Rade Week, day five. Good morning to you sir! The theme is friendship, but if you wanna squint a little closer…well, you know.
For the first semester of college, living with Cat was an escape.
The year, for us, began like we had always planned. The memory envelops me, and for an instant, I almost fool myself into thinking I'm back in that wonderful time and place. But then an untamed bush of raven hair bobs in front of me, and shatters that wonderful delusion. If the first semester had been a haze of wonderful solitude, then this semester has been the harsh light of day. It feels like crowds of people are mobbing me in the form of one singular, irritating person.
Since he transferred here, Shapiro has been an omnipresent nuisance in my life. Tonight he's bustling through our living room, and ranting about eating three square meals per day. I'm not even entirely sure what he's talking about. I can just feel the irritation boiling up in me. Now his stupid purple backpack is currently blocking the most interesting corner of the television, as he gathers stray items of clothing from the floor. If we weren't so broke, I'd swear Cat had hired him as a maid.
"Shapiro, we're not totally useless. Either sit down or leave." I grumble, tossing my eyes in Shapiro's direction as he rearranges a stack of books I've been using as a footstool. I'm all set to recommence ignoring him when his eyebrows twitch down.
"Oh yeah, well what are you two eating for dinner tonight, then?" Shapiro demands, his tone flying dangerously close to being more threatening than a caged guinea pig.
"Uh, Pasta." I answer dumbly. He continues to study me with my reply, and it's infinitely infuriating. Rolling my eyes, I exhale deeply, and prepare myself for a barrage of questions. Shapiro's got this stupid look on his face. It means that I might as well forget watching the rest of my show. I've seen this look before; and it's ruined countless attempts I've made at watching Lost. I swear he times these little spurts of conversation for maximum irritation.
"What kind of pasta?" Shapiro's lips twitch upwards with his question. The smug look on his face makes me miss the twitchy geek he'd been at Hollywood Arts. He's till a total dork now, but I think somebody at his old college gave him a backbone implant, or something.
"I was just telling Robbie that you make the best water flavoured pasta, Jade!" Cat chirps from beside me, practically vomiting unicorns and rainbows in her exuberance. I just pinch the bridge of my nose, and try to hide discreetly behind my fingers. No wonder I'm getting that look. I can already hear Shapiro's cackle as he dives into the ridiculous purple backpack that he seems to drag everywhere.
"Oh, I guess you won't be wanting one of these…Spaghetti Tacos then, huh Cat?" I don't react right away, and that's my downfall. Cat's squeal of excitement conspires with her flailing limbs to deafen, kill or otherwise main me when Shapiro waves a Taco in our direction. Cat scrambles over me in pursuit of her prize, and I hate Shapiro just a little bit more. That bastard.
"I have eleven more in here. Tori used to tell me that it's good luck to make twelve." Shapiro babbles, jostling his bag in my direction as Cat bites into her taco and moans in satisfaction. Ugh, of course he has to mention Vega when he's handing out free tacos. That Bastard.
Reluctantly, I pry myself out of my seat and march over to Shapiro. His lips split into a wide grin, and he quickly surrenders another taco. It's painful, but I force myself to smile back at him. Shapiro almost dissolves into a puddle of nerd at the slightest hint of affection. Shaking my head, I take a bite of my taco and - that magnificent bastard – it's probably the best thing that's ever been consumed in this living room.
With my tongue alight with flavour, I grab Shapiro by the shoulders, dragging him and his slightly less ridiculous backpack to the couch. He gapes at me, looking like a fish out of water, but I'm too busy eating to offer anything more then a thumbs up as I sit us down. If he's going to cook like this, then maybe I can deal with his constant presence in my life.
That resolution lasts all of about thirteen minutes before I'm contemplating whether or not a fall from the window beside our television will kill Shapiro. The urge to find out ebbs away when he suggests watching a movie that I don't totally hate. I'm able to stomach the remaining two or so hours that he stays with us, because he's actually not the worst person to watch movies with. Ugh. So this is my life…living with Cat, and Shapiro as a f-fr- I can't even say it.
"You're the best, Robbie." Cat squeaks, flinging herself at Shapiro when he finally begins to peel himself away from our couch. It's a little before midnight, and I'm surprised Cat is even awake still. Usually she peters out before ten O'clock. I guess this whole friendship with Shapiro thing is more than pity on her part.
