SomeWhere On... (BXB)

...Canon Street - April

Murph's been shrunk down in the corner of my computer screen. We're watching a video he's been begging me to watch with him, except this video is just all stuff I know already. It's this animated video on long-distance relationships. It's cute. Like, I'll admit it. It's cute. But I know half this shit already just from dating this guy.

It ends, and Murph looks at me from the corner of my screen. "What'd you think?" he asks, beaming.

I shrug. "It was...fine? I guess."

He isn't satisfied by the response.

"Luv, I don't know what to tell you. We know this shit. Talk everyday, be honest." I bob my head. "Though most of that is probably just me, and me trying to get you to do it." Untrue. I've lied to him a lot to make sure he's okay.

Like his job schedule.

Holy fuck, I wanna murder him for taking two jobs.

But he's so fucking desperate to move out that I don't say anything.

"Well, I liked it," Murph says, grinning. He looks at his phone, smile shrinking. "I have twenty minutes until I have to go."

I grunt my response. He was busy this morning because he was helping take down a dinner for theater supporters, whoever they are. Lizzie kept crashing our calling because she's back from whatever she was doing out of state. And an hour ago he got asked to do a double shift. Which means he's basically gone for the rest of the goddamn day.

Normally, this doesn't bother me. But I can literally count the hours we've been calling.

Three.

Three combined hours. I actually did the maths.

Go me.

I think that's bullshit, though. I want to talk to him.

"Okay." That's all I say. Because what else is there to say?

He frowns. "Tommy, I know you're mad - "

"I'm not mad." I am.

"That's a lie and you know it." It's this sad accusation, like no matter what I'll say, he won't believe it. Murph runs his hands through his hair. "I know you don't like what I'm doing - "

I grit my teeth. "It's nothing."

" - but what else can I do?" He's glaring at me, except it's this sad look instead of this cute mad one. "There's nothing in my town. I don't have a car. Modern towns just aren't designed to be...these..." Murph forces the air in his palms into a circle. "...they're not meant to be these little pockets of self-sufficiency anymore." He sighs. "Tommy, I'm trying." His face scrunches.

I sigh. "Murph, you know I don't think you're not."

He sniffs and laughs. "Really?" He says it snarky.

It's moments like these where I want to strangle him. "What do you want me to say, Murph? That your jobs are shit? That you're better than all two of them? That you're working yourself too hard?" I shrug. "I don't have to. Because you already know it."

"I'm still trying, Tommy."

"You're killing yourself, Murph." A little bit of an exaggeration, but the point stands. "And I don't want to be coming to your funeral in a year because you worked yourself too hard."

"What?"

And I stop. I don't know why I stop, but I do. This isn't the right way to go about this. "Sorry."

"What?" Murph's still fired up.

"...it doesn't matter."

"Your goddamn right it doesn't. I don't need you worrying about me," Murph throws back.

"The fuck does that mean?"

He runs his hands over his face. "Tommy, it doesn't matter."

"No. What'd you mean by that, you fuckwit?"

"I don't want you worrying about me." He's looking away.

"Well tough shit, Murph. You don't get that right anymore."

Murph shushes me. "My aunt's downstairs."

"I don't give a shit if she's on the toilet. You don't get to decide if I get to worry about you. I'll worry about you until I pick my fucking nails clean off my fingers. I'll worry about you until Hell freezes over. I'll worry about you until you're doing fine. I'll fucking think about your goddamn life until we're both fucking dead in the ground." I point at him. "You're someone I fucking love. You don't get to pull this crap with me."

Murph's angry. "Well, I'm sorry that I'd rather have you think that I'm in control of my life rather than take career advice from you."

Now I'm pissed. "Okay, I'm done."

"Great. I have to go anyway." He swings his bag on his shoulder. "Way to ruin the night, Tom."

"Fuck you, Murph." I press the END CALL button. He begins to say "Bye", but the call ends.

And I'm left stewing.

I fucking hate him.

At the same time, I'm hoping he gets out of work early.

Then Steve knocks on my door. He doesn't wait to come in. He basically owns the place. "Mate."

"What?" I spit.

"Mate."

"What?"

Steve purses his lips. "Jess heard you."

I blink. "Wha?"

Then she comes in, pushing past Steve. Jess throws her hands around me and cries, "Ohmigod, you're growing!" Her head is squishing my cheek.

I look at Steve. "...what's happening."

He shakes his head. "Just let it happen."

And she squeezes me and squeals for two minutes.

I have war flashbacks to Lizzie.

Someone send help.