Chapter 2
"Why do you always do that with your tongue?"
I hear Brian's voice come from behind me as I push in the key to my apartment. The knob obeys to my command, unlocking the door, and I can twist it to let us in.
"Do what?" I ask not really looking at him. I throw the keyring on the table by door and find the switch to turn the lights on.
"You always sigh like this..."
Inevitably, I have to turn to him to witness his demonstration. He exhales loudly and his shoulders fall dramatically, his head is tilted back exaggeratedly and his tongue comes half of the way out. Those are the movements of a tired person, an exhausted human that is simply fed up with everything in life. It's most likely the scene I just played as soon as I reached my front door. Because that's how I feel pretty much the whole time. The career that I've chosen doesn't allow me to portray that freely, though. My true feelings and thoughts must be somehow suppressed until the moment I reach the confinements of my own home.
Brian has seen some of that side, that dark and depressive side, but only bits and pieces that I let out unintendedly. He has become such a strong presence in my life that all the walls I've built around me, to guard and protect myself, seem to crumble when he's near. It's exciting in a way. Knowing that your mind and body are comfortable enough to show the real you to a person, is something that not a lot of people get to experience. Yet, at the same time, the real me can be more than a handful, and, even after all these years, I still need to figure out if he could handle me. All of me.
With a roll of my eyes, I try to land back in the reality of our conversation. "That is not me, at all."
"Oh, but it is," he says right away, pretending I didn't just space out for God knows how long. "You always seem so tired."
"Because I am, bitch!" My answer is honest but, the way my voice goes up an octave, makes it sound like a joke, so I laugh. "I'm always tired. Tired of living."
His face turns serious. His arms cross on top of his chest. "You know I don't like it when you joke about that."
"What? My deathwish? You know I'm not joking." The small chuckles that accompany my speech contradict that last statement, I'm aware of that, yet I can't help it. Talking about this topic is never easy, it makes me nervous, and I laugh when I'm nervous.
"Bri..."
I put my hand up to stop him before he can continue. Oh, I wish I was wearing my tiny hands. This moment would have been oh so much funnier.
"You came here to interrogate me or are we gonna fuck?"
His eyes grow wide open, and his hands fall to his sides. His mouth opens forming a misshaped O as realization starts to come to him. I can't hold it any longer and I burst out laughing. The iconic Trixie scream comes out, which lets me know we are back on safe ground.
We make our way inside my poorly lit apartment. He will always complain about my lack of furniture or the little attention I pay to the decoration. My eternal excuse is that I'm never home. Why should I dedicate so much time to make these four walls look pretty, if I spend not even half of my time here?
Even when he doesn't like this place, he moves like a fish in the water. He makes his way to the kitchen and opens the fridge. The complaints that follow I had actually expected. He knows there's nothing in there. We have talked about this many times in the past. There are jokes being made about my ability to spend a full day without food and my body never getting hungry. It's not an ability that I am proud of, at least not anymore, because at some point it used to be one of my biggest gifts. Behind those jokes there's always some truth to it. Just like right now, as he rants about how I can run on coffee fumes and Red Bulls, as he goes on and on about how my body should be studied to then sell the formula to never gain weight, I know he's jealous.
"How do you even do it?" He asks rhetorically as he reenters the living room.
"Drugs," I say matter-of-factly.
He looks at me for a second before he bursts out laughing.
Life isn't fair. Not at all. And it shows in mundane things as this one. As Brian constantly battling his weight and killing himself at the gym, just so he can enjoy the food that he likes, versus me, eating nothing but garbage and maintaining a perfectly fit body. It's simply not fair.
"Do you want to order something?" I offer to kind of makeup for the fact that my refrigerator is completely empty.
He throws himself on the couch and takes his phone out. "Ugh! It's so late, I don't know if anything is going to be open at this hour."
Whining and complaining he surfs through his many food apps until he finds a pizza place that delivers after hours. He asks me if I want anything and I declined with a disgusted face. Of course I don't want anything. The Red Bull in my hand is more than enough dinner for me, and probably part of my breakfast.
"So..." I start as I sit next to him, my legs safety tucked underneath me, and my flip flops abandoned by the foot of the couch. "Are you gonna tell me what's going on?" My hand goes up to twist my hair around my finger. Hair that is not there since I am not wearing any wig.
"Is it okay if I don't?"
My head nods respectfully. I have never and will never push him to talk about something that makes him uncomfortable, as much as I am dying to know, and no matter how badly I wanna help him. For now I need to think of a distraction so we don't have to wait in silence for his vegetarian pizza to get here.
"Wanna play truth or dare?"
He eyes me from the side, a raised eyebrow, and that kinky smirk let me know I've gained his full attention.
