"UGH, you take WAY too long at that MAC outlet store, Skye!"
I retort and guffaw, "We were only in there for fifteen minutes - at the most!"
"That's fifteen minutes too long," and I roll my eyes at that.
Justin exclaims, "Oooh, let's go into H&M!"
"You're like obsessed with H&M," I say as my words trail behind him.
"Whatever," Justin mutters as he fingers the racks of men's graphic tees, and texts random guys on his Tinder app, single-handed.
"Why are you still talking to those guys if you're going out with Jace? Are y'all not exclusive, or something?"
"I'm just friends with the guys on Tinder," Justin says defensively and pauses. "Look at this pic of this guy - for some reason, he sends me selfies of him on the toilet, pant less."
"Oh, that's so weird! And awkward."
Justin gets a sour look on his face, "Whatever, Skye."
Lately, it feels like no matter what I say, Justin hates it, like we don't really understand each other, or even get along without arguing about something minuscule and stupid. I feel like I shouldn't reply to him at all, sometimes.
After what feels like nearly two hours of Justin shopping in his favorite store, we run into Jace, surprisingly, who is walking out of the Calvin Klein store. "OMG, JACE!!" Justin races to give him a hug, and Jace smiles at him, but sneers at me. I don't know why Jace dislikes me, when I'm literally providing food, shelter, and everything for Justin, without complaint and without expecting to see any type of payback, plus I've never even had a solid conversation with him so he could get to know me, as he doesn't wish to speak to me at all, beyond a simple, forced greeting on his part rather than mine.
"So, I'm gonna leave with Jace, ok, Skye?"
"Ohh, um, okay. Let me know if you need a ride home tomorrow, or whatever."
"UGH, you hate me, Skye! You're so mad at me! You don't even care that we don't hang out, like we just got to the mall."
I start laughing. "Are you serious? I'm not mad - you never really get to see him..."
"I see him every weekend!!"
"Okay? So, are you going with him, or walking around with me?" Justin is incredibly confusing lately.
"I'm leaving, UGH, BYE!" And with that, Justin turns on his heel, and they both walk away from me.
Why does Justin consistently think the worst of me, and is that why Jace hates me?
I shake my head, and trudge back to my car, wishfully looking at couples walking hand-in-hand, smiling at each other, and it feels like a reminder of what Damien and I will never have.
I try not to stare at groups of friends laughing amongst themselves and try not to feel jealous of their seemingly easy ability to have others completely understand and get them.
The world often feels like a stranger to me.
I text Damien, "I'm not gonna force you to not do drugs & drink a ton of alcohol, because I want you to make that decision for yourself, but I wish that you wouldn't drag me into it/have it affect my life/put me and others in danger."
Damien: I'm not addicted to anything
Me: Do you have to smoke weed and drink to excess every single day?
Damien: you can't get addicted to weed. I do that because I want to
I roll my eyes.
Me: anything that you have to have every day is an addiction - even if like I want to drink koolaid every day and I feel like I can't survive without it, that's an addiction
Damien: whatever, do you want to meet my other friends tonight?
I do want to meet his friends that hopefully aren't like Travi's band of underage misfits.
Me: sure, when?
Damien: I'll pick you up at 9
It seems pretty late to start hanging out at 9 PM, but I love the nighttime, so I'm fine with it, and I need time to get ready. Hours later, as I'm perfecting my smokey eyes that resemble a sunset, Damien texts me that he is here.
He is blasting Lower Definition again, and I really like this band, or how the lead singer's emotions affect his singing. It sounds like soulful emo rock music, if that makes sense. We pull up to a house that isn't too far from mine, but it is a single family house and much larger. His friends are already waiting outside, and he introduces me to all of them, except for Marcel, whom I met when we hung out at that hookah place, which already feels like years ago, rather than weeks.
"Skye, this is Kenny... Dee..." and I feel a warmer welcoming from this group of friends, rather than Travi's crew that had an overall cold, jugdging, emotionless, backstabbing and perverse empty void type of vibe. It is already pitch black outside, and I'm squinting to see, while wondering why we aren't walking into the house.
