A/N: Hello, hello. I wrote this chapter hungover. Five chapters to go. I've cried about the ending of this book numerous times in the last week.
So chapter 36 night not be here for a few days, because it's ridiculously important and heartfelt and shit, okay? And the only reason I update practically everyday is because I have nothing else to do.
I'll edit later yay c:
***
The thought of love kept resurfacing in my head over and over for the next two weeks, and I honestly felt like I was going to explode with fear. There's nothing more terrifying than coming to terms with your feelings for someone, and I wanted to know if it was too soon to fall in love. I don't think there was a choice now, or a way around any of this, and I didn't want to scream it from the rooftops as much as I wanted to scream it to Josh.
Because (according to what I wanted to believe), he was still here. He was here for me, and trying to help, and maybe he was just playing a more significant part in the ruin of my life, and I was having an issue, but so was he. It wasn't fair of me to think about just myself in this situation, and that's what I've been doing.
It's like the two of us were in a play, and the play was centered around the complete and utter destruction of my life, and he was the main character without even meaning to be. And he talks about being something with bad intentions, but he isn't when it comes to me. He's sweet. He's sweet and brilliant and absolutely radiant, and I don't think I'll ever have a chance to take back anything he's ever contributed to my life. And I don't want to take any of it back.
That's the most frustrating part. I was sitting on my couch again, in nothing but sweatpants, and I had a water bottle in my hand, and I was trying to realize what I wanted. Because, was I lying when I expressed my desire for sex? Absolutely not. But was I terrified of admitting the fact that I might be in love with him? Oh my god, yes. I didn't even know what love was, and I couldn't handle this. I'm not saying I wasn't scared to have sex with him, because I was beyond terrified of that, but discovering my emotions was somehow worse.
I just didn't feel cut out for this. Was I strong enough for this? Because love, and decent feelings aren't my forte, and I wasn't going to sit here and act like it was. I didn't even know how to feel about my own mother, and if I should love anyone, it would be her.
Her and I were supposed to spend the day together tomorrow, because she's letting me take another day off of school. It was Sunday, and I haven't been to school all week. It's been three weeks since I've last seen Josh, even when I went to school, and I missed him like the ocean missed it's fish. It's just that I felt so at home with him, and now that he was away, it felt like I was, too.
I sighed deeply, the feeling producing a deep ache in my lungs. It felt like there was knives in the both of them, so that they were punctured, and on the verge of collapsing, but they just wouldn't. I really, really wish they would, honestly. I didn't want to have to deal with this anymore, and I didn't know how long I was entitled to drowning, and choking, before I actually drowned, and I actually choked.
The TV was on, but muted, and I watched some terrible reality show play out. I tried to focus on the makeup, and the blurring of mouths when a curse word was used, and I couldn't believe how much I wanted to be with Josh right now. God, the time that I've known him has felt like an eternity. A lifetime. But, adding it up, it's been around four months, and my body was so drained from all of it.
I love Josh.
I love the way he walks, and the feeling of his hands, and the look in his eyes when he's uncomfortable. And I love the sound of his voice in his car, and the way his touch feels in the dark. I love his stupid hair, and his music taste, and the way his shoulders look in sweaters, and the crease between his eyebrows. I love the way he always tastes like sugar and ice cream and hope, and how he smells like smoke, and looks like summer and acts like winter. He feels like ice when you first come into contact with him, and then he melts in your hand.
I was holding onto a pillow so tightly,
I wondered if it was possible for my arms to snap in half, and it's been three weeks since I've seen Josh, and I love him. For the love of everything that ever mattered, he was the most important thing in my life, and I just wanted him to come back. I wanted to be able to run my fingers over his eyebrows, and trace his jaw, and his collar bone, and look at him, and tell him everything I probably should have said, instead of acting like a psychopath.
I've never had a reason to cry over a boy, and, until now, I never understand the appeal. I'd read books and watch movies about people that lose their minds over stupid relationships, and I never thought that it would happen to me, because having someone mean so much to me was something from a bitter and hazy dream that I never actually wanted to come true. But now, I felt like I could write my own book about the feeling in my gut, because it was quite possibly one of the worst things on earth.
It was like someone was repeatedly tapping on a screen, and had been for goodness knows how long. And they were just working down at my sanity, completely and totally behind the scenes. I could feel it, but I didn't know who it was, and before, I was cracking and splintering, and now I was shattering. I was showering into a million pieces of nothing but trash, and my slow heartbeat was the soundtrack to all of it. Paired, of course, with Josh basically telling me to get out of his house.
I just didn't understand why people don't think the worst kind of pain was constant. Yes, it is. Because the worst things in the world are always the things to happen, it would make sense for the most excruciating, to feel the most everlasting. Like this. I knew the fact that it was all going to dull one way or another, but it didn't seem like it was.
My tears stained the material I had cradled in my arms, but I refused to shut my eyes. I didn't want to fall asleep until it was time to, and it was only four in the afternoon. I could wait.
