Date: Mon, 14 Dec 2009 16:53:42 -0600 From: indiemcemopants Subject: this loneliness that you call freedom chapter three This is fiction. You can email me at ativan.wont.kill@gmail.com Thanks again for the responses I've received so far. You people are really amazing. I wouldn't write this story as quickly if it weren't for you. I am a slacker. --- Chapter Three This was a bad idea. I'm not ready for this. I knew I wouldn't be. Why didn't I just go with my instincts? Now I'm stuck here, anxious as fuck. It's really hot in here. And somehow I've got chills. This is weird. I'm sitting here trying not to cross my arms over my chest. Trying not to seem standoffish. Combative. Closed off. It's so not working. I'm trying to pay attention but the abject terror is sort of preventing that. You should know: I'm socially inept. You should know: I don't do this. Ever. She's so funny. I know she notices my awkwardness but she isn't saying anything. She's continuing on as if it's no problem. As if I'm not a fucking loser. And she's joking around, making light conversation with me. She's the coolest girl in the world. My hands are sweating. My head is spinning. I'm trying to stay focused. I'm not even shy. It's not that I'm scared or nervous around people, exactly. Once I've been around someone for long enough I can talk as much as anyone. I'm capable of conversation and I won't run scared from the room every time someone speaks to me. It's not that. I don't like people. I give people chances. So many chances. And they just take more. They take everything. And they keep wanting. Nothing is ever enough. No matter how much I give, it's not satisfactory, and no matter how much more they take, it's still not good enough. What's so hard about this is the balancing act. Obviously you can't just come out and tell your new potential friend that you hate people. Oh, I don't like anyone, they fucking suck, but I'm giving you a chance. Do you really think that would work? It wouldn't. The thing you have to do in these situations is play a game. Don't reveal too much information. Never say too much. Never say too little. Seem interested. Don't seem too interested. Put yourself out there, to a certain extent, while holding back to a certain extent. My god. It's exhausting. You see, I'm a simple guy. I wish I could just tell people everything. What I've gone through. My fears. My hopes. But you do that and they screw you over even more. They take advantage. They exploit all of your fears. They kill your hopes. They destroy you without even a second thought. Sure, I can handle it. For awhile. After a few years you start to lose your fucking mind. You can spend an entire friendship being scared to death of the instant when you finally get fucked over. When they finally decided that your destruction is necessary. I know. I've been there. It's no way to live. Trust me. You get to the point where you don't know what to do. You don't know who to trust. You're dying inside, wanting to feel something for someone. Wanting to find one single person you can trust for more than a few seconds. You give everything you have, exhaust yourself, share everything. You give so many chances and it never works out. Ever. At least that's how it works for me. Your mileage may vary. So, here I am. At a stranger's house. A potential new friend. Or enemy. This is an unfamiliar place. The feeling here is lost. The feeling here is nervous. Thankfully she's the only person here with me. If you think I'm weird right now, you should see me in crowds. Scratch that. Don't put me anywhere near a crowd. Please. She tells me that her brother had to work today. He's been told all about me, apparently. She wants us to meet. He doesn't have friends either, she tells me, with a forlorn look on her face. She doesn't elaborate and I know better than to ask. Or maybe I'm scared of where that conversation could lead. God knows I don't need that right now. It's too soon. Way too soon. Right now, I need to lighten up. I came over here to chat. To get to know a new friend. And her brother, I guess. It's supposed to be a relaxing night. No pressure. Funny how it never works that way inside your head. I warned her that I'm a freak. Politely. Diplomatically. I wish I could just be blunt sometimes. I'm neurotic. I'm scared. Please forgive me. Don't hold it against me. I've been through a lot. Really, I have. I could tell you stories. You'd be curled up crying in the fetal position by the end of the night, I promise. The thing is, people can be sick. The thing is, you can't ever fully trust anyone. Did you know that you're three times as likely to be killed by the person you love the most? It's true. It's something to do with how close you allow people