"All out, I'd replicate your pain.
Climb down, if only for a taste."
- "Carry You" by Novo Amor -
*****
Samuel
Matty's attempt at discretion crumbles to pieces as he abruptly ditches me and Tyson in the smoking room, barely spending ten minutes at our table. His feeble excuse barely holds water: "I suddenly want to do some window shopping. This room is suffocating."
As I scrutinize the untouched bottle of water and the ashtray before me, Tyson munches on a small portion of nachos across from me. With Matty's departure, the atmosphere in the sparsely populated room undergoes a noticeable shift, and our conversation dwindles into an uncomfortable silence. The weight of the awkwardness becomes almost unbearable until Tyson can no longer contain himself.
"So... um... since when did you start smoking?"
Seriously?
I take a deliberate drag from my cigarette, allowing the smoke to permeate my lungs before exhaling slowly. "Why?"
Tyson's paws instinctively flail in a defensive manner, indicating his realization of the unintentional audacity of his question. "Oh, um, i-it's nothing, just... Just sorta curious."
A surreptitious smirk sneaks onto my lips. Perhaps I should toy with his buttons a little. "You wanna give it try?"
He shakes his head. "Nah, I-I don't smoke."
"Come on, a little puff won't hurt." I wave the Davidoff classic around with my claws.
"It's just that, um, I-I can't, you know? I-I'm a QB, after all, haha." Despite his forced laugh, his troubled gaze still lingers on the cigarette.
"Just one drag won't hurt."
Regretting his ill-fated decision to delve into this topic, Tyson reluctantly accepts the cigarette from my paw. He stares at the glowing tip for a moment before daringly placing the filter between his lips. However, as soon as he takes a drag, a fit of violent coughing engulfs him, causing him to accidentally drop the cigarette onto the table.
"F-ack! M-ack throat!" He thumps his hurting throat in an attempt to alleviate the discomfort, his longing eyes fixed on my bottled water. Displaying generosity, I offer it to him, and he eagerly snatches it, gulping down its contents while I retrieve the fallen cigarette, a full smirk now gracing my face.
So, this is how it feels to be a voluntary asshole, huh?
"Enjoying it?"
Still drinking, Tyson vehemently shakes his head. With half the bottle already consumed, Tyson releases a silent belch and screws the cap back on. "That was-" Tyson clears his throat, his raspy voice regaining its smoothness. "That was really strong."
"It's actually just a little strong." Tyson watches as I take another puff, and I playfully tease him once more. "Wanna give it another go?"
He promptly raises his paw to ward off the offer. "No, thanks." Then, the conversation falls back into silence.
As Tyson aimlessly pokes around at the nachos with his plastic fork, lost in his own thoughts, I continue my smoking session, anticipating yet another predictable question from him. The silence drags on, and just when I begin to believe it will last an eternity, he finally breaks it with a new inquiry while I absentmindedly tinker with my phone. "So, how are you finding Monteverde so far?"
Aware that I can't respond with another goading quip, I simply answer without bothering to meet his gaze, "It's fine."
Tyson smacks his lips, contemplating how to keep the conversation going. "What about Juniper's Lookout? I go there sometimes."
"It's good." In truth, I secretly yearn for another scenic spot that isn't too far from the campus grounds, especially after what happened five days ago.
"Yeah, I know what you mean. The sight could've been better, but sometimes the stars are visible at midnight, though, so still not a bad spot at all." Tyson looks at me expectantly but is disheartened when he realizes that I'm still uninterested, absorbed in scrolling through my phone.
"So... How's your first day at HU?" The predictable question I've been anticipating finally escapes his lips.
"What do you think?" My words pierce through him like a dagger to the heart. That's when Tyson surrenders the superficial small talk and stops beating around the bush.
"Look, Sam. I'm- Can you just please look at me?" At this point, Tyson pleads for my attention. Despite my simmering anger, I shed my facade of indifference and give him my undivided focus, our eyes locking. "I know the last thing you want right now is to see my face, but you said you'd give me a chance to catch up with you, and that's why I'm here. Talking to you. Right here, right now. So, can we please have a conversation?"
Releasing a weary sigh, I lower my gaze and set aside my phone, stating, "Even if I said no, it's not like you'd leave me alone, would you?"
Tyson lets out a chuckle. "Yeah, no."
