"Haven't you already seen this movie, like, a hundred times?" I asked May, eyes flicking between the TV that was displaying some comedy and my partially completed Spanish sheet. I'd mostly given up on it after failing recall how to conjugate dormir or google it and left that section blank, instead focusing on the channels that flipped on and off the screen as my sister searched for something suitable.
This disturbance could be avoided by doing my homework like I usually did, with my textbooks and papers occupying an excessive amount of space on our table and my cup of water printing a wet ring on it, music from my earbuds blocking out the sounds of the world and distracting me from my work enough to prevent an ache from pounding in my head.
But I was too sick of school to even attempt engaging fully in my homework, so I was with May instead, a book open over my legs and pencil repeatedly rolling out of my grasp. Unproductive, but It'd get done at some point and I didn't currently desire failing out of school, so it was good enough.
My phone was upside down beside me, buzzing occasionally, most likely with messages from a group conversation with Zack and Rian in which I had no fucking idea what they were talking about. It vibrated quickly several times as May said, "Yeah, but that doesn't mean it isn't awesome."
"Lot less exciting when you already know everything that's going to happen, though," I countered, some skateboarding contest occurring in the movie. The fact that it was halfway over didn't discourage May either.
May twisted her hair back, pulling it into a literal knot as she shook her head in disagreement. "You're supposed to be doing homework; you don't even get an opinion on what I'm watching."
"That's just rude," I objected, sinking further into the pillows and picking my pencil off of the floor, intending to properly complete my Spanish assignment.
I bit at the end of the pencil, grabbing my binder from behind me to figure out the verb conjugation and dropping it on my ribs when my phone rang with another text. I registered that the message was from Alex before scrolling through the others from Rian and Zack, seeing that the topic still hadn't turned to anything I understood and sliding Alex's text open.
With TV dialogue that meant nothing to me and some intense music running behind the on-screen argument in my ears, I read the texts through my glasses.
Alex: I'm having a crappy day and really wanna cut
Alex: But I can't, people would see and ask what happened
Alex: I don't wanna lie anymore
My face contorted, eyebrows slanting downwards and lips falling from a line into a drooping curve. I angled myself away from May's vision, already anxious about my responses being insufficient when I replied to Alex.
Me: Lex, why? What happened?
My teeth tugged at the inside of my cheek, pain resonating in my nerves, jittery fingers grasping my motionless phone. Alex had to be at his house alone, and although he'd refrained from cutting for a prideful period of time, there were always shaving razors and overly sharp scissors and glass with slicing edges, and once causing yourself pain had been determined an effective solution, it immediately and indefinitely become the mind's first suggestion for killing negative feelings.
It was an unavoidable urge that still tingled on the bone of my wrist whenever my eyes started to sting, and for people who only let their skin remain untouched for others, without any personal motivation to avoid that stupid fix, it could be practically impossible to resist.
If that question of why not? couldn't be completely explained for someone, they'd have no reservations about causing themselves pain, and Alex, I was aware, hadn't come up with any more reasons not to take a razor to his skin than I had.
But we both, because of whatever inescapable idea or inner beliefs, were positive that self-harming would ultimately destroy instead of aid us, and continually tried to convince the other that, while it relieved internal evils, it should never be done.
It really is insane, how we all do anything to keep others together while letting ourselves be a fucking mutilated disaster.
So it was obvious to me that the worst possible thing Alex could do in that instant was cut. He wouldn't have texted me that if it wasn't bad; he rarely mentioned crappy occurrences until after they ended, so it was now my responsibility to make him feel better, or, if nothing else, ok enough to leave sharp edges alone.
Alex: Nothing
Alex: Nothing happened
Alex: Nothing ever does
Alex: My parents are ignoring me but they always do that and I should be fucking used to it by now and I shouldn't care but I still do because they're supposed to love me, they're my family, and I don't understand why they don't and it fucking hurts and I'm an idiot because it still makes me feel like crap even though it's always been like this
Alex: I don't wanna feel like this anymore
The clear means to feel something else went unsaid.
Alex didn't mention his family often. He seemed to be attempting to convince himself that their disinterest in him was irrelevant by acting like it was, which hadn't been and never would be successful. Faking an emotion doesn't make it real.