Marcel points his paint gun at me, which he previously had hidden at his side, and Damien freaks out and starts yelling at him, "MARCEL! STOP!" He rapidly pushes me behind him, and I feel a rush at feeling protected and safe around him, even though I should probably feel the least amount of safety around Damien.
Marcel chuckles caustically, and I feel an apprehension from him towards me. "Relax, Damien, I'm not gonna hit her," he says in an exasperated tone.
I step around Damien as I want it to be known that I can take care of myself, and confidently state, "I know that he won't," as I stare into Marcel's blank, brown eyes.
Marcel blinks after a while, shaking his head, and points the gun back at the ground, "See, she believes me!"
Damien still looks skeptical, and I ask him, "What is the plan... ?" My voice trails off, and I feel confused. "My friends wanna go vandalize the school," he says calmly. "Um, what?" I laugh nervously, because I know that he must be joking.
"What part didn't you understand? Van-dah-lize the sch-ooooool," Marcel repeats as if I'm extremely dumb. I look away, and simply reply, "I got it the first time."
Damien and I get back into his car, and follow them to our middle school. "Are you gonna do this, too?" I ask him, and I can feel like my mind is going blank, which is something that happens to me in immensely stressful situations in which my anxiety and emotions are too much to handle, and I just shut down, whilst feeling like I'm an empty husk of a body, with my soul looking at the world, and feeling nothing; thinking nothing; doing absolutely nothing.
I hate it, and I despise feeling like the depersonalization effect of how my life isn't real, and it just a dream within a dream, with no real consequences.
"Um, yeah, maybe," Damien replies, casually, as if I just asked him where he wants to eat for dinner, or what he did today. We step out of the car, and his friends are already walking towards the basketball court, which is already looking shabby, due to how this school is in a slightly poor, underfunded area, and I start to feel guilty about what is about to happen, even though I mostly hated my entire middle school experience, and like I can't control the outcome of tonight, even if I desperately tried. I usually feel like I can finally breathe around Damien, as my supercharged, anxious mind stops buzzing and thinking about a million different things at once, like I can be myself and there are no expectations of what I should say or do, or can I?
Marcel lines up the gun and starts shooting vibrant, multicolored paintballs at each of the basketball court signs. His other friends are lining up shots to cover the brick walls, as well as the blacktop. Vaguely, I start to space out and think about how a basketball hit me on the head, in this very same place, as Damien's old middle school best friend, Brody, a pretentious ass who thought he was the hottest boy in school even with his acne and unruly, unwashed hair, purposefully threw it as hard as he could at my head. I wonder if I should leave, and maybe I got a concussion from all of the times I've sustained head injuries, and that is why I'm still standing here, like a complete idiot.
"Are you guys sure that there's no cameras here?" I ask out loud, trying to sound nonchalant instead of scared, even though I know that they probably don't even know the answer to my question. I speculate about who will have to clean this up in the freezing cold weather, or if they will have to hire a professional, which will eat further into their meager budget.
Marcel hands the paintball gun to Damien and he cocks the gun back, squints one eye like he is aiming at a real life enemy in a brutal war, and perfectly hits the target that he was aiming for on the basketball sign, right above the hoop. "I dunno," Damien replies, in an actually nonchalant manner. I start to sweat, even in the frigid, night air about if they will be able to recognize my face on the security cameras, even though I look completely different than how I did seven years ago. All of a sudden, lights abruptly flicker on and Kenny yells out, "RUN!"
I almost fall over laughing at the sight of Damien trying to run in his ripped-up faded medium blue skinny jeans and all black low top VANS, as he's holding on the back of his pants, to make sure that they don't fall down, and clenching my hand as he drags me behind him, as fast as he can, which is faster than how I can run, in my black buckled wedges and tight olive skinny jeans.
"OMG, this is crazy!" I laugh and exclaim to Damien, as I feel a rush of adrenaline, but also fear at the back of my mind.
"I know, right!" He yells over the sharp, biting wind and unlocks his car. We jump in, and peel out of the small parking lot, with Damien's friends in their cars, behind us.
"Is this why we took separate cars? To divide and conquer?" I smirk, and wonder what Damien typically does with his friends, or if all of them are this rebelliously unruly with a curious propensity towards blatant rule-breaking. "Yeah," and he smiles at me. "What do you wanna do now?" He asks me, and I reply, "I think I need to go home... New Years' Eve is tomorrow, and I want to get some sleep."
