Monday, November 16, 2020
Waking up should be illegal, it feels like a hate crime.
I tried to get Bri to stay over for a bit yesterday but she said she had things to do and she left around 3, I tried to ask her what those things were but it was useless, she was out the door before I finished my sentence. I'll just ask later.
As I sat up I looked out the window. So many buildings, with so many windows, with so many people. So many tiny people, in tiny cars, on tiny corners. All living their own tiny lives, all the centers of their own tiny worlds, all of these people whose lives may never actually cross paths even though they're walking past one another; the world works in a funny way, sadly some way, somehow I ended up here.
I pushed the blanket off my legs, dragged myself off the bed, across the room, out the door, down the stairs and into the kitchen.
"Look who's up early." Fuck.
I looked over at the clock on the stove, 8:27. Fuck.
"I didn't even realize I'd woken up this early, thought you'd at least be at work by now."
"I leave at 9, there's coffee in the thing." He said not looking up from his phone and pointing at the coffee maker.
"Lovely." I mumbled as I walked past him; part of me wanted to pull my shorts down, I know they're short but then again why should I? It's not like he's looking. I thought to myself as I continued to walk past him and grabbed the coffee pot and off the counter. "Can you get that mug for me?" I asked when I opened the cupboard and saw the pastel blue mug all the way on top.
"Kas there's one right there, it's right in front of your face, use that one." He pointed to the plain white mug and it made me sad.
"I want the blue one, that one's boring." I turned and pouted at him hoping it was enough to get him to just do what I asked.
"Kas."
"Please?"
With a sigh he walked over to me and leaned over my head to reach for it. The warmth radiating off him and on to my barely clothed body. His chest so close to my face that I could see it rise and fall as he breathed. His tie still lying on either side of his neck undone. If I leaned forward, just a few inches, I could kiss right against his heart. It'd be a bad idea but, theoretically speaking, I could.
"I'm pretty sure this is Mica's." He dangled the mug off his pinky as he brought it down to my eye level .
"So the pretty, happy colored thing doesn't belong to you?" I asked, letting sarcasm coat my voice as thickley as I could. "Figures." I finished, taking the cup off his finger and turning back to the coffee pot to pour some out. "Give me the almond milk."
"What's that supposed to mean?" He asked. His voice playful, amused, bidding me to explain; daring me to explain. Something about the playfulness was unsettling, I couldn't detect any annoyance and that was worrisome to say the least.
"That I don't take my coffee black, can you give me the almond milk?" I replied, playing dumb like I always do, avoiding the question in an effort not to bicker this early.
"You know that's not what I meant. Answer the question and I'll give you the milk."
"Nevermind then." I started walking to the fridge and then he got in my way, standing right infront of the fridge, towering over me, stupid fucking jolly green giant. "If you're not gonna give it to me, I'll get it myself. Move."
"No, tell me or drink the black coffee."
"Matteo, move. I just want the milk." I tried to pull at his arm knowing it was useless but thinking maybe he'd feel bad that I'm too weak to even make him move and he'll just fuck off.
Wrong.
"C'mon angel," He tilted his head to the side and shot me a small half smile, literally kill yourself for being cute. "just tell me, can't be that bad."
"Your apartment is insanely dull. It's nice, but it doesn't feel like a home, can I have the almond milk now?" I replied, getting irritated by his persistence and his cute stupid fucking face. He's a dick Kas, keep that in mind. He's probably a bigger dick than the actual one in between his legs.
"Well that's because it's not." He paused turning to the fridge, getting me my fucking milk and placing it on the counter. Finally. "Well it hasn't felt like one in a while at least." He grabbed the sugar and placed it down next to the milk. "I assume since you don't like your coffee dark, you also don't like it bitter."
"Correct assumption," I paused hopping up onto one of the stools. "Why hasn't it?"
"Do you actually care or are you just being polite."
"We both know I'm not polite."
He stifled a laugh and nodded lightly. "Very true." He licked his lips as he continued smiling to himself and looked into his mug as he came around the counter to stand next to me. Stop it. "My ex and I found to this place together, she had all the ideas and she'd even already bought some stuff, it was all like bright and colorful and before anything was even up, it felt like home but we broke up right after I closed on it so she's never lived here and I never brought any of the color into this place." He broke eye contacts and looked down at the ground. "I uh, um, I bought all the shit that it was staged with and just let it be." He finished, still looking down but not quite at the ground anymore.
"How long have you lived here?" I asked while looking around trying to see what he was looking at that he found so damn interesting.
"Around like 18 months I think. Yeah, um, yeah something like that." Still looking at the ground, I followed his gaze directly onto my leg, I realized my shorts had ridden up my thighs a little when I sat down and the scars on my leg were basically on full display.
It doesn't bother me that they're there or that he's looking, I forget that they exist sometimes, it's been a while since I had to explain them to anyone new.
"You can ask you know." I said with as much emphasis as I could put on the word 'can' without sounding crazy. "Just staring is a little rude, don't you think?" I teased.
