Chapter 12
The fluorescent light that comes from the phone, and bounces off of Brian's face, gives him a completely different aura than the moonlight has done just moments ago. The frown taking over his features is a far cry from the relaxed expression I just saw, as well.
Nothing seems to be really waiting for him on the other side of the screen. He is simply scrolling through what seems to be Twitter, not caring much about what it has to offer. Maybe because it's so late at night, or is it early in the morning? After twelve it is considered already morning, right? I'd like to think it's morning once the sun is up, but that time changes constantly; and I do say things like 'two in the morning'. Why am I fooling myself?
Brian's laughter takes me out of my tangled mess of pointless thoughts. It is loud and spontaneous. He's probably found a funny meme or video. As glad as I am to see this little token of happiness, I can't help the pain of knowing I am not the cause of that. The only reason why we work so well together is because I make it my goal to make him laugh, no matter the place or situation. If I manage to make him laugh, then I know that whatever it is that I'm doing is working. At some point during our work relationship he has brought up the same idea. The only difference is that it doesn't really take much for me to laugh hysterically. He, particularly, has a way to tickle my funny bone. Which leads me to spiral back down to the premise of our relationship: just two lonely people trying to make the other one happy.
Right this instant, I'm not doing so. The internet and its infinite content has taken over my life long mission and doing a much better job than I could ever do.
What I need is a cigarette.
Even if this is my own home, I know he dislikes the smoke, so I wordlessly get up and walk to the window at the other end of the room. My pack of cancer sticks and loyal lighter are lovingly waiting for me on the small table.
I jump on the chair specifically placed here for this type of occasions. My legs cross in a lotus position as I bring the cigarette to my mouth. The wind feels cool against my hot skin, and just now do I notice how sweaty I am. Granted, I'm sweating more often than not, causing my senses to kind of neglect the feeling and classify it as a normal state of my body. The late night, or early morning, breeze is more than welcomed, not just to ease the burning of my skin, but to calm the insane highway of thoughts that is my mind.
I like to picture my head as a birdcage. It's a really big cage, and the metal decorations are distressed intricate patterns. There is no lock on this cage, the door is always open, allowing thoughts to go in and out as they please. They can stay in there for as long as they want to, and leave when they feel like it. Most of the time there are too many of them inside and, no matter how big the cage is, there's simply not enough room for all of them. Occasionally, they all want to get the fuck out of there at the same time. They crash against each other, kicking and pushing their way out, and preventing any of them from actually having a chance to leave.
Smoking calms the birds down. They settle down and allow me to pick one at the time, analyze it, and decide if I really need it here or if I should let if fly freely. That's exactly what I'm doing right now. The birds are mostly grey, black, or red, and I've learned to associate every color to an emotion. There used to be blue ones, but those haven't visited in a while.
A big pink bird is perched at the very top of the cage, though. It took residency there a few years ago and never really left, and I don't want it to. Its presence is not always the strongest one, but it is always there. I would like to believe that it silently guides my every move, but, sometimes, it actually dictates them.
There's a burning sensation between my fingers, letting me know I have smoked the entire cigarette without noticing. I smash the butt against the ashtray on the table next to me and stare out the window.
The sky is dark, pitch black, without a single star shining. Other than the full moon, the lights from the city are drowning any astral projection that could possibly make it through the thick clouds. I picture my thoughts, calmed now thanks to the cigarette and the meditation, slowly flying away into the darkness.
Suddenly, the voice of the whitest valley girl comes from behind me. "So, I noticed you're not on your phone much."
The quietness of the room is instantly broken as memories start to hit me and I can't help laughing out loud.
His arms snake from behind me and his hands come to rest on my chest. His chin is forcefully pressed on my shoulder, making his voice resound directly against my ear. "Are you mad at me?"
"No." Answering him is simple, because I'm not. I don't think I have ever truly been mad at him. "Are you mad at me?" I ask back in the same tone he used.
His lips are pressed to my cheek. "No," he speaks against my skin. "You know I love you, right?" He lets out between kisses.
I nod, partly because the feeling of his mouth all over my face is making it hard to concentrate.
"I do love you," he continues. "I love you so much."
My head turns to face him, forcing his lips to separate from my cheek. That's when I notice he is hunched behind me, staying in the uncomfortable position just to be able to reach my face. I turn around and kneel on the chair, doing my best to be at his eye level but still not reaching higher than his shoulders.
Both my hands come to rest on each side of his face, holding him in place so he can look me in the eye. "I love you, too. I love you so much it hurts my vagina."
The smile that adorns his lips is the most endearing. "Does this mean I'm about to send you home now?"
Ugh! Why does he have to be such a Drag Race fan that he remembers every line ever said on the goddamn show, including mine?!
"You have always been my favorite person in the world." I have no problem admitting as much. Saying it is not even needed, I believe. My actions should be more than enough to let him know what my true feelings are.
He leans forward and presses his forehead to mine. "I'm sorry things have to be so complicated between us. I wish we could just be." He sighs heavily, exhaling regret and burden.
"I don't. I'm not sorry. I like the way we are. It's entertaining. I like that we are just a couple of fuck-tards who have no control over anything but still ride the waves as they hit them. And there is no one in this world I would rather ride them with."
"I just... Why can't things just work out for once?"
The scoff that loudly comes out through my nose is unintended, and he doesn't take offense on it or my rolled eyes. "Because the world is what it is, not what we want it to be."
He takes my hands off his face, lacing his fingers with mine. "In an ideal world, I wouldn't have been afraid, I wouldn't have let the fear of rejection stop me from acting on my true feelings. Now, we are too deep into this friendship, and I would hate myself if I ruin something so beautiful."
My eyes close as I follow his train of thoughts. "In an ideal world, we wouldn't be invaded with preconceived notions of how the world works and we would make the rules as we go." I open my eyes, just to find his staring right into my soul. "In an ideal world, I could do this..." Ever so softly, I press my lips against his for just a second. "Without it being the punchline of a joke, or a trick for the audience."
He nods before chasing after my lips and stealing one more quick kiss. "In an ideal world, you and I would be together as lovers, not friends."
"In an ideal world, we would be together as lovers and friends."
