american beauty // joshler

11

tyler's point of view

thanks to my higher tolerance, my mind isn't so clouded that i'm not shocked at the scene unfolding.

josh, too high to keep his secrets and too drunk to remember mine, is sitting cross legged next to me on my balcony, telling me he wants to talk.

i'm not sure how i really got him here, it wasn't technically a part of the plan. but seeing the way the moon lights his face, his lips chapped and his brows furrowed, i feel something change in the air, just a bit. not quite thick enough to be tangible.

it's probably the lean i drank earlier. or the weed we smoked. or the various other things i consumed over the course of the night.

"what do you wanna know?"

"huh. i dunno, i guess i didn't think i'd get this far. i've been winging it," he's not slurring, but his voice is slower, deeper, clumsier. a tiny bit of a lisp coats his words and its actually kind of endearing.

"what do you mean by that?" i tap my cigarette on the ashtray and take another drag while i wait for his answer.

"i shouldn't be here. i have a boyfriend," he sighs, leaning his head back against the door. his answer confuses me.

"what? we aren't doing anything," i point out, "we're friends, we're talking."

"i know, i just... i think about you more than i should i guess. i'm kinda hoping i won't remember most of this tomorrow to be honest."

his response this time comes with a wave of disappointment that i try my best to keep at bay. there's no reason to be disappointed. this is just part of the chase.

"but also, maybe i don't. i dunno. i've felt really weird lately," he adds.

"oh."

"why do you like to party so much, tyler? isn't it exhausting for you? i'm exhausted."

i shrug, "i mean, i guess it's kinda like you said. i don't want to remember it all, you know? at a party, i blend in. i can be a different person with every guest i talk to, do as many drugs that i want until i can't feel it anymore," i try to explain myself but the feeling i'm attempting to describe doesn't exist. it dangles down my throat like a pendulum and i dont know what else to say.

"what are you running from?"

the question knocks the breath from me and i have to recompose myself, taking another inhale from my cigarette and trying to come up with an answer.

"myself, i guess," i decide to be honest with him, taking the chance his plan to not remember is successful, "my past. things i've done. things i think and feel. i haven't been the best person and it just... gets too close to catching up to me sometimes. i've always said i would quit but i never did. so, i've just kinda stopped trying," i shrug and put my cigarette out. "life's too short and not near precious enough."

i think after the words fall out that i probably shouldn't have said them, that my statement was too deep. i don't know if i feel guilty or embarrassed.

"shit, sorry for unloading that on you," i sigh. "i think about you a lot too. maybe your memory will be selective tomorrow and you won't remember the weirdness of this. my facade will remain preserved."

"maybe."

i nod, take a deep breath, and stand. i look down at him, extending my hand to help him up. the weight of it in mine is nice, something that sent sparks up my arm when i did it the first time, and the time after, and the time after...

"i think i'm ready for bed. want me to show you to the guest room?"

he stands but doesn't let go. "sure, thanks."