Chapter Thirty-Six Predictability

The next morning, I woke up earlier than I had expected, feeling like my voice was caught in my throat and a thick resin coating my entire body. This was not the first time my eyelids had fluttered open during the night, this was just the longest opening, and since light had started to filter through my room, I figured I might as well get up. In the times I had woken up when I was still shrouded in darkness, I had flung the covers off of my body in a heat wave, and peeled away the shirt I had been wearing. I felt so fucking hot under the sheets, and I didn’t know why. My window was open. During the daylight hours it wasn’t even this hot. It was just starting to get nice out, most kids staying outside all hours again. The wind could still be cold sometimes, but it was only on those gray days where it seemed to manifest itself. It was a good temperature – not one that should be causing me to wake up in the middle of the night, feeling like my house is on fire.

By the third time I was roused, I go up from the bed to look for fire, going all the way down in the basement and checking the furnace. Needless to say, my house wasn’t burning down. In fact, it seemed like every room but my own was temperate, and even a little chilly with the absence of sunlight. It was only in my room, and my room alone that hell felt like it was descending upon me. Even if it felt so sweltering that my skin was falling off from my sordid bones, I knew this could never be hell, literally or metaphorically. I would have been damned by the devil, tried and punished for all of my fucking sins. That fate was coming, but hadn’t happened yet. I had only committed those sins, whatever was counted, but I had not been caught yet. What I was living and trying to sleep in was too painful to be hell. It was just as hot, but I was still stuck in my inner turmoil. I hadn’t told Gerard, or anyone for that factor yet; therefore I could not be judged.

That only left me one option, since heaven wasn’t even a consideration with the amount of guilt I felt. I was in purgatory; the middle stage and fucking gray area that I always hated. I had always felt trapped with my age, almost reaching that pivoted point of eighteen where I could begin my own descent into that gray area of being too old to live, but too young to die. With Gerard’s help, I had avoided that fear, or at least by passed it for a little while. At the moment, it wasn’t the age, or even the clouds that remained gray and omniscient. It was the fucking heat in this room; I felt like dying and my skin clung together in lumps.

It took me awhile to realize why I felt so icky, so stuck, and yet so familiar with this setting. I was hot because I was wearing clothing to bed. I hadn’t done that since before Gerard. I was used to sleeping naked, in his arms, our flesh sweaty from our actions, and not my internal damnation. I was hot and muggy because I missed him; I missed the feelings we had together. It was just as I was slipping off my pj pants to just sleep in my boxers (being naked in my house was not an option) that I realized I had to see him that morning. I made myself promise to it, setting my alarm to get me up so I couldn’t use sleeping in as an excuse. I needed to see him, even if it meant moving from the purgatory of my room, into the descent to hell that I had a bad feeling I would get once I told him everything. And I had to tell him everything; that’s all he was to me.

The stiff and achy feeling continued, even after I had gotten up and put some new clothing on, turning off the alarm that ruptured my eardrums into wakefulness. I stared long and hard at the shirts I had nailed on my door; the one on the inside from our first adventure in painting, and the one on the outside that had blue scattered all over it from our first meeting. I just stood and looked at those, realizing how much I had to lose today. Those pieces of clothing embodied so much; they were strong and hard, encased in paint. When I reached out and touched them, some of the patches began to shift, and the next thing I knew, some paint chips had fallen away. Not too many, but enough so I could see just how fragile this strong out layer was. Gerard and I were strong, but we could still break. I felt my chest heave, and I step foot outside my door, leaving the flakes behind me.

My feet didn’t work when I walked. They just refused to compute. I would walk a good ten steps at a fast pace, then my heart would leap to my throat and choke me. I’d cough for no reason and when I’d open my eyes again, I was farther away than I had been. For everyone one stride I took, there was ten minutes of deliberation and then another three back. I had reverted to walking in a zigzag pattern at one point, thinking that it was somehow easier to control. I started to realize how stupid I looked when someone walking their dog started to give me weird looks, and I almost got their leash tangled around my ankle. After a little kid had laughed at me, calling me a freak, it was only then that I snapped my feet into some kind of working order. I started walking normally again, my fists jammed into my pockets as my only nervous twitch. I made my way in a somewhat dignified manner, the thoughts from the day before only echoing a little bit inside my frantic head. When I reached the pivotal spot in the sidewalk where it bent to either take me to Gerard’s apartment building, or the little kids’ park, it was with a heavy chest that I turned and went to the park.

