Match Your Weakness With A Name

Eight? I Think We Need To Slow Down.

I have not stopped thinking about Awsten since our date.

The movie didn't pique my interest. All I could think about was Awsten, and how much more attractive he was than the main actor, who, despite having decent abs and an admittedly chiseled jawline, closely resembled a badly burned shark with a mop duct-taped to its head. Awsten is more pixie-like, more delicate, and worlds more charismatic. I'd sooner protect him than Mop Shark Man, though I can barely protect myself.

It is some time past six o'clock on Saturday and I am walking home from therapy. It's the first time I've gone to therapy in a long while. The therapist is new. I don't trust her. She took it upon herself to read my medical records aloud to me as I stared at my feet, trying not to cry. Then I really did cry when I told her about what happened to me last year. It's shameful. I am sick to my stomach now, and I'm certain I don't look much better than I feel.

Regardless, I can still think about Awsten. I can think about what he showed off on Thursday, and how he apparently trusted me enough to let me see that. He was so skinny, abnormally skinny, almost skeletally thin, and the scars. There's no way I can forget that easily. Those sweaters hide a lot.

I recall one of our first conversations, in which I mentioned not being able to listen to Pretty. Odd. because of the memories, and he said he couldn't listen to 21st Century Breakdown for the same reason. At the time I'd brushed it off, thinking it was nothing, but I begin to wonder. Maybe he does understand.

Of course, I can't ask him. If he wanted me to know, he'd tell me, just like if I wanted him to know about me I'd tell him. I feel like I could. That scares me. I've never felt like I could tell anyone about what happened before. But Awsten's different.

Although, I thought Zakk was different too.

Nevermind. I am almost home. I am eager to get home as fast as possible, to minimize the amount of random passerby that see my red, tear-stained face and wonder whether I'm on drugs. Goddamn it, I should've taken the car.

A block away from my house, one of my neighbors is sitting on her front porch in a rocking chair. I pretend not to notice her, but she notices me. "Hello, Geoff."

"Hey, Eunice," I mumble, walking faster.

"Now, don't be like that," she says. "Come and have a chat with Eunice."

"Uh, as much as I'd like to," I say, "I'm in a bit of a hurry." I take care not to look at her.

"A hurry? At this time?" she says. "Come on."

"I actually am," I say, thinking up a lie. "I did something dumb and now I have a curfew."

"Oh, really?" she says. "You should go, then."

"Yeah, I should," I mutter. "Bye, Eunice," I say at full volume, and start walking again.

"Take care, Geoffrey," she says, and I cringe.

"'S not my name," I murmur, hoping she doesn't hear me. She probably doesn't. I am now closer to my house than I am to hers.

My family is home. They are always home at this time. I clumsily unlock the door and walk in on my uncle making dinner. He nods to me, and I nod back. Rebecca and my aunt are watching some sort of sport on TV.

I rush upstairs and hide in my bedroom. I want to talk to Awsten.

Without further hesitation, I get out my phone and call him. I would've texted him, but I don't particularly feel like looking at my messages as of late. Also Awsten has a cute-ass voice.

He picks up on the fourth ring.

"Hey," he says, his voice cracking.

"What's up?" I say.