song of the chapter: face like thunder - the japanese house
June, 15 years old (one year ago)
Things with Michael are confusing and I feeling like I'm running toward an abyss of dark heartbreak and I know he likes me a lot, I know. I just can't keep pretending. I pretend enough. I sit with my friends at lunch as usual, smiling through my swarming feelings of dread that are constantly looming over my head. The end of freshman year doesn't feel like a year at all.
"So, Luke, how are things with Michael?" Calum asks from across the table.
"Uh...Fine I guess." Calum does not look in any way convinced, though my fuzzy brain is sure I'm coming across aloof and indifferent. I realize quickly that if Calum is asking about Michael, he probably isn't interested in me that way, and it hurts almost before I can feel it.
Ashton raises a brow, "What's wrong with you lately?" My head snaps up from its fixed downward tilt.
"What do you mean? I'm fine?" I say through a mouthful of bi bim bap rice. The sad truth is, I can't stop thinking about Calum and his stupid hair and stupid smile and his stupid face. He makes me forget bad things exist in the best of ways and I can't seem to get him out of my head.
"No, you're always staring at nothing and you look like you're thinking and also not at the same time and it's weird, dude." Ashton says, disturbing my thoughts of Calum. Our friends send me concerned looks as I eat as calmly as possible.
"Luke? You good?" Mason asks with a raised brow.
"Yeah, I'm just stressed about exams, guys. It's not that deep," I laugh lightly, although it is that deep. It sucks that Calum doesn't mind that I have a "thing" with Michael while I'm constantly thinking about the way Calum's lips feel on mine and how I need more the same way I need xanax. My longing for him terrifies me as much as blacking out after too many pills but yet I can't seem to stop wanting it all.
When I get home from school, the first thing I decide to do is shower. I catch glimpses of my body while I undress and it hits me harder than usual. It's hard to think about the limits I've set for myself in order to hide from the world. It all seems so unfair, to be judged because of something you can't control nor change. I try not to stare at myself for too long or I know I will want to tear off my own skin as if it is a cocoon I can escape from to become a butterfly. The steam is suffocating; sticky and thick like honey. I bask in it for what must be too long, only stepping into the shower when my skin is damp from the solution of sweat and steam. I don't turn on music like I usually do, and i stand motionless under the stream that's burning my skin until it turns red. It hurts less than the itchy emotions I've been feeling but somehow more than I imagine what drowning is like. Asphyxiation, or maybe a death trap. Like a fish caught in a net, or the pills locked in my mother's safe, perhaps.
I find myself fixating on the idea that there's more Xanax around, and I'd do practically anything to get my tingling hands on it. I get out of the shower without even washing my hair, which I don't even realize until I'm in my room.
I know I'm slipping but I can't bring myself to care; not with Michael on my mind and Calum in my heart. Calum is a ghost, something I imagine Lovecraft would write about. I wonder if I tried to touch him, whether my fingers would slip right through his vestige.
It crosses my mind that I could text him, ask him to hang out, maybe. Like friends. Like I'm not involved with Michael. Like I don't dream of Calum's lips on mine.
I can't bring myself to do it.
My phone vibrates on my bedside table and my heart hopes it's Calum.
Michael's name burns bright on my screen and I debate ignoring it, but I decide against it. He's asked me to hang out, so I tell him to come over. It doesn't register in my irrational and impulsive mind that leading him on is doing more harm than good, so I don't consider the danger I'm putting both of us in.
7:45. Michael tells me he's at my door, though I hear him pull into my driveway before he says anything.
"Hey, Luke," he grins. It feels real but my own smile is forced and sticks like cement to my teeth. I'm not high; I figure Michael isn't quite cool with that sort of thing. Doing drugs by yourself, that is, as it is often assumed that being high alone is drug addict behavior.
I'm not a drug addict. I won't be a drug addict. I've been sober for almost twenty-four hours.
We drink tea and talk like friends while some T.V. show is indistinctly audible in the background. Maybe Michael and I should have stayed friends before all of this got so complicated. At this point, however, I realize that regrets are superfluous and I can't go back and change anything.
I'm sweating but I'm cold. I can't tell until I feel my right hand burning, almost like I'm struggling with the effort of holding an almost empty mug. I try to shake the feelings, disguised as a flip of my hair, but the movement makes my head spin and I can feel my eyelashes fluttering with glimpses of white spots in my peripheral vision.
Michael frowns, "Hey, you okay?" His concern paralyzes me and I can't come up with the words I want to say.
"Good. Fine. Never better," I know I'm choking on the syllables but I can't feel it.
Suddenly I'm painfully aware of Michael's hand rubbing gentle circles on my thigh. It doesn't help.
"Luke, you look like death. Are you sick?" I can't say that it's something quite similar to sickness, I can't say I'm slowly killing myself and I'm not doing anything to change it.
"No, no, I must be dehydrated; I don't know. Just a bit dizzy," my feet are on the floor, my left palm is cold on the granite counter, my right hand is clammy as it grips the handle of my mug. I am grounded.
Michael shoots up from his seat and grabs a water bottle from my fridge. "Drink up, Hemmings," he offers the bottle and my hand trembles as I take it. I try to convince myself that this will help me, as though hope is enough to trump what I deny is withdrawal. It takes me ten minutes to finish the water.
"I think I feel better," I lie, hoping Michael will ignore the problem. I find that playing pretend is easiest in difficult situations. Thankfully, my response earns a genuine smile that I can tell means he believes me. It's much easier to lie.
We move to my bedroom to watch a movie I can't care less about, the only thing on my mind is my next line. I can feel the fantom burn in my right nostril and I ache for its solidity. Michael's head rests like steel on my chest, heavy in its fixed placement. My arm is draped over his shoulder and my hand rests on the curve between his ribs and hip. I know distantly that he can feel my heartbeat, and I wonder if he notices the slow but unsteady staccato thumping of the muscle.
"Fuck it," Michael murmurs under his breath and lifts himself up in favor of staring me dead in the eyes and leaning dangerously close to my lips. I don't stop him, though I know I should. I try to lead him into a slow kiss, mostly lips, but his tongue presses almost aggressively into the heat of my mouth. I decide it's not worth guidance, so I suck lightly on his tongue and bite gently on his bottom lip and try to savor the plumpness of it.
I realize that kissing Michael is much easier if I pretend it's Calum.
Michael pulls his head back and climbs over me to straddle my thighs. I desperately hope he doesn't want to do anything more than make out, so I keep my hands placed gently on his hips while his wrists lay on my shoulders. I imagine ebony hair and tanned skin. I pretend he smells like Calum; fresh and soft like summer rain.
Once the movie playing on my T.V. ends, I realize I can't keep kissing Michael.
"Hey, hey, we should stop before anything goes too far. I don't want to do anything else tonight, just so you know," it's not the best way to say it, but Michael is easy in his acceptance.
"Anything you want," he says softly. It's not quite like he thinks I'm spooked, I can tell he understands.
"Wanna smoke? I want to get really baked tonight and since my mom isn't home..." I trail off, biting my kiss-swollen lips in hesitance.
"Of course."
It's not Xanax, but it will do for the time being.
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