Damien groans, disappointed, but says, "Okay."
"What are you doing for tomorrow? I'm working till 9 PM, but do you want to hang out afterwards?" I try not to sound too hopeful.
"I don't know, maybe," Damien gives me an inconclusive answer, and I know that it means, "No," but I try not to dwell on that and obsess over why he doesn't want to hang out with me on one of the biggest holidays of the year, when he supposedly likes me more than a friend. I try not to think about who will be his New Years' Eve kiss, instead, and I sigh inwardly.
Why does he enjoy and get off on playing these horrid, insidious games with me? I should just stop talking to him altogether.
The next night, Justin is back at my house, and I ask, "Why aren't you hanging out with Jace tonight?"
Defensively, he exclaims, "UGH, you're always trying to get rid of me! Jace is working tonight." Jace is an opera singer and he takes gigs here and there, when time permits between school and choir practice. "Why aren't you hanging out with Damien?" Justin narrows his eyes at me.
"He's not replying to my texts, and I don't think he wants to see me, tonight," I try not to sound too depressed and significantly disappointed at that, but fail.
Justin gives me a sympathetic look. "Are you really surprised?" He pauses. "Let's go out, like to a party! We can't sit inside on New Years," he pleads.
"Yeah... I wanna go out. Brian at my work asked me to go to this party at his house... but I think that he likes me," and I make a face.
"Well, let's GOOOOOO. You're not gonna sit in this house and wait around for Damien's stoned, sorry ass to call you!"
"Okay," I smile, "I'll get ready."
Justin and I leave the house at 10:30 PM, and I follow the GPS to Brian's house, which is about fifteen minutes from me, but close to the mall, and it is exactly what I pictured - a single family, expensive-looking colonial estate, with most likely at least six bedrooms, and a spacious backyard, in an actually nice neighborhood in which you don't hear gunshots every night, or worry that your car will be vandalized. I sigh and dream about being able to live somewhere better, and improve the lives of my hardworking parents, and myself. I call Brian and he practically skips out to my car. I roll down the passenger window, and Justin gives me a sour look at which I burst out laughing, as Brian leans over the window and Justin to stare at me. "Wow, you're so hot, Skye, your black leather bow gloves are so sexy... I'm gonna imagine you naked except for those gloves," and he gives me these heart-shaped eyes. If only Damien could be so forthcoming with his thoughts, I roll my eyes. Justin looks at me and bites his lip to keep from laughing, but it slips out anyways. "Brian, are you drunk?" I try to ask in the nicest way possible, and smirk. "Hm, yeah, maybe! Come inside! It's fucking cold out here!" He whines. Justin whispers to me, "Um, can we not?!" and I give an imperceptible, slight nod to Justin. "Yeah, lemme just park the car," and Brian yells, "Hurry up!" and walks back into the black darkness of the night. I turn the car back towards the road, and tell Justin, "Call Spencer and Kaylie, while I text Damien to see if we can meet up with him." Justin laughs, "Skye! What about Brian?" I retort, "He's so drunk, he won't remember any of this tomorrow, and if he does, I'll remind him that he admitted that he has a fetish for fingerless leather bow gloves, apparently," I snicker.
"Both Spencer and Kaylie aren't picking up, Skye," Justin reports as Damien replies, "I wanna see you, too!" Damien doesn't text me anything after I ask what the address is to where he is, and Justin and I return home, feeling desolately discontent and downtrodden, to fall asleep while watching MTV music videos, and have my parents exclaim their relieved happiness that we are home well before 11:15 PM. I think to myself, at least they are satisfied with how this extremely disappointing and disenchanting night turned out, as it reminded me of how unreliable Damien is and how he is simply, constantly playing around with my emotions. I feel responsible for how Justin's hopes crashed and burned tonight, as well. Defeated, I laugh quietly to myself, feeling hysterical that I once again gave Damien a chance that he already shown me he does not deserve, and I see myself being pulled into a future of never-ending cycles of this, but at least this isn't even the worst thing that he has done to me - yet.