What he had related to me, though, either in a nonchalant voice or deranged messages, was that his parents had loved each other, seen everyone else with kids and believed it to be the obvious future of their relationship, had him a couple years after their wedding, and quickly got sick of having a noisy baby controlling their lives. From then on, it was daycare and premature independence for Alex, his parents providing everything for him but emotional investment.
And it wasn't surprising that this had fucked him up. Though I sometimes despised my dad and didn't like being around my mom because her recurring despondency was depressing, they loved me and did things for me not only because of their obligation to do so, but because they gave a crap about making me happy (although I was anything but). Even though I always assumed that people were lying when they complimented me or said they cared about me; I could only imagine how having your family, who are meant to love you unconditionally, be indifferent to you would damage you.
Alex had friends and intelligence and everything vital for life and me, if I could considered an upside, but his opinion of himself had been fucked since his parents realized that having a kid was something they had felt required to do and not actually wanted. Living happily was taxing when you'd been taught not to value yourself by those whose duty it is to appreciate you the most.
My eyes briefly slid over to my sister, ensuring that she didn't notice anything unusual about my current state, my shoulders slumping inwards and knees bending towards my chest as I typed a response, anxious fingers making countless errors.
Me: Alex, your parents being assholes that don't appreciate you doesn't make you any less of a great person. You know that how other people treat you doesn't determine your worth, and please, please babe, don't hurt yourself. It's not worth it in the long run, it never is, just put on some loud music and listen closely and try to get out of your head.
Me: I get that probably nothing seems appealing, but doing absolutely nothing and just thinking is always the worst option. And you're fucking awesome, yeah? Got nothing real to feel crappy about.
I blew shaky air out through my teeth, heart rate having increased from my frantic texting and anxiety that my words would be insufficient.
And Alex was important to me, made me happy and I hated when he was upset, wished that I could dispel all his insecurities and somehow make him perpetually ecstatic, but conversations like that, demanding and sad, depressed me.
I despised serious conversations. I avoided them at all costs, making inappropriate jokes and occasionally being somewhat of an insensitive asshole to save myself from getting dragged down by other people's sadnesses, which made me excessively guilty.
But I wasn't at all emotionally secure. When anything minutely crappy occurred, it hit me heavily, knocked me down until my mind and detrimental thoughts wore themselves out. So my predilection to not voluntarily participate in anything that fucked with my mood was understandable, even justifiable, but definitely not noble.
I didn't ignore people who obviously required emotional aid, but, when the consequences of doing so weren't damaging, I guided conversations away from anything mentally taxing. And I couldn't prevent the resentment that tainted my blood when I ended up involved in something distressing.
My eyebrows straightened out when my phone buzzed on my chest, reverberating against my sternum and stopping the thoughts that had been spinning along my neurons. I read the message from the lock screen, sigh slipping out of my lungs at the obvious insincerity that it contained.
Alex: Yeah. You're right. I know all that logically, but in actuality, I still fucking hate it.
Alex: I don't know. I'll be ok in a while.
I quickly sent a text asking if he wanted me to come over, doing what was just but internally desiring the ability to talk him to happiness and wishing that the situation didn't exist, or, at least, didn't involve me.
i was hugely selfish and always aiming to preserve any happiness that I still possessed. Alex probably deserved my energy more than I did, but I was genetically programed to defend myself before all else.
Still, my possession of these vices frequently presented themselves when my brain was deteriorating, one of the many entries on my mentally-contained list of all that made me despicable.
Much as I'd like to be magnanimous and the ideal person to come to whenever one was aching to feel better, I wasn't. I never would be. Our conversation made me uneasy, anxious, and relief soothed my breathing when I scanned the next message.
Alex: No, I don't really feel like being around anyone. Thanks for asking, though.
The second sentence was clearly meant to lessen to bite of rejection that the first contained, but I'd pulled the same thing countless times and understood his current aversion to company. Maybe, though, my offer to be with him would make him somewhat aware of much he really did matter to me, how his parents disturbing actions shouldn't have any affect on him or make him so insecure, feel so unwanted.
I texted another supportive message, blinking and registering what was happening in the room, something bizarre and nonsensical playing on the TV. May payed it no attention, typing on her own phone. Probably messaging about something far more airy.
My papers were crumpled next to me, pencil having slipped into the space between my legs, and my binder was close to tipping off my body and onto the floor. I restrained an annoyed groan in my throat, giving up on homework and shoving everything into its place and away from me.
