Alone [manxman]

seventeen: when you cry cause you want to

The brisk air rubs up against warm skin, his brows are knitted together. I wonder if he's always looked so angry in his sleep. I'm guilty, it finds itself home in my throat, cloaked in apologies left unsaid. I remember the feeling of Izzy, almost like he's still there and it's different.

It's so different.

I peel myself out of bed before he wakes. I toss on running shoes, a hoodie, and sweatpants, heading out the door faster than he can stir awake and I'm running.

Sprinting actually, my lungs burn. It's punishment, calves are screaming before I fall.

I'm laying in a field now, air washing over my body, I can breathe again. I'm looking at the sky, it's washed-out blues. Izzy meets me there, as he's been doing for the past few weeks.

We end up in a coffee shop, my skin sweating, buzzing near him. This crush is starting to get complicated, I make a mental note to grab for more space once the check comes.

He gets a coffee, I get a tea, he talks of his own alcoholism again.

I wonder if he should be having this conversation with Paul, and why he's chosen me instead.

We sit, my body burns for him, I sip. I ignore temptation.

-

JULIAN

"PJ, look at you, you're not okay."

"Please leave me alone."

"No."

He's been pacing this floor for five minutes now. It's puzzling, the way he seems so nervous to be this way in front of me like he's never done it before.

Like I wouldn't remember, maybe he actually didn't remember.

I told him he needed a shower, he told me I needed therapy.

Honestly, I did. I mean, I know it wasn't his fault but something in me was starting to resent him. I could feel him pushing everything onto me, I wondered if he felt like he carried the load so long, I could do the same. The wine bottle on the table is almost empty and he's avoiding my eye contact. He's frowning, his voice is more nasally than normal, and his cheeks are pink.

Blushy, eyes over dilated and droopy. His lids hang long and his tongue is glued to his teeth. He grinds them against each other.

"I can't do this right now. Jules—"

I'm not leaving. It's too clear in my stance, he's starting to know that as well.

He's angry, it shows. He's drunk, and it shows.

He's stepping back from me again, like that will diffuse the situation. And he's turning away from me, running away. I catch his wrist.

He twists away.

My love is laughing that condescending, angry, bitter laugh. I try not to take his words to heart. We're standing in his apartment, his body shielding the rest of his living room. I'm watching that bottle of wine, watching the way that he watches me.

"Since you can't get the fucking hint-"

"Stop talking to me like that."

It's graveled in a laugh, "Jules-"

"I'm not joking."

Bloodshot eyes meet mine, they widen, then close in embarrassment. He walks further in, I trail him.