I cross my arms and shoot him a piercing glare. "Fine. Let's have a conversation then."
Tyson's demeanor takes a serious turn as he leans in, setting his nachos aside. "Listen," he begins, his tone sincere. "I want to apologize for everything. And before you interrupt, please let me finish." He moves to sit beside me, and feeling my boundary threatened, I grip the edge of the table, preparing myself for what he has to say.
Seated next to me, he continues his revelation, his words carrying the weight of his sincerity. "I need to be completely honest with you, Sam. I'm... I'm not the same tiger I used to be anymore. I-I am aware of the terrible things I've done to you, and I swear to God, every single day I try to become a better version of myself."
His words don't immediately soften my guarded expression, but I've implicitly promised to hear him out. "Go on."
"That encounter we had last Monday? That Monday hit me like a slap in the face, like life is reminding me that I'm... I'm just being a hypocrite, you know? And since then, I haven't been able to sleep properly. I even skipped my jogging routine twice! I sometimes find myself losing appetite, and my brain just... won't stop talking! I-It keeps replaying the same things over and over, like our last encounter, or our history or..." Tyson directs a guilt-ridden countenance at me. "Or you..."
Part of me is tempted to be callous and ask why I should even care, but instead, a wave of immense guilt replaces my initial intentions. Why? Because, like Tyson, I've been going through the same exhaustion, the same sleepless nights, and the same broken records. However, skepticism still lingers as I question Tyson, his genuine remorse etched on his face.
"What do you want from me, Ty?"
"I..." Tyson hesitates for a moment but then deflects his answer. "You know? When I visited Matty's dorm tonight, going to the mall wasn't exactly how I imagined things would end up." A rueful chuckle escapes his lips, his yellow eyes wistfully reminiscing the past before returning their gaze to mine. "But you know what? Even after everything... Even if you still hate my guts right now, I'm... I understand," he sighs, briefly closing his eyes, "because I— Because the truth is that I fucking miss you, dude. And I didn't even realize it until last Monday. I miss our friendship and our simple conversations... And I miss our... our stupid antics, a-and our banters, and our heartfelt conversations, and... Us! Dude, I can't stop missing us!" As he opens his eyes, vulnerability shines through.
But his words only make my sharp gaze remains steadfast on him. "So, what? I'm your inner demon, and now you want to conquer this demon so your life can go back to normal? Is that what it is?" I then bitterly laugh. "Cause— Cause you know damn well how much you've hurt me, and, what? You think this, whatever it is you're telling me right now, will make me want to be friends-ever-after with you suddenly? How are you even sure that... that it's sincerity coming out of your mouth and not guilt, huh? Because all I see right now is you looking so... so, sad and desperate trying to... to be... friends with me again! Like... Like you're fucking pitying me or something!"
Tyson sighs and woefully shakes his head. "What? No, Sam, you're in my mind, not because you're a demon in my life!" Tyson reaches out to touch my arm but hesitates, retracting his paw before making contact when he notices my chagrin. His voice then comes out more desperate. "You're in my mind because I forgot how much I've missed you, man."
I miserably scoff. "And what if I don't miss you?"
The tiger sitting before me, the same tiger who I never imagined would become a catalyst for my most agonizing memories, the tiger I believed would be there with me for an eternity, maintains his genuine smile, just like the day we first crossed paths at the park. "Then don't miss me!" Tyson's patience is faltering, but even so, even with all the resilient humiliations and verbal slaps I throw at him, Tyson doesn't give up easily. "But, please, for the love of God, let me miss you."
At that moment, my mind spins in turmoil. I can't decipher my emotions as they crash over me like a tidal wave. It's like drowning in a tumultuous sea, even though I know how to swim; the waves relentlessly toss me, no matter how hard I struggle, no matter how hard I flail my limbs. Tyson notices my bewilderment, and his keen eyes await any form of response from me. Amid the roiling tempest inside, Tyson whispers his final plea, "Please, give me a chance, Sam."
"I don't know, Ty," I say, my voice filled with uncertainty. A tear threatens to escape as I cast a deprecating glance at Tyson. "Because from where I stand, it seems like you're the one who can't let go of the past."
