In the End

Apricot Vine Blooming

Someone has been in his apartment. Or, rather, someone is there now. Andy starts, and he should have known, and he feels the anger boiling inside of him, as badly as he wants it to simmer and die. He takes a deep breath, tries to look for the apathy that had been his longtime friend, but he does not find it. It only makes him panic further.

He will not face him like this. There is just no way it will end well, especially for him. Of all the people in the entire world, he is the last person Andy wants to see him like this. Falling apart suddenly.

He would know it was his fault- and that would please him too much. Andy is not here to please him.

He hears a shuffling noise from his bedroom- cursing- and he decides that perhaps he will have to deal with his anxiety and face Kristen and her friends instead. As much as that frightens him, he is not prepared to see him again so soon. Not yet.

He shuts the door as quietly as possible, but he knows the damage has been done. Chucky will know he has been here. He makes his way down the stairs and back into the street with haste, in effort to reach the sidewalk before the other catches up to him. He knows Chucky will not make a move in public. Incompetent as he is, Chucky is not outright unintelligent.

Out in the streets again, he tries to steady his breathing. He tries to recollect his thoughts. A deep breath in, and a heavy breath out. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

It isn't that he is afraid of dying- no, he is ready for it. It isn't that he's afraid of dying- no, he knows that Chucky has tried and failed, and will do so again. It is a cycle. The only steady constant in his life, and he hates it- oh how he hates it.

It is that very burning, living, seething hatred, hot and sharp in his chest, that he is afraid of. He is not accustomed to feeling anything so passionately. The opposite of Chucky – who feels and acts immediately and impulsively, akin to a rocket suddenly taking off in a blazing fury – Andy is more like the clock that hangs on the wall in his apartment. Steady, always ticking per second; no more, no less. No sudden chime, no noise.

He does not like how Chucky awakens a wild passion. The passion frightens him more than Chucky himself. After all, Chucky, in the end, is merely a doll, a physical body that can easily be move and dealt with. Andy's emotions are an entirely other entity; a monster that lurks and has reared its ugly head once again. And Andy does not know how to face that.

Another deep breath in, and another heavy breath out. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

He feels his heartbeat returning from its flight. He takes out his phone. He ignores the way his hands are shaking. He calls Kristen.

He lets himself be distracted by her voice.

"Where did you say this get-together was at? I've changed my mind," he says, and he tries to keep his voice steady, as if this was a casual decision. He knows she would know that it wasn't, and he doesn't know why he hides it. But he does, anyways.

"Oh, Andy, I'm so glad you changed your mind!" she nearly shouts into the phone. She is in a loud place, and he feels himself shriveling away already. But he cannot even go home. His one place of sanctuary has been invaded, and he has nowhere else to go until he can settle the strange fire in him.

"Me too," he says, although he does not mean it.

There is one good thing from it, he decides as he walks there, and that is that there will be a good drink to drown in. Everything will be dulled; the music and the talking will not be as loud, and he will be able to settle down and let each person pass by. He may even give a nod or smile, or a word or two.