Roommates (Maxley)

Chapter 19

Goofy feels a shift in the air, the smell of rain heavy around him as dark clouds loom above the porch. He sets his buckets down, the freshwater will be good for the garden. He's been growing some herbs, some small crops like peppers and tomatoes sleeping beneath the soil as the summer season gets closer. In the meantime, his berry plants have bloomed and are almost ready to harvest. He hasn't decided what he'll do with the surplus he'll have, maybe he'll freeze them, maybe he'll make some scones for Max. He should have enough flour but he can grind some fresh wheat together if he doesn't. Speaking of wheat, he needs to feed his sourdough starter. He was about to go inside when a quiet voice made him jump.

"Um, Mr. Goof?" He's standing in front of the stairs, eyes puffy. He doesn't look as skinny as the last time Goofy saw him, good, he's been eating well. "Can I stay the night?"

Brad's head is on the dining table, body tense and hands face down on his lap. Anxiety sobered him up, his frayed nerves obvious as his leg bounces under the table. Sick, his stomach churns from the weight of the guilt, shoulders tense from anger that has yet to dissipate. His hand curls around the cup of tea Goofy gives him, grip strong enough for the plastic to bend.

"What's got you riled, Son?" Goofy says with a smile he wishes he could return, but a frown is stuck on his face. "Ya hungry?"

"No, I...I don't think I can stomach anything right now." His voice is as unsteady as he is, shaking hands holding the cup up to his lips as he takes slow sips. The tea slaps his stomach the moment he swallows, making him cough and gag as he stumbles to the bathroom. "Sorry- I- 'scuse me!"

His legs root to the ground as he retches over the toilet, tears slipping from his watery eyes. What a luxury, being able to vomit in the proper place after seeing someone do it surrounded by filth. He should feel bad for her, but all he feels right now is self-pity and loathing. Everyone was on her side, sympathizing, crying in the comments as if she didn't deserve it- did she deserve it? No, it's too late for him to doubt himself, he's already done it. His stomach lurches, trying to push out what's already gone and leaving him hunched over on the ground. Is this how much it hurt her? Did she feel every needle-like prick and dagger-like stab?

Good.

No- that's not good, he hurt someone, a girl. Back and forth, apart and together, his thoughts as as messy as his clothes. He had walked to Max's house off memory, trailing through trees and mud and now he had stains on his shirt and sleeves that would take centuries to wash out. Goofy tells him to make himself at home in Max's room but all he feels is held hostage by his mind. Stop, leave him alone, the thoughts are crushing him until he's curled up on the ground and crying. He's just as bad as his father, isn't he? Controlled by emotions and impulse, ready to get his hands dirty and then pretend they're pure. There's a mirror in Max's room, in the corner and casually leaning against the pale gray walls.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

The sound of his footsteps are drowned out by his pulse throbbing in his ears, eyes weary but wide as he stares at a reflection that isn't his.

Father.

CRACK!

There's glass sticking to his skin, the mirror broken everywhere except for that damned face. Go away, leave, stop following him! He had lived in that man's shadow his entire life, chasing his form only to replace it- and now he had a shadow of his own, a self-consciousness that haunted his every breath. He hates him, just knowing they share the same veins makes his blood boil. Anger, the first emotion he had learned and the last thing he wanted to feel, but it consumed him like every shard cutting him open. Out, he wants it out of him just this once he wants to feel numb but his body refuses. It hurts, why does it hurt? It should be relieving but it's only making him more restless, every dig into his skin making him crawl deeper into despair.