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Youtopia, Ch. 7 |
| Written by Sneh =] | |
| Thursday, 17 April 2008 | |
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Share it:       A crack’s beginning to develop at the very base of Em’s bedroom window, old ladies keep yelling at me, and at least three people walking by have attempted to alert the police that an addled teenager’s escaped from the local mental asylum. These are all three very good signs that I should probably stop catapulting the smallish boulders that I’m “borrowing” from the rock garden at her house, but she has still hasn’t appeared behind the glass, so onward I throw. Oh, don’t worry, I tried doing it the normal way– you know, knocking on the front door and all that– but she wasn’t answering, and so this is sort of my last resort. It’s either this or head back home and give up on ever talking to Emma--or, even worse, Morgue--ever again. Of course, is she continues being this stubborn, I may have to jack up my arsenal a bit. Maybe some nice, noxious stinkbombs will force her out of there...Fortunately/unfortunately, the front door opens before I even realize it, and a little girl with ponytails and a jean skirt comes walking towards me, looking seemingly innocent– but, this is Em’s little sister we’re talking about, Miss Devil-in-Waiting, mistress of underage deception and disaster. Among the naive, she’s known as Abigail– among the truly gullible, Abby the Angel– and among those she dislikes, she’s your very worst nightmare. Em’s the sibling she’s closest to, so I can only pray fruitlessly that I’m not in the latter category. She’s less than a foot away now, and I think I’m visibly quivering– but then she stops and stands barefoot on the lawn, smiling. She’s smiling, which is unnerving because the only time I see her do that is when she’s handing me snacks that are secretly laced with hot sauce or laxatives. “Emma says you can come in now if you want to.” Her hands are behind her back, and I realize she’s attempting to pose angelically. Oh god. “She and Morgan are up in her bedroom.” She laughs lithely; I take a step backwards. “I would watch out if I were you. Emma sounded really mad.” Again she cackles, and then runs into the house, apparently with the assumption that I’m actually going to follow after that thinly-veiled death threat. I exhale slowly– I have to now, don’t I?– and follow her cautiously, in case the blond horror’s keeping any man-eating plants or land mines around with my name on them. I manage to come into the living room unscathed, which is a relief in and of itself, and jog up to the second floor. The white-washed door that’s labeled “HELL” is slightly ajar, and as I near it I can hear soft voices that are deep in conversation. “It’s too late, Morgue, he’s coming upstairs.” “Well that’s too ******* bad, I’m not talking to him. Ever. I don’t want to see his stupid pimply face as long as I live.” Pimply? Alright so I’m not claiming I’m totally acne-free but I don’t exactly have a mountain range on my face either. And I definitely wouldn’t say that I’m– “You know he’s always been a bit of ass. And he probably didn’t even mean what he said. Look, I know you don’t want to deal with him right now– me neither– but he is our friend, right? We should at least give him a chance to apologize...and I think you should tell him the truth.” My ears rise like a dog’s, and my hands are all over the door– I feel like I should be buying it dinner. “No, Em..you know I can’t. This’ll just...ruin everything. Some things are supposed to be kept a secret.” “Not something as huge as this.” “Why are you telling me what to do, anyway? It’s not like you have the same problem. You have the ability to freely date him. It’s not like you have to pretend that you don’t want to be anything more than friends.” A sudden onset of shock makes me lean a bit too hard against the door, and it swings open into Em’s room with me firmly attached onto it. A quick survey of the squarish bedroom reveals that neither Em nor Morgue were expecting me to be listening furtively to their conversation, as they look as surprised as I do, though Morgue does look more ashamed than anything else. “Uh...,” I say, looking on the floor. “Uh...,” They repeat, their eyes on the walls. A few seconds elapse, and I blurt out the obvious: “Well, this is awkward.” They nod, and I take a seat on the opposite side of the twin bed. I feel as if I should be the first one to talk, but what can I possibly say? This is really not something I was expecting. Somehow I had never imagined that having a gay best friend would ever cause this kind of issue. “So...you...like me?” Morgue bits his lips and runs black-nailed fingers through his hair, but he doesn’t automatically answer. “Well, yeah, as...you know, a friend...,” He finally says in the most unconvincing tone, and it’s almost funny because even now Morgue can’t lie for his life. It’s almost funny, except that it’s not because this a serious problem; a serious problem that’s making me a little sick to my stomach. Now Em’s shaking her head. “Morgue, just stop it. This is ridiculous. Just admit it.” “There’s nothing to admit,” He protests. “I’m not owning up to a drug addiction or any **** like that.” I’m on Morgue’s side– I’d rather he not delve deeper on the topic. I don’t know if I can really handle it. But of course, we’re forgetting about how frustratingly hell-bent Emma can be about things. “Morgue.” “Yeah...? “Morgue...” “What?” “You ******* know what!” He sighs, glancing at a fallen pillow on the ground before turning his attention to the various rock posters pinned to the ceiling. “Hey, is that a Panic At The--” “Ugh!” It’s an Amazon screech, a foreign prayer to the feminist goddesses to make men just slightly less aggravating. It’s fervent, but inefficient, because Morgue and I are still sitting on opposite sides of the bed in silence. “You guys are ******* annoying!” Em gets up and stamps her boots on the ground to get our attention. “I’m going to go the bathroom, alright? When I come back you guys better have talked this out or else there’s going to be some disembodied testicles on the floor.” With a door-slamming to end all door-slammings, she’s gone, and Morgue and I are alone in the room. After his fraction of a confession, this is really not the kind of situation I want to be in right now. Copyright 2008 Sneh =] |
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