ETHEREAL

CHAPTER 9

The next day, I make plans to go to Damien's house. My mom sarcastically says, "Didn't you just see him?"

I feel myself getting agitated and defensive. In general, my strict parents hate when I leave my house whatsoever. It is like I'm expected to earn straight As, keep up with all of the household chores and errands, and just rot in our small, miserable townhouse. My life often feels extremely scrutinized, controlled and criticized. Sometimes, I wonder what it is like, to have a life of your own. The freedom. What life is like outside of the cage.

"I'm seeing my other friends this week, too."

I slam the door and skip over to my car, before she can make anymore remarks about my supposed wayward, wasted life. Damien opens the door to his apartment and smiles. I throw my arms around him and return the smile, and I feel like our connection has literal sparks. Sparks that could simultaneously burn me and shock me to life.

He lies against the collage of random models and girls that he has on his wall, and I feel jealous and turned on about how he always looks so effortlessly cool and put together. He is wearing a slouchy faded black beanie with black skinny Levi's, and a thin, blue checkered black plaid button-up, that is undone to show his lean chest.

"What? Why are you always staring at me?"

I look away and he grabs his electric Fender guitar off of the floor. He starts to play "The Only Exception" by Paramore, and it makes me feel at peace and content. I feel too content with him, like my head becomes too cloudy to think for myself, as if the love that I have for him blinds me and robs me of all logic, or common sense. I feel like all I think about is him, and I hate that I have become one of "those girls" - the kind I despise, in which their whole world starts and ends with a guy.

I lay back opposite of him. "You're really good. How long have you played guitar?"

He rolls eyes up towards the ceiling, without stopping the song. "It was my ex's. Only like a year or less. It's not really mine."

"Oh..." I don't know what to say. "My ex-boyfriend took the guitar that he gave me back, so I don't have one anymore."

He doesn't say anything, and I think about how it is a strange coincidence that both of our exes gave us guitars to "borrow."
He segues into Thursday's "The Lovesong Writer," and the irony isn't lost on me, in that he started with a song about feeling hope for a new seemingly promising love, and ended with a bitter, resentful song of burned-out love.

"That's one of my favorite bands," I remark and I feel like this is getting awkward. Sometimes, I don't know what he wants from me. Does he want to be my boyfriend? Friend? Are we just friends with benefits? Does he care about me at all? Is he still in love with his ex-girlfriend? My mind swirls around and around, seemingly infinitely, indefinitely, and I feel like I should leave.

"Do you want me to leave?"

He stops playing, and pushes the guitar to the other side of the bed. "What? No, why would you think that?"

"I don't know - I liked hearing you play, but you just seemed like... not... I don't know."

"Come here; let's just watch a movie." He reaches out for me, and I cuddle against him, and it feels, like I'm home, but it is transient and temporary. I try to not think about it. I wish that we could talk about what really matters and I wouldn't feel so confused all of the time. I feel like he is constantly evading the simplest questions and withholding something from me.

After we watch Scott Pilgrim vs. The World, he turns to me. "Turn around."

"Um, what?"