I needed to see something else. I needed to be close to Gerard without actually being near him. We had shared many memories in the park; it seemed like the perfect solution.

I took the small concrete path up to the area of twisted metal playthings, watching the empty swings sway into the wind. I had the sudden urge to jump and leap into the leather binding where millions of children had placed themselves before, pumping their legs so hard to get so high, wanting to see, and also being afraid of turning themselves inside out of they went over the bar. I even walked over to the vacant seats and touched the chain linking of the straps, but couldn’t do it. I wanted to be a kid again at that moment, and jump and play and do all of the things I had been missing out on, but I didn’t at the same time. They reminded me of Jasmine, and I felt that aching guilt over it. The swaying motion of the swing would only make me throw up again, I told myself, and walked over to the bench instead. It was the same place where I had sat before with Gerard, and I let my aching body ooze and spill out all over the seats.

There was no one else around the park, despite the fact that it was still spring break. I knew that all the schools had different times for their breaks, but I knew that my holding pen couldn’t be the only one letting the kids go free this week. I wondered where they all had gone, and deduced after a few moments that they were probably wasting their time in front of a TV because they never got to do that at school. The thought of that made me sad for a brief second, thinking that these children, the ones that had so much promise and potential inside of them were wasting it all away. It didn’t occur to me just then that I was doing the exact same thing, only with another vice.

I didn’t know how long I had been sitting there before I felt another body sit next to mine. I had zoned out, remembering the day with Billy and Gerard’s drawing being so accurate to see what no one else could do, and when I zoned back in, I thought my daydream was coming into reality again. There was Gerard, dressed in his normal black attire with his dove jacket and striped scarf wrapped around him (despite the lack of need for it). He didn’t have a sketch pad this time, but sat down on the bench easily, his hands in his pockets looking out at the skeleton of the park.

“It’s such a shame kids don’t come outside anymore unless they’re forced to,” he stated, taking in a deep sigh and looking around some more in front of him, the casting his eyes downward.

“Look at this.” He motioned to the grass with his elbow and set his fingers forth from the confines of the jacket. He bent down and plucked a lightly colored piece of clover up, twirling it in his fingers from just under the bench we were placed upon. His eyes fawned over the distinct perked tips, its light purple shading in some areas before finishing his thought.

“Look at how alive the earth is right now, how rich and full it is, awaiting someone’s needy eyes. Children’s needy eyes, because those are the only types of eyes they have. The Earth is ready for them, and yet, look at how many vacant bodies there are inside, sitting at their TV, wasting their life away.” He let out a melancholy sigh, flicking away the plant he had plucked, just as easily as the children who were throwing way their dreams. Without looking at me, he eased back into his spot.

If my heart hadn’t already stopped beating because of the very sight before my eyes, it would have stopped hearing him say the same words I had been thinking only minutes ago. God, he really could read my mind, couldn’t he? There was no way in hell I was able to read his, especially as his distinguished and prominent nose turned up as he gazed out at the park. If I had known what he was thinking then, maybe I wouldn’t have been so flustered and unable to find my own voice. Instead of focusing on the good in this situation – how I had still managed to think on the same parallel as Gerard - I focused on the bad. He was here. He had found me. But how did he even know where the fuck to look?

“This is why I don’t like TV,” he mused, catching me off guard again.

“How did you find me?” I switched topics effortlessly, closing my agape mouth to only speak. After the words had flowed out, they still hung there, waiting for answers to hopefully fill them up. I had angled my body to turn towards him slightly, while he still looked ahead, back arched against the bench. He still hadn’t looked at me directly. I saw his eyes scan my feet at one point, my knees, and even my hands, but I had not focused in on his green eyes yet. He only focused his eyes forward, but with my gasped question, he gave into his strong stature. Carefully, he glanced over a tad, raising his eyebrows. He appeared surprised at my question, and my heart beat fast thinking that he just somehow knew I had cheated on him.

“You’re too predictable,” was all he said, looking forward again. Our eyes had not touched for as long as I had wanted them too. He took in a deep breath and I watched his chest (that I had touched, tasted, and fallen asleep upon) rise and fall again. “You haven’t come by in awhile. I figured you’d be here.”

I felt my chest tighten this time. “Have you been coming here every day?”

Gerard hesitated a little with his response, his body stiffening, the hand he had placed on his own knee bunching into a fist before he responded. “Yes.”

