"So when, exactly, was the last time you showered?" I asked Dallon as we entered my bedroom. There was a small bathroom attached to my room, so I could keep an eye--or, rather, ear--on him while he was in the shower, just in case he decided to pull a fast one by, like, wrapping the shower curtain around his neck. Or something.
Dallon didn't respond. I paused from opening the bathroom door and looked back at him to see that he wasn't following me anymore. He was still standing in the doorway, a look of awe overtaking his usual dreary expression as he surveyed the room.
"Alright, you can stop gawking, I know, I know, I can understand how exhilarating it must feel to be inside my very bedroom, a la suite de luxe de Frank Anders--"
"You have so much stuff," he interjected, cutting me off from the rest of my teasing. I shut my mouth and glanced around my room with him, trying to figure out what the "so much" part of "stuff" he was referring to. My room really wasn't anything special, I had always thought. There was a full-sized, blanket-strewn bed pressed against the wall with the small window next to my pillows. A tiny bedside table with a lamp, two dressers, an empty fish tank, a desk with a chair pushed under it, my guitar, and a tiny flatscreen TV were my only furnishings.
"Um, I guess?" I responded, not exactly confident that I did.
"What's that?" he asked, motioning with his chin towards the tall, vertical cage placed atop one of the dressers.
A rush of enthusiasm flooded through me. I was glad he'd asked; I loved talking about my animals. "It's a crested gecko," I answered, moving away from the bathroom and over to the enclosure. I unlocked the door and surveyed the greenery until my eyes spotted the small orange creature hidden beneath a tangle of thin vines. It was pretty early in the morning, and since crested geckos were nocturnal, I knew she wouldn't be too happy about being disturbed from her slumber, but the excitement of showing off my most prized pet to Dallon got the best of me. I retrieved her and let her balance on the backs of my fingers, beckoning Dallon to come closer with my free hand.
Dallon stepped cautiously into the room, moving towards me slowly, eyes locked on the small creature. "Does it bite?"
"No, she's friendly. She might be a little cranky right now because crested geckos are nocturnal, and it's not even the afternoon yet, but she's still really sweet."
Dallon nodded, probably understanding the pain all teenagers felt after being woken up too early. "What's her name?"
"Pumpkin," I revealed, cringing inwardly at how dumb her name must've sounded to him. He raised a questioning eyebrow at me, and I could feel my former twelve-year-old self growing defensive towards any judgements that came Pumpkin and I's ways. "Not just because she's orange, but also after the Smashing Pumpkins, who are a really good band, okay, and they're really cool and so is Pumpkin, so--"
"Jesus, and people say I'm defensive," he interrupted, rolling his eyes at my rambling. I shut my mouth again, catching my bottom lip between my teeth in order to stay quiet. "I like the Smashing Pumpkins, too," he said, looking away from my eyes and returning his stare back to Pumpkin. He looked slightly awkward, as if what he had just told me was something super-secret he'd never shared with anyone ever before, and he was afraid I was going to judge him for it. I grinned at him, fighting the urge to bounce up and down on the balls of my feet since I didn't want to disturb Pumpkin more than I already had. My excitement grew from within, ready to burst at our shared music taste.
"That's cool, my friends from my old town used to always make fun of me for liking older bands. But they're such a classic, you know, people are crazy not to like them."
Dallon glanced up at me, a slightly bemused expression on his face, his bright blue eyes curious. It was as if he never talked to someone about a shared interest before--or, maybe, he never talked to someone about his interests before, my brain suggested. My heart physically ached at that, and my mind flashed back to the clearing in the forest, recalling the immense amount of pain and loneliness he had confessed to. How unwanted he felt by others--so unwanted, so uncared for, that he thought they wouldn't even care to know something as small about him as to know a band he liked. "Yeah, um. Yeah. I agree."
YOU ARE READING
Sunsets Over Suicideville (BoyxBoy)
Romance"People hide things up their sleeves. Sometimes it's cool things, like cards, like magic. Sometimes it's sad things, like scars, like depression." Psychological disorders are nothing new to Frankie Anderson. He's been around them his entire life, wi...
