ODAAT: Volume 1, Chapter 4

 

Chapter 4

That Thing You Do

I've got my eyes shut tight, trying to encourage sleep to find me in the blackness of the night. I have no idea how long I've been laying here, awake and aware. I sigh as I let my eyes flutter open, turning my head to see the clock on the bedside table. It's flashing the number 2:33, which means I've only been attempting sleep for an hour. It feels more like an eternity. Of course, Hunter went to bed at 8:30, the same time he goes to bed every night that he's here. I dropped onto the bed at the same time as him, intending to go to bed with him. It's rare that we fall asleep together. Mostly because I don't sleep. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. I hoped I would do the same, but had no luck. By 10, I was restless and picked up his copy of Invisible Monsters. I've already read it more than 20 times, but I'm always open to reading it over. Every time I catch something new and it feels like a whole new book. It helps that I always read it in a different order from the last time. Of course, this time, I couldn't concentrate. I read the words, but it was like they were on another plain of existence. My mind was too busy racing with thoughts of this morning.

Hunter used to stay up with me. We'd talk and laugh until the sun came up, before even considering bed as an option. But now, the choice is between going to sleep, or sitting awake in complete silence. Neither of us want to acknowledge everything this isn't. It seems like a better idea to deny it to each other, to ourselves. It's easier to stay silent. I fucking hate it. I thought I had finally fallen asleep around one in the morning, but the clock mocks me. I've been laying here in echoing silence for far too long. I wish my insomnia was caused by an overactive lifestyle that keeps me manic and edgy. But it's not. Instead, it's sharing a bed with Hunter. I can't sleep when I'm laying beside him. I slept just fine last night, when I found myself in someone elses' bed.

It was strangely comforting to wake up in a room filled with sweat and sex. A room filled with connections between like-minded people with common goals of experiencing something bigger than themselves. I miss that feeling. I miss waking up beside someone who notices when I get out of the bed. Someone who follows me because my absence is disappointing. I miss having someone who wants to touch me because they know it's me. Someone who wants the air around them filled with the sound of my voice, instead of my silence. I want that from someone. No, not someone. I don't want someone. It can't be anyone. I want him. I want those endless lips to be the ones mine meet every morning. They were. Once upon a time, they were. Oh, but that was so long ago. Who even remembers that?

Hunter pulls me out of my thoughts when he stirs in the bed. He rolls over onto his side, draping one of his arms over me. His fingertips press into my stomach, like he's looking for solid ground. He smiles in his sleep and a sudden calm washes over me. Then it's gone when he mumbles her name with a sigh of content. He does this too often. I think I hear her name more than my own these days. Oh well. Nothing gold can stay, and this relationship has tarnished. There's no sense trying to spruce it up anymore. I sigh, pushing his hand off of my stomach. His skin against mine burns me, like acid to the bone. I pull myself off the bed, letting my feet make a thud as they hit the floorboards. He doesn't notice my absence, instead pressing his fingers into the mattress all the same. I grab the sweatshirt of mine that's draped over the end of the bed. It's navy blue and has “Columbia” written on the front of it. It's one of Luke’s, but I never told Hunter that. He might know, since I never went to Columbia and Luke was his mentor. But he doesn't call me on souvenirs of the past. When we moved into this house at the beginning of the year, we had a cleansing ritual in the backyard. It went against local fire regulations, but we did it anyway. He tossed everything from a former lover into that fire. I did the same. It was supposed to help us start over. Forget about our past mistakes. His infidelities and my insecurities. We were letting go, moving forward. Or at least that was the intent. We were really just making excuses for ourselves. I had found this sweater a few weeks later, hiding it somewhere in the closet. As the bitter wind pulled in earlier this month, I gave in. I pulled the sweater out and Hunter didn't say anything about it. I grab the jeans that are laying underneath and pull them up my thin, bony legs. I don't bother doing up the zipper, leaving them hanging open. I head out of the bedroom and the door closes behind me, having caught on the sleeve of my sweater. That's fine. I want the door to close behind me. I want every door to close behind me. I can bum around for a few years, living on the street or couch surfing. I've done it so many times. But, I've exhausted my resources too. Too many people turned their back because I chose to give Hunter another chance. Little did I know. I laugh to myself out loud as I head towards the living room. I have no idea what I'm doing. Until I do. I pass the front door and notice the figure standing on the porch.

I watch him for a minute, nervously hovering his white knuckle above the door. Unsure. Then, he steps back from the door, looking up at the window above his head. He's standing on the steps, rocking on the heels of his feet. He's wearing a varsity sweatshirt, similar to the one I have on. His is black, with yellow writing. He's never enrolled or attended University, so the sweater isn't his. I figure it's probably Blake's, since he's trying to be discreet and blend in. He looks no more than 12 years old. The red on his cheeks and the glimmer in his eyes are illuminated by the lights that line the driveway. We're about a five minute drive from town, because Hunter wanted to live on the outskirts. It's not impractical. He's still too famous to live in town. Instead, he choose this house with a security gate. I briefly wonder how he got past the gate without using the intercom, but then I remember who I'm talking about. He scaled the gate. He's used to this by now. He looks up at me, noticing that I'm watching him. I sigh, realizing I have to acknowledge him now. Or, at least humor his presence. He took the initiative to come here. That's earned a few minutes of my time at least. I slowly pull the door open and he steps forward. The cool air hits me and I forget the temperature at night. It's not cold, but there's a bite to the breeze as it passes easily through my sweater, grazing my skin and making every hair stand up on my arms. I wonder how long he's been standing outside, noticing that he's shaking.

“What are you doing here?” I ask him, breathing the cold air into my lungs. He shrugs, like that answers my question in some way. I shake my head, letting him know that it doesn't.

“Um, you left.” He tries again. I suppress my laughter, because that's nothing new. I'm always leaving. It's my trademark move if you ask anyone who has ever known me. When it comes to the morning after, I leave so fast that I'm nothing but a memory. I just don't want anyone to get used to my presence, or miss me when I leave. Because it's inevitable that I will always leave. I can't seem to pull that Houdini act with this one though. It's like he's a black dog and he's caught my scent. He can follow me wherever I go now, no matter how many times I try to shake him off my tracks.

He's looking up at me with these sad puppy dog eyes. I'd say he's lucky I even saw him standing out here, but I always do. It's like I just know whenever he's around. I can see the glimmer of hope now, his eyes lighting up even more. The streetlights wouldn't need to be on to see this sparkle. He makes it obvious enough with the smile on his face. I want to ignore these big brown eyes, putting me on the spot. Asking silent questions that I don't have the answers for. But I can't. I never can when it comes to him. He wants me to come back. I know the look on his face right now. That's the thing about him. Even when I don't want him to, he persists. He shows passion and perseverance. He pushes in all the best ways. I don't know why he tries so hard. I don't think he knows either. If I were to ask him why he bothered showing up tonight, he'd dismiss the question. But, eventually, he'd break down and answer. Because he always does. And eventually, I'll break down and follow him. Because that's what I always do.