By animeninjaNIPPON
"Squeegee." Johnny tapped on the teen's windowsill to wake him.
No answer.
"Squee...wake up." He leaned over the bed. The blankets were rumpled, but the teenaged boy was gone. In the distance, a toilet flushed. Ten minutes later, a tenor voice gasped, "Nny!"
"I need a Band-Aid or two. Funny story - I was trying to kill myself, but some health insurance guy comes along, and I figured I'd kill him instead." He looked up at Squee, who was still standing near the door. "He put up one Hell of a fight."
"Shmee said you wouldn't come back," Squee mused, moving toward his dresser and opening the top drawer. He pulled out a box of Band-Aids and a tube of Bactine.
"Well, I wasn't really planning on it, but - " Nny stopped short when he saw Squee recreate that look he had outside the Taco Smell the other day. "What?"
"Why - umm, never mind." Squee stared at his feet.
"No, tell me."
"Nothing; it's not my business..." He handed the medical items to the thin man perched on the windowsill.
"TELL ME!" Johnny squeezed the insides out of the tube. Squee jumped slightly.
"Why did you want to kill yourself?"
That sounded somewhat like the Squee Johnny knew from almost ten years ago - that same childlike inquisitiveness he hadn't seen in ages. "Reverend MEAT wants me to give in to the forces of FEELING," he stated, knowing well that the kid wouldn't understand. "I don't want to have those kind of...motivations." He painstakingly peeled the backing off a Band-Aid and placed it over the cut on his forehead. "I mean, you shouldn't be ashamed of your desires, but as for me, they've only caused me to do sick and terrible things."
"I never have that problem," Squee mentioned sadly. "Not that I know of, anyway. Nobody loves me, and I don't really love anybody, so I don't really think about it..."
Applying a final Band-Aid to his cheek, Nny replied, "You're not...cold, are you? I mean, as unfeeling as I strive to be?"
"I...well, I care about things, I guess...so, no." Squee sat down on his bed, contemplating that question himself. Did he really have no desires?
"Like what?"
"Umm...my parents. They hate me, but I still care about them. I don't know why... Shmee - I care about Shmee..." He fidgeted with the hem of his nightshirt. "I care about...you... I give you Band-Aids, and - "
"You WHAT?" The last phrase Squee uttered caused Johnny's eyes to go as wide as the moon behind him. What do you mean, you care about me?"
"You're nice to me - Shmee says you're bad, but you're never bad to me." An audible fear was unfolding in Squee. "You're the only one who's nice to me - even Shmee is mean sometimes, when he tells me to burn the house down, and everyone at skool yells at me, and..." He nervously twisted his shirt around his hands and unwound it.
There was a long moment of silence before Johnny finally said, "You're...different. You're not like those other people - you don't make me want to kill you. Hmm..." He rested his chin on his hand as he thought something over. "Do you like monkeys? I like monkeys."
"Yeah..." Squee answered, unsure what that last comment really meant. He shifted slightly to see Johnny better.
"Well, I have to go - those cheerleaders won't dismember themselves...or maybe they will." He got up off the windowsill. "Good night, Squee. And watch out for hobos." He closed the window and left the teen alone in the room. Well, almost alone...
You betrayed me...you're telling him things...
"No...I never said anything bad - I swear..."
Don't get too attached to Johnny. Squee noted that the bear used the maniac's real name rather than his nickname.
"You said he wouldn't come back...are you lying to me?"
Why would I lie to you? I didn't think he would come back...and you heard him - he was going to commit suicide. He doesn't want you to care for him. If you care, he won't care for you back. He said so - he doesn't want to feel. And he doesn't feel. He doesn't care.
Two tears hit Squee's moonlit hand. "I think he does..."
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Dear Die-Ary, Nny recorded once again, I know it is possible to feel no love but still care, to feel no hatred but still detest, to feel no urge but still feel pain... I know someone who makes this possible. He is me, as I should be, how I was before the shit overflowed in the toilet of life.
I still know of nothing that I love, and nothing that loves me, but I cannot turn off any feelings that I have in this case. Nor can I save any moment I feel this way, for to destroy any part of that innocence would be to destroy the very thing that keeps me sane...whatever that is. It's too fucking complex for me to describe in simple terms.
It seems so fucking ironic that someone can be so close, yet so far away... Oh my God, that's a line from a movie or something.
Johnny listened for the voices he had grown so accustomed to, but only the white noise from the television echoed through the room. "Now's my chance," he whispered.
End of part eleven