Date: Wed, 5 Jul 2017 17:01:46 +0000 From: Secret Writer Subject: Beyond a colour - 02 *----- Beyond a colour - 02 Hi This is, a you probably know, a story. Fiction, not reality, and so no, it's not about you, whatever you might believe. As usual, if you shouldn't be reading this for whatever reason, or you don't like the idea of guys being gay and falling in love, then don't stay here and read this. If you enjoy this story, or anything else on this site, please donate at http://www.nifty.org/donate.html And finally, your (constructive) feedback is always welcome, you can contact me at secret_writer@outlook.com There's now a mailing list for (occasional) updates and new stories from me, you can subscribe at http://eepurl.com/b1EzqL -----* Chris briefly showed me around the ground floor, hallway, lounge, kitchen, bathroom. It was a nice enough house, not massive, but it had a good feel. Following his suggestion I left my bag in the lounge on the way around, and we ended up stood in the kitchen. I could see Georgia and Keith sat outside, but couldn't make out their conversion, although the frequent looks towards the house seemed like good enough evidence that they were talking about me. Yeah, maybe I was feeling a bit paranoid. That happens some times. A lot of times. Basically always. "So, Blue, there's beer in the fridge, and juice and stuff too, what would you like ?" "Erm, yeah, OK, a beer would be great." I swallowed it down fast, and then remembered that that was a really bad idea so slowed down. Things still felt too awkward as we stood there. Like I was blatantly crashing some party that I wasn't really cool enough to be at. "Chris? So, I kind of herd you and Georgia when I got here. She was saying something about asking me something?" Oh, OK. I surprised myself that this was what came out of my mouth, but I guess it was on my mind. In the way that a truck running over you might be `on your foot'. "So, yeah, well, it was just..." "Hey! You made it!" Keith had walked in and was already ignoring my personal space and going for a hug. This posed a problem for me, because I was acutely aware that he wasn't wearing a T-shirt. I kind of recognised him from school, but wow, he was seriously distracting, as in, he had a body worth looking at for a good while, not that he seemed to be aware of this. So as much as the hug was way out of line, it was also kind of good. "So does that mean that you guys are finally..." "Coming outside! Yeah, we'll be right out." It was obvious, even to me, that Chris had cut off whatever was about to be said, which did nothing to alleviate the rising nervous tension that was slowly taking over more and more of my body. Like I imagine cold would slowly paralyse you from the feet up if you stood in something really super cold. And you lived in a film, because I'm also pretty sure you would just pass out from the pain. Chris grabbed more beer and we went outside. There were giant beanbag type things which were actually really comfortable to lay around on, and some cool music on. It was, as described, pretty chilled out. I mean, it's the UK, so there's hardly ever any proper hot weather, but it was warm enough to feel like a British Summer party. Being the only 'new' person there was a little intimidating, however everyone was actually really nice, and not asking a million questions. It wasn't even particularly awkward, which surprised me, when Chris went to open the door for PJ and Aaron who arrived about half an hour later. Although PJ was also forgoing the T-shirt and so that was more than a little challenging to stop myself from staring. I don't think I did, and I had my sunshades on so it wouldn't have been obvious anyway. Having made my beer last approximately four times longer than everyone else's, which is my rough guide for alcohol consumption, I needed to move on to water or something. One of the things I have learnt since being on the crazy meds is that as long as you start out drinking alcohol, people often don't notice when you then stop. Bottles are usually better than glasses, because it's less obvious how much you have left, and they are also smaller than a pint, usually. I had been trying to find the `right' moment to stand up and walk inside, which felt like a very big decision, even though everyone else had been doing so freely. Almost immediately, I was aware of someone following me, and they followed all the way into the kitchen and over to the fridge. "So Blue, are you, erm, having a good time?" It was Chris, of course. I took out a bottle of water and leaned back against the counter drinking it. "Yeah, your friends seem pretty nice. Thanks for inviting me." "See, I told you it would be OK." "Yeah." "So, erm... " There was a pause, a long feeling and very silent pause. "Fuck, sorry, never mind. We should go back to the others." "Actually I was just going to use the bathroom, but I'll be right out." So, Chris was still nice. Very nice. But also, kind of weird. I find it reassuring when the popular people also turn out to be a bit weird. It's not like he's the most popular boy in school, but he's probably in the top five. I closed the bathroom door but couldn't help but be aware of still being able to hear him as I stood there taking a piss. 