Chapter III
For years, copying other people, I tried to know myself.
From within, I couldn't decide what to do.
Unable to see, I heard my name being called.
Then I walked outside.
Rumi
It had been into the darkest hours, when the distinction between late night and early morning blurs, that Abed and Annie kept each other company. When she arrived home from her less than magical date with Jeff, for they were always, without exception less than magical these days, she had found herself in a considerably better mood after indulging three Appletini's and the defeat and triumph over Ganon in Ocarina of Time, which she had been working on for the last two weeks. All the while, Abed had been deeply engrossed in the various books in front of him, only occasionally glancing up to give her warnings about things in the game that she had overlooked.
She had gone on at length, and with much repetition, about her grievances, particularly, although not exclusively, about Jeff. It became apparent to him, that while outwardly manifesting all of the symptoms of unrequited love, which she had so ardently displayed with her early infatuation with Troy, there was much more on her mind. Interspersed with her diatribe about the fake-ness of Jeff's lawyer persona, to the demeaning way that he still treated her, she would pop in a throwaway comment about her mother. Later while complaining about the restaurant and his apparent inability to get passed the looks of a woman, his gaze had been wandering around the place the whole time, she mentioned her fears about getting a job after graduation.
It didn't take him very long, even as an utterly passive participant in the conversation, he had learned that when Annie needed to vent, she simply need to talk with the most minimal of input on his part, that while her frustration with Jeff were very real, she had been feeling the same anxieties about change that he was. Lately, it seemed that despite their apparent and effectual denial of the reality of their situation, it escaped neither of their attentions, that with the departing of Troy, something had been missing. In his private contemplations, Abed had thought that only having two of them living together would bring them closer but instead it only seemed to erect this unaddressed wall of personal space between them. And while they did share meals together, as Abed had started to learn out to cook as there was much less fun to be had without his best friend around, and Annie did start taking more of an interest in his movies and games, they had lost what intimacy they had built in the Dreamatorium last year.
The conversation they had that night, even if Annie did the majority of the talking, had been the most time they had spent together in months. And maybe it was just the alcohol talking, but her candid nature, her relaxed disposition, and the sweetness of her laughter had reminded him of what they used to be like.
When she had finally passed out in the chair next to him and when he had finally had enough of the textbooks, he gently picked her up off of the chair and took her to her room. He took great care in tucking her into bed. A task made much more difficult with his reluctance to turn on the lights for fear of waking her up. She rolled onto her stomach soon as he had covered her with the duvet. He should've left; he knew that. But instead, he sat down on the floor next to her bed and leaned against it. He noted the rhythm of her whispered breathing. Her hand slowly traced the surface of her sheets and dreamily ran through his hair before languidly falling off the edge of the bed next to his face. He absent-mindedly and gently reached out and held her hand. He massaged the centre of her palm, stealing another moment of contact that was by no means his.
She wondered if he thought she was asleep. Indeed she was for a while but she had awoken when she realized she was being carried into her room. It didn't seem natural, and her while her frame was by no means imposing, for him to be able to carry her with such ease.
Why was he still here? She wondered while continuing to pretend to sleep. Is this a movie bit?
He didn't have a camera. He just sat there, for minutes, unmoved.
Finally he spoke.
"You know, I miss him too." He said in hush tones. "But everybody knows that. He knows that."
Does he know I'm awake? She wondered.
"I said at the beginning of the year that I was okay with change." He continued. "But I'm really not; not if this is going to be the way things are from now on, I'd like to go back."
I bet he thinks I'm asleep, she giggled internally.
"The worst part is, I have no one to talk to about this," Abed spoke. "I would usually talk to Troy, but that's no longer an option. I wish I could talk to you."
He definitely thinks I'm asleep, Annie thought.
"But you've been so preoccupied with Jeff," he continued. "And I know we have to move on eventually. I get that. But I like what we had. Greendale has been the best time of my life. I wish I could stay here forever."
Have I been ignoring you? Annie asked. Why didn't you tell me?
"I get that I'm having a pity party for myself," Abed said. "Don't worry, you won't hear about it from me in the morning."
Awwwww.
"Heh," he chuckled. "You know what my screenwriting professor told me last week? He told me that I was afraid to live. He told me, that I use TV and movies to shield myself from the outside world; from real emotions and real connections."
Abed, why are you saying these things? Annie thought to herself.
She lay there, silent and still, with Abed's head only inches away from hers. Covered by the blanket of the night, shrouded in complete darkness, her fingers gently and imperceptibly, as if the involuntary gestures of sleep, danced with his. She could hear the faint humming of the air conditioner, the heavy breaths that punctuated his inner mediations, the gentle ruffling of his back against the side of her bed. It was as though, even if he wasn't trying to, he could create these moments of perfect tranquillity. Did he really not know that she could hear him? Perhaps, he secretly hoped that she could.
"He asked me," Abed recalled. "What drives Icarus to fly? What makes men fight dragons?"
Love, I suppose. She answered.
"You," he answered.
Her eyes popped open. She stared directly at him, her gaze burning a hole in the back of his head. But he didn't seem to notice. He just continued thinking and looking out of the window at the streetlight that gave the room its only source of illumination.
"I'd do it for you," he said in a matter of fact tone.
Abed…
"He's probably right about me," he continued. "But I don't want to change. I like it here. I like where I am now. I like this apartment, I like our friends, I like going to Greendale. And I'm glad that you're here with me."
Me too.
"He said that I would never understand the hero's journey from the outside, he said that the gods aren't the ones who tell the stories. That is the task of mortals," Abed said as his head drooped with an exasperated exhale. "But I'm not ready for that."
"Oh, Abed." Wait, did I just say that out loud?
"You know, the funny thing is. This is part of the journey," he continued, apparently unfazed by her palliation.
Why wasn't he disturbed by me speaking? Annie questioned. Does he think I'm drunk?
"The refusal of the call," Abed said.
I only had three drinks!
"But I don't think I'm the hero of this story," he said shaking his head a little.
Okay, maybe I am a bit drunk.
"Things are good. The hero, they always refused the call at first," Abed continued. "But some of them have to actually refuse for good, right? Not everyone gets to go on the journey."
"What's the next step?" Annie asked in a deliberately groggy voice, feigning incoherence.
"The talisman, or supernatural aid," he answered casually. "It's supposed to symbolize a promise, that at the end of the journey that the hero's quest would be worth it. It's supposed to encourage him to take the plunge and to reassure him in his darkest hour."
"Like this?" Annie asked.
She propped herself up and dragged her body closer to the end of the bed. She placed her hand on his cheek and turned his head to face hers. Her hair draped across her face, letting the light from the streets land on her cheeks in long thin bands. Her gaze, completely opened, pierced directly into his. He was terrified. And just then, as a thousand thoughts rushed into his head it completely went blank. As if the whole world had been, in that very instance, erased from existence, with only the faint hint of her body lotion, the warmth of her palm upon his face, and the soft touch of her lips to confirm her presence, she kissed him. Long and deep, unrelenting, passionate, lustful, and comforting, and a thousand other words, whose meanings were always so alien to him, now made sense.
He had his talisman.
