The Religious & The Damaged (UNDER EDITING)

8

Joseph

  "Maybe we'll just have to change that." He says, and when he says it, it feels as if my world just shifted. My breath gets trapped in my throat as my heart skips a beat and I feel as heat rises to my cheeks.

  Why does it feel like this? What is this feeling?

  He smiles at me, and I feel this sensation in my chest. It feels nice, but it also sorta makes me want to throw up.

  Orange glow peers into the room and surrounds his face; it brightens his features—his green eyes I once thought were hazel, his brunette hair, and his smile is all the more striking.

  I clear my throat, forcefully pulling myself from the trance I was in, and I say, "Let's just get started."

  He nods and takes a seat on the floor, and I sit next to him—both our backs pressed against the bed frame. He pulls the bag he has onto his lap and takes out an assortment of things.

  "I like to listen to music while I work, it helps me focus. Is it okay if I put some on?" He asks.

  "Okay." I reply, and he takes his phone out.

  I can't help but look over his shoulder, and I'm sort of astonished by the phone and how easily he uses it. I've never had a phone or even used one; never touched one for that matter. I was never allowed one.

  My father says that I don't need one and it would be distracting—he says I only need God.

  Music plays, and it brings me out of my trance, I once again find myself in. Francis Forever is the title, and it's by Mitski.

  I take a mental note of it, for some reason.

  I look up at Elias when I see him look up at me in my peripheral vision, and we meet eyes.

  His smile returns as he asks, "Ready to start?"

  I nod, and he returns it—then he pulls his textbook in front of him, and I watch intently. He takes his notebook and turns to a blank page, and gestures it towards me. I take it with the pencil he hands me next.

  "Okay, so, is there anything you want to start with in particular? Like, is there something you don't understand more than anything else?" He asks, and I feel myself getting embarrassed because of the answer that slips out from my mouth.

  "I don't understand anything in class."

  He looks taken aback, and directs his eyes down at the textbook. "Oh." He says.

  I stare at him, anxiously awaiting his next response and I feel myself getting frustrated at the amount of time I'm waiting, and it collides with my anxiety and I speak out of frustration.

  "If it's too much trouble, you can just go."

  He shakes his head. "No. Sorry. I'm just deciding where to start." He says. I don't reply. I just wait, impatiently, but I wait. "Okay, so, let's start with last semester."

  "But you weren't here for last semester."

  He looks at me and shrugs. "Yeah, but I pick up fast." He claims. I just nod, and I follow his gaze down at the textbook.