I have absolutely no idea. I was thinking about insanity, I wrote about some form of it. I guess...I don't know. I'm tired. Whatever it is enjoy it.
Reviews are sexy.
"You don't have to do this."
"Yes, I do."
"Why do you always have to be the hero?"
"Don't you see? This isn't about me being the hero. It's about you. How else am I going to get you to care?"
"You don't think I care?"
"I know you don't care."
"Mello, don't do this."
"You know I have to."
"I care."
"If you cared you would be stopping me."
"Or if I cared I would let you go."
"Because you know that I need to go?"
"No, because I know that I need you to go."
"I'm going."
"I know."
"I love you, but you already know that."
"I care."
"No you don't."
Unlike most, I liked to be alone. I liked the eerie quiet of solidity, the stagnant stillness of the air. I liked hearing every movement I make echoing through the surrounding emptiness. It made me feel like I existed. When I woke up, the bed moaned softly, my feet thudded on the worn out carpet, the floor creaked as I stretched. I walked into the kitchen, the pads of my feet pounded like a heartbeat. The slide of metal and the click of ceramic, the dripping of coffee hitting glass. The slurping of it going down my throat. I sighed, and my whole world could hear me, there was no other set of padding feet to disrupt its journey. It kept going, bouncing off of walls and filling corners. Home, alone, quiet, peaceful.
But as with every vice, it has its drawbacks. I didn't leave my apartment. Ever. My blinds had been shut so long I was afraid to open them, not knowing what I would see when I looked at the world beyond my bubble of frozen space. I had no clocks. I ate when I was hungry, I slept when I was tired, it was as simple as that. I didn't look in the mirror because I didn't know how much time had passed since the last time. I didn't want to see a dying man. I couldn't bear it if I saw decay and misery staring back at me; it had been everything to hold on for this long, I wasn't willing to throw that away.
Many days I would sit and stare at the cracks in the walls. My walls were white, the carpet white, the furniture white. More cracks had been appearing, but I didn't bother to count, when the apartment caved in I would know I had waited long enough.
I didn't watch TV. I didn't have a phone. I hadn't payed my rent since I stopped going outside. I don't know if they forgot or were just too afraid of what they would find if they came inside. I didn't even know what they would find if they came inside.
I didn't even have to leave for food. The last time I went outside was the time I bought enough canned food to last me until I died. I just wanted to be safe.
I tried not to look at my hands, when I opened something I would look at the plain white ceilings…counting cracks…one…two…three…four…I didn't want to see wrinkles there. I didn't touch myself, even if I had a scratch, I didn't shower. I walked around with eyes closed. I knew the whole apartment by heart. I knew every grain in the walls…I knew every oxygen molecule in the air. I knew every bump in the floor, every scratch in the wall. And when I would open my eyes…I was counting…always counting; because maybe if I counted enough, I would forget to stop.
"I love you."
"Are you sure?"
"You don't have to say it back."
"But, I want to."
"No you don't, Mello, but its okay, you don't have to."
"Matt…"
"Don't. I just wanted to tell you."
"I'm glad."
"What do you want to say?"
"I care about you."
"In what way?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know…or you don't want to know?"
"I don't know."
"I love you."
"I know."
"Is that enough?"
"Yes."
"Okay."
Sometimes I would sit in the corner for forever…forever because I didn't know how long it was, it could have been days…it could have been minutes. I would sit and I would count. And sometimes my eyes would glaze over until all I could see was a white blur…and I would think, 'this is it, I'm finally dying.' And then I would realize it was the wall…and I would count….five…six…seven…eight…I would count until I fell asleep, my head spinning with numbers, my fingers shaking, reaching out for something they would never again touch, reaching out for a fragment of a memory.
I could never tell if I was sleeping or awake, dreaming or living. Walking around my apartment was a haze, like walking through the thickest cloud of smoke, but a cloud that didn't have another side. I would repeat the motions as I'd done them millions of times before…or was it a few times before? It didn't matter…I didn't know what I was doing and what I was thinking about doing. I just did it. And I would count…nine…ten…eleven…twelve…
"Kiss me."
"Why?"
"I want to taste you."
"I don't taste that good."
"I didn't ask you to taste good, I asked to taste you."
"What if you don't like it?"
"What if I don't want to like it?"
"You do."
"You don't know that."
"Yes I do."
"Kiss me."
"Okay."
Sometimes I would count allowed, just so I would know my voice wasn't gone…just so I would know that I was alive. It would always startle me, I would try not to analyze the rasp I heard…I would try to just count. Nothing else. I don't think any words could come out anyway, only numbers. Always numbers.
I couldn't cry. I discovered that a long time ago. I was just all dried up. I couldn't think of anything worth my tears, and every time I tried my body would go limp and I would sleep…just…completely shut down. But I wouldn't cry.
"Can you tell me something?"
"Sure."
"Are you going to miss me?"
"When?"
"You know when."
"Yes, I will."
"Are you lying?"
"I don't know."
"Okay."
"Are you going to miss me?"
"I wouldn't be leaving if I wasn't going to miss you."
"Why do you love me?"
"I don't know."
"Why don't you know?"
"I don't know."
"Exactly."
"I'll miss you."
"I know."
"You don't think I'm lying?"
"I don't think it matters. I love you."
"I know."
"Okay."
Thirteen…fourteen…fifteen….sixteen.
"Will you wait for me?"
"Yes."
"Are you lying?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"I believe you."
"Good."
"How long will you wait?"
"However long you make me wait."
"I love you."
"I know."
Seventeen…eighteen…nineteen.
"It's time, I'm leaving."
"I'll be here."
" I love you."
"I know."
"Okay."
"Okay."
Twenty.