Clutching The Darkness

Epilogue: Thirty-one Dots

Did Beni say today was the day or was it tomorrow? Something about 'going for a drive', yeah right, it's a surprise birthday party, I know it.

"ZAY!" Nine finally snapped me out of my train of thought.

"What?"

"I knew you weren't listening. I was trying to ask you if you could let me borrow your laptop to order it."

"Oh, you mean the parts for your computer?"

"Yeah, that," he said with his hands brushing off a hair on his glasses. His sleeves fell down a bit and revealed a raw patch of skin on his arm.

"Have you been on it again?" I asked, pointing at it with my nose.

"No, no. I've tried to quit it with the heroin. I can't stand the look on you guys' and my aunt's faces. It's been a week, but I haven't gone back to the syringe."

"Hey, that's great you know? I'm really glad you're making the effort to get yourself on the right track. If anything, you know the others and I will always have your back. Just like how you had my back before."

"Of course. I know it's hard to deal with depression and a breakup all at once. You needed someone in your corner, and I'd do a lot for you guys. And thanks. It means a lot to me."

"Yeah, don't mention it."

"About him, have you spoken?"

"Well, he sent me a message."

"What did it say?"

"I haven't looked at it yet."

It was true, I felt a sense of hesitation for it. I had suffered enough at his hands, and I didn't know if I could take any more belligerence from him. So, why should I even give him the chance?

"Well, when did he send it?"

"Four days ago," then, with a slight sense of dismay, my phone rang out again. His name shined across the top of my notification bar, along with a text. My eyes blurred the message for me.

"You should just talk to him. If you don't resolve it, it will just eat you up from the inside due to your curiosity. You don't have to answer everything, but at least see what it is."

He made a convincing case, and with a worried shrug of my eyebrows, I went into the chat log. The first couple of messages from days ago were about trying to meet up at a restaurant called La Brioche Beurrée. The latest text said: 'Happy birthday'. Without much thought, I responded. 'Sorry for the hold up. How's today sound? Meet you in an hour? And thanks.'

I chatted with Nine about having him come over to my place at seven to use my laptop to order his parts, but after ten minutes of talking, I got an affirmation text from 'him'.

"Good luck," Nine said, with sincere thought.

When I walked into the french restaurant, I found him sitting with a french learners book, three-fourths read, while dining alfresco. The patio cover was clear and it let gentle sunlight caress the space.

"Hey," he said, his voice seeming to have a new found sense of confidence. He was never the type to talk much anyway, but his voice was often a bit sheepish.

He looked different. His hair seemed longer and more unruly, his eyes firmer, his cheeks almost tiredly stretched.

"Hey. So, what's up?"

"I think we need to talk. I've denied you that right for a while."

"You have indeed."

The wind howled and shifted around the outdoor dining area, lifting at nearby grass. And we talked. Slowly, but surely, I let my guard down. And I think he did the same. At one point, I jokingly plucked another long curl of his, and he laughed it off rather than having the frightened approach he had five days ago.

He told me of something intriguing!

"You got on the elevator!?" I raised my voice with positive surprise.

"Yup. How else could I have taken the groceries?"

"I thought you...you were afraid of them. Afraid of tight spaces."

"Well...can't be taking groceries the long way all the time. Had to face the fear I guess."

And our conversation continued for hours as we chatted about other things.

But, he seemed different. At some points, his laugh would continue past the humorous timing of our conversation. It seemed like two voices were fighting for control over what they were laughing about. Often, he nervously fidgeted with his hands while brushing his left eye obsessively or sometimes compulsively patting his hands on his arms for comfort. What...what's going on with him?

My eyes always wandered to his shirt. A long sleeve white shirt, dotted with circles of red. I counted thirty-one dots. A struggle between the colors was evident on the battlefield of his clothing. And I wondered if maybe he had that same struggle in his mind. How much was he fighting with his thoughts? And will it ever stop?

As our conversation was nearing its end, I realized that the answer might be no. I took a glance at him as we were both preparing to leave. His face shifted from hopeful glee to despaired sorrow. A flux of emotions like the shifting of colors in a rubix cube.

Will he ever be able to grow from that battle in his mind? Or will it slowly drive him insane? I knew how it felt to be devastated from your own mental war. He gave off a small smile before turning around and heading to the dorm. I stayed there staring at him.

Then I put on my airpods and let the music play. For the short moment before the song started, I thought about him. I wondered if Cali would ever improve. I had, but only for a little bit. The disease in my mind wouldn't leave, or at least any time soon.

But it got better. The world is telling me to continue. The world is telling me to continue for his sake. To continue being me. I must do what the world commands of me.

Then the music played, and I let the melancholic beats flood my ears.