"Sam—"
"You know what? I need a fucking breather," I interrupt, raising a paw to stop him. Still unextinguished, I place my forgotten cigarette in the ashtray and storm off to find the bathroom, leaving Tyson behind to wrestle with his guilt. Not long after, in the solitude of the empty men's bathroom, I hide in the confines of a vacant stall. I latch the door behind me, taking a seat on the closed toilet lid. As I settle in, I become acutely aware of the trembling in my paws.
"It's just my first week here," I whisper, my voice strained and gravelly. "It's just my first fucking week here!" The weight of everything that has transpired is now crashing down on me. As tears stream down my voice, I mutter to myself like an old drunkard; like my mom. Memories of my parents' patterned fights resurface, and I was suddenly a helpless child caught in the middle.
There, my father stormed out of the house in frustration, leaving me alone in the lurch of my bedroom after I refused to join him. Meanwhile, right outside my bedroom door, my drunk mother's voice echoed, calling out to me in a voice so delicate, her back leaning against the locked door: "Come and sit with me, Sammy."
"Stop... shaking..." I implore myself, but my breathing becomes more erratic, my body wracked with more sobs. Time stands still as the world around me blurs into a distorted mess, my thoughts overwhelming my senses, my tears obscuring my vision. In the midst of the disorientation, I can hear my mother's weakened, hoarse voice whispering to me just right outside the bathroom stall...
"Come and sit with me, Sammy."
"Stop!" My hurting chest keeps breathing in and out shallow breaths. "Stop it!"
"I'll tell you how it feels to be like me."
"STOP!"
*****
Tyson
Four minutes tick by, dragging on as Samuel storms off into the bathroom, abandoning me in his wake. His abandoned cigarette sits on the ashtray, slowly extinguishing itself, while I dispose of the leftover ashes that cling to it. My nachos, devoured by the pit of my stomach, are now nothing but a memory. Yet, the only thing that remains is the knot in my stomach, urging me to seek out Samuel and check on him.
No longer having the patience, I quickly text Matty, notifying him that I'll be in the closest bathroom near the food court if he needs to find me. Clutching Samuel's water bottle, I depart from the smoking area and embark on my quest to locate the nearest public restroom. It takes less than a minute for my eyes to lock onto a dangling sign.
Stepping into the corridor, my senses sharpen. A startled coyote, all limbs and surprise, scurries past me, fleeing from the male restroom at the corridor's end. Each footfall carries me forward, my ears straining to catch even the faintest of sounds.
And then, it comes: Samuel's anguished cries, reverberating through the bathroom's walls.
Entering the spacious facility, my attention is immediately drawn to a securely locked stall nestled at the furthest corner. It doesn't take a detective to deduce that Samuel resides within, his sobs echoing within the confines of the enclosure.
"Samuel?" I call out, edging closer to the stall.
"GET OUT!" His voice pierces the air, startling me.
"I-It's me, Ty—"
"GET! OUT!" His demand resounds once more, leaving me rooted to the spot, unsure of how to proceed.
What should I do, what should I do, what should I do?!
The weight of guilt, Samuel's heart-wrenching sobs, and the nonstop questions running amok in my mind bear down on me. In the end, I find myself sitting just a couple of feet away from Samuel's stall, defeated and confused, my gaze fixed on the closed bathroom stall behind which Samuel seeks refuge.
Back then, I knew how to act. I knew how to bring solace and happiness to Samuel. I knew how to be his pillar of support. But now? Now, uncertainty clouds my judgment. Now, I'm no longer the person he turns to for comfort. Now, only doubts gnaw at me.
Was I truly there for Samuel in the past, or was I merely another pitying observer, a hypocritical presence in his life?
Seated there, drowning in a sea of self-loathing, time stretches mercilessly. But then, the bathroom stall door swings open, revealing Samuel's disheveled figure. His once fiery voice now falls silent, replaced by bloodshot, swollen eyes and a vacant stare. My hopes surge as our eyes meet. "Sam?"
Samuel remains silent, moving past me toward the sink. Methodically, he washes his face, then his eyes, as if trying to cleanse away the remnants of his anguish. Deep breaths and rapid blinks punctuate his attempt to regain composure. Eventually, a faint plastic smile graces his reflection in the mirror. Shaking off the excess water, he wipes his face with his shirt. I watch the whole ritual unfold, my own words caught in a web of uncertainty.
With his self-soothing routine complete, Samuel turns his attention back to me. With a raspy voice, he speaks, "Let's get out of here before someone else comes."
