The Rise and Fall of Matt Litter

Chapter 8: Disenchanted

Demian and I leave around two-thirty that afternoon. Yeah, my so-called mom said to be there around three, but I don't want to be way too punctual, either way too late, and since Demian looked it up online and found out it'd take us around forty minutes to get to Fort Worth, we leave at that time.

I decide to drive the car that time, and even if Demian asks me a million times to drive, it ends up being me. I'm not a lousy driver, but neither I am ready for Formula 1... I just like to drive. Demian, on the other hand, is a much better driver than I am, but still, I take the wheel, promising him that on our way back, I'll let him drive. I know technically he asks me to be the driver so I can relax before getting there, but I know that's the same reason I need to drive —after all, if I know he'll be the one sitting by my side, I'll drive straight to the place we're heading to, probably whining a bit but straight there... I won't even think of jumping from the car... I'll just drive...

Of course, I let him play music, as much music as he wants to. He also sings during the entire trip, which is good, since he has the most beautiful voice in the world (at least that's how I feel about it), and he also is very fun to be around —he has a remark for everything, a fun fact about every song, band or artist. He knows so much about music I tend to envy him, but I'm so eager to learn from him every single time. He sings every single thing that they play on the radio —from The White Stripes to Dolly Parton, from Blur to Blink-182.

We arrive more or less in time and leave the car as soon as the song playing on the radio ends. Demian turns it off for me. "It's time," he says, "you ready?" I nod because I know that if I don't, I'll never leave this car. And yet, I don't look ready, not at all. In fact, my heart and my mind are racing a lot, and I feel like I'm about to throw up. Yet, Demian's there for me, as he always is, as he will always be. "Let's get to it," he says and then, he kisses me on the lips, only to proceed to step out of the car.

And I follow him because I can't do anything else.

I walk towards the door feeling both a knot in my throat and repeated kicks in my stomach. Demian walks behind me and stands by my side as I ring the bell. "I already want to leave, can we leave?" I ask Demian, turning towards him and speaking in the lowest possible voice. He shushes me. "Dems, I mean it... let's go," I attempt to go back in my steps, but I feel his hand against my chest, stopping me.

"You stay here," he says, making me turn around to face the door once again, "and wait."

"Dems, I really can't—"

"You'll manage..."

"No, I mean it," I insist, looking at him, "I want to throw up..."

"It's the anxiety," he reassures me, even if he knows I know that. "Take a deep breath and think about nice things..."

"I really can't—"

"Hey, look at me," he says, placing both his hands at the sides of my head and looking me in the eyes, "it'll be fine. I'm here with you. I got you; now calm down, honey, okay?" He lets me go and I take a deep breath. Just then, I hear the sound of the door opening.

The woman that stands now in front of me is the same one that used to live in my house when I was a kid —blonde hair, blue eyes, and freckles all over the face. She looks exactly the same as she did when she wasn't even thirty and I was a kid, a small child with no idea of what would happen on a Wednesday afternoon when, after school, I'd come back home and not find her there, not that day nor any of the following ones. I can't believe fifteen years have passed and she still looks the same as she did when I was seven. "Hi," she says, with a smile on her face. I blink, several times, as panic strikes once again.

I feel dizzy, as if nothing makes sense, my palms are sweaty and I don't feel good... and yet, I won't let anxiety beat me. So, I take a deep breath. "Wow, you look— you look big," she says, keeping her smile.