Pictionary
April 2016
Matt is flailing his arms around and violently stabbing a piece of paper with his pencil. This is what I call fun these days.
"Sarcoidosis," I shout out. "No, it's auto-immune!" because we have been binging House.
What's the deal with Matt, you may ask?
Good question.
He bores the fucking pants off me.
"Jesus, 'Lena, it's a halo", he announces when the timer goes off. Well don't I feel like a horse's ass?
Caroline and Tyler are staring at us, intermittently, whilst they exchange concerned looks with each other. Not everybody can be as perfect as they are. I'm not sure if they've ever even had a fight. I mean, get real Caroline. She just lives to make men happy. She would do or say anything if it meant her boyfriend felt good about himself. Fucking tragic. I don't even know why we're still friends.
Matty is comfortable. He's the perfect vision of the boy next door and my friends sure thought he was what I needed. I probably would've preferred not to have a new person shoved down my throat, so to speak, but they meant well. Star quarterback in high school, prom king, nicest guy on the planet…. Just the way he casually grins with his chiseled jaw and wipes his blonde hair away from his blue eyes, I would be stupid to not hang onto him.
My turn. I always dread my turns because something real might come out. Something that belies this fabricated existence. Matt passes me the pencil and pauses when our fingers touch, intentionally making eye contact with me and mouthing the words, "are you ok?"
I want to stab him in the eyeball with the pencil he just passed me.
Instead, I just give a nod to the affirmative and look down at the card I just picked up…
"Pain".
Why, universe, do you insist on fucking with me like this?`
I draw a stick figure with a knife stabbing it.
He doesn't get it.
I draw a heart with a knife stabbing it.
He doesn't get it.
I draw a face with tears. He yells out "TORTURE!"
My hero, ladies and gentleman…
—
"Why do you have to be so rude, 'Lena?" Asks Matt, with his bright blue eyes already pre-drooped and popped for the photo op. I swear, it's ridiculous.
"What do you want, Matty? You know I hate that shit." I ask as I strip the ugly, normal-people clothes off my body. Who even thought polyester was a good idea?
"It's not you, though…" He clumsily fumbles with the hem of his shirt as he says it. Then he does the worst thing ever. He rips the shirt up and off in one fluid motion and looks at me like he's a Hemsworth. It's adorable, really. I do love this man. I just also want to murder him.
"Look, just because you're simple-minded and easily entertained doesn't mean I am. These game nights are fucking stupid". Why am I being so mean?
"Fuck you, 'Lena! What the actual fuck is your problem?" I think this is the first time I've seen true hatred behind those blue eyes. I'm not sure I care for it, but apparently it sustains me.
"How dare you ask me that? We both know what my problem is. It's you. Fucking lily-livered fucking pansy. Go die now, please." My soul cringes with each syllable. He doesn't deserve this.
"OH, that's great. You've resorted to turn-of-the-century insults now? You know what, 'Lena? I've only ever been here for you. I've tried and tried and tried some more to help you. All you ever are in return is nasty. I'm done. Enjoy life alone."
He grabs the shirt he had just taken off and whips it off the table with such force, it knocks over the candle that's burning there. I am sitting on the couch and I remain immobile as I watch the carpet catch fire.
"Jesus fucking Christ, 'Len! What the fuck is wrong with you?!" He asks, as he stomps out the flames.
I really wish I knew the answer to that question. I don't even know who I am anymore. I don't know why I treat Matt the way I do. It's not as if his pain gives me any sort of pleasure. In fact, I forget what pleasure feels like. He just has the unenviable position of being in proximity to me and my anger.
He really deserves better.
"You know what? I'm fucking done. I just can't with you anymore. Keep the apartment, I don't care. I'll come back in a few days to pick up my shit." He all but spits it.
Good for him. He finally stood up for himself. As the door slams behind him, so does what feels like the last shreds of my humanity, and I realize I'm crying.
—
"That's the thing, Bonnie. I didn't do anything to stop him. I just let him walk out and I didn't say a word. That has to mean something."
Bonnie was always the biggest proponent of me and Matt. We are sitting opposite each other, cross legged on the floor, just like we used to when we were kids.
"Well, I don't know if it means what you think it does. Maybe you just care about him? You know? You've set him free."
