Keyframe

Copacetic

"I've been fraying at the fabric,

strung out and biting on the back of my bottom lip.

I'll tell you everything is copacetic."

- "Untitled," Knuckle Puck (2015)

Lillian

"Ow—ugh! It's not supposed to hurt!" I grit my teeth, half of the bite in my words getting lost in the pillow before it reaches Alex. "Would it kill you to be gentle?"

"I would be gentle if you quit running from me," he snaps back, hands pressing down on my shoulders from behind. "And stop tensing up; you're making it worse."

I grumble into the pillow again, making a concerted effort to relax my shoulders as his thumbs dig into them. The pressure lightens, to my relief, and an unwanted sigh of contentment slips out of my lungs.

"See? Look how easy that was," Alex murmurs quietly, hands still working. "You should really stop working with your computer in your lap—I don't think I've ever seen your neck and shoulders this tense before."

I just groan in response, making him chuckle. Of course I should be taking it easy considering...everything, but spring finals are next week. Even with a lighter work load and a medical excuse, I still won't walk away from the year's last quarter without giving it my absolute best. And my best certainly isn't what it used to be: having to re-read chapters, re-take notes, study the same things over and over again...just to forget them anyway.

A year ago, I would've had a full-blown identity crisis over the grades I'm ending the semester with now. But I guess I should be celebrating that I even made it this far. I can't count on two hands the amount of times I seriously considered dropping everything and hiding under a rock for the rest of my life—or at least crawling back to the boring ease I so loathed in the winter quarter.

I'm no stranger to hard work, perseverance, or the endless pursuit of a higher achievement. But those things always paid off for me in the end, giving me something by which to measure and appreciate my own effort. Now, it feels like I'm doing all the work with none of the returns—none of the grades, none of the recognition, not even the satisfaction of knowing that I did a good job.

Because I know I could have done better.

"Okay...you can get back to work. For now."

Alex shifts his weight off of me, and, feeling like a bowl of jelly, I prop myself up on my elbows before turning over. My laptop still sits at the end of the bed—where Alex banished it after instituting a random (but very mandatory) study break.

"Don't you have something to work on?"

I open my laptop, unlocking it and going back to my microbiology lab report as Alex stands.

"No. I already submitted two lab reports and tested out of my stats final." He walks around the bed, going to one of the large windows that characterize Jordan's apartment. "And my other two are nothing to worry about."

I lift my eyebrow at him as he closes the black curtains, trying not to be jealous. Everything has always been easy for him when it comes to academics, but that prodigal intelligence only highlights my shortcomings as of now. Noticing my deflation, Alex smiles gently as he returns to the bed and sits behind me. His arms wrap around my waist, seeping warmth into my core, and he rests his chin on top of my head to watch me work.

"That's nothing. You should be proud of yourself, maní. I know I am."

My heart skips a beat at his words, but I don't respond. I'm not sure if it's because I don't believe them myself, or because I'm afraid that he doesn't really believe them, either.