'Fuck! I'm such a fucking idiot!' He seemed to be yelling to himself, and then I heard him walk past the bathroom and head outside. A minute or so later, with another cold bottle of water, I headed back out too. Chris was stood talking with Georgia, an exchange that seemed to stop almost as soon as I returned. I sat back down on a giant beanbag and things seemed to be back to normal. Chris walked over and sat down next to me, and everything seemed OK. Or at least they looked OK to the casual observer. I don't think I was totally OK on the inside. I was aware of every time his arm brushed against me, or his foot nudged mine. Someone made a joke that was slightly at Chris' expense, which was pretty funny and we all laughed. Chris pretended to be really offended, which was just more funny. So in response to my laughing at him, he punched me on the shoulder and then gave me a hug. It was all very light hearted, just a joke, nothing serious. For him maybe. For everyone else probably too. I properly hated myself for doing it, but my whole body went super tense, there's no way he wouldn't have noticed as he hugged me. It felt as though it lasted for several minutes, and the only thing I could focus on was the overwhelming desire to get away. No, of course it didn't make sense, but logic is very easily overridden by ridiculous emotion. And this was scary, threatening, and dangerous. In my stupid head it was anyway. I jumped up and hurried back inside. It was just all too much. Something had felt off all afternoon, and I didn't know what, but now this too. Without a conscious plan, I'd got as far as picking up my bag in the lounge before Chris was there. "Blue? What's wrong?" "N...nothing, I just, erm... I should go. Sorry." "What? No, please, talk to me. What happened?" "Nothing, it's nothing. Sorry, it's not you, I just... sorry." I was holding my bag in front of me and went to walk past him. Unfortunately Chris isn't perfect and so hadn't managed to understand the complexity of the situation, or grasp how stupid his next move would be. Fear is a powerful enemy - is that a quote from something? Anyway, I was feeling extremely aroused, psychologically speaking, my fight or flight response (it's only ever flight in reality) running at maximum strength. I felt as though I was sweating, and probably shaking too. As I went to leave he grabbed hold of me, one hand on each of my arms. He was easily able to hold me there, he'a about a foot taller than me and maybe twice as heavy, in a fit and sporty way. I felt my stomach churning, and knew that there just wasn't any way this was now going to end well. "Blue? Seriously, what's wrong? Fuck, you look terrified!?" "Please, I'm sorry, I just..." I couldn't maintain eye contact with him, because whenever I tried, I saw kindness and genuine concern. "Of course you can go, if you want to. Fuck, I'm such a fucking idiot." I was aware that his grip on me had relaxed, his hands were actually stroking my upper arms as he continued to talk. It was annoyingly pleasant. "I don't want you to go, not like this." "Then what did you want? This whole thing is weird! Why am I even here?" "Because... Because I wanted to ask you out, you dork!" I half laughed at the word 'dork', who says that? And half choked on the absolute absurdity of this idea. There were suddenly a whole bunch of things to try and make sense of. Is he saying he wanted to ask me out? Like, out? On a date, going out, together, sort of out? He can't mean that, obviously. But that is what he said. Isn't it? Chris Emmerson is gay? And asking me out? Fuck, am I hallucinating? This alone stretched way into the realm of fantasy. Me? He's asking me? Doesn't he know what a truly terrible idea that would be? And where does he get off, just assuming that I'm even gay? Or interested? What an idiot, he obviously has no idea what he's doing. Whilst this specific context had never arisen for me before, the general feelings were very familiar. And yet, almost against my will, the sensation of his warm soft hands gently rubbing my arms was making those feelings subside. At other times, that might seem like a good thing. But what if this just created an emotional vacuum, waiting to be filled which fuck knows what? That felt less good. I looked at him again. Perhaps hoping to see a laugh or even a sneer, anything that would tell me 'It's OK, it's just a joke'. But