I crushed my eyes shut, feeling another layer of guilt add on to everything. I wanted to hug him so much, but I couldn’t. And not just for the reason that we were in public. “You shouldn’t have waited around…”

It hadn’t been that long since I had last seen him; three or four days at most. We hadn’t stayed the whole week at the cottage, thank God. The time apart from each other easily felt like a lifetime for me, but I had never thought about Gerard, other than how much I missed him. My thoughts weren’t strong enough by that point to reverse and think of things outside the box. It had never occurred to me during those four days that Gerard had missed me too – just as much. It almost looked as if he missed me more, the way his eyes squinted and the hand that was on his knee played with the fabric in his pants, but I figured that was nearly impossible. His feelings were only stronger than mine at that moment because he wasn’t overrun with guilt.

“I didn’t have to wait,” he smiled, shooting me a sly look out of nowhere. It made me jump a little, seeing him change his demeanor so fast. “I knew where to find you.”

I smiled at him, despite the fact that I still felt like shit. It was a weak attempt, my lips only brimming at the corners of my mouth a little, but it was something more than I had done in a long time. Gerard’s countenance just had that effect on me. I felt him slip his other hand over mine that was placed on the bench, and both our smiles fell. The guilt shrouded my face again, while he was mainly concerned. We didn’t link hands; my palm stayed face down on the gray wood, while his fingertips brushed over the top. The action was so small and insignificant for people walking by and seeing it, but it affected both of us more than we wanted to admit.

“You haven’t come by in awhile,” Gerard reiterated demurely.

I kept my head down and watched as his thumb went over my knuckles, the sensation shaking me from the inside out. I could feel his eyes on the part of my hair, and through I knew they were kind, they still burned.

“I know. I’m sorry,” I apologized, my voice cracking halfway through.

I wasn’t going to cry, I told myself angrily. I never cried. Not even when I was a little kid. The only clear memory I had of salty discharge staining my face was when I was five and scraped my knees. It was bad; there was blood everywhere and my skin was pretty mangled. It was nothing that some Band-Aids and kind words wouldn’t fix, but my dad had been the one home that day. Instead of kind words he had bactine, and proceeded to douse the whole wound in it while I cried like a baby. A baby he told me I was, and demanded that I stop crying or he would put more bactine on, and really give me something to cry about. I knew this threats were empty, looking back, but I still shut up, fusing my mouth shut and swallowing down the lump I had forming. I used my sleeve to wipe away any remnants of tears from my eyes to completely erase the act, if only to not have the same sting from the wounds I had that very day, both mental and physical. Ever since that afternoon, I had found it harder and harder to cry, even at funerals. I had only been to a few in my entire life, most of which I didn’t cry for, either suppressing the tears, or being too young to understand. I just didn’t know how anymore. It was as if I had swallowed the mechanism normal human beings used to cry; mine was just gone.

Things still affected me. I still felt hurt, pain, and loss; I wasn’t a complete and heartless zombie. There was just no outlet from which these feelings could spill. I probably felt emotions ten times worse that way by keeping everything inside and feeling like I was having a heart attack each time something really affected me. Like just then on the bench with Gerard; I was tearing inside.

“Don’t apologize,” he soothed, rubbing his hand up my hand and locking it around my wrist. Goose bumps attacked my skin as he did the small action. I loved it when he touched my wrist, for some strange reason. Though his hands weren’t too much larger than my own, I had a freakishly small wrist, and he was able to connect his thumb and forefinger around them easily. I wasn’t sure why I liked this so much; maybe it was the way he was always so gentle and kind, applying just the right amount of pressure. He was touching me to touch me; to make sure I was there, even if I felt ten million miles away from him at that moment.

“No,” I argued weakly to his claim.

He was always telling me not be so sorry, for everything and especially things I couldn’t control. For once though, Gerard didn’t get it. I could have controlled this, but I didn’t. He didn’t even know the half of it yet. And though my voice was lame and weak, he still tried to stop it, tightening his grip on my wrist ever so slightly and placing his other hand to my face, quickly and almost barely touching my lips as he went over them softly. It sent a shock through my system, and I almost forgot about all that had gone on. He was touching me. This wasn’t the past or the future. It was the present. He was fucking touching me.

But just as quickly as his touch had rendered through my body, I was left back to argue my point.