~~~
The day with my mom was spent at the mall, and in a food court.
I had bags under my eyes, my hand shook with constant tremors, and I felt like a natural disaster. If anyone ever asked me if there was life after Josh Dun, I don't know what I would tell them. A part of me had to believe there was, and another part of me knew there might not be. The last part of me, didn't want to be at the point where I needed to find out.
It was a slow and constant ache in my shoulders and in my stomach, and and my head bloomed with exhaustion. My mom and I didn't speak about anything touchy (examples include: my depression, sexuality, religion, or Josh), so we mostly just talked about school. That was one of the only things her and I could discuss in a civil manner now days, because things still haven't been patched up very well. Honestly, things like this tore rifts across the entire expanse of a family, and that's what it did to the two of us. We were already a damaged pair of people, and that didn't help.
And the thing about being so involved in this, was that I didn't do any school work. Literally at all. Despite what you may think, that's incredibly difficult to do. I haven't even looked at an assignment since the second week of moving to this stupid city of Columbus, Ohio, and I regret that a lot. A lot.
I have a lot of C's, and that's just because of the work I did during the first time Josh disappeared. It was all during the middle of the night, and the quality was awful. Still, I was very near failing, according to my mom, and I didn't know why she thought that. I was passing, wasn't I?
"So, do you have any projects or anything coming up?" She asked me, stirring her drink lightly.
I almost laughed at her question. Even if I did, I wouldn't know. "No."
"I don't ever see you do homework," she observed, shaking her head. "So where is all of it?"
My eyes were always focused on things that didn't even mattered, and my gaze ghosted over little kids tugging on their parents clothing and teenagers with awkward hands, and employees with bored faces, and I looked down at my table, sighing.
"Mom, look. I'm passing." I laughed. "I'm not going to fail."
~~~
I could have decided not to go to school the next day, but I probably never would have been able to stop the social worker from calling Child Protection Services on my mom if I hadn't shown up.
Almost as soon as I got in the building, Mrs. Brenlin wanted to see me, just as much as I didn't want to see her. I almost felt like she waiting by the door, but it didn't matter, because now I was in her office instead of first period. But there was new person here, with big hair and small lips, and my heart caught in my throat, because she was a social worker.
"Hi," she introduced herself, coming forward to stand in front of me. "I'm Mrs. Lunsner, but you can call me Abigail, if you want."
I didn't want to. At all.
"I'm a social worker, and I just want to talk to you about some things."
My head was spinning.
"How are things at home?"
No.
"Who do you live with?"
No.
"It's okay. You can answer. Everything is confidential."
Confidential between who? And who even are you?
"Why are you absent so often, Tyler?"
Then, it was Mrs. Brenlin. "Maybe we should let him breathe," she suggested. "He looks like he's gonna be sick, and I just got new carpets in here last year."
I thought: I'm going to puke.
I thought: Why am I not puking?
I thought: Now I'm puking.
Somehow, they could see it coming. A trashcan was thrown under my nose, and I held it with both of my quivering hands, and maybe this is what happens when everything eventually attempts to flush itself out of your body. It was a painful and annoying and forceful kind of vomiting, and tears streamed down and into the hollow of my cheekbones, which were now very prominent. It was a miracle I had much to vomit up, but, somehow, I did. Of course I did.
~~~
During lunch, I hid in a supply closest and tried to be as quiet as possible. It wasn't really difficult, for obvious reasons, and I just sat in the corner, one knee pulled up to my chest, and the other leg shifting from left to right. The single movement helped to keep me occupied while I sat there, and waited for class to start again.
I wasn't allowed to leave the school without a note or anything, or they would be forced to call the police on my mom. Too many absences apparently raises a lot of suspicion among faculty members, and it doesn't help that I looked sad most of the time. The point is, everything terrible was most definitely taking place right now, and I would love to say it was all Josh's fault, but it really isn't.
I vaguely remember promising myself not to let him mean anything significant to me, yet, here I was, sitting next to a broom with inaudible tears spilling onto my face. Because he wasn't at school. God, if that wasn't pathetic, I didn't know what was anymore. Honestly, I didn't know anything. My hands didn't even feel like they belonged to me every time I tried to wipe my face, and I just felt so incredibly weak and fragile and out of it.
It was like I was in a river and trying to swim, and I'm finally treading until something tries to drag me back down. And that thing is always Josh. Whether it be his absence, or his presence, I was drowning almost effortlessly in it.
And maybe this is the product of tornadoes and hurricanes, and I couldn't believe I let it get this far, but I couldn't imagine stopping it.
***
A/N: I needed this chapter (the first part mostly), to make the fact that Josh isn't putting Tyler together again very obvious. Just because Josh is there, and makes Tyler happy, doesn't mean he's fixing him. In fact, sometimes, he makes things worse. If that doesn't make sense, don't stress. I'll give a full explanation when this story is actually done, and now I'm actively pouting about it.