Disequilibrium

Part 4: Senior Year - Scene 10

The first time I got punched in the face was in fifth grade.

I don't even remember what it was for. All I recall was lying there in the bathroom next to a small puddle of dried piss, the smell of urine, perspiration, and blood, and the sound of the boys' laughter echoing in the room, never ending like a bad song on the radio.

And I remember the pain. I mean, I never cried, but I remember that it hurt like hell. I even had to blink a few times to see again. But I swear, not even that punch can match the look on Casper's face this morning. I know this because as I stare at him staring at me, I sort of feel like crying. I don't know why.

"Won't you eat?" I say. We're sitting at the desk on opposite sides, plates of cold eggs and bacon sitting right in front of us. "That guy went through trouble to give this to us for free. The least we can do is eat it."

The edge of Casper's lips twitches like he wants to smile, and I would've thought it was cute any other day, but today the only words running through my mind are asshole. Smart ass.

A fucking waste of time.

"Don't you feel nervous about that guy?" he says. He still doesn't pick up his fork, so neither do I.

"Why would I?"

"He was staring pretty hard at me when he dropped off the food this morning. Nobody stares at someone like that."

I wave it off with my hand. "He works at a rundown motel. Of course he'd be a little weird."

"Alright, fine. Whatever you say." He picks up his fork then, almost goes for a piece of scrabbled egg, but then drops it and says, "What will we do for lunch? Dinner? You gave the guy all our money."

"I'll figure something out."

"Just like how you figured this out?"

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what it's supposed to mean."

I want to say something back, but he's right. I know he's right, and maybe that's why I start hating him a little by that point. I end up thinking about freshman year, sophomore year, and hell, even that time at the park where things were perfect and great and the goddamn birds were singing and the sky was blue and I didn't have to worry about hiding a fucking boner anymore. So when did it all start falling apart? When did the pieces get loose? When did he start to change?

But I guess it shouldn't matter anymore. There's no point in finding where things went wrong and why. The thing is that it's done, we're here now, and that's it. I just have to fix it again. That's all.

So I say, "Don't worry, I'll figure something out," to convince the both of us because I still want to cry, and I bet he notices, but he only shakes his head and lets out this scoff that shows he really hates me right now.

And it gets me thinking that the one thing they missed when we were kids was to inform us of how shitty the world would be. I mean, it's so easy to say the words love and be loved but what happens when the person you love doesn't love you back? What do you do then? Where are the instructions? Where?

Suddenly, the eggs don't look so good anymore. Casper doesn't say anything for a while. Neither do I. We just sit there staring down at the vomity eggs and the rock hard bacon, thinking, and thinking, and thinking.

And then he says, "How many times have you lied to me?"

"I can't tell you an honest answer, Cas."

"Is there anything you said that was the truth, then?"

My heart feels like it's trying to climb through my throat. What do they call this? Panic? Pain?

"I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Just be honest with me for once. That's all I'm asking for. What do you think will happen when we get out of this? Where are you going?"

The truth is I know I'm just walking to my own deathbed. I'm stumbling, falling, and scraping my knees the whole way there. And by the time I get there, nobody will be around to congratulate me for finishing the race. Nobody will wish me farewell or offer a round of applause for all the crap I've done. Nobody's going to be there because nobody wants to be there, and that's the truth. But it still has to happen. There's no avoiding it.

I want to tell him that. I want to tell somebody—anybody—that, but I can't. I don't know why. The words are at the tip of my tongue, but the more he stares at me, the more they die away.

Casper sighs. He finally takes a piece of the egg, chews for a bit, swallows, and doesn't reach for more.

"This isn't going to last for long. I hope you know that."

I know.

"Things are already falling apart and it's only been one night."

Trust me, I'm well aware.

"Face it, Holden. It isn't going to work."

I stand up from the table then and motion for him to get up as well. When he doesn't, I circle around and grab him by his elbow, and he almost fights for a bit until he realises that he probably shouldn't. It's best if he shouldn't. So he doesn't say a thing as I guide him back to the bed and take another zip tie out of the pack.

When I'm done, he sits there and watches me as I get my shoes and coat on. "I'm going to figure things out," I say again and again. I feel like I can barely breathe.

When I'm at the door, nearly out, Casper says, "I did love you once," and it damn near kills me. Almost destroys me, I swear. But I pretend not to notice as I leave him in the room and lock the door behind me. And I keep on pretending all the way to the car where I sit behind the wheel, shut myself in, and cry and laugh all at the same time.

I did love you once.

Casper's a funny guy. He really is.