Supernovas & Escapism

Chapter Twenty-Four

     Garth turns to face me, bruised eye meeting my own. It hurts to see him like this, just imagining how he got in such a state. I'm straight up angry at him though because part of me knows for a fact that he didn't bother putting up a fight.

     His smile is weak, and reserved. I can tell it's a smile he's been saving for a special occasion, because the corners of his lips are just managing to hold themselves up. It's a smile made for his best friend, for the person that he trusts most in this world.

     With an unsteady hand, he props himself up before slowly twisting his whole body to face me. I wish he would turn back round so I didn't need to see him like this.

     "Do I look okay?" he spouts back. But it's not snarky or aggressive. It genuinely feels like he is asking if he looks okay, like he hasn't just seen the jaws of infinity. "Because I could always spruce myself up if you want."

     Even now, in this turbulent moment, he can still crack jokes. He makes me feel as if it hasn't been weeks since I last spoke to him. There's a hesitance in his steps that makes me aware that he's all too familiar with the uncomfortable distance that has come between us. It makes him seem lost, which is more than a little fun to see.

     None of that matters though. I am a stone wall, ready to become a battering ram at the first notion of conflict.

     "You know what I mean," I respond, scooting a little closer to him as he still struggles to hold himself up.

     "Yeah," he pauses, "I guess I do."

     A few more moments pass before either of us says anything.

     "So?"

     "I'm fine Xavier," he responds, almost wincing out the words. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to find out that he can't bullshit his way out of this one. However, even I'll admit that it's kind of charming that he's going to try anyway. "Nothing that I can't walk off."

     I bite my lip and he looks at me with shimmering hazel eyes, pleading with me not to press further. My brain can't help it though. It's overthinking, and it's pushing and it needs some form of closure on this. As much as it may sting him to talk about, I'm not just going to let it go.

     And by now he should know that by me.

     "You walk off a bruised leg, a sprained ankle." My words are colder than I intend them to be, sort of ironic considering my current state of being. "You do not walk off whatever the hell happened to you," I say, my arms sweeping to the state of disarray he is in.

     "It's fine."

     "No, it's fucking not," I say, letting anger slip out.

     He bounces on his heels away from me, as if expecting me to let the hammer drop. The words have made him recoil, and part of me is understanding and yet so confused at the same time.