that wasn't what happened. Damn him and his stupid face, with some sort of secret weapon that can cut through my regularly tested and usually very effective defences. "That's a terrible idea." "Why? Will you say no?" "Yes. No. I don't know. But don't ask me." "Why not?" "Please. I'm very hard to be with." "Yeah, I can see that. And I wonder what must have happened to make this so difficult for you. And I don't care what the answer is because I want to do it anyway." "Then you're an idiot. Do they all know?" "Huh?" "About you, and this stupid plan?" "Ha ha yeah, I think the whole school knows about me don't they? Although only those guys know I want to ask you out." "I didn't." "No? Oh. Well you do now." "Chris... you... you're a nice guy. A really nice guy. But no." "No what?" "No. I won't go out with you." "But you can't say no." "Why not?" "Firstly, because I've spent six months trying to find a way to ask you so there's no way I'm giving up so easily. And secondly, secondly, yes, because I haven't actually asked you, yet." He looked ever so slightly triumphant, and to be fair, his logic seemed solid. Just like his entire body. How do people get muscles that do that? "OK. I'm sorry, but I guess you don't have to ask now. I need to go. It's already going to be a terrible night." "What do you mean?" "I doesn't matter. Please, just let me go." He removed his hands from me immediately, even though he wasn't actually holding me there at all. And frustratingly, I was aware of missing his touch. "Chris? I'm sorry. I'll try and explain later, I promise. But I have to go." I fumbled in my bag for my headphones as I headed towards the front door. I made the stupid mistake of turning around as I left, because then I saw Chris, looking like I'd just destroyed his life or something. If only he realised what a lucky escape I was giving him. As I hurried home, trying to calm myself, and not managing to, I realised that I needed to talk to someone, and not just hide away alone, as that just makes times like this worse. See, I do know what's good for me sometimes. But I was also feeling angry, at Chris, at myself, at the world. I slammed the door closed when I got home, and Mum appears almost instantly. "Blue? It's early, what happened?" It was just after six, so yes, I suppose it was early. "I'm fine!" "OK. Do you want to talk about it?" "I said I'm fine!" She didn't follow me upstairs, thankfully, and I'd even managed to slam my bedroom door closed before I started to cry. Like a pathetic fucking idiot. I lay on my bed and screamed into the duvet for a few minutes, before actually trying something that would help. I found my phone, already a missed call and a couple of messages from Chris, and video called the person I knew I needed. Jo. "Hey." "Blue! Oh my god, where have you been? And what the fuck is wrong?" "Everything, fucking everything is wrong!" I couldn't help but cry again. "OK, hang on, let me get out of the shop a minute." There was a brief pause, which I used to try and control my tears. "Hey, I'm here, what's happened?" "I don't even know! Nothing makes sense." "OK, Blue, you got to look at me, please." I looked up to the screen, seeing him for the first time. He'd changed his hair style, it wasn't a good look. "See? Cool. So, because I'm not actually psychic, tell me from the beginning?" I stared at the screen for a few seconds, as the latest realisation set in. I'd called the wrong person. Not literally, but in the sense that I remembered something that Jo had previously said to me, and I knew then that Jo wasn't the person who could solve this for me, I was. It was a good thing, and I loved him for that. The guy before Jo, he's a whole different story, perhaps literally, but I got to know Jo in the middle of whatever it was that we had together. This other guy, one day when I was having a really hard time, he sent me this picture of a couple of penguins, I thought it was really cute, at the time. I don't remember exactly what it said now, but the basic premise was that we were a couple, and he would help to `put me back together' when I was feeling in pieces. I showed it to Jo, because we are getting to be good friends, and Jo got super fucking angry about the whole thing. I remember it so clearly, he said "you don't need fixing, because you're not broken". I guess that's stayed with me, and goes some way to explain how Jo ended up being my boyfriend and the other guy didn't. Well, there were other complicating factors too, like the other guy being a total lying bastard cunt, but that little episode also played a big part in it. "Shit, I'm sorry Jo. Things are kind of drama-heavy right now." "No shit." "And, well, Jo? Seriously, and I love you, like forever, but what the fuck have you done with your hair?" We both laughed. "Seriously though, are