Messages from Rian and Zack continued to ring through, seemingly about somethings related to sports. Alex was noiseless, presumably no longer interested in whatever insignificant assistance I could give.
I swallowed down the guilt this caused me, throat jolting with the action. Annoyingly, there was no one that I could share these thoughts with. Expressing my negative reaction to being involved in saddening times would make whoever I related it to believe that I wanted them and their problems to not annoy me, which would clearly be both insulting and upsetting.
I generally avoided alienating people, so these ideas were contained in my mind, bruising my cells and causing me to wonder if I was the only person so selfish and fragile.
Maybe. Not like I'd ever have an answer to that question. Another of my many internal worries and possible signs of insanity.
I pushed myself up off the couch, schoolwork falling over and taking my place. My eyes stuck briefly on the mess, May noticing it and insincerely exclaiming "Nice!" as I left the room. I filled a glass with ice and sucked down water cold enough to flatten the lump my throat developed.
The cold shocked my nerves as I leaned against the counter, granite digging into my spine and eyes sightlessly resting on the fridge before me as I considered myself, everything I did. I contemplated Alex, how he was doing, what he thought of me, how he might've reacted to my words.
My eyes flickered up to the ceiling, mentally asking for Alex to be doing ok, request aimed at all powers that might exist. The pressure of what he unintentionally asked of me was something I'd ideally not have pushing me down, but with Alex, I'd do as much as I could for him. It was just, really, considering all that I'd involved him in.
It was so difficult, though, being someone's emotional support. It was fucking depleting and depressing, and I wished for a world in which I didn't require that of anybody or have to do the same for them.
But the universe continued to not give a fuck about my desires, and I focused back on reality, hand slipping over the condensation on my glass as I retrieved my phone. The screen was black, displaying no messages, and the TV provided disconnected background noise as my muscles tensed with concern and then relaxed with relief as I registered there being no developments, either good or bad. Anxiety continued to shake my bones.
___
I was curled up in bed, sheets tangled through my fingers and pulled up over my neck, even breath puffing out onto my pillow when my phone buzzed on my nightstand.
My eyes blinked open, sweeping over the shapes of my room, illuminated by the glowing numbers of my alarm clock. I squinted in preparation as I lit my phone screen up, eyes distinguishing a message from Alex through the stinging brightness.
Class started in seven hours and most sane people were already asleep, but I wasn't surprised that Alex was awake. He lived off of coffee and often passed out midday, rarely getting proper hours of nightly rest.
In the seconds between deciphering the bolded text of his contact name and actually getting through the message, my heart jolted against my ribs, alarm at what could cause my boyfriend to text me so late striking my nerves.
Alex: Hey babe, do you wanna go see that weird alien movie this week? It looks kinda crappy but the evil guy is super hot, so?
My lips curled up at the edges, fingers clicking my phone off and loosening to let it fall back onto the nightstand since I was too sleepy to type out a coherent response to Alex's question.
I tugged my sheet back up over my arms, shifting so that my hair didn't tickle my forehead and blowing a relieved breath past my lips. Alex's noncommittal guess had been correct; his pernicious thoughts died down as the day dragged by, and the disappearance of the sun had his usual self taking over and asking his boyfriend to some movie with hot extraterrestrials.
My eyelids dropped to block out the shine of my clock, and I tried to relax enough to fall asleep, notion that life was fucking ridiculous and amazement at the constant fluctuation of mental states tumbling through my mind.
____________________
Hey! It's been forever and I know some people thought I'd just leave this on last chapter, but no, I'm gonna do this justice and finish it eventually, believe me. Not much to say about this chapter, I think Jack pretty much covered it, but anyone understand what I'm talking about? I hope so, 'cause otherwise I'm just a shitty person, ha. So, here's my question for this chapter: how are all of you doing? Especially for those who've been with me for a while; this story has been going on forever and I want to know what's been up with you guys for its duration. Also, Future Hearts! Favorites/least favorites? I love it, almost forgot how into ATL I am, and I'm seeing them for the first time next month, which has been a long time coming. So, talk to me, comment and vote!
xoxo
Rose
P.S. Also I almost forgot but this has over 17k votes and almost 10k comments, which is completely and totally insane. Anyone remember my first story when my overall goal was 100 votes? Thank you, for everything.