Drama queen occurence
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I sit straight up in bed, awake in a second, quickly regretting it.
I have to piss. But the bathroom is so far away.
But I really have to go. My bladder is going to explode. Glancing over, I see my window.
I could just...
Sighing at my own stupidity, I get out of my bed. I grab a pair of jeans, and pull them on. Even though I had boxers on, I think Rob would like to see little of my skin as possible since the little incident. I pull on a shirt, and grab a hoodie. Do I really have to wear a hoodie?
Forget the hoodie, I still have to piss.
I head out on my room, trying my best to sneak past the doorway to the living room. I look into the living room, seeing Rob watching some game intently.
Must piss. Then I can bother Rob.
But of course my body and brain disagree, and I end up in Rob's lap. All I know is he's staring at me, and I'm staring back at him.
"What?" He asks, giving up on looking at the tv for now.
"I don't know."
"Why are you frowning?"
"Why am I here?"
"Because you live here?" Rob said, slight look of worry crossing his face.
"In your lap, Rob."
"You're the one who fucking sat here." Rob said, peeking around me to look at the tv, before looking back to me. "You're still frowning."
"I have to piss." I said. I know I'm frowning more, he can't see the obvious. He can't understand the depth of the question I asked. That I made very clear. In a not very clear way.
"Do you want me to walk you to the bathroom? You're a grown man, you know."
"I want you to hold it for me." I said, flipping him off as I got off him.
"You'd like that."
"You'd like that if I happened to be Joe."
Oh god. I close my eyes, swallow hard, and basically run to the bathroom. After relieving myself, I sit on the edge of the tub.
I know I shouldn't have said that. I know I shouldn't have behaved like a child.
So why do I always end up acting like one? I know 70% of... I know 80%. Close to 90% of what I do is exactly what I shouldn't do.
But I do it anyway.
I cover my face with my shirt, breathing deeply. My best fucking friend, fucks up once, and I can't fucking let it pass. So many times I'm fucked up, and he lets so much of it go.
One time and I can't let it drop.
Because he got drunk and messed around with Joe.
Not me.
So fucked up. Fuck. Fuck. This is so fucked up.
I'm never going to bring it up again. Simple enough. Let it drop. Move on. Move on. Move on. Fuck. Move on. To. I can just go up to Joe. Tell Joe I did indeed have sex with Mike, and it was amazing. Joe will beat the shit out of me. I'll drop out of college, get a shit job, move to Georgia, live in an apartment with over due rent and six cats.
Bad start.
I won't tell Joe. I won't tell anyone, and take all of this to the grave.
Start smaller.
I'll walk out of the bathroom. Pretend nothing just happened. Rob's not one for bringing shit up. He'll be pissy for awhile maybe. I'll move on. He'll move on. I'll end up alone. He'll live in a huge house, white picket fence, 2.5 kids, beautiful wife, and a dog named Jones.
Bad ending.
I'll have a huge house next door to his. It'll be sitcom worthy. Handsome man, beautiful wife and children. Throw in the oddball, flamboyant gay neighbor. Always showing up in time to break the tension and get a laugh. They're would be a moral. On a very special episode of God in heaven this is so fucked up. I'll jump the shark, flip my collar, and Rob will go have sex with his beautiful wife while picturing Joe beneath him as I sit in my kitchen jerking off to Rob's fucking image!
I rip my shirt away from my face.
God, I can't breathe. I can't fucking breath in here.
Panic attack. God no. Not now. Please.
Breathe. Got to breathe. Can't. Too hot. I start fanning myself with my hand. Fuck, I think I'm dying. I thought too much. I gave myself an aneurism. My heart's failing. I can't breathe anymore. Going to die in my bathroom. I have a tumor. I fan myself faster.
"Oh, sorr- Brad?"
I have a tumor deeply imbedded in my brain, and there's no way to save me now. Dizzy. Eyes burn. Fuck my eyes burn. My face burns. Too hot. I taste blood. I'm internally bleeding.
"Brad?"
I didn't lock the door. I probably didn't even shut the door. Rob gets to watch me die. Can't breathe. Tell Rob you can't breathe. I'm dying, I don't have time to talk. Fan self more. It's okay. It's okay. You're being stupid. Stop it. Stop it and fucking breathe. Maybe I'm already dead.
"Shit Brad, breathe, okay?"
Breathe. I can do that. Just breathe. You're not dying. Just stop it. Stop. It's okay.
There's a cold cloth on my neck, and a hand tightly squeezing mine.
"Breathe..."
Soothing voice. Breathe. It's okay. Don't be stupid. Breathe. Grip his hand hard. Don't cry. Focus on breathing. Crying doesn't help, so inhale. I said don't cry, goddamnit.
I don't know how much time has passed, but I carefully look up. Rob's still holding my hand, rubbing the cloth over my neck.
"Panic attack?" He asks softly.
"Drama queen occurrence." I say back weakly. He smiles to me.
"It's okay." He says voice still soft. He brings the cloth to run it over my forehead. "You're okay. Just been stressed lately."
I haven't been stressed really. I've been way too laid back. But I don't argue. I just close my eyes and listen to his soft words.
