He gave me a weird look. “You came after me even though I told you to stay away?”
“Er. Yes?” Stop sounding like you’re asking questions! “Yes. That’s exactly what I did. You see, my parents, Nana, Sandy, and Wheels all had an intervention after my dad unscrewed my door. Nana already had a speech written out in case I got addicted to meth which, to be honest, I never really thought about, but now that she mentioned it, I can’t stop thinking about it. Uh. Wait. Not that I want to do meth or anything, just like… you know… what would I be like on meth? I don’t even know what meth does to you. Is it like bath salts? Does it turn you into a zombie and you go around eating other people’s faces? I don’t think I’d make a very good zombie because I get really gros
sed out by the sight of blood and the thought of eating someone else makes me queasy. As it rightly should. So, I guess the point of this, which I hope to arrive at soon because I can’t seem to shut my mouth if my life depended on it, is that I’m not a zombie. I’m not addicted to meth. I’m addicted to you and I don’t want you to go anywhere without me again.”
Silence. Blessed silence. Prolonged silence. Awkward silence. Excruciating silence.
Then:
Vince made a noise almost like a sob. “And you wonder why I—” He stopped himself before he finished that sentence, and I literally almost shat myself thinking of the possible ways it could have ended.
Here’s what my mind came up with:
1) “And you wonder why I think you’re insane? Did you just hear yourself talk? Paul, this is so over, it’s not even funny. Get out of my life. I hate your face.”
2) “And you wonder why I was trying to get up on my brother? Because the idea of incest is more appealing than being with you ever again. I was using my brother to wash the memory of you from my head because I’m that grossed out by you.”
3) “And you wonder why I didn’t tell you about my parents? I’m so embarrassed by you that I couldn’t ever imagine them meeting you. Oh, and by the way, I faked all my orgasms with you.”
4) “And you wonder why I decided to Freddie Prinze Junior you? You just came from an intervention at your house and are standing in the middle of my apartment after you just punched my boyfriend/brother Darren, asking me to get back together with you. What part of that makes you think I would ever get in your mangina again? You were a bet, Paul. You were nothing but a bet.”
5) “And you wonder why I think you’ll be alone forever? No one can handle your crazy, Paul. No one. Especially not me.”
I almost begged him to finish the thought, but I didn’t think I wanted to hear the answer. I’d pretty much embarrassed the crap out of myself (I punched Darren, for fuck’s sake; I punched the Homo Jock King!), and I didn’t know what else there was to say. Opening my mouth seemed to have gotten me in a shitload of trouble, and I didn’t want to hurt anyone anymore.
Of course, my mouth didn’t listen to my brain. I was pretty sure I needed to be medicated.
“And I wonder why you… what?” I asked Vince.
He watched me for a moment before shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. Not right now.” His face went blank again, and I hated it. I hated the look on his face, and I hated not touching him when he was right in front of me. I hated feeling like I wasn’t good enough to be there to help him, like he didn’t think I could handle the shit he was going through.
“Why didn’t you just tell me about your mom?” I asked him quietly, cringing as I yet again made it about me without meaning to. I began to look for a way to make my exit.
His mouth thinned. “Not now, Paul. Please, just go. I can’t do this right now. I can’t focus on you and the rest of this shit at the same time. I just can’t.”
I nodded, but anger flared dangerously. “I see.” I wasn’t able to keep it from my face.
His eyes softened slightly. “It’s not… it’s not like that. I just… it’s not like that.”
“I don’t know how else it could be like,” I said, my voice hardening. “Obviously you don’t want me here, for whatever reason. You don’t think I can handle your shit. You don’t trust me enough to let me help you. But then, you’ve only known me a week, so I guess I can’t blame you.”
He took a step toward me, raising his hand. But then he stopped and dropped it back down to his side.
“Yeah,” I said. “I think I get it. I’m sorry about your mom, Vince. I hope you’ll be okay. I really do. You know where I am if you need me.”
I turned and walked away.
I could hear Darren’s angry voice as he snapped at Vince, but I didn’t hear what he said. My face was burning and I needed to get out of his apartment. The entire time the awkwardness was taking place, I kept thinking how it was just the day before when he’d been above me, thrusting into me, a look on his face that suggested he’d found the only place that he ever wanted to be. It’s funny, really, how quickly things can change. A week ago, I didn’t even know his fucking name. A week ago, I was plain, boring, ordinary, bland Paul.
I envied that Paul. That Paul didn’t have anything in his heart that would have allowed it to break. That Paul was still blissfully unaware that opening up meant getting punched in the gut.
I thought about slamming the door behind me, but hell, I’m not that melodramatic, even if I’d already sunk down into the cliché that I was so desperate to avoid. You know the one: toward the final act when everything should be peachy and rosy but instead comes crashing down for a stupid reason that sounds really trite but hurts like a fucking bitch anyway.
So I just shut the door quietly, hearing Darren’s voice get louder before it got cut off.
It was hot outside, and I took a deep breath, taking in that heat. I rested my back against the door for a minute, trying to clear my head. Once I was sure I could walk without falling down, I moved toward my car. But I didn’t make it.
“Paul!”