Ambivalence

Okay

"you should get some help."

you're not sure what made the words escape your lips. one second everything is completely calm; you're sitting there, your feet propped up on the couch, body rolled into a small cacoon, hoodie pulled up around you.

you can't keep it in any longer. your natural instinct is to talk things through, but no one wants to fucking talk anymore; it's like one big monologue, one big facade that contains no communication, no reasoning - nothing to solve problems that you're so obviously facing.

or, that he is facing.

or, that both of you are facing, if you're to be completely honest with yourself.

the days have been ticking, the performances getting harder and longer, and suddenly you feel drop dead on your feet.

that doesn't stop him.

you can see how tired he is constantly, can see how his addictions are getting in the way of his dream, and you want to do something to help him.

(but when you ask him this, if there's anything that you can do, there's a long sigh in response. you don't want to bother him. you conclude in being unhelpful. you can't do anything if he isn't willing to be helped. maybe another day.)

that 'another day' isn't coming nearly as quick as you want it to.

'another day' could mean the difference between life and death. lately, you wouldn't be surprised if death clashed along beside him and fate, intermingling until there's nothing left to do but crash.

("please don't ever leave me," you said to him, one night, a year and a half ago. his eyes twinkled up at you from where he was sitting, crosslegged on the balcony, and his response seems to come instantly, easily, without a single speck of hesitance.

"never. i'll always be with you. i promise.")

you wondered if you were always this gullible. god, you hope not. what else have you fallen for without even realizing it?

you don't want to know.

something's are better off not knowing.

"i think that you should mind your own bisuness."

mark's response brings you back to reality, and as you tug your eyes off from the ceiling and down onto him, you swear that you've never seen this look in his eyes before.

they seem to hold a certain animosity that you were sure that mark wasn't even capable of having. not towards anyone, but especially not towards you.

you're tired of him thinking that this doesn't concern you. it may not be your life, and you completely get that, but the group's future depends on all of you, and if one of you screws it up, well. everyone is the group is affected.

and some things are not fixable.

you try to get this through his head. he can't act this way. he needs help.

it's a problem when he walks through the door at three o'clock in the morning, reeking of beer and god knows what else, it's a problem when he can't stand on his own two feet for longer than an hour for practice, it's a problem when everyone in the group is constantly pulled back and forth, arguing now more than ever -

he needs to understand this. why can't he understand?

the door slams, the walls rattling profusely as the door clatters back onto the platform.

your head is in your hands. your heart is pounding. you swear that your head cannot be anymore clouded than it already is.

you're happy that he walked away.