waste away - blackbear
I don't dream at night. I dream all day. The four walls of my apartment seem to absorb my thoughts, because they grow dark. I'm exaggerating, it's the sun and the clouds out the window. I play music. Or maybe the music plays me, I don't know. I open my laptop. My fingers become dirty crooks in an alleyway, beating up the poor innocent keys to death.
It's been a long time since I transcribed my mind down.
To be truthful, I haven't seen Jacob in a while. Hence, my lack of... inspiration. But I'm not one to go look for people. So, I put up with the suffocation. I've also sat down to watch too many k-dramas.
I pull my earlobe, bored. Smoke hisses out the toaster when I look at it.
I call Étienne, "Étienne! Your toast."
He lunges out the bathroom, not yet dry from his godlessly early morning shower.
"Merde!" he swears and hits the toast out of torture zone.
It's unsalvageable. So is the time of morning.
"Why don't you make pancakes?" because that's what I want.
"I have practice," he sighs.
He turns to the fruit bowl and grabs a spotty banana. He goes back to finish dressing or whatever men do in the bathroom. The moment he comes back in the open, I point at his head.
"I bet your coach and teammates all laugh at you in the locker room," I say to him. He looks at me weird like I said something weird. "Go get a haircut."
It's an awkward long. It's not sexy Harry Styles style. It's just unruly and thick.
He rolls his eyes, which I thought would blind him.
"Alright, alright."
"Also, take out the garbage."
"You might want to wear something different, if I put you on the curb. They might mistake you for recycling."
Immediately, I throw a pillow at him, yet missed to my misfortune.
"Watch yourself, huh. I'll throw your stuff outside and burn it. I'm crazy."
He dismisses my threat by laughing. He then grabs his old stink-up gym bag and pushes his feet in his shoes. I find a pair of sunglasses and tie my hair. We walk out the door together.
It' somewhat sunny. It's somewhat quiet. I stuff my crippled hands in my bomber jacket pockets.
"I'm glad school's over," I say, tasting the ray of sunshine on my lips.
"Yeah," he sighs.
"It's a perfect day to eat sushi," I say.
"I don't know how you can eat that stuff."
"Then you'll never know true happiness," I tell him.
I take his basketball from him and dribble on the sidewalk.
"Watch this," I pass it under my legs.
Étienne only knows how to laugh, "Fail."
"You don't know a pro athlete when you see one," I throw back his ball at him.
Once we reach the court, I notice that a bunch of female predators have already installed themselves on the bleachers. I sit near the edge to avoid them. They seem to be auditioning for Basketball Wives TV show by painting nails and chatting on phones. The men on the court are topless and run in bright coloured sneakers. All I see are running built abs machines. The bumpy in and out factor of their bodies are drool worthy, but I swallow my saliva and behave like a good girl should.
Étienne drops his stink bag by my feet, as if I agreed to guard it. Then, right in front of me, he strips his shirt off. Just like that. In my face. I'm forced to catch his t-shirt.
"If I'm going to sit here, you owe me sushi for lunch."
"Alright," he says, flexing his tendons.
"And don't sweat so much. I don't want to smell you."
"Alright."
"And win, because I don't like those girls."
"It's just practice," he reminds me.
I give him an 'I don't care' face. He walks over to the court and joins his fellow men. I glance behind me where the girly girls sit. One is blotting her foundation. I hope the sun moves nearer to the earth, so she could melt. They have more tits than interest in their boyfriends' sportsmanship. Étienne's not my boyfriend, but I decide that he'd look superior if he had someone actually cheering him on, even if it's practice. So I throw a 'go Étienne' every five to ten minutes. It helps me not to fall asleep as well. Every shot he makes, I clap noisily. My fingers still hurt from typing stuff earlier, but I take the pain.
Minutes after, I lose count of the score, and more minutes after the match ends, I stand up to stretch my legs. Any more minutes that would've passed by, I would've missed seeing the girl who walked up to Étienne. She did it quite swiftly too. If I'm not mistaken, I believe her to be his ex-girlfriend. I try to read their lips, though I don't have on my glasses. He nods a few times. Then she walks away and he walks to the benches where I am.
