On the Fritz

Chapter 2 - Part 2

Fritz didn't feel like he was registering anything that happened for the rest of the night. He practically fell out of the car as soon as his dad opened the door, and he'd made some woozy stumble to his bedroom, clutching his stomach the whole way. He fell back onto his bed and kept on letting out shaky breaths, his fists clenching the duvet.

He didn't know if he was supposed to feel angry or scared or some gut-wrenching mix of the two. He knew that Rafael was going to strangle him, he was so averse to them getting found out, but it wasn't his fault, how was he supposed to know? Walking into Rafael and his parents was terrifying, and Jonathan just kept talking, how was he meant to get a word in? Was he actually supposed to go with that terrible basketball lie? He was so dumb for not saying anything. God, what if that whole interaction was enough to get Rafael to finally cut him off?

He stared at his ceiling while his mind kept on its downward spiral, his entire body stuck in rigor mortis. His chest was tight and his head was pounding, and it didn't matter how many times he tried to think of anything else, all he could feel was Rafael's cold fucking stare.

When he woke up, he felt like he'd been shanked by a pitchfork. Usually, his first move in the morning would be to check his phone, but there was no way he was touching that because he knew what Rafael would get like on Facebook Messenger. It was easier to get him to shut up in person.

Fritz breathed out. He had to stop thinking about Rafael and what happened last night, and he had to get himself moving. His entire wellbeing was hinged off one thing: volleyball practice. He'd be so authentically neurotypical if he could just do this one stupid sport.

He pushed himself out of bed, trudged to the bathroom, and started running a shower. As the water warmed up, Fritz stared into the mirror. He had lost weight in the wrong places and his chin pimples had scarred terribly, but it wasn't like it mattered, Fritz wasn't preoccupied with acne. What he didn't like was the way he looked into the mirror and it felt like the person in the glass was looking right back at him. Maybe being neurotypical was drifting out of reach again.

He spent most of his shower standing under the running water, feeling like it was him in there with somebody else, his person and persona. Maybe it was a weird headspace to be in, but sometimes, when Fritz would start feeling like he was watching himself from above, things started feeling better. Tolerable.

He got dressed with his back to his reflection and headed to the kitchen. He was about to start making himself breakfast, when he noticed his mother taking a seat at the breakfast bar on the other side of the kitchen.

"Hey Mum," Fritz said. "How's it?"

"There's oats in the fridge," she said. "I'm okay. Are you okay?"

"Good, actually," Fritz said, now putting the bowl he'd just gotten out back into the cupboard. "Had a great shower. When's Ingrid gonna be ready?"

"It's 10:30," his mum said, and Fritz swivelled hard on his heel to face her.

"I am going to school," Fritz said blankly. "Mum! Why did you not wake me up?"

"You have an appointment with Anne in an hour, remember," she said. "I did tell you yesterday. Is that okay?" Fritz breathed in sharply, grit his teeth.

"I have to be at school by lunch," Fritz said. "I will run out of that woman's office if I'm not. I'm going." His mum frowned, leaned over the breakfast bar further.

"Lunch? What's on at lunch?"

"Volleyball," Fritz said. "I can't not go. Anne said I need a routine, Mum, and that's my routine." Still frowning, his mum shrugged.