That same day . . .
Seth
The light filtering through the curtains is peaceful and fuzzy, and the atmosphere of the room is comfortable. Noon's heat is finally starting to lose its edge, and even the slightest of breezes have started to pick up. Over all I can't describe the day as anything but drowsy and pleasant so far, but considering I haven't gotten out of bed yet, there's no guarantee it'll stay that way.
Sadly, it's these nice, lazy days like these that remind me I'm really alive. It may sound quite upside down, and maybe I just think too much, but for some reason these days always remind me of how everything happening to me isn't a dream, and that I really do exist on this Earth. I can't help but think about how, no matter what I do, life will continue to go on around me, and time will continue to flow. It's days like these that remind me of my choice in if I want to create a ripple in that flow.
My choice: I can go out today and do what I want, affect other people's lives as I just go about living mine, or I can choose to stay here and do nothing. I won't be affecting anyone else, and I won't be bothering humankind with my possible dangers. But... I don't want to do that.
It's selfish, I know, but I just... don't want to live my life like that. There's one thing that's keeping me from that life, or rather, one person. Because of him I want to live, I want to go out into the world and do everything I can, I want to live life to the fullest. But I can't.
But just because he's always there in the back of my mind, reminding me of the life I could have, doesn't mean I can have it yet. I'm not entitled to a slice of a perfect life like all these other humans—people—are, and I'm still trying to figure out how I can fit into their world without messing it up for them.
It's all very complicated, and I wish it wasn't so, but I don't know any way around the issue. I am the way I am, and today is just the way it is: another one of those days. I think I just think too much.
I guess you could say I don't like these recollective days, they're always the days that spark too much thought, which in turn leads to yet another one of my existential crises. Unfortunately, or maybe actually rather fortunately, I get over these almost as quickly as they come, and my bouts of depression last only as long as the lazy days that bring them.
Even so, I can tell I'm on the verge of another sad, lonely day without any productivity on my part, but I still can't find it in myself to move. What's the point, when there's nothing for me to do anyway? It's not like I can go see him or anything, and I still even have a few more hours before I'll have get up to go get something to eat.
But then, I do want to go see him today. It's always in the back of my mind, that tiny little longing to be with him, and I can never fully get rid of it. Rather, it likes to grow the longer I'm away from him, my human, and despite my best efforts I'm never able to fully satisfy it. You'd think over the years I'd have learned that constantly watching him without him knowing is not appropriate behavior in this society, and believe me, I've learned, but I've just learned how to get around it rather than to not do it.
I know now how it's best not to follow him for more that three days in a row, and I've learned where I can loiter around and the places where I can't. If being inconspicuous is an art, I've probably mastered it by now. But even so, on my own I'm usually pretty suspicious-looking just because of my appearance, which can't be helped, despite my best efforts! So I can't really get that close to him, and it doesn't help that I can't let him see me either. I know it's been years since we last actually spoke with each other, and I know even now he still probably won't want to see me.
On top of this, I've always assumed that he'd recognize me right away if he did see me, and I know he won't be happy to see me. That constant fear of seeing his horror at recognizing me, or seeing how upset he'd be if I suddenly showed up in his life, that fear is what keeps me distanced from him. Everything else is less important, and I'd gladly throw with caution to the wind, but I just can't. Not when I know he doesn't want to see me. Not when I know he never wants to see me again.
My throat constricts at the memory, as I'm reminded of his last words to me before I ran from him, and again I'm left with so much regret I don't know what to do with myself. I shouldn't have left him, after all these years I know that leaving him was the worst thing I've ever done. Especially when he was like that, he was so upset, I should have stayed anyway, even if he was furious with me. He needed someone to comfort him, and he had no one for a whole two hours. By the time his father finally made it to the hospital I'd been so terrified, because he already looked broken.
I squeeze my eyes shut tighter in a futile attempt to banish the memories, and I curl up into an even tighter ball on the bed. He seems to have healed so much in this time, I'm happy beyond words that he doesn't seem still depressed or broken about it, but sometimes I can't help but notice the little cracked twinge that will always be there for him, just hidden behind his eyes whenever he gets too upset. I don't know if anyone else has noticed, but I have.
I don't like this. I don't like how I have to live my life: silent and out of his. I like to tell myself sometimes that he's forgotten me, that he's moved on, but I know in those moments when I see him truly upset that it isn't the case. I can convince myself all I want, but I know Joshua hasn't forgotten me.
The name brings a fresh pain to my heart, and I groan as I finally uncurl myself and lay back against the bed. Every time I really think about him I get this feeling, like my heart is being squeezed by an icy tight grip and I can't breathe. It's always followed by the undeniable guilt that will never go away, and for this reason I try not to directly think his name.
It's a weird sort of avoidance, but it sort of helps.
If for whatever reason I manage to skip past the guilt for just a moment, sometimes thinking about him brings a light feeling to my chest that nothing else can. My heart will flutter like it's a cage trapping millions of tiny butterflies, and I'll always want to try to let them out. I'll smile and I'll think, "he couldn't still be mad at me, if I want to see him this badly then shouldn't he miss me just a little?" But then the guilt will come back, the guilt always comes back, before I can act on these thoughts. So the butterflies go away, and the tight icy fingers return. It's a painful cycle.
I don't want to think about this anymore; the more I'm reminded of this the more I feel myself creeping closer to the edge of the familiar bottomless pit I know as self pity and melancholy and... just simple loneliness. I hate falling into that hole, it's always twice as hard to get out as it is to fall in. So with this in mind, I finally open my eyes again.