you OK?" "No. But I know why. Thank you." "For what? I didn't do anything." "No, you did everything, and I guess I just needed reminding that people can be good for me, like you." "Wow, sounds serious. Is it a girl?" "Ha, yeah, and she has a great rack." "Damn, I knew it!" Jo laughed again, which made me laugh. I'd almost forgotten how easy it was to talk with him. "Yeah, well, it might not probably ever be a problem again, I just ran out of his party which I think he might have arranged just to ask me out." "That's the thing about you, always such a smooth operator." "Fuck you." "So what's his name?" "Why?" "Because unless you're about to stop speaking to me forever I think I'm gonna hear about him again." "Emmerson, I mean, Chris. He's from school. He's on the rugby team." "Wow - blast from the past huh? But this one is real, right?" "Ha, yeah, I've actually seen him and touched him, he's real." "Touched him?" "Not like that you freak! Not yet anyway. I'm not like you, my idea of a first date isn't to get the guy drunk and kiss him." It was a reference to how we met, and wasn't really a serious critique, I mean, I was very drunk when we met, but I don't believe that was in any way Jo's doing. Although he did then take me to the beach and kiss me. Maybe it was partly his doing. We strayed into just catching up on life, which was all very easy, until the shop started to get busy. "Look, I'm gonna have to and do some work, Ry keeps giving me looks." "That's OK, you can blame me." "I was going to. But what are you going to do?" "Go to bed?" "No, about Chris?" "Oh. I should try and talk to him I guess." "Cool. I'm off all day tomorrow, tell me all about it." "Thanks Jo." "Any time baby." I felt a slight pang of regret as his picture disappeared. We were so good together, sort of. It's hard to be certain because of the vast amount of shit that was going on at the same time, but I think we would have been OK. At least we might have been if I hadn't moved back to the UK, or he had come with me. I wondered about going back, to Chris' that is, but couldn't decide if that was a great idea or a stupid one. I went downstairs instead, knowing that Mum would be there, pretending to not be worrying about me. I sat at the other end of the sofa from her. "Hey honey." "Hi." "Feeling better?" "No, well, kind of. Sorry." Neither of us spoke, I guess Mum wasn't going to make me talk to her if I didn't want to, so I spoke first. "So, I kind of ran away from a really nice guy today." "Oh?" "Like, he's properly really nice. But I was surprised, I wasn't expecting it. I panicked." "About what?" "He asked me out." "Uhuh." "What does that mean? Did you know this was going to happen?" "No, of course I didn't. Well, not exactly. But come on, it's not a shock the *someone* asked you out, and it's not feeling like a big coincidence that it's the guy you've just started talking about all the time, relatively speaking of course." "And now he thinks I'm an idiot. I didn't say it was him anyway." "Oh, isn't it him? Although I might agree that you're an idiot if you don't talk to him. Plus, he's quite cute. You didn't say he was cute." "What?" "I'm just saying. Maybe I could turn him and have a toy boy if you're going to ignore him." "Ewwwww! Mum, you're proper messed up!" "So are you going to?" "Maybe. Wait, how do you know he's cute?" "Oh, just a guess." "Hmmmmm." "And... well, was he wearing a white vest top and blue shorts?" "Errrr yeah, Mum?" "Then I think he's sat on the curb over the road, checking his phone ten times a minute." "What!? For fuck sake! Sorry. Fuck." I checked my phone, there were a LOT of messages. I went back upstairs to my bedroom and looked out of the window. It was definitely him. Bollocks. How totally weird, totally stalkerish, and totally kind of adorable is that? I'd sort of decided to message him anyway, even before this. `Hey' His response was immediate, which I sort of knew anyway, as I could watch him type it. `Hey' `Sorry about running off like that, I feel kinda stupid' `It's OK, just not really how I imagined it would go. Sorry if I did something wrong' `No, you didn't' `OK, but people don't usually actually run away from me' `In some cultures it's considered an honour, maybe' `I don't feel very honoured. I feel stupid' `Me too. I was going to come back and see if you would still talk to me' `But you're not going to?' Fuck. Fuck you, Emmerson, for being so fucking... GRRRRRRRRRR. I picked up my headphones from the floor and put on some random playlist. `I can't, not right now, I'm sorry, really' `OK I guess I know what that means' `No. It's complicated. But I want to, honestly' `Then I don't understand, trust me, you haven't done anything more stupid that I have' `I know, and weirdly, thats part of the problem' `That doesn't make any sense' `It will, one