Emotional Boys 2000

37

Having flown back to New York, everything feels different to me now.

The ebb and flow of my life has been disrupted, contorting back into what it once was before Marshall ever re-entered, though leaving things slightly different. I'm left with a lesion on my heart, practically numbing me out, leaving me to crave some form of emotion, even sadness would be appreciated.

"You and Eminem at the Grammys, holy shit! I mean, I just turned on my tv and you were fucking there! Guess you weren't lying after all!" Wright exclaims, accompanying me on my walk to work today since he said he was in the area earlier at some dry cleaning shit. Whatever, keeps me distracted, if only he hadn't brought Marshall up, though it was inevitable. I'll be getting the Grammys discussion a lot this week...

"You thought I was fucking with you before?" Is all I respond with, not offering up any modest or proud expression of emotion.

He chuckles loudly, obnoxiously really... I wonder if it's to try and laugh off the fact that he did in fact think I was literally lying about dating Eminem for attention.

Makes me even feel embarrassed myself that he assumed that. Means he probably thought worse of me from the time I told him until he saw the Grammys. I hate to be made out as a fool. Or a lying a fool. I fucking hate it.

"Eh... well... come on, he's Eminem... but uh, on another note, that's a nice suit, where's it from..?" Literally as he asks, his hand grazes my shoulder, fingers caressing the fabric, hoping to guess what it is most likely.

"Valentino..." I grumble, looking down at the single-breast wool blazer with dissatisfaction, noting a small piece of fuzz or whatever the fuck, grabbing it between my thumb and pointer finger with aggression.

Hand instantly retracting from the suit, Wright gives me an uncomfortable look, as if he's seen something he shouldn't.

What the fuck is up his ass now?

"Woah... your hand..." is all that leaves his open mouth, jaw agape and eyes widened as he continues to still keep up the pace of our walk.

I had gotten used to the sight, not even noticing that my utterly bruised and scabbed hand had reached for the small fuzz, completely exposing him to the concerning sight.

Well uh... that explains the look he gave me... the one he's still fucking giving me...

"Yeah..." I acknowledge dryly, sounding incredibly out of it.

I don't care what anyone thinks of it. I'm not going to explain myself. I have no desire to have anyone in my business but I also have no desire to conceal it, hence, wasting my time.

He turns his eyes back to the side walk, luckily picking up on the fact that I have zero intention of telling him about the hand situation.

Enough people got to see what happened between us, I don't need anyone else up to date on it.

"So I think two-thousand and six will be a good year for the market... I just feel it..." Wright mumbles, trying to make things less awkward, diverging from the previous topics and just bringing things back to our job.

"Past few years have been just... boring, I made money, don't get me wrong, but I just feel like things could have gone better. I hope there's some actual substantial fucking growth this year." I grumble, looking up, grey clouds pasted all over the sky, practically illustrating a typical January day in New York. The snow crunches under my feet, noises I've chosen to ignore during the walk, noises I've finally tuned back into as my eyes set their gaze on the Wall St. sign.

Cocksucker.

That's all I can think. I'm in a stark position of cynicism and pessimism right at the moment. Everything is currently pissing me off right now. Yeah, I know I should start looking to the bright side, but I am, it's grey and clouded over, and the sun is blocked, not all that fucking bright, huh...

"We've got to get that, either that or a substantial crash, Market can only go so long before something actually starts fucking happening" Wright shrugs, watching me stare up in the sky, giving it a look that can only signify my dissatisfaction with it, despite its inability to do anything about it... cause it's you know... the sky...?

"Geez Domitia, I can never understand the shit you do or what goes through your head" he observes after watching me basically have an angry, one sided, staring contest with the fucking clouds in the sky.

He just walks on ahead of me, leaving me to stand at the street sign, feeling vacant and unable to move.

I bring my eyes back down to his level, watching his blazer softly lift with the wind caught under it, flapping slightly as he makes his way up the exchange steps, leaving me to myself.

"Christ Esdeath, get your fucking shit together" groaning to myself, I pick up my pace, actually moving my feet and following after him, tightening my grip around my laptop briefcase, dress shoes slapping against the marble of the exchange steps, leading me to the one place I would give up in an instant if it meant I could reverse everything that happened forty eight hours ago.

I feel rather unaligned, believing there's something else I should be doing in this moment rather than just drawling on about how frustrated I am.

This only makes me more angry funnily enough. I hate the idea that people cannot give themselves the time to grief and feel about the situations or moments in their lives that make or have made them feel so incredibly miserable.

Heading into the building, instantly swept up in all the lights, green, red. All the digits. Percentages. Profits to earning ratios. Brand names, companies.

The large letters. NYSE.

"Apple Computer is a great company to invest in, over the past year and a half it's been climbing steadily, very promising stock for a beginner-"

"Allegheny Technologies is doing-"

Walking past the swarms of brokers, clients, new investors, uneducated fools, I make my way over to the elevator, just wishing to grab my uniform jacket, getting to work quickly.

"Ay, Domitia, someone sent you something!" My boss shouts at me from his office, causing me to head over to my desk, a desk that is severely under used. It only exists for me to review the Bloomberg terminals, and check the numbers religiously before my shift.

"The fuck..?" Looking at my desk. I stare at a bouquet of flowers, flowers in which I've never seen before.

They're primarily black, accented with a subtle purple undertone, complete with bright yellow stamen.

Jesus Christ, what is this..?

I spy the soft pink note slipped into the green plastic wrapping of the flowers, bringing my hand to reach for it.

I know Marshall has sent them, but it rubs me the wrong way while also making me feel less miserable. I don't know what the fuck to think.

For once, I'm not going to try and put any deeper meaning into this gesture, as much as I should, since it's very likely he probably has a motive for sending them. That being said, I'm going to just perceive them as flowers. Noting more.

'Miss you already hah, just felt like sending you flowers, not to change your mind on shit or anything, I just felt like you deserved them. They're called Onyx Odyssey Helleborus apparently... they reminded me of you... :)

- Marsh'

I can't really think of what to think at all. Mind empty.

Everything feels so crooked. Everything feels so messy, so confusing, so depressing. These flowers don't help, they only make my misery feel more apparent.

I don't know what to make of them. I don't know if I want to cry over them. I don't know if I want to tear them apart. I don't know if I want to smile at them, simply just enjoying them.

However, I cannot control the patterns of my thoughts or the aching in my chest, because no matter what happened between us, despite what he's done, what I've done, I'm still craving him, I crave his whole being.

This next year is going to be painful... painful but necessary if I want to go back to Marshall and not still be upset with him and myself, despite how much I want him now still... I need time to straighten everything in my life that's gone crooked...

But...

Do you absolutely have to go straightening out what is crooked?