"You could have made more shots," I say, looking unimpressed.
He doesn't say anything, nor does he look at me. Now I'm dead curious as to what he talked about with his ex.
"What did she say?" I flatly ask.
I get his attention. He pats his sweaty head with his shirt.
"Nothing," he answers, cutting my nosiness into thin slices.
I spin and walk off, "You're no fun anymore."
He walks behind me. I don't get why his mood just drastically change every time his ex enters the picture.
"I'm just tired," he says.
I look behind my shoulder.
"You can't be too tired to laugh at my jokes."
He gives me a short smile. I can see it in his face—he's distracted still.
"Do you still love her?" I ask, walking backwards to face him.
His eyes cast down to the pavement.
"No," he says.
The clouds fill the silence. Sometimes we walk in the sun. Other times we walk in the shadow of tall buildings.
"I've never fallen in love," I claim, "So, I can't relate to you."
He's still quiet.
·•●⦁·
Étienne hits the shower first. I open my macbook. Every time I read roommate stories, my head says 'uh, no, that doesn't even happen'. I turn on my music and listen to some Nylo. Alex rings me.
"Aloha," I chant.
"What's up?"
"Bored. I spent my stupid day at the basketball court—with Étienne, right? I cheered him on, like forever, and he didn't even say think you."
"Poor you," she laughs at me.
"No, seriously. Next time, I'm coming by you."
"That's nice. Can I tell you something weird?" she asks.
"You always say something weird."
She giggles, "Yeah, but this is, like... You're not going to like this."
I pout, "What is it?"
"I met up with Tomas today..."
"Oh, no. Here we go," I roll my eyes.
"No! Listen! Listen!" she squeals, "Okay, listen."
"I'm listening," I say, picking my dry lips.
"He brought me over to his place, and like, we kissed."
I yap, "Oka-ay!"
"But then, like," she lowers he voice, "He fingered me."
I scowl, "Alex! What?! No!"
"I know, I know. It just happened, okay. It was good, though."
"Ew-a! You promised we were going to stay virgins. Backstabber."
She laughs some more, "I still am, man."
"Yeah, until tomorrow," I kick my legs in the air, "When you get a booty call!"
She keeps giggling. Now, I envy her.
"How deep?" I ask.
"Not far," she replies, "He just put his hands down my pants."
"Hm. Orgasm?"
"No-o."
I laugh this time with her.
"You're like way ahead of me. How am I supposed to catch up? I don't even have a boyfriend."
"What about Jacob? You talked about him last time."
"No, he's a player," I sigh, stretching my body on my bed.
"Oh. I'll be your boyfriend, then," she sets.
"Thanks," I say, "But I don't want to make Tomas jealous. I'll come over tomorrow and you have to tell me everything."
"It's a date," she blows kisses through the phone.
I hang up and plug my phone in, before it dies. I move my laptop off the bed. I forget the specific time and draw the blinds shut, chasing away night's voyeurs. I jump on the bed again and collapse on my back and roll on my back.
In grade 9, a girl I knew was fingering herself in the detention room, which is usually empty, until she got caught by the music teacher. Although he was younger, he was definitely a pervert. She said he just put his hands up her skirt and continued for her. I didn't know how much of it was true, but learned something new. They never gave sex ed in my school. I don't know how it works. I don't know the mechanics of it. I only have a vague fantasy to go off of... and the kinky Harry Styles stories I've read overtime.
The bathroom door opens. I stick my hand in my shorts and play pretend.
"Mm-uh," I moan quietly, closing my eyes.
I do like I'm out of breath and breathe heavily. I hear Étienne's footsteps. I slightly lift my knee.
"That sounds so fake."
I frown and pull my hand out my shorts. I sit up and open my eyes. Etienne is at the dresser, pulling on a t-shirt.
"How would you know?" I ask, feeling defeated.
"It just does," he comments.
"Have you been with so many girls that you can tell the difference?"
He gives me a weird look.
Then I ask, "Seriously, I don't understand. How can you tell?"
"It's just... you," he shrugs his shoulders, grabbing his phone.
He pushes my leg and settles on my bed. I widen my eyes.
"What is that supposed to mean?!" I yell.
He checks his Facebook or whatever.
