Ruby Red Marionette

fortyfive | sweetened

//: Carlos in the MM. 

The song was called 'Special Affair' by a group called The Internet. They released an album called Ego Death a couple weeks ago, and I would've known that if I was actually breathing above water instead of drowning in all of this that was my life.

I listened to the music full-volume in the new headphones that I bought yesterday. The purchase was part of a couple things that I did as part of my agenda. Usually, an agenda is created to do something, but mine was created to do nothing. Anything. Whatever. If I wanted headphones that had enough bass to drown out everything around me, then I'd get them. If I wanted to listen to some new music, I'd listen. If I wanted to ask the nail salon lady to paint the word 'puta' on my big toe, that's what I would do (I actually hadn't gotten to this yet, but I planned to a little later).

Everything on my agenda had been taking up—and simultaneously not taking up—all of my time. It started yesterday. Two days ago when Carlos and I were being scrutinized by the entire clan, I went home and ignored everything around me. The next morning, though, I thought of the agenda and decided to put it into effect immediately. My nonchalance seemed to confuse, and almost intimidate, Isaiah. But during the pockets of time where he convinced himself to talk to me, it was always an apology. Always 'I'm sorry', 'I don't know what came over me', 'I don't really think of you that way', 'The moment we shared that night was special to me'. Of course, he said these things in much more words and they sounded much more genuine and meaningful. I believed him. Really, I did. There was a desperation in his eyes that wanted me to just smile at him, just to make him feel like less of a jerk. He was practically begging. But even if he weren't, it was still understandable; already we were under a lot of pressure, thus susceptible to saying and doing anything. But with the Return of the Damned, all hell broke loose among us. We couldn't be held accountable for our actions.

So, I got it. Their actions. And in any case, I was the one always telling him that any of us could be PM. Throwing it in my face like that wasn't wrong on his part.

I kind of felt bad for him, actually. Yvette hadn't spoken to him since Carlos' little 'girlfriend' comment, despite how many times Isaiah tried to explain that Carlos had been gone for a while and was unaware of the situation. Although, I had to consider whether Carlos made an innocent misjudgment, or a deliberate snide remark, because if he did have listening devices in the house he would know about Isaiah's relationship already.

So today, I was sitting on the couch listening to Special Affair while Isaiah walked around the house sad about his crumbled relationship, sad and guilty about what he said to me, and still feeling completely mixed emotions about his friend's return. His was a predicament that was best left alone instead of addressed.

The rest of the clan had not kept in contact since Poker Juice.

I closed my eyes and nodded my head to the music, imagining the ocean. I imagined myself on a beach chair in a peach-colored bikini, the ones that barely hid the good parts (but hid them enough to keep you looking). I think I had a bikini like that, in that color, in the studio. Wherever it was now.

I listened to the rest of the album and sipped on my home-made lemonade to amplify the calming effect. I made a mental note to call one of my younger cousins and tell her happy birthday in three days. I stared at the sun until I fell asleep.

For a minute, I really was in paradise.

This was interrupted for a moment, though. In the middle of a really good song from Ego Death, the music stopped and I received a text message from someone. It was a phone number that I didn't recognize. I sighed, considering for a moment that I should just not answer it and pretend that it didn't occur, but I'd already ignored the PM's call for me to complete assignments once. I didn't want this to become a habit.