A/N: Song for this chapter: Christmas Trees by Major Lazer ft. Protoje
***
"If 'batty' means 'ass'... then isn't a 'battyman' technically just an 'ass man' in literal terms?"
Apparently, this is the shit that people think about when they're high; right now, I'm certifiably fucked up.
David, bless his soul, actually graces me with a response; probably because he's just as fucked as I am.
"It's an idiomatic expression, but in literal word-for-word terms, then yeah, I guess so."
Ever since I left the hospital, David has been watching me. He doesn't let me out of his sight. He insisted that I start living at his house so that he could keep an eye on me, and for a simple life, I complied.
In addition to my inner demons, I've been having pain from the wound — the painkillers don't really help me.
David knows that my head is a mess these days, and he also picked up the fact that my pelvis is constantly hurting me. He said that this would be "killing two birds with one stone".
"I like gay porn," I spit out. I have no idea why I just told him that little piece of information. It just felt right.
He looks up at me from whatever he's doing on his laptop, his head covered in disgusting turd plats that I braided with my shaking hands, and smiles, his eyes as red as mine probably are.
"You're cute when you're high."
I smile right back at him.
"You're... just cute."
"Tell me more."
Well, since I was just talking about gay porn...
"Marcus broke up with his girlfriend and now he wants to fuck you."
I wasn't supposed to tell him that.
Oops.
Okay. Here's the story.
Ever since Marcus and his girlfriend officially broke up, he's been acting weird. Every time I mention David's name, he squirms a little, and not in the "I'm uncomfortable" kinda way, but in the "ooh, I'm getting the tingles" kinda way. At first, I didn't even know how he knew David personally enough to crush on him, but then I remembered that the second painting that David bought was through my website, and Marcus was the one who told me about it first; David had demanded that I delivered it.
He had told my agent, a.k.a. Marcus.
On top of that, the display picture that David uses on the website is the perfect combination of cute and fucking hot.
Marcus, having a good amount of common sense (although he acts like a dumb fuck sometimes, telling me to do shit for 10K; who the fuck does he think I am? An assclown?) obviously put two and two together — the gorgeous face with the sexy-ass voice.
In short, David unintentionally fucked up poor Marcus's head, Marcus doesn't know that I know, I pretty much just had verbal diarrhoea about the whole situation, and judging by the growing grin on David's face, I just blew his ego the fuck up.
You see, David might not be attracted to men, but he's the type of person whose ego definitely doesn't mind the attention.
"See? Everyone wants me! I'm turning straight men gay; the man left his girlfriend because he could only see me. The trees are gonna start walking just so that they can get close enough to watch me while they jerk off."
Wait, what?
Trees jerking off?
"You idiot, you didn't turn anyone gay; he still likes women. He's bi. And even if he wasn't bi, and you were the first man he liked, it would be a man crush, not "turning gay".
"Actually, it has a name; it's a sexuality when you become attracted to me, and can no longer see anything else, whether you're a man or woman or a tree. It's called davechestersexuality. He's a davechestersexual now."
How full of oneself can someone possibly be? He has his own sexuality now? Really? Really?
"So you have the mainstream sexualises; heterosexuality, homosexuality, bisexuality, pansexuality; and then, you have davechestersexuality."
"I think you need to shut the fuck up," I say, laughing so hard my eyes start watering.
"Trees don't find you attractive," I state, still chuckling, reaching for the bong, feeling the urge to take another hit.
"Really? Then why do they get hard when they see me?"
"They don't," I reply, re-packing the bowl with ganja from the bag beside me, and putting it in the downstem.
"Yes, they do," he says as I light the ganja, and briefly, I look at the white smoke climbing it's way up the inside of the transparent column.
"So... pretty," I say, before putting my mouth inside the mouthpiece.
I inhale and pull the bowl out at the same time, and fuck, does it fuck me up in all the right ways.
This is exactly what I need; my mind being overrun with idle thoughts, which can be considered, on one level, philosophical and deep. No thoughts of anything that can or will hurt me; just a pain-free high.