"You know..." he doesn't finish.
Now I'm irritated.
I repeat, nudging his arm, "What's that supposed to mean?"
He drops his phone to the side and sighs.
"You're inexperienced."
"I don't know what you're talking about. I have full of experience," I lift my chin.
"You're inexperienced."
"Okay, so what?" I snap, hitting him with my pillow.
"So you wouldn't sound like that."
This conversation is silly, but I feel the need to have it.
"What am I suppose to sound like? Like this?" I ask. I wave my hands around and voice a higher pitch, "Uh-uh-uh!"
Étienne laughs at me.
"Is that what your girlfriend sound like?" I pout.
He holds his stomach from laughing too hard, "Why do you keep bringing her up? I'm starting to think you're in love with her."
"I might. She's got a big butt," I act macho. "And I'm sure she'd do a better job than you ever could."
His brows shoot up to the ceiling.
"Oh yeah," I say as a matter of fact. I get all up in his grill and add, "And while she's pumping me fast and hard, she'll tell me about all the times you never satisfied her."
His foot pushes me off the bed. I shriek and laugh.
"Idiot!" I leap to attack him with my own feet.
We try pushing each other off the bed. I lose miserably.
"First of all," he holds my ankles hostage, "She's out of your league."
"Pff, your face is out of my league."
I try to step on his face. Then, my jam comes on the speakers.
"Wait! Wait, that's my song."
He lets me go. I tap the volume higher on Relapse by Bassy. The neighbors would complain.
"I'm trying to hit it one more time!" I sing along.
·•●⦁·
"I feel like everyone's going to laugh at me," Étienne voices his concern.
I pass the fine tooth comb through his hair and start a new braid. His disheveled hair was getting on my nerves. I had to do something about it.
"No one's going to laugh," I reassure him.
"Why do you have to pull so hard?"
"Could you stop? I'm almost done," I glower.
"You said that half and hour ago..."
"Do you want to look beautiful?"
His face stretches into a smile, "Yeah."
"Then you got to take the pain."
He sighs, shifting on the floor. It makes me let go of the braid, which goes undone. I groan in frustration. I hold his head in place with my knees.
"Quit moving," I order and start again.
"Sorry," he says, tiredly.
I tilt his head to the side to finish up and notice his right ear piercing. I pass my finger over it.
"How long have you had that?" I question.
"What?"
"Your earing."
He shrugs, "A while."
"I've never noticed. See why you need to cut your hair. You resemble a neanderthal."
He grins, half sleeping. I set the small rubber elastic band over the last braid. I sigh and run my hands down his fresh cornrows.
"You're welcome," I stress.
"Thanks," he passes his hand over his head, too.
I scoot to my side of the bed. Étienne gets up and walks over the fridge. He grabs a water bottle to drink. I'm thirsty as well, but I'm too lazy to stand. Also, I'm hot from my wrestling match and dancing number.
"Turn off the light," I remind him, as I fluff my pillow.
He does and comes onto the bed. I take the opportunity to snag his bottle from his hand and chug some cool water. He tries to pull it back, making water drip out my mouth and on the sheets. I wipe my mouth and laugh.
"Why do you always have to do that?" he groans.
I lie down, refreshed. He does the same. It's so quiet that I can hear the magnetic field of the universe. At times, my heartbeat gets in the mix.
"Étienne," I whisper.
"Sisi," he calls.
"Are you getting back with her?"
I guess that's what's been truly bothering me.
"I... don't know," he answers honestly, "Why?"
My mouth is dry all over again.
"Because I'd get really jealous."
"I can give you her number and hook you two up," he cracks a joke.
I send my arm flying to hit him. Hitting someone in the dark is the hardest thing to do successfully.
"I'm being serious," I whine.
Then it falls quiet again.
"Why would you be jealous?" he asks.
I sigh and mumble incoherently, "I don't know. I have issues. I've gotten so used to you."
"And?"
I murmur, "And you'll stop paying attention to me."
"What's going to happen if I get a new girlfriend?"
"She'll mysteriously go missing after a day or two."
He laughs a bit.
I remind him, "You think I'm joking. I told you I'm crazy."
·•●⦁·