Trapped in Forever

59 ~ Composed Totally of Glass

I had turned on the faucet on when I slipped away into the bathroom, twisting the doorknob as I gripped my fingers tightly around it to muffle the sound of it closing, pressing the tips of my fingers of my other hand against the surface as I did, careful not to wake him as I flipped on the light switch and then wrapped my hand around the faucet handle, letting the water rush from the faucet and straight into the drain. The noise sounded lonely and seemed to just enhance the quietness of the bathroom as my bare feet padded on the cold tiles to the toilet, the lid already propped up. In the next room, the credits to Batman, the older Michael Keaton film, were rolling and the sound emitting from the television was muffled, quiet since I had lowered the volume to a three, and a bowl of popcorn was perched on the coffee table in front of the couch, the popcorn cold and only half-eaten. I decided to indulge him by grabbing two handfuls and then stared at Jack Nicholson whenever I felt like gagging or vomiting on my lap or the carpet. Orion was asleep on the couch, his face angled to the side, cheeks growing red and his hair was becoming tousled, a few strands sticking on the back of his head, and I had to slowly maneuver his hand off of my leg when I stood up to go to the bathroom when the movie ended and his light snoring assured me that he was indeed asleep. When I stood up from the couch, brushing a popcorn kernel off of my lap, I caught a glimpse of Mikayla in the kitchen with a glass of green, thick juice in her hand and she lifted her brown eyes just for a moment as she took the glass off of the countertop, met my gaze for a fleeting moment, and then she turned away, her hair swaying as she walked.

Whenever Mikayla caught a glance of us being together, whether it was Orion brushing his hand against my back or one of my arms as he walked past me or if I kissed him when I left or something, she would stare at us as if we were some sort of rare species she had just discovered, something to observe and study, but whenever I turned to look at her after our lips met or I felt the fleeting warmth of his touch on my arm, and tried to gauge her expression, usually a concoction passiveness and inquisitiveness, as if she couldn’t decide how to feel about seeing her little sister kiss her dead best friend’s ex-boyfriend, but her eyes always fell away from mine after a moment and landed on the floor, and her features would soften thoughtfully as she looked to the carpeting or tiling, as if it were whispers reasons as to why Orion’s hand was cupped around my elbow or why my lips touched his with brief, minty kisses. They always seemed to make her ponder at the moment but whenever a touch or kiss arose again; her eyes would still look away, the whispered words waning from her mind and instead, it was filled with logic. Girls don’t kiss their dead friend’s boyfriends, ever.

My throat burned when I brought my two fingers past my teeth, my jaw aching from opening my mouth so wide, and felt the roughness of my tongue on the underside of my fingers as I tried to make myself gag up the two handfuls of popcorn that I ate under his scrutiny as a newscaster started to laughed hysterically before the Joker’s commercial for Smilex appeared on the screen, and the lemonade he handed me earlier, the ice clinking against the glass and condensation rolling down the class as I felt the coolness of the drink in my hand while he cracked open a can of Sprite for himself. My voice had started to crackle, as if feedback and static was trying to drown out my words whenever I spoke, and I started to talk softer because after vomiting, talking loudly began to hurt. I kept the Tic-Tacs or Altoids swirling around in my mouth longer because it helped not only my perpetual bad breath, but it seemed to calm my abrasive throat for a few moments without the access calories or sugar of throat lozenges. When I succeeded in emptying my stomach of the popcorn and lemonade, dropping with such a piercing splash that I paused for a moment, my fingers still partially in my mouth, and waited for the sounds of Orion rousing on the couch, maybe the springs creaking or the floorboards groaning as he walked around but it was silent in the next room, the credits still rolling on. After I had flushed the toilet, gently placing the seat down to make it look as if it I had actually gone to the bathroom, I ran my hand through my hair but as I retracted my hand from my hair, I felt the thin brunette strands in between my fingers, threatening to slip from the crooks in between my fingers and onto the bathroom floor or the toilet seat.