“I was with my friends,” I started, backing away from him a bit, but being grounded by his grip. My voice was raw and shaky, the emotion evident. I tried to motion with my hands to find the right words, but I was only left with vague topics I couldn’t grasp. I shifted my focus, and took in Gerard instead. His brows were furrowed, lips pushed forward a bit; listening. He was so intent on hearing my story, the way his caring eyes focused on me, just waiting. His caring green eyes I had seen in the dark. I felt my heart sink. I could trust him, I knew I could, but I knew I was still holding myself back.

It was horrible and vain and stupid, but I couldn’t tell him because I didn’t want to be the one to hurt him. I couldn’t stand to be the one to inflict pain on him, and I didn’t want to feel the guilt for that. I already had enough stowed away within me for the actions I had done; I didn’t want aftermath guilt yet. I wasn’t going to tell him, especially with him this close to me. I wanted to tell him and then run away, not watching the destruction I would cause. At that moment, I was a true artist. I was going to be selfish and just spend time with him without telling him, and then run away after the words leapt from my mouth, whenever that would be.

“I…I…” I trailed off, then gave up entirely. I dropped my hand into my lap and sighed. “I just don’t know.”

“Shhh,” he cooed, positioning himself so we were both looking at each other. He took his other hand and placed over mine and I didn’t try to pull away. I saw no point. I just sat there like a shell for a long time, my back hunched over and head down, listening to Gerard’s breathy coos and the wind in the trees. Pretty soon, I couldn’t even tell those apart and I could only feel his hands over mine, constantly stroking. He turned his neck at one point, looking around to see if anyone was watching us. Before, his one hand gesture could have been written off, but now we were too close, facing each other and touching more than just teachers and students do. We were walking in dangerous territory.

“Do you want to go back to my apartment?” he asked, leaning in and pressing his nose against my ear.

I sighed, knowing the answer to the question, but feeling my body render with sadness. There was a time when he didn’t have to ask these questions, I thought. There was a time when they had no answers. When did things change? Or when did I start answering things that didn’t need any justification?

“Yeah.”

He nodded his head and took his hands from mine, leaving the cold wind in its presence. Then we got up, and started to walk.

He walked a head of me a few paces, smiling back at me every once in awhile. At first, I had refused to smile back. I was a horrible person. I had cheated, and now I was going to ruin things more. But Gerard didn’t seem to care; he didn’t know yet, but he wasn’t going to let my attitude ruin his. He smiled back at me, speaking in French to piss me off purposely because he knew I didn’t understand a word he was saying.

“Pourquoi tu es trist? C’est un jour des jours, et les oiseaux sont chantent; tu doit être, aussi.”

And eventually, after a few more pointless sentences, and some of the more familiar phrases started to brush past his lips, I felt a grin growing over my face. I wanted to be in a bad mood, but Gerard had this fucking hold over me. I cared about him too much to let him see me so upset. His caring made me care, and in turn, made us both to smile.

“Finally,” he gushed when we got closer to his place and I let that first grin over my face.

“Finally what?”

“You smiled.” He grinned back at me. “I knew sacré bleu of all things would do it.”

I grinned again, just mentioning of the word and again seeing how fucking happy Gerard was. “How did you know?”

“Again, Frank,” he gushed, opening the giant metal door for me to the darkened hallway. I looked back at him once I stepped inside, and watched his grand yet elegant movements through the door as he finished his statement. “You’re too predictable.”

I laughed with him as he rubbed me on the shoulder, as if rubbing in the point. He didn’t need to rub it in, or do anything with it though. For some reason, the words had stung just the same; both good and bad.

I didn’t like being predictable, not in any sense of the word. I wanted to be like Gerard; daring, dashing, and a book that was still being written. He was still thinking about his next action, but could rewrite it at a moments notice. He was conventional only in the sense that he was predictable at being unpredictable. It was a strange concept, but one I was getting used to. He was about extremes, but they always overlapped. Not only was I predictable and he not, but he seemed to know about other people’s actions before they ever did. I knew I wasn’t surprising, but that certainly never led me to know what I was about to do next. Except, maybe, in this case.

I knew what I was going to do; I knew what I had to do. I still let my mind wander and wondered if he realized that soon enough, I would no longer be that predictable entity he expected of me. I would be just like him and drop the bomb of a lifetime. Despite this upcoming unpredictability, I had a feeling that once it was all over and the truth was exposed, I’d still have no idea what to do.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-14