I haven't gotten out of bed since I crawled into it last night, and judging from the light streaming through the curtains it must be past noon. Oh, right, it's one of those days... Drearily I force myself to sit up, and when I bring my hand up to rub my face I'm reminded of the object still tangled around my fingers. Sighing, I hold my hand a little ways from my face so I can inspect the thin silver chain, and likewise the tiny little tag dangling from it.
Sundseth, reads the tiny lettering on the tag.
I suppose you could say that's my name: Sundseth. The root of a few names actually, but I suppose it's my real name. My name is also Sundo, and my current name is Seth. My name tag sways softly on it's chain, giving a glint in the sunlight like it's winking at me. Taunting me. It's like it knows my pain, like it knows deep down the cause for my suffering and indecisiveness, and it's like it remembers the day I came into possession of it.
What am I talking about, this is an inanimate object. It can't remember anything, not the person who gave it to me, and certainly not the reason for all this suffering. I feel like if I could share all of this with someone, they might understand, hopefully. I just want someone to understand.
But I can't share it with anyone, and I certainly can't share it with this necklace. No necklace can to lessen this pain, and no person could be able to truly sympathize either. I'm not apart of their species; any person I tried to talk to would probably have me detained or killed. To them, I'm a monster.
Even he thinks so: it hadn't even been less than an hour that he found out what I turn into that he kicked me out of his life. Granted I did... Well, I did a horrible thing, and I don't blame him for it. We were only kids... neither of us should have had to go through that, and not a day goes by where I don't still regret it.
Involuntarily another sigh slips from my lips, and I allow my eyelids to slip shut as I tiredly press my hand against my forehead. I can feel the metal of the tag hitting my nose, only reminding me that I don't have time for this melancholy. I have things I should do today.
If I recall the time correctly, school should be released some time soon now, if it hasn't already. I think it's a couple hours past noon, so the latter is likely possible. When I open my eyes, I choose to focus on the future and today now, allowing the past to be put aside for another day's worrying.
Standing up, I stretch lazily. I can't help the giant cat-like yawn that forces its way from my mouth as I do so. I slip the necklace back on over my head before running a drowsy hand through my hair, as I glance around the room. Books and papers are scattered about the bed in little piles, a major part of my miniature collection of borrowed belongings.
Absently I wonder where my few decent clothes have gotten off to, before settling on just putting back on what I'd worn yesterday: faded old jeans (ripped and holed), a decently clean white t-shirt (a little too big for me, stolen from a yard sale), and some plum-colored, ratty name brand shoes I think are Converse (stolen from the same yard sale).
On my way out the door, I stop to grab some cash for something to eat later from the jar I keep on the small table beside the door. Most of it is change plucked off the ground or stolen from fountains. Before leaving, I do not, however, look in the mirror above the jar. I don't really want to see, as I know exactly what I would if I did. My tall, lean figure hasn't changed since the last time I looked, nor has my fair skin. My mussed black hair in need of a trim won't have changed, and those feline emerald eyes are still the same. And worst of all, those markings are still there.
Of course they are, no matter what I've tried I can't get rid of them because they just seem to be a part of my skin. People constantly ask about them though, and I know to some people they're scary. They make me seem scary. Which, I suppose, is for the best. They rightfully should be wary of me, whether I dislike it or not.
Instead of focusing on my appearance as I leave the house (that rightfully isn't mine), I wonder what I should get to eat while starting down the street. I have a little over five dollars in my pocket— three one dollar bills, and a lot of change. Maybe I can get something at that cafe near where Joshua's soccer team practices, the sweets there are pretty good.
I momentarily freeze as I realize I'd thought his name again, and I wince as the sharp pain that follows. But, once I realize the strangeness of my just suddenly stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, I quickly start walking again. I decide with embarrassment not to look around to see if anyone noticed. I shove my hands deep into my pockets and focus on the cracked sidewalk in front of me as I continue down the well known path.
There are only a few more blocks from here, which I suppose I can be grateful for. My stomach is starting to remind me it hasn't eaten anything all day with it's slightly nauseating growling.
The feeling is instantly forgotten as I round the corner.
I blink in surprise as I find none other than Joshua, only a little ways away from me! He looks the same as always, dressed out for soccer practice with his bag slung over his shoulder, distractedly making his way down the street. My heart flips in my chest, and I freeze instantly, fear that he'll see me spiking through my system. It's an irrational fear though, I realize as I notice he's completely engrossed in his phone.
Whoever he's talking to, they seem to have surprised him. His eyebrows raise in surprise and while he isn't looking at anything, he smiles as he responds to the person on the phone. Unwillingly I feel my heart twist slightly; I wish he could smile at me like that sometime. But that's not going to happen again, so get yourself together, Seth. Instead I just content myself by standing, awkwardly hidden behind the corner of a building, watching him as he starts the cross the street.
He doesn't look up as he steps out onto the road, and my gaze darts back to see that the green light signaling pedestrians can cross hasn't switched from red yet. I'm not the best with the humans' unspoken rules, but I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to cross when it's red. At least, you're supposed to look right? I look back out over the road, and my blood freezes as I see a car heading right for him. Holy smokes.
"Joshua!" I exclaim instinctively, alarmed. I start to run towards him before I fully know what I'm doing.
He looks up in surprise then, and that's when he sees the car. I can see it in his face when the panic sets in, and the terror the freezes him like a deer in headlights. Literal headlights. Adrenaline surges through me as I bolt forward, fear for only him controlling my movements as I try to desperately get to him. This can't happen, not to Joshua of all people. This can't happen, I have to save him. I need to.
And for the first time in my life, I jump out in front of a car.