closeness : stozier

1. don't look at the dead bird

cw: dead animal, cobwebs, compulsive scratching, and unwanted sexual thoughts

stanley stands quietly at the bus stop, patiently awaiting the bus that he's not sure will ever arrive. he's a little cold, and he regrets grabbing nothing more than a cardigan over his shirt. he crosses his arms, in hope that it'll take his mind off of what he's looking at.

to his right, there's a dead bird on the ground, lying limp. there's no open gash, and stanley is biting back the urge to create one. instead, he's staring in the opposite direction. in the opposite direction is a rather run-down house, one that's still being lived in, but probably shouldn't be. 

he decides that whoever is living in that house is also living without shame, as the door is open, inviting despite the exterior appearance. stanley wonders how cold the inside of the house must be. once again, he's focusing on how cold it is. 

he wishes he had something in his system, weed, or something, to keep his mind off the cold and the itch. however, as sad as it is, he does not have anything to suffocate all negative thoughts, to warm his blood and skin, so he turns his head again. 

trying to keep his mind occupied and off the bird, he pays his attention now to the bus stop sign. there's spider webs hanging from the edge, and stanley has an urge to grab at them. he doesn't. he reads the bus schedule. 7:33am. 7:58am. 8:23am. 8:48am. 9:13am. you can imagine the rest. 

8:48am. stanley checks his phone. 8:40am. how long has he been here for? far too long, he determines. far, far too long. long enough, in fact, that a dull humming has settled into stanley's ears. the humming--it's more like a buzz, but stanley refuses to accept this--is getting louder in stanley's ears, which he is not exactly a fan of. the louder it gets, the more he knows he'll succumb to it. that isn't the goal.

luckily, the bus comes early. pulling his hand down from his face, he tugs on his bag and pulls out his card. he steps onto the bus softly and quietly, looking down like he always does, and taps his card on the purposed area. 

on the bus, there is a little girl with her mother. the little girl wants to, no, begs to talk to stanley, but her mother prohibits it. she's turned around in her seat, because stanley is sitting silently behind her. he smiles a little for her, before her mother tugs her back into her seat.

stanley is used to having people look weirdly at him. this is one of the nicer times, simply because of this girl's innocence. as she turns around, stanley thinks something rather vulgar, and almost swears at himself aloud for the thought.

no, that is fucking gross, this is not you, no, stop that, stop thinking that.

he tells his brain firmly, but the firm turns to weakness as the thought takes over his imagination. he sighs quietly, and sinks in to imagining it. as he does so, he closes his eyes, and grimaces. he closes his eyes, in fact, just long enough for him not to notice the girl turn around again.

"why does your face look like that?" his eyes snap open as the girl speaks aloud, the mother turning around too, ashamed. he makes eye contact with the girl, and resists the urge to move his hands. instead, he distracts his brain by picking at his nails.

"i'm so sorry," the mother apologizes, but stanley shakes his head, a sympathetic it's okay.

"it's a bad habit i've got, doing stuff like this. don't pick it up." stanley replies softly to the girl's question. she nods, but her eyebrows are still twisted as if she has more questions. it's okay, stanley thinks, i have questions too. he watches as the mother once again pulls the little girl down into her seat and holds her there with a steady hand.

stanley then succumbs to the itch he's been feeling for the last couple minutes, and he lets his hand fly up towards his face. for a brief moment, he feels relief.

stop! stop it, goddamnit stop!

and stanley smacks his hand back down to his leg. as payment for that, he smacks the other leg as well, and then decides to bring out his laptop. maybe that would help. reaching shakily into his backpack, he takes the laptop case out. he grits his teeth as he opens the laptop slowly, and then fast, and then closes it again. he tries again, opening the laptop this time at an acceptable speed. 

he opens his email first, thinking about his to-do list that he had written.

to: ranjit_kular@yahoo.com

subject: rent

hi ranjit

sorry i've been a little awol i've been so busy and i'm not doing too well either

i know rent is coming up and i'm sorry but i'm gonna need an extra day

college is getting to me and i can't take extra shifts and/or even get my pay check until sunday i'm sorry i'm so sorry

let me know if that's possible

if it's not, let me know what i can do

thanks, stan 

he clicks send without thinking, and then panics. he goes into his sent, and reads it over, again, again, again, and again, and he's not sure what he's looking for. he decides whatever he is looking for, it can fuck off, and he closes the laptop sharply. he's a little afraid he might've damaged the screen, but he puts it into the laptop case and then into his backpack. his shoulder itches, but he doesn't scratch it, not with the shirt and cardigan in the way.

the itch only grows stronger.