day. Maybe. And one day, when you ask me, I'll say yes.' `You will?' `Maybe. I'll at least think about it' `Cool' `See, you're much cuter when your smiling' Chris looked up from his phone and around at the houses. He obviously didn't know exactly where I lived. `Can you see me?' `Yeah' `Where are you?' `In my bedroom. It's cute that you tried to follow me, and also a bit psycho, maybe we're a good match' `Where?' He was wandering around looking up at random windows. Damn, he really was cute, and a little bit stupid. `Go back to where you were sitting and then go a bit further, past the lamp post' I watched him read my message and then follow my instructions. `Look directly opposite where you are, first floor, above the front door' My bedroom light was off but it was still fairly light outside so I thought he would be able to see me if he knew where to look. His smile confirmed it. I placed my hand against the window, he gave me a wave, and I was ready to cry again. `What did you mean earlier? You said it was already going to be a bad night?' `Did you really call me a dork?' Yes, OK, so sue me, I changed the subject. `Ha ha yeah, I think I did. But still a dork that I want to go out with.' `You don't even know me' `It's enough to know that I want to know you more' `And what if you don't like what you find?' `Nah, thats impossible.' `Im serious' `So am I. There's literally nothing you can tell me thats going to put me off' `You think so?' `Definitely. Unless it turns out you're listening to jazz music all the time, I might not be able to deal with that.' I sort of didn't want to, but that made me smile. `No, it's not jazz' `Phew, that would have been way embarrassing' `So there's stuff you should know, before you really think about asking me out' `OK?' 'Has it really been six months?' 'Yeah I think so' 'That's weird to know' 'It's been weird for me too' `So, I'm not good with surprises' `Yeah I noticed. No more surprises I promise' 'Why did it take you so long? Your didn't even talk to me' 'I tried. Lots. You can be hard to talk to, like, just literally' `Yeah maybe. I have some issues. I know most people just assume that anyway, but you need to know what that really means' `OK. But can we talk about it, for real, not messaging?' The way he was looking up at me, I was convinced that he meant it. Fuck him, why did he have to mean it? `I can't, not right now. And I'm not just being massively high-maintenance even though thats what it looks like' Chris sat back down on the kerb. `I got nowhere to be. If this is what we have to do, then lets do this' Fine, if you're going to be so stubborn about it, lets see how serious you really are. `So there are some problems, in my head. I'm basically a totally legitimate mentalist.' There was a pause. He couldn't possibly be taking that long to read such a short sentence. Probably trying to find a way to politely leave. `I don't like eating food that isn't dessert with a spoon' `What?' `Sorry - I thought we just saying stuff about ourselves that are a bit different but don't really matter' `I'm being serious. I have schizophrenia, and I'm maybe bi-polar, or maybe who fucking knows because they can't decide for sure. I hear voices, and they sometimes get to control my life' `I'm serious too. Never get me soup' What the hell is this guy? Maybe he's actually crazier than me. `It sucks. Why aren't you leaving? People definitely leave at this point, or actually usually before' 'Good, that must mean I'm not like other people, I can live with that' `You're weird' `Yeah, and you're crazy. So how many people are there exactly? Do I have competition?' `Of course, don't you see the line of guys queueing at the door just waiting for me?' `Right, I did wonder about that' `Maybe you should go home, I actually need to try and sleep' `Oh' `Sorry' `Stop apologising. You sure you won't come down, just for 1 minute?' `Why?' `Because I want to give you a hug. That's all, I promise. I want a lot more than that, but a hug feels safest for now' Of course I wanted to, I wanted that the most in the world. And I also didn't want to, because, well, it would be easier not to. It's so exhausting, having to constantly fight my own instincts. `Maybe 30 seconds?' `I'll take 3 if that's all that's possible' I actually did a good job of convincing myself that this would be OK, all the way until I got to the front door. Then the doubts and the fears tumbled out of control, flooding my senses. The music was suddenly somehow in conflict with the voices in my head, each fighting for attention, which wasn't at all helpful. I leaned with my hands against the inside of the door, trying to focus my brain where I wanted it to be, not where it was being dragged towards. I wanted to be sick. Fucking stupid brain, with the incessant barrage of shit. It felt as though 