Some Boys are Monsters

Rockets and Time Machines

Tweek's Song of the Day: Medicine by Daughter
Craig's Song of the Day: Have We Lost by Flyleaf

I find myself thankful for the bright display in Token's alarm clock. It's the only thing keeping this eerie room dimly lit. The lights are flicked off, leaving us shrouded in darkness, but my friends are close. My friends are laughing. I sigh contently to myself, feeling comfortable despite the darkness and Craig not being lovey. He isn't cuddling with me or using me as his little spoon like he usually would. He's just laying behind me, sprawled out on his own. Clyde's laying on my other side, a content smile on his face even though bangs are hanging low from his tired eyes. We're so close I can feel our breath intermingle. Token is on the other side of the humongous bed. His back is pressing up against Clyde's.

This is part of a sleeping ritual we always try to break ourselves of. We turn off the lights and lay down, but with four wandering minds under the same covers, sleep can't be had for a while. I don't mind. It's the one way we seem to connect the most sometimes, when there's open space to simply speak our minds about whatever or whoever is stuck on them. It's always been nice to have that, but, now-a-days, I find it more nerve wracking than anything.

Streaming rants about my countless conspiracies of the government's involvement with alien lifeforms or big corporations poisoning our water supply are no longer the sort of thing that sticks in my head. My mind is too busy trying to keep up with Craig to contemplate things like that anymore. Whether or not that's a good thing, I can't be sure, but I do know I'd much rather think about being dismembered in alien experiments than where those big Godzilla hands have been.

I'm usually the first to break the silence with some bizarre, completely random question that leads to deep discussions about life, death, and all the scary and wondrous things in between. Tonight, though, I'm too nervous to open my mouth, making Token the first to speak over the cool air of his bedroom.

"I wonder if Nicole ever thinks about me," he utters quietly. It sounds more matter-of-fact than anything, but there's an emotion there he can't hide.

"Of course she does," Clyde replies. He sounds groggy, more tired than the rest of us as he rubs sleepies out of his eyes. "You guys were together for like two years."

"Hm," Token breathed in response, shifting a bit under his thick, silky comforter. "Yeah..."

"You talk about her too much," Craig interrupts after a moment of hesitation. I can't feel the warmth of his breath on the top of my hair as he speaks. I can't feel his chin ruffle my hair as he situates himself. It bother's me. He needs to be closer.

"Well, sorry," Token mutters in defense. "Didn't realize my break up was so annoying to you."

Craig sighs, his hand coming up to rub the regret of his blurted phrase off the side of his mouth. It's quiet for a while as the awkwardness hangs heavy over us.

"Well...," Clyde speaks in vague defense of our friend. "The first is always hard to let go of, you know."

"The first?" I blather dumbly. "Nichole wasn't Token's first girlfriend."

"No, no. I didn't mean first girlfriend. Um..." Clyde scrunches his face in thought for a moment, and I cock my brow in suspicion.

"How do I explain this to someone so innocent?" He finally mutters after staring at my face a good long while.

Craig huffs out a small snicker, as if that sounded funny for some reason, before taking it upon himself to explain with the most vulgarity he can muster. "He meant Nichole was the first chick Token fucked."

I jerk back to look at Craig in shock and distaste, while all Clyde can do is shake his head disapprovingly.

"All behold Craig Tucker," he says with an arm outstretched, "king of subtlety."