to get to you. Physically and emotionally. I've got the scars to prove it. Physically and emotionally. You'll see. You'll wonder why you wasted your time on such a fuck-up. Eventually. Everyone does. Just wait. Give it time. It's better to wait anyway. Spend as much time with a real friend as I can before the fall out. Those precious weeks. It's all I have left. -- Standing in her living room, I feel exposed. She looks at me like she's trying to figure me out. Like she senses something. It's frightening. Surely she can't see how broken I am inside. We'd just been talking for an hour or so. I'm growing more nervous by the second. More exhausted. I'm worn out and my palms are sweaty. I hope she doesn't try to shake my hand. She says, "I wish my brother had been here. He needs to talk to someone. Other than me, I mean. He's been kind of... down, lately." "Oh?" I raise my eyebrows. She stares off into the distance. "Yeah, I don't know why. For once, he won't talk to me." I know the feeling. I want to tell her maybe he just wants her to leave him the hell alone for awhile. But I don't know him. And it's not really my place to tell her how to treat her brother. She sighs. "He's been sleeping a lot. And he gets out of this place to go to work but that's it." "I can relate," I suggest softly. "Yeah I figured. He'd really like you. You're both shy." I'm not shy, I think to myself. I hate people. "He hates people," she says. Oh. I see. There are no pictures of her brother in her place, I notice. Actually, no pictures at all. How strange. The bare walls make the place seem cold and uninviting. The old, ratty furniture doesn't help. Hand me downs, I assume. I don't know how they can live in a place this small. This lifeless. I thought my place was bad. Compared to this, my apartment is heaven. There's almost nothing here. I don't comment on that. What would I say? This place is like bright, shining death. Just so you know. The whiteness and emptiness of this place is what heaven probably looks like. This is why I don't care about going there. No, I think not. Maybe one day. Her phone rings. "Hi mom. I'm just sitting here, watching tv. No, no mom. No. Don't worry. I'm not gonna get raped." I snort. I keep listening. It's like a car crash. Fascinating. Disturbing. "Yes mom. I'll be careful. No mom, I won't invite boys over here while I'm by myself." This is what's called the unreliable narrator. When what you think you know is all a lie. When you assume you have your facts straight. When you trust what you're told. Eventually they got off the phone. "Sorry. She has to threaten me all the time. She thinks since I broke up with the boyfriend, I'm gonna start whoring around. She doesn't have much faith in me," she laughs dryly. I frown. She says, "She probably whored around when her boyfriends dumped her." I stare. I say, "You dumped him." Laughing, she says, in between breaths, "Yeah... but... she got dumped. Trust me." "You're so loving," I smile. "Yeah, yeah. I love her. I do. I'm just hotter than she is." I look her up and down. She's probably right. I nod. "Hey where's your restroom," I ask. She points down the hall and I head that way. While I'm washing my hands I hear the front door open. Voices. Hers and a guy. Her brother, I assume. "What are you up to, sis? I had to run home really fast on break to get my fuckin' jacket. It's cold! Their heat is broken. It'll be repaired by tomorrow but I can't handle the rest of my shift like this." More conversation. Laughter. His voice is soft. Raspy. Quiet. The word I think of is: harmless. I think: gentle. I can't hear them anymore. They stepped outside. Muffled speaking. Footsteps. I walk out of the bathroom, hoping to catch them before he leaves. To say hi, at least. Why not? At least he won't be sticking around to interrogate me. I get down the hall just as she's walking inside. "That was my brother, you just missed him. He had to run back to work." I sigh. "Maybe next time," I say. "He says sorry to have missed you. And he told me to tell you how brave you are for being here this long," she rolls her eyes. I laugh. "He's right," I grin. My joke was worth the punch to my arm. She's kind of weak anyway, not that I would ever tell her. "Ow," I deadpan. "Watch it or it'll be harder, and a different part of your anatomy." My eyes widen. "Your brother was right about one thing: it is getting pretty late. I should go. I had an awesome time though. We should do this again really soon, actually..." I look at her, hopefully. "It took a lot out of you to say that, didn't it?" Wanting to hide my face forever, I just nod. "We'll hang out soon. I'll call you," she tells me, holding the door open for me. I head back to my place. --- Thanks for reading.