"Yeah, sure." He mumbles, all unsure eyes and shaky words. Arcing an eyebrow, I watch as Shapiro delecttebly pries Cat away from him, and sets Cat back down. There's an unreadable look on his face, and I wonder what Shapiro's problem is. Twisting my lips, I resist the urge to say something biting and slice him to shreds. It's not compassion; it's just that Shapiro is on the verge of falling apart already. Attacking him now would be too easy.
"You've moved up three rungs on my own personal social ladder." I blurt out, compensating for my sudden outburst by turning back to the television. From the corner of my eye, I can see the harsh lines of Shapiro's way too ragged breathing. He's ridiculous.
"So where am I now?" Shapiro asks, cutting in front of me and retrieving his empty, and slightly beloved by the residents of this house, purple bag.
"Third from the bottom." I retort, unable to keep a lid on my biting comment. Shapiro doesn't really flinch though, or fall apart. In fact, his lips press into a stupid little grin, and his face isn't drooping so much anymore. Flicking my fingers in his direction, I bid Shapiro a wordless goodbye as he wanders over to the door. As Cat shuts the door behind him, little part of me thinks that Shapiro isn't really the worst thing since the bubonic plague. It's a stupid, crazy, irritating little corner of my mind, and I'm pretty sure it's infectious. It's getting harder and harder to hate Shapiro these days, especially with the taste of his cooking in mouth.
Bastard.
[Eight days & twelve delivered meals later…]
"Yeah, yeah. Hold your horses." I grumble, peeling myself away from my seat and glaring over my shoulder at the door that's shaking behind me. When I hurl the door open, I'm confronted by the solitary figure of Robbie Shapiro. He's grinning hopefully, and straining to hold whatever is held within the confines of his stupid purple backpack tonight.
"Heey, Ki-You're not Cat." He stutters, slug sized eyebrows crawling their way into the center of his face. I can't help but smirk myself. Shapiro might have found himself a backbone, but he's as easily rattled as ever.
"Wow! Next thing I know, you'll realise that I'm not Vega either!" I retort loudly, pumping false enthusiasm into my words. Shapiro doesn't really say anything in response. He kind of just lingers in the hallway, and tries not to crumble under the weight of his backpack.
"Wha-Where's Cat?" He finally pushes out, still looking considerably befuddled. The situation isn't exactly new to me. Shapiro seems to be on a constant witch-hunt for Cat. They'll make plans, and she'll break them without even realizing what's happening. I guess it's just hard for Cat to keep track of things when thousands of thoughts drift in and out of her brain over the course of a sentence
"Baby Golf with some dweeb." I answer distastefully. Shapiro's face crumbles, and I actually feel sort of bad for him. He's a moron and a dweeb, but otherwise a decent enough kid. I wish Cat would hurry up and figure out what she's doing with him. Maybe if she lets him down easily, I can continue to scavenge free meals from Shapiro.
"Bu-We were…Cat told me to come and hang out tonight." His eyes flick back to the ground, and Shapiro looks even more devastated than before. I chew my lip as silence settles between us. After a few moments of Shapiro's incessantly pathetic fidgeting, I crack.
"H-hey, you know how Cat is…she doesn't mean anything by it." I state uneasily. Comforting people isn't exactly my forte, and comforting Shapiro is definitely new. My words curl around him, and Shapiro's shoulders bunch up. He drags a deep breath in, and continues to look pathetic for a few more moments before finally saying something.
"Yeah…no kidding." He croaks, all glassy eyes and trembling lips as he begins to turn away. I frown, but my arms remain rooted to my side. Like I said, comforting people, it's not my forte. I really do wish I weren't so useless, Sha - Of course my stomach picks this exact moment to lament our empty pantry.
A low grumble from my stomach rips through the air.
"When did you last eat?" In an instant, Shapiro is spiralling in my direction and most of the sadness on his face has been replaced by suspicion. It's a look that my mom used to give me before she split. It's equal parts concern and consternation.
"Uh…lunchtime." I answer, scrunching up my nose and rolling my shoulders. Shapiro's eyes sharpen a little, and if anything, I think I've just confirmed whatever conclusion he's come to.
