Listen Before You Speak

Chapter 10

Another chapter dedicated to my love, for not saying a word about my mood swings during writing for Camp NaNoWriMo this month. Love you!

So I actually found out a few things about Blake in the last few hours. He used to be a chess champion, and still plays for fun every now and then. He argues that chess is a sport. I think it's nothing more but a board game for tired old men. The verdict is still out on that one. Also, after staring at the collage of photos on his wall and asking a few questions which he didn't fully answer, I found out that he was a bit of an emo kid once upon a time. That's where the clothes came from that I was wearing. It was from his old emo days apparently. If I put on a few pounds I would never even have to go home to get clothing. I could just wear his old clothes, which is just a little bit awesome. I might need shoes however. He's is at least two sizes too big for me.

I also found out that he has a mother. Well, no surprise there. He had to pop out somewhere, although I did think for a moment in time that he might be an alien of some sort after he showed me his enormous book collection, and you had better be an alien if you want to read all of those books in one lifetime. He actually has a dedicated room for his books. He calls it his library. I think it looks like a massive, dusty old flytrap that would keep you occupied for years at a time. Anyway, he has a mother. And she's blonde and nice and wears dresses and crystals that makes her look like a hippie from some 1960's movie. I also think she might be a little high, because when Blake asked her if I could stay over, she barely looked at me but mumbled about my aura and chakra's and that I need some serious Reiki in my life. Then she offered (not to me but to Blake) that she could give me a Tarot reading, which I politely refused. Just imagine I get the Death card. Or something equally as horrible. It was safe to say that Blake's mother was not normal. She also gave me two crystals, which looks way more like rocks to put under my pillow to chase nightmares away, and promised me a dream catcher. I think I might actually like her at the end of the day, but for the moment she just creeps me out a bit.

Blake has no idea who his father is. Somewhere during the nineties his mother was all into the free love thing, so Blake speculates that she has no idea who his father is the begin with. I can understand why that just might be true. For some reason I think she's one of those people who might have liked some free drugs with their free love. Maybe that's the reason why Blake had to be glued back together. Still, it still beat my family in the sanity department. At least his mom wasn't a drunk psychopath with a taste of vengeance. The fact that Blake could do whatever he wanted while she was sitting outside on the lawn humming in weird notes and crazy hand movements was also a plus point in my eyes.

Further I got to know that Blake didn't know much about emo music. Apparently he is an Ed Sheeran fan, whoever that may be. I kind of lost interest after I saw the guy was a ginger. Not that I had anything against gingers, they just weren't my type at all. Apparently I was into the hipster guys with the longer brown hair and soulful eyes. Who would have known?

By the time we finished dinner, which was some weird pasta that tasted out of this world, complementary of Blake (gosh he was an incredible cook), I checked my phone. There were no less than thirty-seven missed calls, of which twenty-three belonged to my dad, and a bunch of text messages I just wasn't prepared to open yet. If anything, I just wanted to stay here forever in Blake's arms and forget about their existence completely. It was in this train of thought with Blake taking a shower that I found myself for the first time since I woke up after the orchid ordeal feeling like cutting myself.

I knew I needed to find something. Anything. As long as it was sharp.

My eyes darted around the room, finally falling on the blue scissors waiting for me on Blake's desk. One part of me was screaming for myself not to do it, but the other, more emotional part of me wanted it so badly. Unwillingly thinking back to that night. My dad. His breath that smelled of old stale beer. The iron of blood. I needed. I wanted. Cutting. Now. Warmth. Another pain. Something else. Something I can control. Blood. Red. Blade.