motive. [shadilver]

19.

SHADOW

"What do you think about this? Does this look good?"

I heard Rouge speak, but for some reason, I had no care in the world on what it was about. I told her I needed to get out of the house. Bad idea. Now we are at some thrift store, and she's asking me if she looks good in clothes someone else wore.

"Oh, yeah. It matches your... your... uh, yeah."

I give up. Her arms dropped, the dress she was holding dangling from her hands. I was having a hard time looking at her. Actually, looking at anything. I couldn't focus on anything for too long.

"I feel like I'm dragging my cat into a tea party."

I guess that is my fault. She is incorporating me into her day, and I am just... here. I asked to be here. I feel like a jerk.

"I'm sorry... but— you know I am not good with this stuff."

I tried to reason. She took it, looking back at the dress. I don't care what she wears, and it's obvious that my opinion wouldn't make her change either. So, it doesn't matter. As long as it's covering at least thirty percent of her body, I won't say anything. I know the kind of person she is.

"Well, I guess it's my fault. You've been a lot more emotional lately, and I'm not paying attention to you."

Emotional? Is that what this is? That's... disgusting. I'm not being emotional. I wonder if I am still dealing with that hangover. Or maybe... it's just what's in my head. But what the hell would she think if I told her that I let Silver over? I let him sleep in the guest bedroom? I let him use my shower! Rouge can do a lot of things, but she knows she cannot do anything in my bathroom except use the toilet. No makeup, no baths or showers.

"I'm not weeping or anything, I'm fine."

"Anymore."

"Okay, I really don't need that."

She sighed, putting the dress back on the hanger. She has plenty of clothing draped over her arm right now, she doesn't need anymore. I still remember that one time when she asked me to help load all the clothing she didn't want into her car to take to a donation bin. Eight garbage bags filled to the brim. Insanity.

"Fine. Alcohol isn't helping you, what about a smoke?"

I don't know what she did, but her last four words felt like a brick smashed into the side of my head. My entire body shuttered, my heart palpitated, and my breathing went manual.

"Dear god, no. No... it reminds me of..."

She's not helping with everything that's running in my brain.

"What? Do I need to think of something stronger?"

"No. I just... don't want any more headaches, okay?"

No. No, you know what cigarettes remind me of?

Bars.

Do you know what bars remind me of?

It reminds me of being sloppy and pathetic, being approached by someone just as pathetic or more pathetic than you. And because you can't think of anything better to do except to let yourself be sensitive and needy with a stranger just because that is the only way you'll be able to feel anything. They say so many things relieve stress, make you feel powerful or whole again. I was lied to.