"Lunchtime which day?" I shut my eyes and take a deep breath. I thought going to college meant escaping your parents. I managed that for all of around four months before Papa Shapiro turned up. Yet, my arm won't reach out and slam the door on him like I wish it would. Instead, I find an answer brewing on my lips.
"Uh, yesterday…leftover tacos…" I state, rolling my eyes. Shapiro rolls his eyes, but doesn't say anything. Instead, he just gives me a stupid little grin and walks straight past me.
"Hey wha-Shapiro, you can't just go into peoples houses and start unloading ugly purple backpacks. What do you think you're doing?" I shriek, slamming the door behind me, and following him into the kitchen. Shapiro's too busy dumping his backpack onto the counter to really feel the full effect of my outrage, though. It's a shame really. This is probably the best temper tantrum I've managed to dredge up in some time.
"Feeding you." Shapiro answers simply, straightening and catching my eyes when I've stopped ranting. A storm brews on my tongue until Shapiro unzips his backpack. When the golden skin of a roast chicken falls into my line of vision, I'm all summer days and astonishment.
"I don't nee-Is that a roast chicken?" I ask, incredulity lining my words. Shapiro shrugs, acting like it's totally normal to carry roast chickens in sealed containers around with you. I just wonder when it is that I found such weird friends.
"Yup. I brought candles too…but yeah, I doubt we'll be needing them." Shapiro mutters, taking a moment to flash a watery grin in my direction. My heart actually gives a dull little thunk for him, which is just absurd. He's kind of a, well actually, Shapiro is a really nice guy. Ugh. I really wish he wouldn't insist on tearing down the contempt I have for him, brick by brick. Bastard.
"Don't look so sad Shapiro, you've got me! Now gimmie." I counter, sounding way too much like Cat. A little part of me dies inside when my bottom lip juts out and I pout at Shapiro, so I sock him in collarbone. Shapiro just laughs at my bipolar behaviour though, so I guess it's okay. I mean he is letting me eat half of what was supposed to be a romantic dinner, after all. I should probably make some kind of effort to keep him from being entirely miserable.
It turns out Shapiro has mashed potato and green peas stashed away in his backpack too. They must be laced with something, because I'm briefly overcome with the urge to drag him to a chapel in Las Vegas and marry him.
Thankfully it's only a momentary lapse, though. When Shapiro hands me a paper plate topped with food, I resist the urge to propose and simply offer a quiet thanks. I'm feeling so charitable as I shovel the food into my mouth, that I even let Shapiro watch Spongebob Squarepants. Another part of me dies, but it's a pretty sour part of me anyway, so I'm not sure I'll even miss it.
"Well. I guess I'll go. You probably have plans on a Friday…" No sooner has my plate landed on the table, and Shapiro is already plotting his escape. He's a weird guy. Always will be, I guess.
"Yeah, massive plans." I snort, jabbing my hand in the direction of my PearBox. The truth just spills out before I can stop it, and Shapiro's eyes immediately narrow again. I empty my lungs and sink into my seat. Judged by Shapiro, king of the dorks. I've reached a new low.
"You're playing video games on a Friday night? What are you, me?" My pity party is interrupted by Shapiro's self-deprecating remark, and my eyes fly over to him. He looks a lot less forlorn than before. For the first time since he arrived, Shapiro is grinning like his regular old self. The curve of his lips isn't all secretive like before, and honestly, it's just a relief.
"The new Violent Hill just came out, okay?" I grumble, eyebrows breaking over my nose. Shapiro falters for an instant as I glower at him, but then his lips perk up again. Raking a hand through my hair, I realize I've lost the power of intimidation with him.
It's probably the third most depressing thing about my night.
"…so that game is where your food budget went this week?" Shapiro asks, leaning forwards and snatching the Violent Hill case off the coffee table.
"Next weeks too." I smirk, unrepentant until the end. Shapiro actually remembers he's not a parent yet and laughs along with me a little. A silence that's entirely too comfortable settles over us afterward. It's the kind of quiet Cat sometimes allows the settle between us an-Sweet merciful Christ! Tell me Shapiro isn't burrowing that far into my inner circle.
