Unlovable • NBATentacion

Chapter One: Sessions

Jahseh

Standing perfectly still in the gusty spring breeze. Among these hallow statues, he's one with them. The crisp cold burns at his exposed cheeks and ears, yet so numb is he that his body cannot even register the pain. In fact, even if he did he would enjoy it. He could find comfort just in knowing he could still feel pain.

For that would mean that part of him is still vaguely human. 

What a sobering thought.

The cold wetness of dew creeps over the white soles of his black sneakers and seeps into the canvas. Soon the moisture spreads and enters inside his footwear. Yet he stirs not for his body cannot even register wetness. 

Not the wetness in his feet nor the wetness in his eyes; partly from wind's sting and the sharp pain of twisting heartstrings. 

And suddenly, the man, a statue among statues, lets out a strangled gasp. So abrupt that it even startled a robin perched nearby on a marble stone and sent the creature jumping off into flight. 

The gasp was simply his brain tapping into his body's primal instinct to breathe. Sometimes when the male is here, he forgets about everything and everyone; including his body's need for oxygen.  

The sudden breath causes goosebumps to bead up to the surface of his sleeved skin, row after row of them rise on the back of his neck; fading as they dip down his spine. Breathing, something so perfectly natural, seems evil now. It's but a cursed thing to do. To be bold enough to breathe whilst standing in a field where none else can do so. The way the cool air enters his nostrils, how it rushes into his lungs to gather... and gather still until the organs swell to accommodate... and accommodate still until his diagram gently squeezes the air out again and his lungs shrink along with it. 

A weak sniffle. 

How is it fair he can breath when his...

A vibration in his pocket derails his train of thought. And invisible puppet strings shove his hand into the recesses of his pocket; pulling up a device and swiping his thumb across the screen before it rings and disturbs this; the most hallowest of ground. 

"Hello?" Quiet. Dry. How can he possibly muster up a confident greeting when he is but an empty plastic bag in this strong spring wind?

"Hello?" Jarrad scoffs, pulling his device away from his face momentarily to turn and announce, "This nigga talking about some hello." Before his brown eyes roll. "You know what time it is?"

"No..?" As the vowel sound drags out of his lips, the thought of 'and why should I?' beckons him.

Jarrad smacks his teeth as his head nods with fervor. "Course not."

Silence. So still and real Jahseh asks himself if his heart is even beating. 

"It's nine o'clock." Jarrad replies, taking a sip of his drink. Water with ice and lemon. The ice helps with his cravings. 

Jahseh blinks, his eyes tracing the letters carved into the stone. He doesn't know why Jarrad called him and what significance the time is to him. 

"Tuesday...?" Jarrad brings his lips into his mouth. "Don't tell me you forgot."

Silence. If he turns up missing... how many people could he realistically expect to look?

A heavy sigh. Jahseh did forget. Of course he forgets, when does he ever not? "Nice to know our time together is so forgettable to you, Jah. We have a session together.. at the studio? You said you'd come- that you wouldn't forget this time..." 

"Go easy on him, Juice." Michael mumbles, pulling the phone away from his friend. "It's okay, Jahseh. Don't listen to Jarrad, he's just being a fucking drama queen- as always. Just... get down here as soon as possible, okay? We love you. See you soon."