tw ; chloe uses some super harsh language in this so be careful!!! she also kinda makes fun of eating disorders??? because she's kinda being an asshole. it's really subtle though, blink and you'll miss it. just stay safe babes!!! <3<3<3
After two days of postponing the inevitable, I decided to go to Chloe's house, so that I could finally understand what she told Rich that was apparently so insanely fucked up that Rich decided whatever he told Jeremy about me was justified.
To recap the past two days, it's been a nightmare.
I called Jake six times, and he didn't pick up once. I knocked at Christine's door and she didn't open up for me, even though the lights were on so she had to be in there somewhere.
I even went to Jeremy's house, looked at the door, even put my hand on the doorknob before an aching feeling enveloped my heart and the sudden thought came over me:
Oh.
Oh.
Maybe I can't do this.
I went home that day, without talking to Jeremy, or anyone for that matter.
Going to Chloe's house was the big next hurdle that I had to jump in my mind. It made me want to tear my hair out and scream until I lost my voice, but I'd have to face her one day. The sooner I talk to her, the sooner I'll get to talk to Jeremy again.
Or the sooner I'll lash out and tell her some stupid shit that she then tells to Jeremy and then he sees what a truly abusive piece of shit I am.
Maybe I'm overthinking this.
I forced myself to disassociate from the situation. I separate my feelings from the circumstances and realize that I need to get this over with.
Correction: That's what I tried to do.
Instead of arriving at Chloe's house confident and ready for a conversation, I arrived there feeling out of myself and self-pity. Instead of my first impression being some cool ass power stance, I looked like I was a recovering alcoholic. Things weren't working in my favour today.
I knocked at the door nine times before Chloe opened up.
When she opened up, she didn't look annoyed, which stumped me. She didn't look angry, or upset. All she did was deadpan me. I didn't know whether to be comforted or terrified by that.
"What do you want, Michael?"
I purse my lips, "Hi... Chloe," I grab at straws for what to say, "Uhm... haven't talked in a while, huh?" I laugh nervously, scratching the back of my neck.
"Mhm. Yeah," her voice is monotone, and she was completely expressionless, "Huh. Wonder why."
Something about the way she said that pulled a trigger. I hadn't cried the past two days, but somehow it just started flowing. I barely cried. This didn't just happen. Yet somehow I couldn't stop it.
"If all you're here to do is cry on my doorstep, then get lost," Chloe sneered, but her voice still sounded so emotionless, and I didn't know what to make of it.
"I'm... I wanted to... What did you tell Rich? Uhm, he... he hates me now..."
"Not just Rich."
I ignore that, "What did you tell him?"
She doesn't say anything.
A beat.
She realizes I'm crying.
I don't know why, but that seems to break something in her.
"Look at yourself, Michael," Chloe flicked my forehead, "You're crying over this guy you could've kept if you just fucking listened."
My eyes blur and I feel my throat turn dry, "I-I'm so sor—"
"Shut your fucking mouth. Listen," She grabbed me by my collar, pulling me closer, "You're crying like a fucking pussy, while Jeremy, who has cancer, hasn't cried to me once. And Jeremy's the biggest fucking pussy I know."
"I kn-know, b-but—" I sniff, trying to think of something to throw back: "H-he cried too! He just..." I know exactly what I want to say, but something about how angry Chloe looks and how tight my chest feels stops me from saying it.
"Yeah, he cried because of you, not because of cancer. Really makes you think, huh?" Her expression is filled with an emotion that I can't seem to find the words to describe, "Don't know what it makes you think, but to me that says that you're a bigger problem than his fucking cancer is. You're worse than cancer, Michael! Ever been told that one?" She laughs emotionlessly.
I stay quiet. I refuse to cry in front of Chloe, I refuse to cry in front of Chloe, I refuse to cr—
"You must think you're so fucking great, because you're hanging with a cancer victim, wow, good for you, Michael," she said my name with spite, "You didn't even care about him until a month ago. You ruined the first few years of highschool for him, barely gave a shit and now all of a sudden because he's sick, you're drowning in sympathy. Fucking grow up. If you actually cared about him, you wouldn't have broken his heart four years ago. Fuck yourself."
"I-I do c-care!"
"If you just fucking waited. If you waited a month, even a week, you would've fucking realized."
"I-I don't—"
"All you had to do was just wait."
"Y-You keep saying that! B-but... I don't even know what it means!"
"Now you don't have any waiting time left. As soon as you realize the shit I'm spewing out of my mouth, and use that fucking brain of yours, you'll piece together all the shit I told you, but it'll be too late, won't it? You won't realize what I'm trying to tell you until Jeremy's dead, lying in a fucking coffin."
That riled me up to no reasonable degree, "J-Jeremy said he wasn't going to die—"
"Jeremy doesn't know shit, okay? Have you seen that fucking kid? If the cancer doesn't kill him, the anorexia will, Jesus Christ—"
"Don't fucking say that! He told me he wasn't going to die, okay?"
"Jeremy literally told me he wanted to be cremated a week ago."
"Y-you're lying—"
"I'm not lying, Jeremy is. He's lying saying that he's going to live, dumbass. Because he fucking knows if he told you otherwise you'd be upset, and guess what? The kid's lying to keep you happy. Do you treat him with the same care though? No! You fucking don't, because I know the truth, Michael. And that's exactly what I told Rich."
"Wh-What did you tell him?"
"Yes, you care about him, but you want him to die."
