To Perceive an Image

Thirty-Eight: Images of Needed Security

Maryanland, September 26, 2040, 8:00 AM

"I knew your parents had issues, but never knew the issues were borderline inhumane," Flynn seethed. The glare narrowing his eyes informs me of his anger. I don't blame him for looking like he was about to attack my parents.

With words, I hope.

You know the more you think about this, your anger will make you burst into tears, right?

Yes.

Being an angry crier has not benefitted me once in my life. I either cry in front of the person in disputes with me or alone in a secluded corner. To add to the humiliation, I hate the look of sympathy said people give me. It makes me look like a child. My voice would love to contribute to making matters worse. Bitch wobbles and trembles one sentence into the argument, like stop. Since Crying whilst angry translates to being weak, but what-fucking-ever. It's not, and I'll fight on it.

"What can we do now? They've already been against my mere existence since dad's accident. I think they were waiting for the tick that would set everything off, and well, they got it via Anna," I shrug.

Acting nonchalant about this as my mind keeps replaying the events of last night won't help me, but I am not in the mood to let the residents of Detroit see cry. Heaven knows a certain someone would have a fucking field day.

Flynn smirks, and I know a joke is coming.

Thank God for him and his room reading senses. I'm not in the mood for sentimental talk.

"You know, since I'm a generous, kindhearted individual, I will invite you to move into my home."

I roll my eyes, "yeah, generous indeed." Flynn rolled his head back and let out a boisterous laugh that shook the ground. Oooh, earthquake.

Maryanlandquake, sorry I always forget.

Hyperbole.

The exaggeration of an expression. I hope that's the right definition. Whatever the urban dictionary defines it- I'm still a walking hyperbole.

If an actual Maryanlandquake took place right now, my legs would shake. Literally because of the tectonic plates beneath me acting drunk and figuratively through the impending doom that I would feel.

Once he gets over his laughing fit, he lifts his hand and rests it on his heart, looking offended. "Why not? Isn't that what couples do?"

My eyebrows raise at that, "what? offer shelter?"

His eyes widen, growing more offended, "no, asking their partner to move in with them."

"Sorry, the Image World doesn't sound like my vibe," I shrug him off.

His shoulders slack, "shit, you're right. Okay, fine, we'll move in together after this is all over. Find our place, I know my mom would love that, she won't stop talking about it." His words make me halt my steps. My eyes get too busy staring at him like he is crazy to pay attention to the fact that I'm blocking a short-standing anthill. Flynn notices my sudden pause, holding his arm out in front of me to prevent me from what I assume to be falling forward. His eyes scope the ground for a second before looking at me in confusion.

"Why did you stop walking? Did you step on something?" he asks, worried.

Funny how his words render me wordless.

I'm pretty sure you mean speechless.

It does rhyme- stop being a party shitter.

I couldn't speak out loud, so I resorted to shaking my head. How do I tell him what he said has me shaking in my shoes without telling him?