Smile On His Lips and Cuts On His Hips (Jalex)

Eleven - You Cut Yourself?

“I… will never end up like him, behind my back, I already am, keep a calendar, this way you will always know, do do do,” I hummed,  tripping around my room and tossing clothes into the laundry basket. I’d actually managed to eliminate all of my homework for the day before dinner commenced, and had the rest of the night to spend however I pleased. It was when I wanted to play my guitar and realized I couldn’t find the pack of picks I bought a week ago, that I figured it was time to clean my room.

Tidying was one of those things that was always painful in the moment, but eventually worth it. Sure, there were few things I wanted to do less than collect innumerable dirty dishes and cart them to the kitchen under judgmental stares of my family, but not stumbling over moldy cups when I tried to get out of bed always made my mornings that much nicer. They still weren’t necessarily good, but better was all I was aiming to achieve anymore.

I scooped up an armful of clothes, noticing a tissue getting lost in the mix and making a mental note to pull that out before throwing them in the washer, dropping them in the basket and straightening my spine. I laced my fingers together, stretching my arms over my head as my back arched, cracking satisfactorily.

It was while I was turning countless pairs of skinny jeans right side out before throwing them in the wash that I’d remembered the day’s earlier encounter during PE. Didn’t Alex say he was going to text me? What the fuck did I do with my phone?

I frowned, dripping detergent over the pants and letting the cup fall on top of them before dropping the metal top of the machine, hollow tin clank echoing behind me. I pulled the laundry room door closed, not quite caring enough to make sure the four folding panels actually straightened out.

Back in my room, where the floor was once again visible, I scanned the exposed surfaces, looking for my phone. A search of my pockets turned up empty, nothing revealed from my bed sheets being pulled apart. I scratched my head, muttering possible locations under my breath before leaving my room.

I wandered into the front room, catching May surfing what looked like Facebook on the couch. She smiled at me, half waving. I returned the gesture while choking back a comment about how she looked like a raccoon, due to the eye rubbing that always occurred once no one beside blood relations would see her. I’d gotten sharply reprimanded by half the family last time that joke slipped out, and wanted to avoid that again.

I spotted my phone on the kitchen counter a second later, lips curing up as I strutted over to grab it. I leaned against the cabinets behind me, swiping the screen and noticing a message from an unknown number. Alex.

Sure enough, it read, Hey, it’s Alex. It was also sent three hours ago. Fuck, he probably thought I was a terrible person. Well, maybe I probably was a terrible person.

I decided to shut down that thought process before it could start, instead typing back, Hi! Sorry I took forever to respond, lost my phone, and heading back to my room. I thought that it was about time that I tried to figure out what the fuck was in those drawers of my dresser, and wanted to throw away all the crap that I had surely accumulated. If only there was some sort of filing system in my mind that I could clear out.

Three old math notebooks from my earlier high school years filled with my worst nightmare – endless numbers and equations – later, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I’d never been able to figure out how to change my text tone, and the automatic irritated me to no end, so I just left it on silent most of the time. Although this usually resulted in me not realizing someone was trying to contact me until I pulled it out to play Temple Run, at least my ear drums were spared.

It’s fine. So, I need to ask you something.

Right, I totally forgot about that. What could Alex Gaskarth possibly want to know? And, more importantly, what was so special about it that it had to be inquired about in secret and exempted from school conversations?