tea - dreamnotfound

suit up

"you awake?"

clay nudges me from behind to get a response.

"yeah," i mutter, not turning around.
"is everything okay?"
"it's fine."

i realize i don't sound convincing at all but my energy to care is nonexistent.

"i was thinking of making some dinner, if i start now i'll be done in about half an hour, does that sound good?"
"i guess."

he brushes his hand through my hair a couple of times before leaving for the kitchen, making me shiver.

great. now i'll have to sit down for dinner with clay feeling and looking like absolute shit. i sigh, stretching my limbs. my attempt to get out of bed fails immediately as i seem to be tied down to the mattress with invisible rope.

why now? i can't be acting like this around clay. i've been weird enough already. it's only a matter of time before he catches on to what's happening, if he hasn't already.

i make one last attempt to push myself up into at least a sitting position. with a great deal of physical and mental strength, fueled by all my current insecurities, i succeed. cause it sure feels like a success. if it wasn't for clay being here i would've been bedridden for the rest of the day.

my gaze scans the mostly dark room, as if something would look different this time. the truth is that i haven't moved a single object or piece of furniture probably since i moved in. i never felt the need to since all i do is sleep, stream and drink tea on repeat. my apartment doesn't necessarily need anything more than a bathroom, a bed, my computer and a kettle.

i stand up, walking over to the covered windows, pulling the slats apart and peeking out into nature outside. well, if you could call brick buildings and asphalt nature. i feel like the angry neighborhood grandma spying on people crossing the street as i stand there, just watching.

really i should be in the kitchen right now, striking up a natural conversation with clay but it's like there's a force keeping me away from there. a mental block. why do i get so nervous around him, why why why? i wish i had more confidence. i wish i could impress him somehow, make him fall for me just like i've fallen for him.

"george?" he suddenly shouts, making me jump away from the window.
"what?"
"dinner's ready."

here we go. remember george, just act natural. just eat the food and be grateful.

clay has set the table nicely with glasses, plates and utensils. both of our plates are filled with one of those italian pasta dishes that i frankly don't know the name of. all i know is that that's way too much food. my cuticles shall suffer tonight.

"it looks delicious," i comment, faking a smile as i sit down at the table.
"thank you!"

clay immediately gets straight to the point, wasting no time on staring at the threatening worms in front of him like me. the meal sure looks good and well made, but i just can't bring myself to eat it.

my stomach feels empty but so does my mind. clay doesn't seem to realize that i haven't touched his cooking yet, and i'll be forever thankful for that. i know that i'll have to ignore all my boundaries and rules real soon to not raise any suspicion.

with a deep breath and another torn cuticle i pick up the fork and some spaghetti straws, bravely sucking them into my mouth. i chew the contents slowly, unable to enjoy the taste. the small part i swallow feels like a huge, slimy ball full of anxiety going down my throat. i don't even wanna look at the amount i have left on my plate.

this goes against everything i've ever told myself, everything the voices in my head keep telling me. they're screaming at me to stop, screaming that i'm disgusting and pathetic for giving in so easily. but i push on, suffering through every bite.

clay finishes his food before i'm even halfway done. expected, but also yet another element of stress added for me. he gives me a funny look, taking a sip of water before speaking up.

"do you not like it?"
"what? yes i do, it's really good," i say, mouth full of creamy sauce.
"i was just wondering why you were eating so slow."
"oh, i'm just a slow eater in general, don't worry."

he tries to keep the conversation flowing as i eat, but i can't say i'm helping with my all too occasional mumbling. come on george, you need to act natural, remember? i try to repeat it in my head, but to no avail.

i push my plate away when a good two thirds of it is cleared. i feel like shit, but i'm also satisfied with my effort. the inevitable nausea is starting to build up, and i have to excuse myself to the bathroom. it's hard not to dive straight for the door but i can't since clay's watching.

"are you alright?" he asks, voice filled with concern.
"yeah i just... need to..."

the door swings shut behind me. i do my best to keep it down.

focus, breathe, focus, breathe.

just to be safe i pace around near the toilet. just to be safe.