The Secret Life of Inanimate Objects

Chapter Four

Wednesday, February 22; [School Half Day]

14:34

"Check it," Marco grinned.

He pulled his shirt off and waited for my reaction.

"It's cool," I said quietly, kicking my pumps off and dropping onto his still unmade bed. He'd had to stay home last night. Ergo, I hadn't slept a wink.

Marco let his T-shirt fall to the ground. "Cool? Come on, Ter. You're a linguist. You can do better than that."

I smiled at him. He was cute when he pouted. Like a puppy.

"You have too many already, you know," I told him sternly.

"I'd hardly call three too many." He rolled his eyes at me.

His tattoos were beautiful, to be honest. His latest one, the one he was currently parading, was 'ARDEUR', printed across his right breast (?), above his nipple.

Passion. Love.

"Why'd you choose that word?" I asked, yawning. I was going to fall asleep any minute. It had been hard enough staying awake during class.

He shrugged. "Why not?"

"Well, you can put your shirt back on." I pulled the covers over me and snuggled into the pillow, closing my eyes. I was physically drained.

"Ter?"

"What?"

"Sorry about last night. About my not sleeping over."

I opened my eyes. "It's OK. I'm fine."

But I hadn't been OK or fine last night.

It had been horrible. I'd locked myself in the bathroom and curled up in the tub, quietly crying. It had been easier than being in my bedroom, or any other room, for that matter.

"I know you didn't get a wink of sleep," Marco sighed, pulling his shirt back on.

"I'm making up for it now. I love your bed, in all its unmade glory." I let out another loud yawn.

Marco chuckled. "Then I'll leave you to it. I'll be down-"

"No, you don't have to. You're my teddy bear, remember?" To tell the truth, I hated being away from him. I was always scared.

"Seriously? Teddy bear? Really?" he laughed, crossing the room. He paused, as if contemplating getting into bed with me. "Move over, then."

"Sure thing, Paddington," I said, making room for him.

We lay face to face, as we sometimes did when we wanted to talk. It was just comforting being with someone who didn't treat me like an escaped mental patient.

"You have bags under your eyes. I didn't notice them this morning," he said softly. There was concern in his green eyes. "I'm sorry."

The muffled sounds of his kid sisters watching TV faintly drifted up to the room. I could fall asleep listening to that lullaby of noises.

"Stop apologizing, OK?"

He smiled slowly. "You sound hungover. Nap time for you."

I stuck my tongue out at him and turned around onto my side.

When I woke up two hours later, we were spooning.

*

"How was your day?" my mother asked, cutting her steak up into miniscule pieces.

"It was OK," I replied. This was my general response. They wouldn't have wanted to hear about how everyone thought I was completely nuts and avoided me like the plague. But today, I added a "And how was yours?"

My mother blinked at me. I was sure that "You know very well that I do nothing. I sit in this house, and do nothing. My days are monotonous" was on the tip of the tongue.

She glanced at my father, so quickly that I almost missed it.

"My day was fun. There are some nice programs on TV..." she said, focusing on her plate.

"And yours, Dad?" I looked at my father, who was sipping his glass of red wine.

He put the empty glass down. "Simply fascinating. Now finish eating."

"You should take me there one day. Why haven't I been to the shop?"

"Didn't you hear me? Finish eating, Terra," he snapped.

I was startled. "OK," I whispered, but I wasn't really hungry.

After dinner, I helped my mother in the kitchen and sat with her to watch an ancient black-and-white movie. My father had gone out shortly after dinner.

I wondered why my mother didn't question him about his whereabouts. It was as clear as day that he was cheating on her, but I still found that hard to believe.

He belonged in Madame Tussaud's, for he was cold and lifeless. I didn't understand how my mother, who was usually outspoken and vivacious, turned into a fieldmouse where my father was concerned. It boggled the mind.

"Why are you looking at me like that, Terra?"

I hadn't noticed that I'd been pointedly staring.

"No reason," I said, shaking my head.

"Well, I'm going to bed," she said, standing up and stretching. "Don't wait up. Your father has a key."

I got up, going into a mini panic. "But... It's so early... Don't -"

She glared at me. "Don't start this bull with me, Terra. Goodnight." And with that, she left.

I followed closely behind her, and turned to go to my room with a heavy heart. Déjà vu. Groundhog day.

I pushed open the door and went in.

"FINALLY. It's about time you guys went to bed. I need to piss."

I let out a sigh.

"You know where the bathroom is, Marco."