Dents

[+2021 UPDATE] November Has Come

Sunlight poured through my open window. The chirps of migrating birds were drowned out by school bus engines revving at the stop sign on the corner. I twisted in my sheets, locked in their warmth, unable to release myself from their relentless grip.

A breeze occasionally carried in heavy exhaust fumes from the traffic outside. I buried my face in the pillow. It held a lingering scent of strawberries. I noticed how unsettlingly empty my bed was.

2D wasn't much of an early riser, though it seemed that had become a new addition to the list of things that changed about him over the past week.

I could hardly keep track of them all anymore.

I slung myself out of bed and to the dresser, stumbling once over the cord for a controller and a second time over my shoes. By the time I'd finally found reasonably clean clothes I had a bruise on my knee and two stubbed toes.

The rest of my morning continued in a similar fashion, punctuated only by another act of clumsiness or my frustrated curses in response.

As I neared the stairwell, I was caught off guard by a cloud of thick, greasy smoke rising up from the kitchen. I thought in passing that I heard a distant, familiar tune escaping in the form of a whistle from someone else. I couldn't place the sound. It crept through me in such an intrusive way that I soon became undeniably aware of it.

The stairs howled in protest with each step. They sounded close to what I imagined hitting a raccoon with a bat probably sounded like, which was to say that it wasn't very pleasant. The only thing worse was the way the peeling paint scraped along my bare feet. The house was falling apart. The stairs were merely another reflection of that.

It was going to be a long fucking day.

To my surprise, I found 2D standing over the stove. He was cooking with vigor, humming one of the tracks from Humanz. In an unbroken motion, he flipped the eggs in the frying pan with the tact of a seasoned chef.

Where'd he learn to do that?

I was about to ask when he acquired this newfound passion for cooking, but I was unable to find the words. Instead, I just said good morning.

"'Mornin', Saoirse! How'd yew sleep?"

"It was fine," I muttered, feeling defeated by the day before it even started.

"'At's great, luv. Happy to hear et!"

I didn't know what had gotten into him lately. Something wasn't right. He was never chipper in the morning. In fact, he was typically even groggier than I was. He looked the same, but his presence whenever he entered the room sometimes set my nerves on edge. I couldn't explain why.

It was as if someone had nabbed the 2D I loved in the middle of the night and switched his brain out with someone else's.

I was happy that he was happy. I only wished it didn't make me so uneasy.

He set a plate in front of me. It was perfect.

The eggs were fluffed beautifully, served over easy atop a crisp piece of toast. The bacon was crunchy and the egg popped exactly as expected when I stabbed it with my fork.

"When'd you learn to make eggs like this? Last I checked, you couldn't even make them scrambled."

"I've learned lots ov new stuff," he said, smiling coyly. It was the same. It was also different.

The front door creaked open. A cool draft of the approaching winter blew across the tile floor, sending a chill past my ankles. Heavy-set footsteps meandered from the entryway to the kitchen where I ate. 2D hadn't bothered to make a portion for himself.

Dust fell from a crack in the ceiling with each stomping footfall. A non-negligible amount of it landed on my plate.

"Hey guys. What's up?"

Russel stood in the entryway of the kitchen. He held a stack of books in his arms so tall that it nearly reached the ceiling. Most of them were old, their covers worn down and their pages loose with age. A foul scent of mildew leaked out of the spines and wafted around the room.

"Hey Russel. Breakfast. You want any?"

2D's smile faded. It was replaced with a sour expression that didn't suit him in the slightest.

"I didn't make enough fo' everyone," he said coolly.

I snapped my head back to look at him, shocked. He had never been so terse with anyone aside from Murdoc before. The dust coating the eggs on my plate seemed to become even more unappetizing than it was prior.

Russel looked hurt.

"It's fine. Y'all enjoy. I've got some stuff to take care of anyway. I'll be in my room if either of you need me for somethin'."

"Alright. Thanks."

Despite the fact that Russel had been regularly deflecting my questions, my curiosity got the better of me.

"And hey, what's with all the books today? Are you working on something specific?"

A glint of panic flashed in his eyes so briefly that I wasn't sure it was ever really there.

"Uh, yeah," Russel responded, quickly retreating upstairs.

There was an urgency in his steps, a frantic desire to eliminate himself from the conversation. I was becoming increasingly suspicious of the way he avoided me.

Russel and I were on friendly terms. We weren't quite as close as I had become with Noodle, but we had a lot in common. We played poker, discussed political philosophy, and talked about music theory. He was a baseline for us; he was the heartbeat of the band. His consistency was able to keep the rest of us grounded.

Needless to say, it was strange to see him acting so unpredictably. He was evasive, jumpy. He never wanted to be in the same room with me for very long.

2D and Russel hadn't spoken much since the argument I overheard the other night. I assumed whatever Russel was looking into was related to the litany of other abnormalities we were burdened with as of late, such as 2D's attitude.

I could sense it in my gut. There was something lurking in the air. I wanted to know what it was.

I didn't finish my breakfast.