An Unorthodox Obsession

{Chapter One}

{Chapter One}

        It has been a week and Jeffrey hasn’t tried to send more than his first, initial concerned message on Facebook. That was the day I left his house.

        I’m no longer in the same state as him and this brings on a sense of comfort because I at least know that he won’t try to come to my Grandmother’s house and get an explanation out of me. Those are high expectations considering Jeffrey’s no-shits-given attitude. He’s mostly too stoned to do… anything. In fact, I’m shocked he inboxed me at all.

        I ignore the message.

        But, I can’t ignore him. I take a seat at my desk and allow my computer to start up as I stare out the adjacent window that looks out onto my back yard from the second story. It’s not much more than a few square feet but the small space is enough to house my plastic, childhood swing set and an unstable tree house.

        I open an internet browser and load Facebook. I type Jeffrey’s name into the search bar and begin shamelessly investigating his life. I try to convince myself that he doesn’t look good in pictures because he isn’t photogenic, when really I know it’s because he doesn’t have a pretty face.

        I’ll give him credit for his body though; he definitely designates a lot of time and work to making it look as good as it does.

        I looked past these two qualities this summer, though. I had somehow convinced myself that he actually has an incredible personality when, really, even his personality isn’t that great. He’s not very smart. He isn’t very understanding. And because of his habit, Jeffrey is highly defensive; as a result, he tends to abandon every single person who dares to point out his addiction.

        I’m tempted to tell him what I really think about his lifestyle, just so he can get out of my life and I can pretend this summer never happened. However, I resist the urge when I realize that I can’t be that heartless.

        I quickly grow bored of his pictures and return to my newsfeed so I can continue avoiding my academic responsibilities. I’m not much of a Facebook fan and often avoid it altogether, unless I have to talk to someone. I note that no one of importance is online and I’m not in the mood for any of my older messages; least of all, Jeffrey’s.

        I aimlessly scroll through statuses from my ‘Friends’ about their incredible holidays, until a block of messages catches my eyes.

        I recognize the name Iain Mitchell almost instantly. We briefly met four years ago but I hadn’t forgotten him. I can’t feel the air in my lungs as I read through a couple of commiserating messages in honor of his death.

        My left hand instinctively covers my open mouth while the other left-click’s Iain’s profile picture. The messages and pictures are still streaming in. I have time to absent-mindedly read through a few as I scroll lower with only one thought in mind.

        What happened to Iain Mitchell?

        I can’t seem to escape the confines of my own disbelief. As I continue reading the messages on his profile, I begin to feel liquid salt stream down my face. I just barely manage to wipe some tears away before more take their place.

        And I’m not quite sure why I’m crying at all.

        It’s not like I knew Iain very well.

        I suppose what I did know of him was enough to warrant this reaction. Iain was incredibly positive and incredibly happy. According to the heart-felt notes on his page, I wasn’t the only person to think so.