a lot of time avoiding the one person who could possibly give them to me. I occasionally left the apartment to work the minimum wage job I had gotten at the local grocery store, but other than that, I stayed completely isolated. I did, however, prove to myself that I really could manipulate people’s feelings as I took them all on myself. It explained a lot - like why I had never liked crowds, or why living in New York had nearly killed me.

But that friend of Ray’s had mentioned danger. He made it seem like there were things that I still didn’t understand, and frankly, I figured he was right. I had already made such a strong decision, though, that I didn’t want to go back and admit that I was wrong. For all of my other faults, my pride would always get in my way.

I wanted, no, needed answers, but I couldn’t bring myself to go get them. So I didn’t talk to anyone, I bagged groceries four days a week, and I pretended that I had a life worth living the way that I was. It was pathetic, really.

I had also taken up smoking. It really was a disgusting habit, as everyone said it was, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t hurting anyone else, and really, I didn’t feel hurt. I didn’t feel anything of my own.
I was outside the apartment smoking when there was a hand on my shoulder, and I got up in defense of myself, and found myself staring down at Ray’s friend once again.

Part of me wanted to run. A bigger part of me decided to suck it up. “I see you came back.”

“Never really left. Some asshole at a gas station said some stuff that got stuck in my head and got me to turn around.”

“Sounds like a jerk. Maybe he just wanted to help, though.” I almost cracked a smile at that one.

“I suppose it could be. Maybe that’s what made me stay. Gotta say that I haven’t been able to go ask him for that help, though. I’ve never been particularly good at admitting it when I’m wrong.”

He stuck out his hand, and unlike when Ray did it, I extended mine and shook his. “I’m Chris, and I understand. Wanna go somewhere that we could talk for real, Charlie?”

I motioned at the building behind me. “We could go to my apartment?”

“No, I’m not one for cramped spaces. I think and feel a lot better out in the open. C’mon, there’s something I want to show you, if you’ll let me.”

I got up, stomped out the cigarette, and left the pack there as I followed Chris.