99 percent of everything I could sense was telling me to turn around and give up. It wasn't going to work. He didn't really like me anyway. It was probably just a joke. Why would he like you? What have you got that's so special? You're a fucking retarded freak, no-one really likes you. No-one could ever love you. How did you even dare think about love? And you're ugly. So fucking ugly and horrible. And skinny. No-one thinks you're attractive. He must be the most desperate guy in the world if he even looks at you. You fucking useless piece of stupid shit. You'll never be as good as him, never good enough, for anyone, ever. He probably wants to hurt you for being so stupid. You don't deserve him. You don't deserve anything. You don't deserve to be alive. You should just kill yourself and do the whole world a favour. It's not even as though anyone will miss you. They'll probably be happier because you won't be wasting oxygen by being alive. "Fuck off!!!" I yelled a whole string of expletives at no-one in particular as my headphones got thrown onto the floor. I've broken a lot of headphones this way. I used to have nice expensive ones, now I don't bother. This is actually pretty impressive progress for me, it used to be far worse. I hardly ever get the graphic images in my head of exactly how I should kill myself, or those overpowering urges to hurt myself. OK so 'hardly ever' is a bit optimistic but it's way less often than it used to be. I opened the front door and walked over towards Chris. It was a far greater effort that it should have been, physically, not just mentally, I felt as though I'd run a marathon by the time I'd crossed the few metres to where we met. His arms were around me, pulling me close to him, my face against his chest. He smelled nice. And he felt nice. It was all I could do not to actually melt and somehow dissolve into him. Everything felt so... what was it... a vaguely familiar feeling, distant, but not completely forgotten... safe. That was strange enough, although strange in a very good way. His arms of nuclear bomb proof steel could probably protect me from anything in the universe. But the best part, oh god, by a million lightyears the best part, don't you ever fucking let me go or else I might have to kill you because this is so amazing, it was quiet. I could hear his breathing, and his heartbeat. And nothing else. If someone had told me right then that this was the work of God, I would have happily completed a faith 180. It was a fucking miracle. We stood there like that for maybe ten minutes. "Blue? Are you OK, are you crying?" "I'm OK." I was crying too, and I don't know exactly why. Some kind of fear and relief all mixed up at the same time. "Good. Me too." We relaxed the hugging, at least enough for me to be able to look at him properly. Although his arms were still big enough to be all around me. "I have to go." "OK." "Spoons though? Really?" His smile, oh god that smile is so awesome. Enough to drive me to kiss him. But I didn't. Things were too good to risk that. "Just, don't tell anyone OK? People get weird when they find out my cutlery issues." "Of course." "Goodnight then." "Yeah. Good night." Underlying the overt interaction there was a sense of something unspoken between us. Perhaps it was simply the tentative opening move of trust. I was aware of him watching me walk back to the house, and we exchanged slightly ridiculous little waves as I closed the door and he walked away. This semi-dream like state was soon ruptured by my Mum, unintentionally I'm sure. "So... that's Emmerson then?" I realised that she had probably been watching the whole time. "Oh, nah, I have no idea who that was." "And?" "His name is Chris. And nothing." "OK." "At least, not yet." "Well he seems nice." "Yeah Mum, he is. Goodnight." "Sure, goodnight then." I picked up my headphones on my way upstairs, thy looked as though they would still work, but I had a sense that I wasn't going to need to find out, at least not immediately. Things were different. I tried to make sense of this as I got ready for bed, my hyper-vigilance kicking in to overdrive, but no matter how hard I looked, things were different. As I lay in bed, my arms hugging a pillow beside me, I was tentatively allowing the thought to become fully formed. Maybe things are getting just a little bit better. The comparisons were easy to find, less than eighteen months ago this whole little interaction would have sent me racing away, hungry for escape and desperately trying to knock myself out by banging my head against the wall, searching for silence. I carefully remembered the many times that 'he' would say something ostensibly kind and loving, and the destruction I was capable of wreaking upon myself as a consequence. Carefully - because the box in my brain holding all that shit was