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Youtopia, Ch. 18 |
| Written by retrocious.[/sneh] | |
| Thursday, 15 May 2008 | |
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Share it:      It would also be hard to be confused about what they’re doing, out there, under the pleasant herds of clouds as the birds still sing their summer songs. It would be hard, but God knows I’m trying to confuse myself. I don’t want to comprehend what’s going on right now; already, it’s putting leaden weights on my chest that won’t be coaxed away by sun and song and summer. That burdening weight is setting in, and it’s refusing to listen to my anxious attempts at compromise– if I don’t mention it to anyone, maybe I can forget it ever happened. It’s not something I would normally want to say, either...but I’m feeling horrible just thinking about it. I’m looking, but I’m not seeing anything anymore except what my own sick imagination is feeding me– caramel-coated thoughts that asserted what was happening before me is completely normal, maybe...how would I even know? Maybe it’s a gay thing. Maybe they’re just... Now they’re away from the cover of the bark, and I don’t know what to do, or even think. All I can focus on is that mess of arms, and mess of hair, and how Morgue seems to have part of his fist in his mouth, like he’s trying to muffle his own voice but it’s not working very well because I can hear him. All this time I could hear him, whimpering low like a beaten puppy. He’s not sure what exactly he did wrong, but he’s getting punished anyway. Before the scene can get permanently imbedded into my head, I back away and flee the room as quick as I can. In the living room, I can’t see what’s going on as long as I stare at the decor and that huge plasma TV which I’ve always lusted over. That’s what I should go– just ignore it. It’ll end soon enough, and we’ll never talk about it because I’ll never mention I was an accidental witness. Everything will be just fine. That’s what I’ve got to keep telling myself. Everything will be just fine. The disgust building up inside me, blanketing the inside of my organs like plaque, is making it unbearable to just sit here. I have to leave, leave now. Go home and never think about this ever again. The decision looks more and more appealing as the clock on the wall metes out the seconds, and before I know it I’m at the door. Just another step and a little creaking of the painted wood and I’ll be home free. But...I can’t. As much as I want to be away from here, there’s something stopping me, and making me walk back to the plush sectional and sit. I’m already being a shitty friend by not doing anything; I guess I shouldn’t destroy all of my soul in one go...though, as I think about it, I’ve basically chopped off every last bit by now. As I sit there and wait– for what, I don’t know– I realize I haven’t been the most understanding friend recently. I’ve actually been really selfish, even more than usual, and it’s sort of gross. Not only towards Morgue, but with Em as well. When was it that I suddenly stopped caring about the two people who have been there for me for as long as I can remember? They’ve been there for the things that everyone goes through, like puberty and puppy love, but they’ve also had to deal with me when my parents were going through the divorce, and...well, now. I really have been a real a-hole lately, and yet they’re still around– it’s almost doesn’t make sense, that they’re still holding onto me. I don’t think I really deserve it anymore. With a rustle of sound, that bastard Shane emerges from the kitchen. He sends me a wary glance and walks cooly out the door, like what just happened before was the most casual thing. I brace myself, because next Morgue is probably going to appear, and I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do. I can’t keep denying what happened, because that’s wrong and the direct opposite of what a best friend would do, but also can’t talk to Morgue about things because I don’t want to. I doubt I’m even mentally capable to handle talking about stuff like this. This is a lot harder, and a lot more painful, to talk about than when Morgue told me he liked me. I’d rather have him hit on me every day than have to deal with this, with him. Not now...or ever, maybe. If I ever end up becoming mature, then maybe I’ll think about helping him out. Unfortunately, time doesn’t give me that opportunity and instead gives me Morgue, who doesn’t look so different in appearance other than that he looks ashamed of himself. He doesn’t notice me at first when he limps into a chair situated in the corner of the room, but as he sits down with a noticeable wince his pupils widen– he didn’t know I was still in the house. “Hey,” He says, his tone commendably nonchalant. “I...uh, I was a little busy in the back, sorry about that. So, anyway, did you, um...want to watch a movie or something?” My mind considers buying into his plan but I stop myself. “No, actually. Um, I was just...” I pause and think about how to phrase my words delicately. “I wanted to talk to you about...” No, no, that’s not it. After deliberating for a second, I settle on, “...do you need to go to the hospital?” Morgue’s caught off guard, and I can see in his eyes that he’s scared...he’s scared that I know. And I’m scared about if I should really let him know that I do. I’m worried about him, you know. This is a serious matter. It needs to be put out in the open so we can get him help. My heart knows all this, but try telling that to my head. “What do you mean?” He’s still making a stab at normalcy– it’s failing, but he’s trying so hard I can almost believe this is just a regular evening on any other day. “You...need help, Morgue. You should...go see a doctor. These things are serious.” “What things, Foss?” Now he smiling, actually smiling, with all his teeth glittering in their peach-toned frames, and it’s killing me. “You know what I’m talking about, Morgue.” I sigh, and look upwards for guidance even though I’ve never been much of a fan of the man upstairs. I’m praying that there’s some other way for me to help him out without dropping this bomb on him– without bringing him more agony and gloom and embarrassment that’ll just resonate for the rest of our lives. But either there’s not, or the big man’s not home, because nothing happens. I take a breath, count to three, then open my mouth and let worst come to worst. “I was in the kitchen before. I...I saw. What happened. What...he did to you. And...I didn’t know what I should do. I didn’t call anyone, or do anything to help, and I’m sorry. So, at the very least, I should give you a ride to the hospital.” “No.” “Yes. You need to go. He could’ve...I dunno, damaged something or done something horrible. You should go anyway. You need...psychological help. You will. You have to talk to someone about it...and I know you’re probably going to have trouble talking to me or Em, even though we’re your friends, because--” “No,” He repeated, shaking his head energetically despite how pale his face had become. “Just...don’t worry. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. I’m already talking to her about it, anyway.” “Look, you’re not fine, you’re...wait, what do you mean you’re talking to Em about it?” “I mean...” He lowers his voice, and turns his head away from me as if to lessen the impact, but still I hear it. “It happened before. That’s what I was so upset about on school that day. I’m sorry...I would’ve told you. But I was scared that you’d hate me all over again. I’m sorry I’m so gross.” “No, God, no...you’re not...” I mumble words at him, trying to help, but it’s like trying to stop an avalanche just by telling it to. He doesn’t break into tears, not even one, but God, he’s broken. He’s broken, and still breaking, and I’m helpless to do anything except whisper stupid sweet lines from a foot away. “You’re gonna be alright, Morgue. Everything’s going to be alright, I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die, you’re gonna be fine. You’re gonna be fine, I swear...” Copyright 2008 retrocious.[/sneh] |
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