Alone [manxman]

two:: when you realize you're a little broken.

I wasn't supposed to find other people attractive, I wouldn't once I fell in love. That was one thing I was sure my grandmother had lied about and maybe it had a little to do with why I'd been so wrapped up in love. I hadn't felt it as strong as I did then.

Love, it was weird and painful and maybe I was a bit more damaged than before.

I'd stifled a smile at the 6'5 man wearing a 'kiss the cook,' pink apron and it looked kind of funny against a tight white tee, muscled protruding decorated with dark ink, he had full sleeves and I hated to admit how much more attractive that made him.

I liked nose rings, Isaiah had a double nose ring on the right side of his nose and diamond earrings. He always wore a headband pushing back tight curly hair and puffy yeezy slippers in the apartment and he had flour on his face.

He'd grimaced softly with furrowed brows before glancing at the boy behind me, tensing up, and he went to wipe his face with his clean hand as if he knew he had something on it. Izzy was also never good at hiding his feelings. He hated meeting new people -said he had a little undiagnosed social-anxiety- and gave that explanation to say he hated when I brought people home without warning him.

Explained why my hook-ups stayed few and far between and his silent-treatment, little friendship two week hiatus after he'd crashed into Julian.

He must've not cared much this time, probably cause my brother was far too young for him to suspect anything non-familial, or maybe his overwhelming sense of empathy took precedence because he was looking back at me, tilting his head and Isaiah always made direct eye contact with me.

Something about that always put me on edge.

Instead of paying much attention to the hopeful look on my roommate's face, I gestured for Pete to hand off his duffle, tossing it onto the couch and I watched as Isaiah grimaced.

Another thing about living with him, it always felt like I was living with my mother. He was so particular about where he wanted things and how he wanted them, he was so tightly-wound, it made me feel messy. It would've been annoying if our common spaces were a bit more common.

I was chaotic, I would walk around in large, paint-covered t-shirts with a palette in hand, adding to the one or two paintings that hung on the wall and the paintings that lingered around. Most stayed unfinished, leant against the walls on tarp, because hanging them up somehow made me feel exposed. No one I'd ever lived with hated clutter as much as Isaiah.

And he lived on the other side of the apartment... it was big for the rent, our living room was the size of both our bedrooms combined and our kitchen sat behind an island. We each had our own bathrooms so ideally, he wouldn't share so much of my life. Ideally. Except he did and it was getting harder to draw a line between us, maybe that was the reason for the tension.

I didn't want another relationship and that's what it felt like I was falling into. What else could you call living together, eating together, sleeping together, and spending almost everyday with each other?

Pete's look over at me was calculating, some weird look in his eyes and I knew he was sensing some tension.

My last in-person conversation with Abuelita ran through my head, her hand under my chin and pulling me to look at her. She could sense something was off, she always could and I'd explained that Julian had come into town, and I didn't know what that meant, and his sister had invited me to eat with them and-

And she'd given me wise-eyes and a wistful smile, drifting off about the many times her and Abuelo had broken up when she was a girl, and how that didn't mean much because even when they weren't together, they were together and they both knew it.