still fragile. He doesn't get a name any more. Partly, because he doesn't deserve one. He singularly ruined my entire life, at a time when I was already doing a pretty decent job of that myself, but he disguised his toxic attack as love. And also, I'm not confident I ever knew his name. Amongst the many, so fucking many layers of lies that finally, perhaps inevitably, but still devastatingly fell apart, was that even his name wasn't real. By that point, telling me his 'real' name seemed somewhat pointless, I couldn't believe him any more. Of course he wasn't totally to blame, I see now that I was already on a hideous downward spiral of rapidly deteriorating mental health. The voices in my head, I've known them almost forever, they got very annoyed whenever he told me something that sounded good, things like 'I love you' initiated an overwhelming amount of negativity from them, always directed at me of course, not him. At it's worst, when I was in California visiting Ry, my implosion was complete, and I was hospitalised. That sounds a whole lot nicer than it was. But it was also amongst this chaos that I met Jo, my first real experience of someone who actually helped me feel better. And so it was hard not to make comparisons with how I was feeling, right then. I wanted to find some way of communicating even just the smallest amount of all of this to Chris. But I couldn't find the words, or at least I wasn't brave enough to use them. I picked up my phone several times, before putting it down again, no message sent. Exhaustion was steadily winning any internal battle that may have been happening, and sleep was within reach. My phone vibrated, it was a message from Chris. 'Thanks for running away from my party, I had the best time with you. I hope you're OK. X' I can't be certain, but I think I fell asleep with at least a hint of a smile. And so much sleep! That on its own was exciting enough, over twelve hours, it was probably a record for me. Sunday was a weird day overall, notable only for it's lack of notable moments. Things were, amazingly, pretty normal. For me they were anyway. The voices were back, of course they were, but only in a dull and droning sort of sense which is easy enough to ignore with just little bit of effort. Over the years I've had a lot of conflicting advice on how to deal with this aspect of myself. `Just try and ignore them' is by far the most common, and also, the most stupid. It's like telling a kid being hit in the face by the school bully to `just try and ignore them and they'll go away'. It's never fucking true, trust me. But I suppose it makes the advice giver feel as though they've done something to try and help. More usually, I choose to just drown them out and distract myself with music, it works pretty well for me, mostly. And very occasionally, when I'm feeling particularly robust, I engage them in conversation. And yes, like the crazy psycho I am, that means I'm talking to myself. I *do* know that they're not real, at least, not in the traditional sense of being real. Anyway, I guess I'm saying this because it means that over the years, I've sort of gotten to know them. And throughout Sunday, I had the tantalisingly amusing sense that the voices were very pissed off about Chris, but they couldn't really find any way to get to me about it. It was an enjoyable feeling, like a small but important success. We messaged on and off all day, me and Chris that is, not the voices, fuck, imagine if they could message, scary. We managed to keep things fairly light. Isn't it incredible when you meet someone who just gets you, straight away? I think so anyway. Of course it's true what they say, whoever 'they' are, all good things come to an end. This particular end was taking the form of Monday, mid morning, the start of period three to be precise. I'd been able to spend the morning in relative peace in the library and thought I should go for my actual physics class. For the physics you understand, nothing at all to do with Chris being there. No, definitely nothing to do with that, because that would be kind of stupid and pathetic, right? I was already sat at the back of the lab when people started to drift in. As usual, the vast majority of people ignored me completely, although there was a slightly unsettling number of guys who seemed to make a point of at least visually acknowledging my existence. And Chris, of course, with his band of followers, always surrounded by several other people. He saw me immediately. We hadn't planned for this, for what happens at school, or in fact anywhere. Although why would we? Nothing was really happening, was it? Gardener walked in, glared, but didn't make any kind of move towards me. Chris smiled, so big and radiant, as he put his books down on the bench. And then he came over, towards me. Why was