Roommates

Tension

Tris
Mid/late October

Sometimes, when I'm working the punching bags, I wonder what would have happened if I had the self-defense training I have now, and had been home that night. Would my parents have died? Or would I still be with them now?

And if I had never lost my parents, what would my life be? Who would I be? If my parents were still with me, if I had never met Eric, would I be more timid, or would I be bolder and braver? Or would it have only been a different path that led me to the same version of myself that I am now?

Such questions are pointless. They are just wonderings, I will never have an answer.

The leather bag swings from a particularly effective punch, and I hop out of the way as if careens back toward me. It nearly knocked me over.

Sometimes it feels like Eric knocks me over with his words alone. He almost always has an explanation later about what he really meant, though. Then I begin to wonder if I am seeing things as they really are, or whether I am just being too sensitive, projecting my own insecurities into his words.

And other times, I feel so loved and important and whole with him. Are those good times real, or do they only mask the other times, the times I feel as though he is bending my soul as though he were crushing an aluminum can, leaving it smashed into something that hardly even resembles what it once was. And no matter how hard you might try to pull it back to its original form, it is an exercise in futility. It will never look as it once did, it will be forever crinkled and scarred.

The thing that puzzles me more is the effect Four can have on me. When we fight, when he is upset with me, I am reminded of power he has to wound me, deep inside where no one can see it. But I see it. I can't forget it. It's all I can see.

I care for him more than I should.

I don't know whether it's simply that place in my heart that Four seems to hold, a spot I never knew was empty before, that gives him so much power over me, or if he really is perceptive and is seeing what I don't. I know Eric isn't that nice a lot of the time-- I know that better than anyone. But is he really as bad as Four makes him out to be?

Am I really as pathetic as I felt when I heard Four's words?

"You have no fucking business criticizing me. Eric is basically your master! Who the hell are you to talk?!"

Have I always been this unsure of myself? I don't remember. Sometimes I am just so confused, I don't know if I am seeing things as they are. I don't trust myself. I suppose I have always trusted Eric to tell me what he sees, to help me make sense of it all. But Eric can't help me when it comes to what Four has said about me the other day. And the only observer I might trust with this is Four... but, obviously, he isn't exactly impartial. He can't help me with this.

And maybe that's good. Maybe it's time I begin helping myself.

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When I wake the next morning, Eric's arm is draped over me. I am supposed to go for a run with Four in about twenty minutes, but I don't want to talk to Four right now or see him, so I quickly dress, pull on my cross-trainers and double-tie the laces, and hurry outside before Four has a chance to stop me and tag along.

I don't even bother to go back to Eric's and shower; instead, I complete my run at the steps to Brady Hall. It's time to stand on my own two feet. I am the only person I can count on, and I need to take the first steps toward real self-reliance. I still have my friends-- Shauna and Marlene, anyway, though maybe not Four any more-- and I still have Eric. But I want to need them less.