"Well I'll-"
"If you promise not to wet yourself or suck, you can play too. It's co-op." I blurt out, cutting through Shapiro's attempt to leave. That one interruption is a confirmation. Shapiro isn't just a friend. He's a friend that I actually like. The word tastes dirty on my tongue, but it's no less true. Maybe if I say it to myself enough times, I can convince myself it's because of the free food.
He's such a bastard for filling my Friday night with chicken and something other than brooding.
[Eight hours & six defeated spirits later…]
Cat picks to exact worst possible time to come home.
She swings the door open, right when Shapiro and I are in a darkened room in Violent Hill. The squeak of the door tears a shriek from both of our throats. In a flash, rust colored hair is flying around us, and a pair of brittle little arms are wrapped around me. Shapiro realizes what's happening and laughs. The sound of his demented warble makes me laugh. Soon after, Cat's eyebrows are upturned, and she's looking very worried indeed. I guess I can't say that I blame her, Suddenly, Shapiro and I are not only capable of remaining in a room without tearing each other apart, but also laughing? Yeah, it still feels a little screwy to me as well.
"Wha-what are you two doing?" Cat squeaks, constricting her arms even more tightly around me a few moments later. Of course she'd regain her breath when Shapiro and I have started playing again. Sighing, I flick my eyes to the roof and offer a succinct answer.
"Violent Hill 4." Shapiro chimes in, offering the same answer as me. It even flies from his lips in the same lifeless monotone, at the same time as mine. Glancing sidelong at him, I'm more than a little creeped out. He's giving me the same eyes widened expression. All of this after one night playing video games together? God, I really hope he's not my soul mate or something stupid like that.
"Vi-Vi-Violent Hill?" Comes Cat's rattling reply. From the corner of my eye, I catch coffee eyes widening in horror. Cat's never liked anything more frightening than Mario.
"Don't worry Cat, I got you a shiny new unicorn. He's in your room, and he'll protect you!" I answer, already having prepared for Cat's stumbling upon this same situation. Well, sort of the same situation. I hadn't counted on Shapiro still being here eight hours after dinner, or here at all. I don't even have to look away from the screen to realize Cat's already bouncing in the direction of her latest stuffed friend. Sometimes having a roommate that's so easily satiated comes in handy.
"Is that the purple one you keep stealing back when you think she's not looking?" Shapiro chuckles, jabbing buttons and jabbing his control at the screen for added effect.
"No." I snort, wondering how exactly he knows that. Glancing over at Shapiro, he's rolling his eyes and looking all smug. I really hate that about him. It reminds me that there's actually a brain beneath that ridiculous head of hair.
"You should probably spring for another one, Jade. She knows you're giving her the same toy. She's just too-"
"Oh Jade, I love it so much!" Cat's excited screeching cuts through Robbie's advice as she flies out of her room and half strangles me. Lifting my hand in surrender, I gently pry Cat away from me, and shake my head.
"Cat, I'm very happy for you. Shapiro and I are attending to very important business right now, though. You need to be quiet." I lecture her, shifting my voice into a poor imitation of Shapiro's serious tone. He catches my subtle jab and rolls his eyes before ducking out of the way of an oncoming monster. My character, of course, gets slaughtered. He's such a bastard.
"Kay kay." Cat chirps, leaning onto my shoulder. Shapiro tosses his eyes in our direction, and he just looks pained. Something coils in my chest, and before I know what its doing, my expression shifts. Unknown to Cat, my eyebrows screw together and my lips draw into a thin line. Shapiro's continued misery at her hands just isn't as funny now that I've blundered my way past his aggressively nerdy exterior. Flicking my controller in the direction of our deceased characters, I silently ask Shapiro if he wants to play on. He gives a slow, feeble nod and we do. We tumble back into the game again, but with Cat's whimpering, it's not as fun this time. A tense silence fills the air, well mostly anyway. I'm vaguely aware of the sound of three hearts beating out of time.
Bastard.
Well, the end is horribly vague, but through the haze you can probably make on the faint specks of Rade.
Two shot for this puppy heading into tomorrow, or a new story? Have your say in the review section. I'm easily swayed, so whoever yells the loudest will have their voice heard. :)