Anger Management- Euphoria

thirty-three

I don't wake up on the couch as I had expected. I'm curled up in a little ball with my eyes closed but I've crashed on Fez's couch enough times to know that I'm not there. My first thought is that I'm obviously in Nate's bed. I reach out for him but find nothing but empty space. Where could he be? Isn't it late? 

There's the faint sound of a tv in the other room, I'm pretty sure I hear the Scooby-Doo theme song. What is Nate doing watching that? Maybe it's a guilty pleasure? I should probably get up and ask him what happened but I find myself drifting back off to sleep without another thought. 

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The light filters in through the blinds and my eyes flutter in reaction to the morning. The alarm clock right on the nightstand is unfamiliar and reads 1:30 p.m.  Where the fuck am I? Nate's alarm clock doesn't look like it's straight out of the 90s. I stare at the red light, studying my memory. The longer I look, the more clear it is. I know where I am. 

I'm in Fezco's bed. Alone. Did he sleep on the couch? Why? He had no problem sleeping in the bed with me a few weeks before. Of course, that was before I blatantly chose another guy over him. The idea of breaking his heart puts a heavy weight on my chest. Like back in Salem when they piled rocks on top of people to execute them. This is exactly what that makes me feel like. 

I can still hear the tv in the living room. Except I have no idea what he's watching now. Scooby-Doo makes a hell of a lot more sense now that I'm aware of where I am.

Making myself get up from his bed feels like a chore as my bare feet hit the wood. My head feels like a spent the whole night binge drinking instead of crying. I would rather have been drinking. 

I'm still wearing my clothes from the day before, so it's nice knowing that Fezco is a gentleman. Right as I stand up fully, I remember Fez putting me into bed last night. He was sweet and gentle---and more importantly, completely understanding. He didn't ask many questions about what had been happening in my life. He just knew that I had to let it out. He held me tightly until I fell asleep. And the whole time, I was plagued with that feeling of my heart melting. But this time, there wasn't a single scrap of guilt. It just felt right and I find it hard to regret it now.  

My feet are surprisingly steady as I walk to the living room. I see the white smoke rising before I see him. I breathe it in as a slump onto the couch next to Fezco. His head turns immediately but unhurriedly. 

"I was getting worried you weren't gonna wake up," he says, offering the blunt in his hand. 

I shake my head, "I'm not really one for waking and baking."

"Word," he replies, a little smile tugs at the very edge of his lips. His lips, aren't they gorgeous? Jesus, what am I kidding. Isn't he gorgeous? I can't pinpoint what exactly is so attractive about him, there has to be something irresistible. I mean, why else would I be thinking about closing this gap between us and violently jumping his bones? 

"Don't you got school today?" he asks, and if life had a soundtrack, I would queue a record scratch. Fuck. I forgot about school. The school day is almost over already. I'm fucked. There's barely anything keeping my mother from sending me off to some bullshit academy as she and dad wanted. Of course, that was when we had the money for it. 

My throat feels my sandpaper when I try to respond and Fez jumps up from the couch, "Somethin' to drink?" I nod my head, trying to hide my smile. "What you want? We got water, Ashtray's OJ, and Coke," he says, his head twisting to face me while he opens the fridge. 

"Will Ashtray kill me if I drink some OJ?"

"Nah, he wanna do that, he gotta go through me," he says, pulling the carton from the shelf. 

There's something so domestic about this. I think about this happening every morning. Drinking orange juice with him on the couch. It turns my insides into mush. It doesn't make my heart race or my mind spin. It's a calm feeling, and it weaves its way into me-- refusing to let go. 

He hands me a glass of orange juice with a cute little smile and I can't help but return it. 

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We didn't talk about last night. I'm definitely not ready to talk about our feelings--and that's exactly where that conversation would go.  I didn't go to school--which means when I finally checked my phone there were tons of messages from my mother, who was furious about my absence. Like she actually gives a fuck. I ignored them. 

Fez gave me a giant, warm hug on my way out the door. "Don't go disappearing on us again, okay?" 

I nodded, "I promise." 

Leaving Fez was harder than I had expected. I had a hard time walking out the door. Which was a strange feeling for me. 

Attachment (excluding Nate) was something I struggle with. Whether it be people or things, I just don't seem to care. Friendships were a bitch to maintain and my relationships with my family were close to, if not obsolete. But I found myself getting attached to the pot smelling couch, the kitchen table covered in digital scales, the chains around Fez's neck. But in reality, if I'm completely honest, I was really getting attached to Fez-- and that was fucking terrifying. 

I sat in the drive way of my house for a few minutes to gather my courage before stepping out. It was time to face the music.