Song: The Take Over, The Break's Over
Lyric: they say your head can be a prison
then these are just conjugal visits
"How is he?" An all too familiar voice asks.
"He's still not talking, I'm afraid."
I blink slowly, a shuddering breath running from my head to my feet. They know I can hear them; this is some sort of tactic to get me to open up. But those things don't work on me, at least, not anymore.
"Can I see him?" The voice now sounds slightly more upset.
A throat clears outside my door. "I'm not sure if that's a good idea."
"Please." The voice is begging now.
"Only if he's awake, and quickly, he doesn't like too many people around him in his condition."
Well, that's bullshit.
"That's bullshit, he'll always want to see me."
That's also bullshit.
"Whatever you say."
The metal door slowly creaks open, and I see the face that I fell in love with. He still looks the same, but with blond hair and kind of douchey sunglasses. And never losing that cute smile, of course. Damn him. He slips off the glasses and looks down at me, frail and laying on the small cot swaddled in blankets.
"Don't stare," I say numbly, tearing my eyes away from him.
His boots shuffle closer to the bed. "Sorry."
"I look terrible, don't I?" I laugh dryly. "Don't answer that."
"How are you?" he asks, but I'm not listening. I'm thinking about his old glasses, and how he used to smell, and summer days with him. I'm thinking about everything but now, anything but the present. The past few weeks I've spent mastering it have really paid off, because I don't even hear him when he speaks again.
"What did you say?" My voice almost cracks but I swallow hard, readjusting my feet under the heavy duvet.
He sighs. "I said that your doctor told me you'd be out of here soon."
I raise my eyebrows. "Did he now? Hasn't said a word to me."
"That's because you haven't said anything to him." He glares at me pointedly, but I just shrug him off.
"Why are you here?" I ask, glancing out the small window. "We haven't spoken since I've been in here."
"I came to see you. I wanted to know who put you in the god awful place," he says angrily. "You had problems, but what the fuck is this, Pete? What the fuck is this?"
I chuckle, shaking my head. "You obviously don't understand, so I'm not answering that question."
"I would know if you had told me something. All that time and all I knew is that you had depression once upon a time." He runs a hand through his hair. "You told me that you were happy with me. Why did you leave? And who put you here?"
"It's none of your business!" I spat.
"It is!"
"Why? Is it because I was a good fuck, huh, Michael? Is it because we had fun one summer? I don't see why-"
"It's because I was in love with you!" He bursts out. "And I still am, goddamn! You weren't just some fling to me, okay? What are you running from? Why is it so hard for you to get that someone could want you through your head?"
