Curious

Chapter 3: The Magic Word

He exited the bathroom, giving up on appearances. He found Adam sitting on the couch in the backroom, perusing through the book that Simon had discarded only hours before. Simon glanced at the title wistfully; so much had changed since then. Adam looked up as Simon came in. He put the book down and clasped his hands in his lap, fingers interlaced. Simon recognized the pose and immediately regretted leaving the security of the bathroom. He knew what was coming and he dreaded it.

Tension thickened the air like humidity on an unbearably heated day.

Simon slowly took a step back, preparing to make a run for it. He was already emotionally unstable; he was unfit for the load that Adam was sure to pile on him. He would rather abandon his friend than face the uncomfortable confrontation that Adam would cause. And Simon knew if he objected, Adam would just ignore it; a consequence of being Simon's friend was unfortunately an acquired resilience to his miserable state.

Adam gestured to the space next to him on the couch. "Would you like to sit down? We have much to talk about."

Simon stiffened, his hands clenched into fists on his sides. "I'm fine, thank you very much."

"I didn't ask if you were fine. I told you to sit the hell down," Adam said, in an eerily cheery voice and a smile still fixed on his face.

A silent struggle ensued—Adam's smile challenging Simon to refuse. Finally, Simon sat cautiously on the edge of the sofa, wanting nothing more than to escape. He pinched his lips and felt the urge to cry in misery.

"Now, now, don't complain." Adam said, taking great pleasure in Simon's pain.

"I'll do whatever I damn well please. You can't influence me."

"Why don't we talk about it?"

"I'd rather not, thank you."

"I'd rather talk, wouldn't you?"

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes, we'll talk about it."

"No, we will not," Simon winced as his voice cracked. Stupid brain, he was not afraid.

"Simon," Adam warned.

"NO!"

"Oh, come on!" Adam scoffed, "You abandoned me for seven years. I should be allowed some leeway. Can't I at least get a pity intervention?"

"I don't see why."

"Fine then. If you don't want to tell me what I want to know, I'll tell you what I think I know."

"Oh, no!" Simon groaned. "I'd rather not hear that either. You always come up with the most ridiculous conclusions."

Adam ignored Simon's comment. "What I think is—"

"Please! Can't we talk about this later? Anytime but now would do!"

"No. Now stop interrupting. As I was saying—"

"Why not? If we talk about it tomorrow, I'll be perfectly willing to tell you everything you want to know. Just not now."

"No. You're just trying to avoid the subject. Now, as I was saying, what I think is—" Simon opened his mouth to interrupt once more, desperate to not to face this now, but Adam just raised his voice. "What I think is that you've changed."

Simon sat back, resigned. Why had he have to have such bad luck? First, the question of his sanity  in relation to a particular set of doors and now, Adam's misplaced sense of friendship—really, it exceeded a person's capacity of resilience, especially when it all occurred in the span of a few hours.