Initially, I anticipate further dialogue from Samuel, but as he moves to leave, I swiftly rise from the floor, realizing that his bottled water still rests in my grasp. Hastily, I jog up to him, calling his name. To my surprise, when Samuel faces me, the indifferent facade he wore earlier has melted away.
I extend the bottle of water to him. "Here, uh, your water."
Samuel gazes at the bottle for a moment before accepting it. "Thanks," he murmurs before redirecting his focus ahead.
I want to ask if he's alright, but doubt lingers, uncertain if my voice is welcome at this moment. Instead, I choose to silently trail behind him as we retrace our steps to the smoking area. There, we encounter an enthusiastic Matty approaching in our direction, a small shopping bag in tow. "Oh, hey, guys!"
Samuel gestures toward the bag. "What's that?"
"Just a cap," Matty responds casually.
Playing along, I chime in, "Since when do you start wearing caps?"
Matty rolls his eyes. "Since today? Duh?"
"You're always impulsive, you know that?" Samuel chuckles, or at least attempts to. His true emotions elude my grasp.
Matty grins, unfazed. "And proud of it."
A small smile creeps onto my face while Samuel lets out a mock groan. Matty then shifts gears. "By the way, you guys heading back to the smoking area?"
"Yeah, why?" Samuel replies.
Matty squints his eyes, exchanging knowing glances between Samuel and me. "Wait a minute... Have you guys... patched things up?"
My mandible tightens, and my gaze sharpens at Matty's words. I prepare myself to conjure up excuses, but Samuel beats me to it, offering Matty a gentle smile. "Well, sort of." Caught off guard, I'm left uncertain, grappling with the nature of our current connection.
"Hmm... Just like that?" Matty furrows his brow, skepticism etching its way onto his face.
Stunned, I stand there, searching for words, as Samuel takes charge of the conversation. "I said sort of."
Matty studies both Samuel and me, perplexed. "O...kay..." He clears his throat, sensing that something is amiss. "Um, how about we ditch the smoke and not suffocate ourselves further and try the arcade instead? Sound good?"
Samuel wastes no time in responding. "Sure. Come on, Ty." My name on Samuel's lips sends a surge of tension through me.
"O-Okay?" I stutter, falling into step beside Samuel as we follow Matty, who enthusiastically outlines his plans to visit the mall more often. Thoughts of our encounter in the men's bathroom and Samuel's sudden amicability toward me fill my mind. I choose to maintain the facade of friendship, assuming that Samuel is making an effort to keep Matty uninvolved in this... whatever it may be.
The arcade isn't overly crowded as we arrive, but there are enough people occupying enough machines. Matty and I split the bill for a MegaPass deal, each contributing fifteen dollars to treat Samuel, who initially refuse our offer. With our transactions settled, we set off to explore the arcade. Our first stop is the Skee-Ball machine, where we manage to accumulate 30 tickets through our combined efforts. Next up is a claw machine, and it's Samuel who takes the lead, claiming to know a little secret. True to his word, he successfully secures a fish plushie with a beaming smile on the third attempt. Putting the plushie inside Matty's shopping bag, Matty can't help but inquire about Samuel's technique, prompting an explanation involving a "maintenance mode" hack.
Satisfied with our winnings, we move on to try a zombie rail-shooter game, taking turns as Samuel and I engage in the gameplay. I can't help but feel nostalgic as Samuel plays next to me, making me wonder where the anguished Samuel from earlier is. After multiple attempts, the three of us falter and fail to progress past the third level.
At that moment, Matty's attention is suddenly drawn to a high striker machine not far from the machine, and he exclaims his desire to witness my skills in action. "Hey, Mr. Jock, maybe it's time to show off those ripped muscles!"
A blush creeps up my cheeks as I spit, "Matt?!" Thankfully, my fur conceals the embarrassment. I steal a glance at Samuel, who appears engrossed in his phone.
"Or perhaps you're just all talk," Matty mocks, striding towards the high striker machine. Tapping his card on the reader, he playfully nudges me aside from the front of the machine. "Move over, Senior." He sets down his shopping bag and grips the mallet firmly. With a poised stance, he swings the mallet, striking the bell as it reaches the third-tier Mighty Mauler. Matty lets out a groan of dissatisfaction, setting the mallet down. "I could have done better than that."
