Pitter patter .. Pitter patter ..
Mr. Plant's fingers ran through Argos' hair gently, the only sounds present being the sound of the rain on the roof, the ticking of the old clock in the dining room, and the sound of the fish tank in the kitchen. How does he keep his hair so soft? Mr. Plant wondered, averting his gaze as his face grew a soft shade of rose pink, It's gotta be that $60 vanilla shampoo he uses. From the corner store, probably laced by that old hag at the counter.
Typically, on a night like this, Mr. Plant would find himself rather bored. But now, he felt the exact opposite. He found himself being drowned by waves of butterflies swarming his stomach every time he looked down at Argos, who was peacefully buried in the hazy clouds of sleep.
Why haven't I lost feelings for him yet? Oversized bees repeatedly stung his brain with every thought, poking and prodding at his expense, I have to lose feelings soon. This can't go on for much longer.
I'd usually have lost feelings by now. Why is he stuck on my mind? He's no different than anyone else I've met. He thought – But he was – Argos was different. But Mr. Plant couldn't admit it – I don't deserve to be loved like this, so why do I feel so happy?
I've really been slacking lately. There's really something wrong with me, isn't there? It's not normal for someone like me to feel this way about somebody. Especially not another man.
Mr. Plant did love the feeling of being cared for, but he wasn't exactly used to it. He'd only ever known loneliness and sorrow. He was so used to feeling empty – But now that endless butterflies and honeybees were filling the hole in his chest, he didn't know how to feel. It was unfamiliar. And he hated everything about it.
I want to love him, too. Mr. Plant thought, his arms unravelling around Argos in a bittersweet embrace laced with his inner thoughts, And I do. But it's not okay to love him. I will never be able to love him like I could anyone else.
But he's a man, Mr. Plant retracted his hand from Argos' fluffy hair, And so am I.
Mr. Plant stood up, gently setting the unconscious man on the couch. He stared down at him for a moment, admiring his features. He felt a twinge of something bittersweet – As if he shouldn't be admiring someone like this – As if he didn't deserve it, or more so like he didn't deserve someone as precious as ... Argos.
That was it. Argos. It's always been him. He's the reason I even wake up every morning.
That's it, Mr. Plant huffed, standing up and grabbing his coat from the coat rack that stood tall by the door, looming over even someone as tall as Mr. Plant – I'm leaving. I can't love him anymore, it'll only hurt him. I have to go.
In the midst of a strange, indescribable anger – Mr. Plant grabbed his bag, speed walking out the door with long strides. He didn't even bother to grab any more of his stuff from the house – He just exited the door, his shoes crunching loudly in the dry rocks as he got into his car.
I never got my licence, but that can wait for now. He started up the car, putting the gear into neutral – Who even needs a damn licence, anyway?
Road signs, stoplights, pedestrians holding hands and walking slowly and calmly down the sidewalk – It all went by so fast. Mr. Plant wasn't even thinking before he found himself in a cheap motel – 500 miles away from home, $65 torn out of his bank account – Staring at the empty room as his eyes welled with tears.
"What have I done?" Mr. Plant spoke, the room filling with the sound of his raspy, dried vocal chords. He spoke for the first time in years, but yet, nobody was around to hear or listen.
He was all alone. For the first time in forever, Mr. Plant was completely alone.
And he hated it.
