DIRT: the grunge diaries (𝒱𝒾𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒶'𝓈 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃)

entry #184 - stockholm syndrome

فيزا

A few minutes into the deepest silence ever... nothing much has changed between Sean and I. The awkwardness level here is about the same, and so is the degree of confusion in my mind. The only noticeable difference from five minutes ago is that he's no longer hugging me, nor trying to pet 'his son's' head, because the little boy bit him twice and would bite him twice more if he dared to touch him again. So, not being quite sure about what to do or say anymore, he's just mirroring me: silently stuffing his suitcase as I keep doing the same, retrieving my stuff from all around the goddamned room, and then just hurriedly stuffing it into my travel bag number two. I don't know what's in his mind, I don't know what kinda game he's playing with me... all I know is that the silence between us is frustrating me as fuck, because I just can't seem to get to the part where I tell him that we'll be taking separate ways sooner than soon. He's packing for the roadtrip to Canada, the whole Alice gang is set to leave to there after breakfast time, but I? Where am I going, if not to fuck myself back in Seattle, if they even have a flight to there planned for today? Will he let me tell him that, or will he just keep stonewalling me and minimising my feelings because that's what most convenient of him to do?

Why is he making it so fucking hard for me to leave? Why is he making it so fucking hard to even talk to him? Why do I get the vibe that, at the end of the day, talking to him amounts to just about the same as not talking to him at all? Why the fuck is he looking at me with a smile on his lips, while I'm fuming from my ears, blowing cigarette smoke off my pierced nose, and stuffing my spare suitcase with an aura of psychotic to myself that is pretty fucking obvious? Does he find my state laugh-worthy, is he just as confused as I am here, does he find me 'sweet' when I'm mad (he told me that more than once, awww what a babe), or what else exactly?

'Baby, I think you should dress ....more. I can have my back in a fight for you, I can even give you my coat if you ain't feeling too proud... but we're going to Canada. It's cold there'. He chimes in, more or less the moment I zip up my second one of two suitcases, that to signal I'm all(most) done with the packing procedures. And while I'm too busy getting saddened over the thought that if we were in civilised terms, I'd be volunteering to help him pack his own suitcase, between a smooch and another one... I can't help but cock in a little smile at his 'joke'. This one is funny, I swear to goodness, it sounds like it is entirely free of gaslighting, and I can't help but vibe with it. Because it's fucking sweet of him, to tease me over the fact that I just don't work well in coldish temperatures. I wouldn't survive five minutes out there with as little as a cropped corset top and a miniskirt on myself, that's for sure, and that's why he's looking at me from head to toe with an amused smirk on his lips. As to say 'where d'ya think you're going, dressed like that?'... but not because he thinks he has the definitive say on what I can wear and not quite. It's simply because he's stupidly assuming that we're going to Canada together, today... so, ahem, how do I tell him that it ain't gonna happen? But that no matter that, I still wanna thank him for his wholesome, useful advice... because I'm going back to Seattle, and Seattle's just as cold as Canada? Would he regard it as a consolation prize, if I told him that I've got to be the 'dumb ass' he described last night, like for real, no hoax... because I didn't think about dressing up according to the weather? I mean, how fucking mentally deranged was it of me, to dress fancy and expensive as fuck to make a 'statement' before leaving (a statement of what I don't even know), and not to dress warm so that I won't die of hypothermia? Canada involved or not quite involved in the whole equation?

I'd like to finally tell him my plans for the rest of the day, aka leaving and crying on the economy seat of the flight that will take me back to the city we met in... which is also his fucking hometown...and which has a road named after him or the closest to that as it gets... but I'm blocked. Impaired even, by his beautiful smile, and the wholesome, wholesome flexing pose that he's pulling right now, perhaps as a way to 'celebrate' the fact that he's finally managed to make me laugh... but ahem, part one hundred. How do I tell him that I ain't laughing because I'm letting my guard down with him? How do I tell him that if I'm laughing now, it's because I've particularly appreciated his 'joke' about me being so proud and set in my ways that I'd say no to his jacket... if it was cold out there, and his jacket was the last existing one in the world? Is he throwing it back to the time I was mad at him because of that fucking fellatio prank, he chased me all the way to the terrace of the squalid after hours club we were partying at that night, he saw me shivering in the cold, he offered me his jacket... and I turned the offering down out of pride? à la I'd rather freeze than wear a garment that belongs to you and smells like the cologne I bought for you, Mr. Honda Four?