"That's not—"
"You want Jeremy to die because it's becoming too much for you. You want the pain to be over. You want him to die already so you don't have to wonder when he will. Because no use crying over spilt milk, huh? Wasn't that always your motto?"
"That's not fucking true—"
"You want him to die because you want to get this over with. Because after he dies you won't hurt anymore. Because after he dies you can get over him. Because after he dies it'll be done with, the pain, everything. Fucking pathetic. Fucking pathetic, I tell you. You're pathetic." She always starts repeating segments of her sentence when she gets really livid about something, which was something so characteristically Chloe and it really solidified it that—
—Wow. This is Chloe. My childhood friend telling me what a terrible piece of shit I am. And she's right. Fuck.
I notice that she starts tearing up.
"Please stop—"
"No! I'm done. I'm fucking done. I've been trying to put up with your bullshit for way too long Michael. I'm tired of being your little messenger fairy. Talk to me again after Jeremy fucking dies."
And with that she left me on her doorstep, slamming the door in my face, not without shoving me backwards a bit before too.
I stand there, unable to formulate words or thoughts for a solid minute.
As I stagger home, I go over what she said in my mind.
She's right.
She's fucking right.
I care about Jeremy so fucking much, but the pain is becoming too much for me. I live every waking moment wondering if he's still alive or if he's okay or maybe if I said something stupid and that made him cry again but he's too scared to tell me, and then oh fuck what if he dies and the last thing I told him was some dumb shit and—
I don't want Jeremy to die, or well—I guess you could put it like that—But that's such a crude way of saying it. I'm not actively wishing that Jeremy drops dead, not even close to it, I want him to live for God's sake. I'd give up my life just for his. But it's just been a thought in the back of my mind that if Jeremy died this all would be easier.
I wouldn't have to worry when he'll die, because it'll be over with. I'm a huge believer in the whole "Don't cry over spilt milk!" idiom that my mama taught me the day I dropped all my Nik-Naks on the floor. Because if something is over and done with and nothing can be changed, why cry about it? Jeremy being alive at the moment is stressing me out beyond any kind of actual rational belief. Because I know something can be done about it. I know that there's a chance he'll still be alive by the end of this.
However, one of two things could happen:
He could live, or he could die.
Imagine you're taking a test and you come across a question you didn't study for. It's either A or B, you don't know. So you take a wild guess. You don't get the test for another month, so you stress about that specific question that entire month until you get the test back. When you get the test back, and see your answer was either right or wrong, there's no use worrying about it anymore, because there's nothing you can do about it. You either got it right or you didn't, end of story.
Jeremy's like that.
I want him to live, but if he dies then at least I know he did. Then at least I don't wake up every morning thinking: "I should text him to make sure he's still breathing."
I don't want him to die, so if he lives, then I won't wake up every morning thinking that either.
I just want to get the test back.
I just want to see which answer is right so I can stop worrying.
But there is no test. There is no real answer. Because this is just a bad metaphor that I use to try and explain my selfish feelings.
That's what I am. I'm fucking selfish.
It's just like Jake said. If Jeremy knew I thought of him as "the kid I need to make happy before he dies" he'd be absolutely heartbroken. And he is. But as the days had gone by and our bond has grown stronger, I've realized Jeremy is more than that. A lot more.
And maybe if I listened to Chloe a little sooner...
But that's besides the point. Point is Chloe's pissed at me.
Suddenly my shoulders tense. Oh my god, she's going to tell Jeremy.
I scramble for my phone and I click on her caller ID, misclicking at least fourteen times.
I call her three times and she declines all three of them. I start panicking. Chloe doesn't know my side of the story. What if she tells Jeremy I want him to die? I don't want him to fucking die! Oh my god—
me: ANSWER MY CALLS
I pray to a God that I do not believe in, that she sees this as an acceptable loophole, because technically after the whole "talk to me after Jeremy fucking dies" spiel, I think I can safely make the assumption that texting does not count as talking.
chlo: i'm busy
me: when you said talk to me after jeremy dies you didn't actually mean it right
me: texting doesn't count as talking then right
me: where are you please i just want to speak in person
chlo: yes i did mean it
chlo: and im going to jeremy's
me: no please
me: no please don't tell him
me: please i want to explain
chlo: fuck off i gave you plenty of explaining time
chlo: he's having anxiety problems so i'm going over to his house
chlo: unless you're willing to face jeremy then you're not allowed to face me
me: WHATST HEs HAVING ANXIETU PROBLEMD WHYW
read: 8:34AM
I freak out and I drop my phone immediately. She's not going to reply. She left me on read. She said she wasn't going to talk to me in person until after Jeremy dies and just that statement makes me want to vomit.
I know Chloe can be kind of an ass sometimes, but overall she has good intentions, would she really tell Jeremy all the shit she yelled at me a minute ago?
A rational part of speaks out and says: 'No, of course not. Jeremy just had a panic attack. She wouldn't unload that on him right now. And besides, all that shit she said a minute ago was only the heat of the moment, right?"
However, a much bigger part of me was screaming: 'SKSKSKSK JEREMY JSUT AHD A FUCNKING PANIC ATTTACK AND SHE'S GOING TO TELLL HIM EVERYHTING!!!"
I decided to listen to that part.
Why the fuck did Jeremy have anxiety problems all of a sudden? What if she already told him and that's why he had anxiety problems in the first place? I mean, I've been gone long enough for her to do something like that.
I bury my head in my hands and groan, my entire body shaking.
I am so fucked.