I Dont Do Too Well On My Own

The Twentieth Chapter

I stare at myself in the mirror. A small thin cut runs from the right side of my chin, up towards my right ear. It looks like a gap in another dimension. Its stings and I just stare at it.

I sit down on the bathroom floor and decide to read my report. In that single hour and a half the therapist managed to work out the problem that I havent been able to work out after 22 years. She probably knows more about me than I do.

I read through the pages of well thought out sentences. I summarise it for myself.

My problem is that I crave touch. That could be as simple as a hug or as complex as sex. I need physical attention after something that happened when I was younger. She doesnt know what happened when I was younger. But she knew it was there.

I use my finger to keep my place as I slowly read each sentence.

When I was 17 Jessica went to visit her shadow on the beach. Jessica went by herself, at night. Jessica was stupid to do that.

She stood, facing the cliff face, and watched her shadow mark. She was about 3 inches taller than when she was traced and slightly less stout. She lets her finger trace over the shadow and remember when she stood there, shivering in the november air.

There is graffiti when Jessica stands there. He shadow now has a moustache and Nike trainers. Modern graffiti isnt very original.

Then a voice asks from over her shoulder; "Who do you think it is?".

She answers; "I dont know who it is, but they must be pretty cool."

She doesnt wonder who she is talking to, or if it is safe. All she wants to do is make conversation and talk with someone.

"You can see all their insecurities by the way they are standing, and you can tell it was done in the winter too." The voice says.

"How can you tell?"

"The lines arent completely straight, she was shivering."

"Oh. You can tell just from looking?"

"The artist puts themselves in the picture. In the picture you can see that artist and the conditions. Its more of a portrait of the artist than the subject."

"What do you think about the artist?"

"Snooty, possibly. They have confidence in themselves and high expectations. What they dont realise is that it is a pretty bad tracing and that this pen will be gone in a few years. They think they are perfect. They probably wanted this to last. But nothing good lasts."

Thats sounded like Jessicas mother all right.

"Im Jason. Nice to meet you." The man steps from behind the shadow and into the dim light.

From what she could see, this guy was smoking hot. If men were meat, he would be a tender beef stake.

His brown hair was whipped over his left eye and across his forehead. His eyes were, presumable as you could only see one of them, very dark brown. They looked like abysses, if you will. His face was perfectly contoured and his tall height and muscles completed his look. He looked just a bit older than her and Jessica was excited.

"Jason?" She said. "Jessica." She puts her hand out to shake.

They shake hands. Her hand gets lost in his huge, rough hands.

He is so beautiful, she starts thinking about how she looks, and whether she is good enough. When people ask themselves that question, the answer is almost always no.

Would he look at her long raggedy plait or her now slightly damp and dirty floral dress?

"So, Jason. What brings you here?" Jessica asks.

Not for a second does she consider if she should be talking to her new friend in the dark by a cliff.

"I could ask the same to you." He smirks.

Jessicas little heart is racing, boys didnt really talk to her, and this boy was flirting.

"Well." Jessica replies. "I saw this a few years ago and just wanted to revisit. Measure myself up against it, see how Ive grown."

"Well, Jessica, Im doing the same thing."

They flirted for a while. But then the sea started coming too close and the boy stole her bag and ran.

Im not sure that story says anything, but Jessica was planning on making out with him for a full hour later.

"Jesse?" Patrick shouts from the other side of the door. "Please open the door?"

It was more of a hopeful question.

"Petes a massive dick and is sorry?"

"Do you mean Pete has a massive dick?" I hear a joke quietly from outside followed by an 'ow!' sound.

I stand up off the floor and quietly hide the paper behind the sink before standing by the door.

I place my hand on the handle before opening.

"It wasnt locked?" I say.

"Oh." Patrick replies before grabbing me into a hug.

Recently Ive learned to appreciate hugs so I hug back. I squeeze him and wrap my arms around him. I bury my head in the crook of his neck. I press myself lightly against him. I hug properly.

Pete is awkwardly sitting on the sofa and Joe has arrived. Andy is cleaning up the pizza. Pete looks like a sad puppy that Im about to drown.

I sit down next to Patrick on the sofa, silently. I rub my lips together and wait for the saviour of the situation. The silence is slowly suffocating me.

"I should probably go." I break the silence.

Patrick follows me to the door.

"Can I read the report with you?" Patrick asks.

"Maybe." I say.

Patrick swallows and almost looks sorry for me.

"Dont be sorry for me. Please dont be sorry for me."

With that I turn away, back home. I walk about 3 blocks before coming across a starbucks and entering.

I sit at the table in the corner with my tea and stare at the pattern trapped in the table.

I hope that the next few events turn up like in a movie. Pete comes to apologise, Patrick confesses an everlasting love, Joe ends up doing something stupid and funny, it all ends up okay. But Im not sure that it works like that.

Although it starts to when Pete sits opposite me in the corner booth in Starbucks.