he coming towards me? We really should have agreed some kind of protocol for what happens! And of course, nothing really happened. He stood next to me, smiling at me, and we exchanged greetings. OK, so maybe I was smiling too, just a little. His fingers casually, softly, brushed over my arm as he turned away, heading back to his bench with the rest of the class. But that moment, it changed everything. Somehow, in ways that should be studied by systemic communication researchers somewhere, everything changed. I went from being at best 'that weird kid' who most people didn't even remember, to 'that kid that Emmerson smiled at'. At least that's how it felt, as if everyone suddenly started to notice me. It was not an entirely pleasant feeling, but the unease was being kept at bay by the frequent eye contact with Chris, the subtle smile, the moments of catching each other looking. Damn him, he's really getting to me. This weird, stupid, nothing-really-happening stuff carried on for a few days. Except, something was happening. More than one thing. Firstly, I was feeling terrible. I wasn't sleeping well. I wasn't feeling hungry. I could hardly concentrate at all, and literally nothing seemed to help. And secondly, I was thinking about Chris. A lot. I would keep finding myself just staring at nothing and wondering what he was doing, wishing that he was with me, and trying to work out when I would next see him. He was invading my dreams, in all kinds of enjoyable ways, and yes, I was sometimes getting really horny thinking about him. This, particularly this, was unusual. The meds do an OK job at helping me manage the crazy, but they do a super-amazing job and fucking up my sex drive. It was Wednesday evening, and things were just getting more and more like this. "Blue?" I'll probably see him tomorrow at break, and lunch, and then last thing in physics. "Blue?" "Huh?" "Dinner is ready, are you going to eat something?" I bet Chris eats really healthily. He must do, he's plays a lot of sport, and he's really fit. Oh, yeah, those arms and... "Blue!" "What? Oh, yeah, sorry. Erm... what?" "Dinner. Come, sit, eat." "I'm not really hungry." "You need to eat something." "Fine, I'll eat in my room." "On one condition." "What?" "Call your brother." "Why?" "Because I need you to. And he wants to catch up with you" "You mean you and him have been plotting against me again?" "Yes, absolutely sweetheart. So call him." I took a couple of slices of pizza and headed upstairs, closing my bedroom door firmly. How annoying, when you know you're Mum is right about something. Ry would know what I should do, he always does. But then, I knew what he would say anyway, so what was the point? I stared at my phone for at least ten minutes before picking it up and dialling. It rang. And rang. And rang. And then went to voicemail. Bastard. A few seconds later my phone was ringing. I stared at it some more as it vibrated on my bed, the caller ID both exciting and terrifying. It was Chris. I let it ring. And ring some more. Then it stopped. Because I'm stupid. Stupid, stupid Blue. My phone gave a short buzz. Voicemail. 'Hey Blue. I'm really sorry I missed your call just now. I heard it ringing but couldn't find it in time because, well I think it must have fallen out of my pocket when I was laying down earlier. Anyway, erm, yeah, it would be good to talk with you. So, yeah, give me a call or something. I've, well, well it sounds kind of stupid but I've been missing talking with you, you know, properly. And seeing you at school has been weird. Like, not bad weird, good weird, really - good. OK I'm talking crap now so I should go before you realise I'm an idiot. So, yeah, bye. Oh, it's Chris by the way. Yeah, you knew that though. Shit. Bye.' I sat up on my bed, leaning against the wall, and listened to his message. OK, so I listened to it maybe six or seven times. He made me smile, and it felt so nice to hear his voice. I ate some pizza and listened to his message again. I already knew it word for word, every pause, every inflection, already familiar. It made me smile. He made me smile. And I wanted to call him back, I really did. It was just, scary. No, not even scary. Calling him, talking to him, hearing his voice, no, none of that was scary. It was what happened next, or might happen next that was scary. Things had been good, for me, in my head. Really good actually. And I didn't really want to provoke anything. But also, that's a very crappy way to live your whole life, right? I picked up my phone and called him again. I seemed to be ringing for far too long. "Hey..." "Hey." *----- Don't forget to support this site: http://www.nifty.org/donate.html If you haven't done it already, you can now subscribe for (occasional) updates and new stories from me, just go to http://eepurl.com/b1EzqL -----*