ODAAT: Volume 1, Chapter 3

 

Chapter 3

The Silence Is Killing Me

I'm in the kitchen, making dinner. Hunter is leaning against the entrance to the kitchen, watching me, like I care. He's wearing faded denim jeans, hanging on his protruding hips. He's not trying to cock them the way that he is, but it's his default stance. His arms are crossed over his chest, wrinkling the aging sweatshirt he's wearing. He doesn't ask me where I went last night. I get the feeling he's waiting for me to offer the information, but I won't. I doubt he cares anyway. It may be curiosity, but it's not concern. He stopped caring a long time ago. I'm not delusional enough to think otherwise. He's got his eyes glued to the kitchen floor, like he's waiting for something to move the tiles and break him out of this world. I didn't expect him home until well after dinner, but I thought it would be nice to make him something to eat anyway. I used to do that whenever he was coming home from tour. I'd have a feast made for him, knowing how tour food causes malnutrition. I'd go all-out, but, it's been a while since I've cared too. I'm barely putting effort into this meal. I'm just boiling water, making pasta. I'm watching the bubbles floating up when it's finally time to add the noodles. I choose the flat ones, because they pair the best with shrimp, in my opinion. The shrimp is already cooked, placed aside from the burner on the counter. I'm just waiting.

Life has become a waiting game.

He lifts himself off the wall and heads back into the living room. Not a word, but his silence speaks louder than anything he could waste his time saying. Is it so bad that I want him to call me out? To show the signs of jealousy, irritation, because at least that means he noticed I was gone... I want him to grab my shoulders, shake me and ask me where I've been. Demand an answer. Care. For all I know, he just woke up. I didn't bother going upstairs when I got home. That's where he was, from what I know. I came in and headed for the kitchen. Not because I'm hungry. I ate already, while I was still out. We ordered pizza for the 10 of us that lingered around. The “after party crew” is what he called us. I just laughed. I hardly know what else to say when he's being ridiculous. He asked me to stay too. He said I didn't have to come home to this. I told him I had to. Hunter would get suspicious otherwise. He knew I was lying, that Hunter isn't really here anymore. But, he lets me get away with my excuses. At least for now. He's made it pretty clear that he's not going to wait around forever. But, that's his call. I just want to make this nightmare go away.

I sigh as I grab my coffee cup, realizing that it's empty now. I fill the cup and add two spoons of sugar into the mug. Then I head to the fridge and add my creamer. A delightful smell of cinnamon rolls and coffee fills the air around the mug. Then I go to stir it, realizing a second too late that I didn't grab the spoon. Instead, I grabbed the fork that I had been using to pry the shrimp. Fuck. Garlic butter coffee was not high on my list of things to try. I'm happy to wake up in a sweat-filled room filled with naked bodies and rock stars any day of the week. But, garlic shrimp coffee? No. Oh well. I'm not going to dump the entire coffee down the drain. I'll try it. Who knows? I might like the taste of garlic butter coffee. Doubtful, but stranger things have happened in my life, I'm sure. Fuck this fork. I throw it into the sink, punishing it for being in the way. It's not the fork at fault, but my brain. I didn't realize. I can't punish the fork. I still need it to push the shrimp into the bowls when the pasta is finished boiling. It does the job I need it to do. It does. It's not at fault because I tried to make it do something it wasn't designed for, like stirring sugar.

I realize most of my frustration is because of Hunter. He's now sitting in the living room playing on his game station. He's got the headset on, too. I can hear him laughing and chatting with all of his online friends. He can talk to them, without any problems. He can smile and laugh and have a good time. I don't know when I stopped being his friend and became his enemy. I don't know why I bothered coming home. Well, here. This has never felt like a home. It's too big, too empty. I would say it was inspired by love, but, I don't want to turn such a beautiful emotion into a joke. Once upon a time, there was love here. But I think we lost it along the way. This love is nothing more than a chemical imbalance. If I wanted that, I could buy drugs. Drugs don't give me as much drama and the effects are longer lasting. More fun. I don't worry too much about the side effects, because I never let the drugs wear off.

“Hunter, it's done.” I call out as I finish portioning our meal. I can hear his muffled conversation with whoever he's talking to online. I place both plates on the kitchen table. I expect he'll grab his and head back to his gaming. I'll sit here, watching him from across this vacant house. To my surprise, he pulls out the chair and sits down at the table. I don't know what to say to him, so I opt for nothing. I know he's not interested in talking either. We occasionally look at one another, offering fake smiles. They have to be fake, because nothing in this house is real anymore.

“You added something.” He comments, looking up from his plate. I raise my eyebrow, surprised that he noticed. He usually doesn't. Or, wouldn't. I let the butterflies in my stomach flutter as I smile.

“I just added a dash of lemon juice.” I clarify. He nods, like he approves of this change. It's a small exchange, but it's more than usual. That's nice.

I remember when he wasn't so self-involved, when I actually mattered to him. When this relationship was valued by both of us, instead of something we just put up with. I don't remember when it changed. I don't know if I would have noticed, either. When something goes through constant changes, it's hard to pinpoint the one that mattered.

Back when we met, we were young and impulsive. I met him after a show in Nevada. He was playing with his band. At the time, they were only a local buzz. But, I had gone to Nevada with my boyfriend Luke. Luke had gone out of his way to see this particular band. I had gone with him to show my support, and because I didn't trust him in Nevada. I remember thinking how adorable Hunter was. How out of his element, too. He was too young to know much about the lifestyle he was getting himself into. But he wanted it with such a passion that I was impressed. So was Luke, who made sure that Hunter became a star. But that was only the first time we met. The first time we exchanged pleasantries. The first time I noticed the way he smiled. The first time he captured my heart. Then I didn't see him again until years later. It was at a venue in New York. He joked that fate had brought us back into each others' lives. I never believed in fate, but I believed in his smile. I packed my bags that night and hopped onto the tour bus. The band has just started the East leg of a cross-country tour. So, I tagged along until the end, moving into Hunter's California home. It was a brutal tour, but we loved every second of it.

Sometimes, when the bus was pulled to the side of the road, the two of us would climb out. We'd lean against the tour bus, sharing a cigarette. We'd watch as the smoke turned into clouds, floating up towards the sky. Up. Up. As if they were heading towards the stars, or the moon. It felt like we were a part of something, him and I. Something that was bigger than ourselves. I'd look over at him, watching the world with wide eyes. He was so fascinated back then, by everything. I'd tell him he was beautiful in the moonlight. He'd laugh and say I was stealing his line. After all, wasn't it him who should be saying that to me? I'd laugh. We'd kiss. Then we'd head back onto the bus, holding hands and in our own world. Oh, those were the days. Now we're eating garlic butter shrimp at a silent dinner table with nothing but memories echoing in the background.