Addicted To You

[6] Is It Me You Want?

Thuds vibrate in my frail chest, feeling as if I'm being choked and I slyly gaze over to Rye for reassurance, but he's peacefully sleeping.

I glance at his hand resting on his lap, desperately wanting to hold it to soothe my unsettled heart, but knowing I can't is causing internal destruction; my depression is eating me alive.

I observe what the others are doing and it turns out that Mikey and Jack are also sleeping, the radio must've been satisfying to their ears, slowly drifting them away to another dimension.

Brooklyn glances over to me as I slump in deep dejection, "What's on your mind?"

I readjust my position, viewing him clearer, "Not much."

"Oh come on, I know I can be a little oblivious sometimes-"

"A little?"
I interrupt, chuckling.

He remains speechless, narrowing his glare at me, "but I know when someone's down. You aren't your usual self, I can sense it."

I direct my attention towards the countryside, "I'm doing just fine." I bluntly reply.

"Go on, say it. Say something you want to get off your chest. Anything at all."

I debate whether or not to explain the situation with Rye, but decide to keep it subtle instead. Besides, I'm still trying to comprehend why I feel different towards Rye myself. Maybe it is just a misunderstanding, but Brooklyn doesn't need to know about that just yet.

"What's the secret to love?"
I sharply respond, staring directly into his gleaming eyes.

"Love..." he exhales slowly, sinking back into his seat, "love is powerful, love is dangerous, seriously dangerous. Once you fall in it, you're pretty much doomed." He expresses a laugh in a way I'm unable to understand, fiddling with his hoodie strings.

I lightly squint my eyes and furrow my brow, "...doomed? Care for an explanation?"

"Love changes people Andy. You'll overthink the smallest of things and confusion will overpower you. You won't sleep, at all. Love isn't simple, it's just something you don't mess with."

My eyes relocate to the ground as Brooklyn's words sprint around my mind, "And you know this because...?"

Brooklyn gazes out the window for a moment, "I just do." He quietly mumbles, observing the meadows and starry sky.

We both remain silent for a moment, I suppose to let it all sink in, "Brooklyn," I break the silence, he turns to me, "How do you know if you're in love?"

He swallows harshly from my question and straightens in his seat, looking fairly uncomfortable. Perhaps this topic is too much for him.

"You're in your bedroom on a summers evening and everyone else you know is out enjoying themselves. You doodle on some spare crinkled paper that's been left lying around your room, trying to distract yourself. But it's not working. You move from the floor to the window, perhaps some fresh air will do you good? The smells of barbecues, freshly cut grass, bonfires, it's too much to handle. You close your window in a hurry, nevermind. You should be out there, playing football with your siblings or just making the most out of the sun before it creeps away to meet the other side of the world, but you don't want to be reminded, because being reminded will hurt. Painting. But you don't have the patience. Perhaps some reading? But you can't sit still. Music. But you don't want to cry, because crying will only make it spiral."