David really helped me out this time.
"Pass it," David says when I take it from my lips.
We continue to take turns with the bong until the nub is finished.
"I'm tired," I say to David.
"I'm hungry," he replies to me.
I look at him, and he's about to close his laptop, when a question comes to mind.
"What were you doing?"
"Uh... playing with shapes."
"Can I see it?"
"Okay," he says, and turns the computer to me.
I look closely at the picture, and see that it appears to be some kind of mandala.
"That's pretty."
"Thanks."
"Why?" I ask him.
"I dunno. I like how the shapes look like that."
"You mean a mandala?"
He starts grinning again.
"Yeah. I like them. I was online looking at stuff, and I saw this website that lets you make them. It's fun. I mean, the software is for amateurs so they don't have as much variety as I'd like, but it's still fun."
"What are you gonna do with it now?" I ask him.
He scrunches up his face.
"I dunno."
"It would make a nice tattoo design."
"You think so? I think it's too simple."
"No, it isn't."
"Really? You'd get it then?" he asks me.
I stop and think about it for a second.
"Probably," I say, staring at the different shapes, how they curl around each other.
"Listen, I'm really hungry, so I'm gonna cook something, okay?"
"Okay."
"You wanna come with me?" he asks.
"No, I'm tired," I say yawning and stretching. "I'm gonna sleep."
"'Kay," he replies, yawning in response to my yawn as I turn to walk towards the guest bedroom.
When I enter the room, I throw myself onto the bed, closing my eyes, falling asleep immediately.
The last thought I have before sleep consumes me, is What will David cook for dinner?
***
"You full?" David asks me as I finish the ackee with tomato and roast breadfruit that he just fed me.
You know when the breadfruit is over ripe, so it has that sweet taste to it?
Oh, rass, that was good.
"Yeah. I'm full."
I slept for about six hours. Now, I'm sitting in front of him on the living room floor.
I'm sober again, and that's not necessarily a good thing.
Now that I'm sober, I can feel the ever present pain from the wound in my pelvis, which is a reminder of everything.
Even if I ignore the past, I can't ignore the present; I lost a tube.
It's in this moment of disappointment that I realise that I'm not completely against the idea of having children; that I still want them. Having only one tube makes the chances of conceiving a child naturally less likely.
When did this change? There was a time in my life at which I was considering tying my tubes. When did I subconsciously open up to the idea of children?
When you started seeing David as more than just a casual fuck.
Of course. Everything that is emotionally unstable in my life right now somehow seems to be tied to him.
I let out a deep breath.
"Leah? What are you thinking about?" he asks in a curious but timid manner.
"I don't want to talk about it," I respond.
He suddenly looks overwhelmed with sympathy.
"Leah, I—"
"It's okay, David," I respond, because the truth is that right now, I really do not want to share this shit — my thoughts of having his children — with him.
Not yet.
I stopped thinking about David as a casual fuck a long time ago; my feelings began to grow from the simple attraction, to include affection, which then grew to a care for him that only intensified over time.
But now?
"David," I say, and he looks up at me from whatever he was staring at behind me.
"Yes?" he asks me.
"I love you," I blurt out.
He stares at me stunned; and then his face splits into a breathtaking smile that pulls at my heartstrings.
I know why I said it. Maybe you would have expected me to deny it.
The bucket hit the water; it is submerged, now sinking through the liquid in the well.
There is no sense in denying something so final. I can't fight it anymore; you can't fight a battle that's already been won.
Besides, I don't want to fight it anymore; I might get hurt through loving David, but I've come to realise that he's the reason why I wake up every morning, feeling inspired to pick up my camera and make something of my life, feeling some sense of contentment with myself. If I get hurt, it would be worth it because I would have gotten to love him.
The way that I feel for him is enough to write an infinite amount of poems, to write a million books, base a thousand movies; enough to inspire any artist to create.
He's become the subconscious thought behind every photograph I take, the reason behind every poem I write.
He's... everything.
He's my light.
He's my inspiration.
"You're my new muse."