Youtopia, Ch. 16

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Written by retrocious.[/sneh]
Monday, 05 May 2008

[I know, I know, finally...I apologize for the delay. I've just been lazy.]

    So it’s finally Wednesday, that day in the school week by when you’re already exhausted but you’re still clinging on with your last sweaty finger because you’ve reached the peak, the top, the summit. It only goes downhill from there...and for once, I mean that in a good way. After Wednesday, my mind has officially begun the weekend, which means homework and other pending assignments are pushed to the side, to be worked on later on that little-known eight day of the week called Never.
The slight tension I feel knowing I’m inevitably going to get a bare C in a majority of my classes leaves me once my Wednesday slips into afternoon, and the bell rings, because I am gone. Out. Sorry, call again, but I’m too busy doing nothing to deal with stress right now.
    Which is why I don’t understand what the hell Em is doing in my living room as I’m blatantly attempting to watch a football game. I’m actually not that interested in football, but it’s the best thing I can think of that goes well with a fizzy Mountain Dew. I don’t even know how she got in– I can only assume she got past my mother with one of her infamous verbal Trojan horses, where she pretends to be all smiles and sunshine until she gets to who she needs to get to, and then all hell breaks loose. Of course, if I keep focusing on the TV and pretending I somehow don’t see her standing right in front of me, maybe she’ll disappear. I remember learning in English class a few years ago that in some myths, the monster will literally fade away if you solemnly begin to lose faith in its existence.
    I don’t believe Em’s here, I don’t believe Em’s here, I don’t believe Em’s here, and I really don’t believe that she’s staring at me with that crazy look only an experienced ax murderess can get, looking like she’s about to pull out the weapon itself and start swinging....
    “What the fuck, Foss?”
    I quiver, expecting more, expecting all this anger and rage to come pouring out, but instead she just shakes her head at me and joins me on the sofa, her hands resting on her knees.
    “Morgue’s been trying to reach you for a couple of days now.”
    I shrug, and look down. I’m actually well aware of that, thanks. “Yeah, so?”
    “So?” She repeats, her voice going up an octave. “He’s your best fucking friend, and he’s hurt, and all you have to say is so?”
    “I’d be saying more if he had bothered telling me what happened.”
    “It’s hard for him. He will eventually.”
    I groan and pout, not acting a day older than I am. “What exactly is so wrong that he can’t tell me? He hasn’t even been in school for three days straight. It can’t really be that bad.”
    “Foss...” She inhales, stumbles for something to say, then exhales in defeat. “Anyway, you could’ve at least bothered calling me. You’re not being a very good boyfriend.”
    “Yeah, well, you’re not being a very good girlfriend.”
    It’s apparent she’s taken offense at this, but she bites her tongue– maybe literally, I don’t know– and just shakes her head again, like everything I do or say is a big fucking disappointment.
    “Well, I’m sorry if I haven’t been at your every beck and call lately,” Em replies acidly, “But I’ve been sort of busy comforting Morgue. He’s a wreck.”
    “Good for him.”
    “You’re...you’re such a–!” She ends the phrase with a hiss and a snarl, too angry to be bothered to complete sentences. “You don’t have to treat him like shit just because he has a little crush on you. If it was me, I’d be flattered.”
    “Ok, look, it’s not that he likes me, alright? It’s that apparently he doesn’t consider me a good enough friend to tell me what’s going on in his life.”
    “As if you really want to know anyway,” Em retorts.
    “What is that supposed to mean?”
    She clucks her tongue. “Don’t deny it. You don’t want to know what’s going on with him because you think it’s weird. Well, just in case there’s a one in a million chance you were wondering, he’s been really depressed lately. He didn’t say anything about it, but I know he’s been trying to build up the nerve to commit suicide again. I found a bunch of pills in his room when I came by today. Definitely none of those are his; he doesn’t even any prescriptions.”
    I’m stunned into silence. Suicide?
    “Are...you sure?”
    “Why would you even care?”
    “Because...I do. I’m sorry about not calling and shit, but I do care. I care about Morgue.” And I care about my girlfriend, enough to realize at the moment she came by not to rant at me, but to find her own source of comfort. Her eyes reflect how troubled she really is. “Shouldn’t we get him help?”
    “He has a psychiatrist.”
    “Well, I didn’t know that. Funny, isn’t it? How much I don’t know about my supposed best friend...”
    “Oh just shut up already!” She settles back into the plush backing of the sofa, angrily crossing her arms and looking steadily at the blank wall in front of her. “You’re such a selfish dick, I don’t even know why I’m dating you.”
    “...I’m sorry,” I utter softly.
    “Whatever.” The word comes out cold as the Arctic sea, and my gaze meets the carpeting in shame.
    “I really am. And anyway, I don’t want to fight...I wanted to ask if you want to go with me to Greg Jackson’s pool party. Well,” I admit sheepishly, “not really ask. More like tell you that you’re going with me, since I already said we would.”
    She turns to me, her expression of brooding temporarily replaced with incredulous surprise.
    “Greg Jackson? Are you kidding me? He’s such a jerk. Why would you want to go anywhere near him?”
    “Because, well, Kyle and Tom asked me. And, um, everyone’s going to be there?”
    Em snorts. “By everyone you mean everyone I dislike, all packed in the same room like some disgusting roach infestation? Oh, how fun.”
    “Well...I mean, it could be...we might finally go, you know, that next step...” I’m desperate enough to convince her that I’m pulling lines from my conversation with Kyle and Tom, despite the obvious fact that they and Em are polar opposites.
    “What the hell are you talking about, ‘the next step’? What--” Comprehension dawns on her face, leading her peach lips to gasp in surprise. “You...you’re talking about...sex?”
    I scratch my head and look to the Packards on the TV for support but they only seem concerned about pummeling each other. “Um...well...yeah. I am. I think we’re, uh, ready for that.”
    Em’s shock is such that she doesn’t reply for what seems like forever, and my interest in this (lack of) dialogue is beginning to wane when words suddenly sprout from her mouth.
    “No.”
    “What?”
    “No,” She repeats, her fiery eyes on her fingers. “I...don’t want that. Not, not right now. Not...”
    “Oh, okay, that’s okay--”
    “Not...I’m just not ready, not yet, not now, not...” It’s as if she didn’t heard me, as she keeps on talking, keeps on refusing. “I don’t...I don’t want to, okay?”
    Her eyes begin to glaze, and she begins to resemble more and more a lost, defenseless little child.
    “Yeah, Em, that’s fine, I don’t care if you’re not ready.”
    “It’s fine?” She questions.
    “Of course...I love you either way, you know that.” Feeling like the time is right, I slip an arm around her shoulders. “It’s no big deal.”
    Her mutterings begin to die down as she leans against me, and in the silence that ensues I start to wonder why Em is so scared of this. It’s understandable, as it is a big issue to wrap your mind around, but we’re best friends. If she can’t trust someone like me, who can she trust?

Published in Humor

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Comments (2)

Posted by CELL
05-12-2008 08:58,

...
S-E-X... has the mere enunciation of the word
lost it's head-rotating effect? No, I don't think it
has quite yet (ha).
Hmm, I see where this is going... oi, how very
tragic.
This one seemed to lack a bit of the effort you
usually put into each chapter, but ya, lethargy
must be the explanation. No worries, still liked it.

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