In that moment, a surge of competitiveness courses through me, and I seize the opportunity to challenge Matty's previous remark. "Like this?" I boldly replace Matty, forcefully pushing him aside as I snatch the mallet from the ground. Ensuring my stance and grip are impeccable, I strike the bell with precision. Triumphantly, I surpass Matty's performance, achieving a maximum fifth-tier Unstoppable Crusher. Adopting a knightly pose, palm resting on the mallet pole and the mallet head on the floor, I boast, "Just another day's work." Matty stands there, mouth agape, while Samuel... is smiling, though I'm uncertain if it's genuine.
"You must be cheating," Matty playfully taunts, smirking as he crosses his arms. "Well, if calling strength and honest work cheating is your definition, then maybe I am." Winking at Matty, I revel in his loud groan of defeat. Chuckling, I drop the mallet to the ground. Maintaining our friendly charade in front of Matty, I turn to Samuel, catching him off guard as I suddenly ask, "You wanna give it a try, Sam?"
An apprehensive Samuel immediately declines. "Nah, thanks."
"A'ight, sure," I casually reply, approaching Matty, who observes the scene unfolding. "Hey, let's give the air hockey a shot."
Matty's ears perk up. "And watch you lose because of my superior paws? Hell yeah!"
The three of us make our way to the air hockey table, where Matty taps his card to start the game. However, just as Matty and I are about to take our positions, a light bulb goes off in Matty's mind. "How about we battle each other first, make it a competition? The winner gets free drinks - or food - afterward?"
We exchange glances, and Samuel stammers, "S-Sure, why not, right?"
"Yes! Free drinks for me!" Matty exclaims, eagerly assuming his position without bothering to ask who should go first. With one spot left unoccupied, Sammy — I mean, Samuel... and I share awkward glances, but Samuel speaks up first. "You... go ahead, Ty."
"Oh, okay." I take my place on the opposite side.
With the puck in Matty's possession, he places it on the table, grinning at me. "Ready to lose, Senior?"
I mirror his expression. "You still can back down, you know?"
Matty chuckles. "And lose the chance to embarrass you? Not a chance." And so, the competition commences.
After several intense minutes filled with a mix of curses, laughter, and competitive turns, Matty emerges as the ultimate victor of the game. I fall short against Matty and Samuel, who in turn falls to Matty's skillful play. Matty revels in his victory, exclaiming like an excited child and drawing the attention of those around us. "I told you I'll embarrass y'all!"
Samuel can't help but comment, "I never pegged you for the competitive type." However, his words are lost amidst Matty's jubilation.
I decide to answer it for him. "Nah, the man just doesn't like embarrassing himself." Samuel is once again caught off guard by my sudden remark, but he nods in acknowledgment. "I can see that," he simply replies. Deep down, I wish for this facade of friendliness between Samuel and me to endure for a while. However, I realize that it's only a matter of time before Samuel drops the charade completely.
As we exit the arcade, it's approximately 8:45 PM, and we make our way back to the bustling food court. Matty takes the lead in choosing his desired food stall, his indecisiveness evident as he flits between different options. Eventually, I treat Matty to a refreshing bubble tea while Samuel treats him to a small falafel wrap. "We should definitely give air hockey another go sometime," Matty playfully teases, taking a satisfying bite of his falafel wrap as soon as we take our seats in the indoor area.
"You know I was just going easy on you, right?" I challenge him.
"Aww, the hamartia of the campus' beloved QB is finally revealed. Sounds like a sensational headline, doesn't it?" Matty taunts, and I flip him the middle claw.
"Since we're roomies, maybe I'll manipulate you into exposing your weaknesses, so I can use them against you in our future gaming sessions," Samuel jests, his gestures resembling that of a deceitful villain.
"Trust me, I'll do the same to you," Matty replies, and laughter fills the air.
Deep down, uncertainty gnaws at me. I question the authenticity of the laughter Samuel and I share, unsure if this friendly charade between us is a genuine reflection of our feelings or, well... that: merely a facade. I'm torn between liking and hating this charade, and I wonder if Samuel feels the same.
What I am certain of, however, is that as soon as my car arrives at the campus dorm around 9:30 PM and Matty and Samuel step out to return to the residence hall, I wish to understand what it's like to be in Samuel's shoes...
...just so these thoughts inside my head stop tormenting me.[]