"Sorry, um," He paused to clear his throat. "are those from cutting, like on purpose." He continued, careful with his words. Not wanting to be insensitive, or not wanting to make me snap, or not wanting to push this seemingly pleasant conversation we were having to a brink, whatever it was, it was appreciated.
"Yeah, when I was younger, still happens from time to time but it's better now." I explained, being as brief as possible, not wanting to get too deep into it; the extent of my past self harm or my mental health alike. It's not something I bear to people I don't plan on being around for long, and he isn't someone I plan on being around for much longer.
"You don't mind them? The scars I mean. I know some people cover them with tattoos because it's a bad reminder."
"I don't mind them. I do want to get them covered but not because they bother me. In my head they're more comforting than they are hurtful."
"What do you wanna cover them with?"
"Medusa. Like a portrait of her face, 8 by 6 inches right on top."
"Why Medusa? Why are you waiting?"
"I love greek mythology, Medusa more than anyone. There's a lot of different interpretations of her story but I like to view her curse as a blessing in disguise. Athena provided her with the means to be her own protector and ensure she'd never be hurt again and I want to be that for myself." I thought about my words briefly. "I am that for myself." I corrected. I am, I am my person. I am the only person who's done everything right by myself. "I'm waiting because being clean isn't linear, I relapse from time to time and it's always the same place so I don't wanna cover it, kind of afraid that if I do I'll resort to staring elsewhere." I continued. "Also, tattooing over scars that aren't fully healed is hard, the ink doesn't settle or seep in properly sometimes, some of the scars are still sort of raised, touch them, they're like 3D." I urged him to touch them, something about scars has always been beautiful to me, stories engraved right on you.
I put my hand out for his and reluctantly he placed his hand in mine. Cold. I brushed the tips of his fingers over the few bumpy scars, most were very well healed, just a small handful had any texture left to them. I let go of his hand and watched as he kept tracing over them. I watched his face, not his hands though. I wasn't worried that he'd try to touch anything other than the scars but I did want to see how he'd react.
If his face would scrunch up like he'd just touched the food on the drain at the bottom of the sink, or if he'd get a lump in his throat and try to swallow it away like he'd just seen an animal get hit. Or if that stupid little switch in the back of peoples heads would switch in his head and he'd stop seeing me as me, wanted to know if I'd have to prepare myself for him to walk on eggshells around me. It's happened so many times that I can tell when it flips just by looking in people's eyes.
But nothing. Same expression, more amusement than anything, like when a child played with one of those cubes with all the switches. His hands still felt cold though. I'm pretty sure the coffee in his mug is hot, so how? Not sure.
"Who would've thought you had things going on up in this pretty head of yours other than your ability to be a bitch?" He said, moving his hand from my thigh to my head and patting lightly.
"So you think I'm pretty?"
"That's been established, admitting you're attractive isn't embarrassing to me Kas, I'm not twelve. I mean, I did also call you a bitch." He smiled, patting my head again.
"Ha ha, very funny you asshole." I looked at him through the thin slits of my eye. He always turns shit around. Can't even have a nice conversation without him hitting a nerve. But he's not treating me any differently. "Why do you feel the need to pet my head? Do you have a pet-play thing? Do you want me to act like a little animal? Want me to be a puppy? Whimper or something? Beg?" I asked, as I watched his ears turn a slight shade of red and his eyes shift around the room uncomfortably. I wanted to make him mad, not nervous.
"I don't, but good to know you know what that is." He mumbled looking at his watch as his ears turned red and he adjusted his collar. He is very easily flustered. Cute.
"I know what a lot of things are sir."
"Don't call me that."
"What's wrong with sir?" I asked.
"Nevermind." He mumbled, shaking his head slightly as he put his coffee down onto the counter and started tying his tie; incorrectly might I add.
"Do you always tie it like that?"
"Yea."
"Idiot. C'mere." I set my mug down as he got closer and reached for his tie, and began to undo it.
"You're telling me I've been doing it wrong my whole life?" He deadpanned.
"It's not terrible, I just know how to do it so it's a little neater. You can go around twice, instead of once." I mumbled patting it down as I finished and resting my hand on his chest as I looked up at him.
'My nails look so bad.' I thought to myself before dropping my hands and looking up at him. As soon as our eyes found each other he backed away and walked out of the kitchen and to the hall mirror.
"Okay I see what you meant."
"Well duh, I'm always right."
"You're right right now, I wouldn't say 'always' Kas."
"Yea, that's why I said 'always'. Bozo. Go to work." I like being here alone, if I'm stuck I'd prefer it to be in isolation, especially here; feels like a hotel.
"You really are a fucking smart ass, you know that?" He laughed walking back into the kitchen.
"Yes." I laughed. Of course I know that, I do it on purpose, dumbass."
"Truly can't wait for you to leave my house." He said looking down at his watch.
"Truly can't wait to know why I'm stuck here."
"Later. I have to go." He said, his face falling flat; like there'd never been any emotion on it to begin with. I recognized it immediately as what me and my sister call the 'big mafia boss man office face'.
Dad does it all the time when he leaves for work.